Sirian Vaat

"Looks clear," Jeckyll whispered into his helm comm as he eyed the perimeter of one of the compound's southwestern buildings through his sniper rifle's scope. This was presumably where the queen was being held captive, but it was rather unimpressive looking for holding such a dignitary. An explosion on the other side of the compound drew the attention of his free eye. "Sounds like our friends are keeping busy."

He dropped the scope's line of sight down to the bushes where the surprisingly inconspicuous, crimson-skinned Draxun awaited Jeckyll's go ahead. Luka was at his side, also keeping good cover. She looked up to Jeckyll's position, a dozen meters above the courtyard crouched behind the rail of a balcony. With a clear shot of any place in the area, it was a perfect sniper's nest, and from his vantage point he could see clearly through the several barred windows of their target building. Figures were mulling about inside, but he couldn't be sure who was who. 

He signalled to Draxun with a flick of his laser targetting. The pureblood saw the blip of red light upon his own hand and set out across the courtyard with Luka in tow.

A shiver crept up Jeckyll's neck suddenly and he shuddered, even reaching back with one hand. A flash of red light fell upon him and the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber igniting alerted him to the immediate danger he was in. Whirling about, Jeckyll barely avoided the plunging blade of a red lightsaber as it sank into the balcony mere inches from his face. 

"Cripes!" he exclaimed, rolling onto one side and then rolling back to kick the revealed sith with a booted foot. The sith, pulling his saber free of the permacrete, winced as the trooper's foot caught him sharply in the ribs. The warrior looked down upon him with a puzzled expression, as if wondering how the trooper had sensed his presence at the last second. Jeckyll didn't have time to shrug or tell him of his own amazement that he had miraculously avoided the seemingly unavoidable deathblow. The sith didn't give it another thought as he launched yet another strike at the prone trooper laying upon the balcony. 

Jeckyll rolled again, dodging the blade as it slashed across the permacrete again and again. "Little help here!" he shouted, kicking the sith again. He dared a glance through the balcony rungs and saw that Draxun and Luka had their own problems: a handful of armed guards were rushing from the prison building, wielding various blades and armored well. It would seem the Thul were prepared for this.

The sith hesitated suddenly, his eyes looking to one side as if he was sensing something. "Master ..."

Jeckyll knew enough of Jedi and Sith - this apprentice sensed his master was in danger. Jeckyll took the very brief opportunity, grabbing the rungs overhead with both hands and, using one foot to launch himself upwards, he kicked the sith square under the jaw with the other foot and continue his ascent, tumbling up and back in a flip to come to rest on his own two feet. The sith landed on his back a split second later, coming down hard on the back of his head. 

If the blow hurt the sith much, he didn't show it. Jeckyll's eyes went wide as the sith propped himself up and regarding the trooper with incredulous. The two then looked to one side ... where the apprentice's lightsaber was laying upon the balcony. They looked back to one another.

Jeckyll shouted out wordlessly as he charged across the balcony with his head lowered. He saw the sith reach out, summoning his lightsaber to his awaiting hand. Jeckyll's legs pumped harder. The weapon flew to the sith's hand. 

All Draxun could see of the melee between the apprentice and Jeckyll, high above on the balcony, was several flashes of red light, followed by an exchange of battle cries ... and then the two forms of the sith and his comrade tumbling over the balconies edge and falling a dozen meters down to the ground. Thankfully, Jeckyll fell into a thick patch of bushes ... thorned bushes, Draxun noted with amusement.

He could hear Jeckyll's protest even from afar. "Son of a ...!"

The sith, landing roughly on his side, was still in posession of his lightsaber and somehow getting back to his feet. Jeckyll, covered in thorns and pieces of thicket, clamored out of the bushes and was charging into the unaware sith once again. 

The golden glow of Aldraig IV’s sun began to rise beyond the distant western forests that stretched across the horizon. Cadinn rubbed his arms briefly, feeling the first chill of the new day’s morning breeze, and closed his eyes as the sun’s light fell upon his face. After a long moment of silence, he remembered his company and opens his eyes, though still he stared to the coming sunrise.

“Do you think there’s hope for them?†he asked suddenly, not looking to the young Jedi seated nearby.

“I mean … do you think we’ll truly make a difference here?†His gaze lowered to take in the sight of the capital city, its beautiful spires and domed towers beginning to sparkle in the creeping day’s light.

He glanced down then, checking for clear ground, and unexpectedly sat down a few feet beside her. He noticed the countless muffin crumbs all over his chest then and, looking to Anlai with a somewhat self-deprecating smile, was quick to brush them off. He looked back to the city, thinking on what was happening within its great walls, and then looked to Anlai once more, curious if she had a response to his query.

Jedi were rumored to be wise individuals, Cadinn knew; even those as young as Anlai. And he had never spoken to a Jedi, or at least hadn’t beyond the numerous “Sir, yes sir!†replies he, and all republic troopers, were used to giving their Jedi commanders. Having spotted this lone Jedi, who was in what looked to be a rather reflective mood, Cadinn had hoped this would be his chance to have a real conversation with a Jedi.

***

“Rise, Brega.â€

Brega’s eyes shot open as he bolted upright, laying upon the ground across from the tent. Startled momentarily, he looked across the smoldered campfire to his master, mulling about the site as he donned his war greaves and bracers. Brega wore a curious expression, for Sere Loki was rather far away for the soft tone of his words to have reached his ears in such a deep sleep. Or were they in my head? He couldn’t be sure. Sere glanced his way then, as if sensing the padawan’s curiosity. He nodded and gestured with a hand for the young Chiss to get up and make preparations.

Brega sighed under his breath as he rose to his feet, stretched, and padded barefoot over to the tent where his things had also been stored. Barely awake, he rubbed a dry eye with one hand as he reached down and lifted the lid on a case that contained his equipment. He paused then, as he always did when he looked upon his armor for the first time at the beginning of a mission. With each mission behind him, his equipment seemed almost foreboding when he looked upon it, for he knew that donning the armor meant quarrelsome trials lay directly ahead.

He reached into the case and retrieved the dark blue base robes that would serve as his last means of protection, dropping them over his head and tugging it straight before he began affixing a golden leather belt that offered several pouches, trinket attachments, and other small field devices. He placed the first of two small, permasteel pauldron atop his left shoulder, and then lifted his arm as he strained to secure the strap with his free hand. After several minutes of fumbling and frustration, the piece of armor was secure. He turned to secure the other and was surprised to see Master Loki suddenly at his side, holding the pauldron in place as he assisted in securing it.

Sere had the pauldron in place within seconds. A practiced hand, Brega thought to himself. Sere checked the other shoulder, gave it an adjustment. “Too tight?†the zabrak master asked. Brega shook his head, even though it was rather snug. He didn’t know why he lied. “Good,†Sere said, patting Brega’s armored shoulders with finality. “Let’s move.â€

Brega regarded his master as the zabrak moved off from camp then, walking briskly onto the dewy grass and down the hillside to where a small platoon of republic troopers had already assembled and were waiting. Brega looked up to the sun, finally poking above the very distant tree-line. The morning air was chilled and he silently lamented that his armor was beginning to feel heavy already. Looking down to the forest surrounding the capital city’s western walls – their destination -, Brega found himself hoping the mission would be rather uneventful, although he knew better despite his limited field experience. Let’s get this over with.

He followed his master’s trail through the tall grass, feeling the wet blades soaking the bottom of his robes as he went, and looked down to the bottom of the hillside. Master Sere Loki had already reached the troopers and, together, they were looking Brega’s way as they awaited his arrival. Brega thought he spotted Jeckyll, the clever trooper that he had briefly befriended aboard the drop-ship. As he drew closer, a nod from the trooper confirmed it. Brega returned the nod, adding in a half-wave gesture that felt awkward. Jeckyll was too busy checking his ammo and supplies to notice.

“Ready?†Sere asked pleasantly as Brega joined them. The half dozen troopers, standing in formation, said nothing as the young Jedi arrived.

“Yes, master,†Brega replied, smiling assuredly.

Sere clasped him on the shoulder, smiling in return as the two Jedi followed the troopers across the field to the looming forest ahead. “Don’t worry, my padawan,†Sere began, “you’ll get used to the armor someday, and the wet feet.†His tone was amiable and he winked sidelong at the much younger Jedi.

Brega, despite his lingering stiffness and fatigue, smiled openly, appreciating his master’s attempt to bring levity to the situation. He said nothing in reply however, merely following his master and their trooper escorts as they led the way.  Brega’s smile soon faded as the group entered the still dark, fog-laden forests ahead and the gravity of their mission settled in with him. 

The sporadic crackling of the small campfire and the chirping of the evening’s woodland crickets were the only sounds to be heard as the two Jedi meditated, sitting cross-legged on opposite sides with bare torsos as they absorbed the soothing warmth of the flames.

Brega concentrated on his breathing as his master instructed. He inhaled slowly and deeply, and exhaled ever more slowly. The repetition imbued him with an almost euphoric sensation, allowing Brega to better delve himself into the Force energies that surrounded him. His eyes opened slightly, as he always tended to do in this early stage of meditation, for he was curious to see if he could see the energy around him that he could so readily feel; but he saw nothing, as always. Wisps of smoke rose from the modest fire, tiny specks of fiery embers fleeting up into the night sky like faeries, and across from him sat his master, Sere Loki.

The crimson-skinned zabrak sat with perfect posture, his hands resting on his crossed legs and his chest rising and falling in equal intervals. The black tattoos that adorned Loki’s torso looked foreboding in the darkness and flickering firelight. Brega had come to greatly admire the serene master. His control was beyond admirable, and his attunement to his own body and mind were something Brega knew he could never learn from him; but he vowed to make their effort.

“Concentrate,†Sere suddenly said, barely audible.

Brega berated himself for letting himself get distracted, closing his eyes once more and resuming his focus. Several minutes later his mind was relaxed once more. He felt as if he had lowered his body slowly into warm waters and was now floating in a pool of tranquility. He imagined blue, transparent energy flowing about his body, rendering him weightless. A face passed by him, drawing his attention as it floated by him – a young woman, crying it seemed. She held … something … in her arms, Brega sensed, but he could not see what. His brow furrowed as he searched for it, but the image dissipated as if sensing his intention. Disappointed, he lingered there in contemplation, and then another image passed before him. This one he would not let depart so easily. His jaw clenched as he strove to note every detail. A figure roaming through an alley, a woman, not the same … fearful, wounded, lost? She’s looking for something, or someone … streets filled with debris, bodies … Someone spotted her, why doesn’t she run or hide? Run! The image, as if hearing him, hurried into the shadows just moments before dark forms entered the area, seeking her out. The image faded from his mind then, leaving him treading water alone in the pool of energy. He looked about with his mind, searching for any other signs, but found nothing. Disappointed once again, he withdrew from the pool and slowly the energies dissipated around him. His eyes opened.

Sere was sitting as he was all along, but his golden eyes stared through the flames of the campfire to the young chiss. Brega took a moment, pondering on what he had seen, before meeting the gaze of his master.

“What do you think they mean, my padawan?†Sere inquired. How he had known about the strange imagery, Brega could not know; but the zabrak’s tone clearly indicated he was well aware of what the padawan had experienced.

Brega merely shook his head, unsure where to begin. He furrowed his brow with frustration, trying to recall the faces and the impressions he had made. “I sensed … fear, pain, uncertainty … faces I don’t know, but there’s something about the woman … I think ... I think she was blind. I’m not sure what I saw, master.â€

“It is the future you see, my padawan,†Loki replied matter-of-factly.

“The future?†Brega returned, genuinely surprised. He thought on the images once more. “They were so … incomplete.†He could find no other word to describe it, but he felt as if they were only glimpses of something much larger, more complicated. He looked to his master, his eyes hopeful for an explanation.

Master Loki merely smiled at him pleasantly. “You’ll see them again,†he said simply, putting one hand down on the ground for leverage as he rose to his feet. “In time, they’ll begin to make sense. Do not stress yourself over them. Such visions are the way in which The Force speaks to us, Brega. It’s not always clear how or why, but they often indicate markers along a path you will take.â€

“Will take, master?†Brega asked. “Is that to say our path is already decided for us?â€

Master Loki smiled, expecting the question it seemed. He crouched down to pick up his robes, brushing the dirt off of them as he regarded his padawan. “Some believe so. Others believe we choose our own paths and that the Force guides us along whichever path we choose. Always there to support us. But then sometimes things happen, even bad things, that will seem predetermined and you’ll find yourself questioning whether it was meant to happen or simply chance.â€

Brega, still sitting, flicked a pebble on the ground with his finger as he thought on his master’s words. “Which do you believe, master?†he then asked quietly, looking up to the zabrak as he moved towards their tent.

Master Sere Loki paused at the opening, lowering his head as he considered the question. He then slung his robes over the tent’s frame and turned about to regard the young chiss.

“I believe that all paths are chosen, but they are also laid out before you. Bad things will happen, as will good things – more of the latter, I hope. The Force is a guide that will help you in times of need, but will also steer you to where it feels you are needed. Listen and do what feels right in your heart. The Force will always be with you.â€

With that, Master Loki gave a quick nod and a smile, which Brega returned, and retreated to the confines of the tent. Brega remained by the campfire, thinking on his master’s words of wisdom. They rang true in his mind. He found himself wondering if they were what Sere Loki actually believed or were simply what his master knew he needed to hear. He had a way of saying exactly what he needed to hear, Brega reminded himself; but there was a inward inflection in Sere’s eyes that told him that he spoke with sincerity. Living by such beliefs, Brega could only imagine the peace and serenity his master felt within himself, and he envied him for it, as all Jedi should he concluded.

Inside the tent, with the light blankets drawn up about his shoulders, Master Sere Loki’s golden eyes slowly closed as he drifted into sleep. He immediately felt the soothing energies of the Force wrapping around him as his consciousness faded. He welcomed it, opening his heart to let it fill him entirely and take him away as it did every night. Sere could still sense the ever-searching mind of his padawan, laying under the stars outside, as he drifted away. He hoped that, of all his life-long accomplishments, Brega could find the same peace within himself as he had found; that he could live his life feeling as fully embraced by the Force as he had come to feel. 

Brega Tann was drifting off as well, sitting upon the ground with his back leaning against a log they had placed along the campfire for sitting upon. His eyelids were heavy and the flames of the fire danced before in the night. And as his mind, too, drifted into sleep, he found himself wishing he could have such peaceful slumber as those he had seen his master had on so many occasions, drifting along on a current that was the Force; but he knew this night's dreams would be riddled with a question he could not answer and could not dismiss from his mind ...

Why was she blind?

As the two remnants entered the complex incognito, a fizzle of static sounded in their earpieces, and a moment later the voices of their comrades could be overheard. 

"We're back in range," Jeckyll said sidelong to Draxun as they walked briskly along. "The others must be in the compound as well, or close by."

He was glad for Sev's directions. If not for the droid's guidance, they would have been surely lost; the Thuul compound was even larger and more maze-like than their last location. 

"Move it, brat!" he suddenly barked at Luka, yanking on her wrist binders much more roughly than he meant to, as a group of four guards rounded the corner ahead and were heading this way. The men were clearly whispering amongst themselves as they approached. "I think those first two alerted some of their friends to check us out," he whispered to Draxun through his headset. "Guess their suspicions still linger, eh?"

He noted one of the guards discreetly flicked off the safety of his sidearm with a thumb, and a larger man in the back laying his hand on the butt of his scattergun. Each of the four guards visibly tensed up as they came closer. 

Jeckyll nodded in greeting as the two groups came within a few meters of each other. "Found her scaling the wall," he offered, giving Luka a pat with one hand. He had thought to unlock her wrist binders, but there was no way they could do so without it being noticed, and if things erupted into a fight they wouldn't have time to free her either. She'd just have to make do with her wrists behind her back.

"We heard," one of the guards replied, nodding his head. The groups closed within a few feet. "We found something at the wall, too."

Everyone stopped instantly, the four guards looking to the two disguised remnants with clear intention. Jeckyll feigned a confused gesture towards Draxun, and then, as the four guards simultaneously reached for their weapons, Jeckyll pulled the Thuul scattergun slung over his shoulder and leased a full-charge blast ino the chest of the nearest guard. The man flew back into another of the guards, temporarily pinning him. While the guard beneath the body struggled to free himself, Jeckyll shoved Luka down to the floor.

"Stay down!" he shouted to her as he hopped over her prone form and speared himself into the mid-section of a third guard. He could only hope that Draxun was tending to the fourth, who was out of his range.

"We can't assault the city directly," Master Gnaw suddenly interjected, the grim-faced bothan ignoring the petty quibbling of the councilmen and moving between them to inspect the displayed holo-image of the city and the land beyond its walls. "If the landmines are as dense and numerous as you claim, we'll have to take a more subtle approach."

"Can't you take aerial scans of the field with fly overs, General? Then you'll know where the mines are and how to avoid them?"

Master Gnaw was already shaking his head. "If the terrorists are promising to start executing civilians in the next few hours if you don't meet their demands, we won't have enough time for aerial sweeps. No, we must act now. A more subtle approach will be needed." He lifted his shaggy head then, looking through the crowd of nearby onlookers to the regally poised Master Sere Loki. He gave the crimson-skinned zabrak a nod. Master Loki nodded in return and then gingerly wove his way through the crowd to join Master Gnaw at his side.

After a quick inspection of the holo-image, Master Loki reached down and keyed a command into the computer panel. The image shimmered, and then displayed an extensive series of tunnels beneath the city.

"Is that a layout of the streets?" a curious councilmen asked.

"It's a blueprint of the city's sewer network," the soft-spoken Master Loki replied matter-of-factly. He used the panel to expand the image. "And here are where the sewers deposit back into the rivers in the outlying lands."  He indicated the spots by highlighting a dozen or so spots on the image with a dot of his finger. Each spot illuminated in red. "We can enter the sewers through these deposit sites and infiltrate the city undetected through the many water-treatment plants in the sewer's inner tunnels."

The councilmen were silent as they considered the plan. Surprisingly simple, yet effective, it was clearly their best option for getting republic troops inside the walls.

Master Gnaw and the others were in agreement, Brega could see; although he could hear little of their exchange. Part way through the conversation, Brega had become distracted as he had taken notice of an intriguing individual off to one side, also listening in on the goings-on. She looked to be Miralukan, at first glance; but there was something decidedly human about her as well, Brega found himself thinking. He had always been gifted with a strong sense of empathy and an ability to read others, which he had always dismissed as merely the influence of The Force, something most if not all Jedi could do; but over time he had come to believe it to be more of a talent or gift than anything grander. Regardless, it was for moments such as these, when he encountered mysterious individuals, that he was glad to have such a skill at his disposal.

The interesting thing about this one, this young woman - who looked to be a Jedi as well -, was that she appeared to be completely out of place despite the dozens of troopers and several other Jedi present at the gathering. While everyone else's attention seemed to be fixated on the happenings of this most important discussion, the woman seemed as if here mind were anyplace but here and now. Brega noticed he furrow her brow, and even wince slightly, on several occasions, as if she was inflicted with some invisible malady. It was then that Brega noticed that her stance, her positioning, even the direction in which she seemed to face most often, was directed towards the distance city, where smoke rose from the inner streets and fires could be seen even from afar, burning homes and leaving the streets covered with ash and debris. The suffering of the people could only be imagined by the republic troops preparing to assault the city, except for maybe one individual who it seemed could not only image their suffering, but could perhaps feel it as well.

As the briefing concluded and everyone gathered scattered to tend to their respective duties, Brega found himself curious to meet the mysterious woman, feeling compelled to do so in fact. If it weren't for a crimson hand laid upon his forearm just then, he would've made the effort.

"Padawan Tann," the soft-spoken Master Loki said, stealing the young chiss' attention. "I could not help but notice your lack of attention during the closing moments of our discussion. What could be more important than focusing on the task at hand, my young friend?"

Brega faltered, caught off-guard, and merely glanced towards the woman who was now also departing the briefing area. Master Loki followed his gaze, and then smiled ever so slightly.

"Another young Jedi has a way of distracting us in places such as this, the zabrak said knowingly. "We're so few and far apart at times that we are often surprised when we run into each other, aren't we?"

Brega had no reply. He merely smiled in return and gave a bow of his head that was both apologetic and deferent in nature.

"Come, Brega," Master Loki said, clasping a hand on his padawan's shoulder and guiding him out of the clearing. Together they walked to the far side of the camp. Dark would soon be upon them. While the troops and officers tended to further preparations, and caught what could be their last night of solid sleep for days, Master Loki and Brega sat cross-legged on opposite sides of a small fire on the edge of the republic camp, the two Jedi deep in their meditations.

Jeckyll winced as he dropped through the branches of the tree, taking whips to the face as he went, and hit the ground running. His rifle quickly slung over his back, the trooper moved swiftly through the thickets and across the open grass to reach his comrades.

"Not good," he said quietly but sharply into his headset. "Pair of guards exiting the rear of the building on the far side of the inner compound may have seen them fall. We gotta get into those suits and over the wall - asap."

He reached the two at the wall and was glad to see the guards' uniforms and armor had already been stripped. Jeckyll wasted no time in donning one of the outfits, and then saw to dragging the bodies away to hide them in a nearby water gutter. A few moments later, he and the others were dropping over the wall and into the inner grounds, with their 'captive' Luka securely bound and looking worst for wear.

Just in time it turned out, as moments later a pair of Thuul patrol guards rounded the tall hedging of a garden area and spotted the trio moving towards the center of the grounds. Jeckyll's limp was well in place as he gave Luka a rough shove forward.

With curious glances to one another, the two guards changed course to intercept them. One of them gesturing with a wave for them to stop.

"Who's this we got here?" one of the guards inquired, although he seemed to be equally curious about the two disguised Remnants.

"I'll fake a limp, my dear," Jeckyll replied quietly with a chuckle, keeping his eye on his targets as he followed their movement. The wall guards were nearing their passing point. He adjusted the zoom on his scope, and then dropped his aim to spot Draxun. The crimson-skinned pureblood was surprisingly well hidden beneath the wall, ready to do his part. Jeckyll could only hope his comrade could grab the two bodies before they made any noise and alerted others.

They'd have to be quick getting over the wall if the rest of the guards were to believe their story of capturing Luka sneaking into the compound.

5, 4, 3, 2, aaannd ...

The sniper rifle fired, the sound of the shot barely audible even to Luka standing only a few meters away under the tree in which Jeckyll was perched. The two guards nodded at one another as they passed on the wall and, in the brief instant their bodies were adjacent, Jeckyll's bolt cut through the outer guard's underarm, out the other side, and through the underarm of the inner positioned guard. Their lungs perfectly pierced, neither guard was able to cry out in pain as their legs crumbled beneath them. The outer guard fell sidelong outward, but the inner guard, to Jeckyll's horror, began to fall the opposite way - towards the inside grounds of the compound!

He resisted the urge to cry out for Draxun, holding his breath instead and hoping the pureblood was quick enough to grab the guard before his fall made a noticable descent into the property.

"Now Drax," came the hushed voice of Jeckyll from above. The two looked up to see the nimble trooper had climbed up into the tree behind which they had found cover. He was in the process of quickly assembling a sniper rifle it would seem. "Let's not be droll," he scolded playfully. He was silent then, his guide arm moving horizontally very slowly as he followed the path of a wall-patrolling guard. He then switched to follow the path of another guard moving towards the first wall. The two would pass each other on the wall, he surmised. The hint of a smile crossed Jeckyll's stubbley face then as an idea came to mind. His trigger finger rose up and flicked one switch, and then another. The rifle clicked as the barrel rotated, changing the charge type, and hummed lowly as the muzzle flash suppressor and silencer activated.

"Draxun, would you be so kind as to make your way up to the wall? And discreetly, if you please. We can have ourselves a new set of digs in about twenty-two seconds if they keep their pace." He glanced down to Luka then. "You may have to be our prisoner my dear. Caught trying to sneak into the compound to rescue your dear friend, perhaps. Heh."

Luka and Draxun could follow the marksman's aim to the nearest wall, where indeed it appeared two of the guards were soon going to pass one another. With a well placed shot, Jeckyll intended to take the two sentries out with a single shot. Draxun would need to be quick about grabbing the two felled guards, and the lot of them would need to be over the wall and in costume before any other guards got wise to their ruse.

Within minutes of discerning their next target location, Jeckyll, Draxun and Luka were strapped onto the back of a large, manta ray-like mount and flying high over the tree tops, with the palace quickly fading into the distance behind them and, after twenty uneventful minutes of soaring across the plains and mountains, the great compound of House Thuul loomed ahead. The great, flat-winged mount descended from on high, gliding down soundlessly into a thick fog that surrounded the compound.

"We'll need to make a discreet entrance," Jeckyll thought aloud, glancing over his shoulder to Draxun. "That's more your department. Got any ideas?"

Moments later, the creature came to rest in the forested hills just beyond the high walls of the compound. With the thick fog and dense foliage providing excellent cover, getting in undetected was the next step. Normally not such a difficult task, but with guards patrolling the thick, high walls with rifles and raka hounds mulling about the inner grounds, that'd be easier said than done.

"I'm not getting anything," Jeckyll said sidelong to Draxun as he attempted to contact Mak and Zedwas on his wrist comlink. "They're out of range, or interference; I can't be sure." He looked to Draxun, his expression sour. This thing's turning on us, his eyes conveyed. 

He sighed, and then dismissed the matter as he changed focus back to the matter at hand. "Let's round up this Thuul spy here in the palace, this Lt. Marth. If House Thuul is involved with all this, we may need to take a trip to their main compound. He could be of help getting us inside."

With that, Jeckyll departed the servant living quarters, shouldering past several servants bowing their heads in subjugation. They winced as the trooper passed through their midst, his heavy boots clumping on the long, red runner that led out of the chambers and back into the main hallways of the palace. His head was down as he regarded the command screen projecting from the device on his forearm and spoke the appropriate commands.

"Access security network. Location, palace guard Lt. Livki Marth." The image projection shimmered and panned, showing a highlighted course from their current position that lead down a series of hallways and down to a lower level of the palace. Excellent.

Jeckyll gave Draxun a nod, indicating he had a signal trace, and hurried off into the hallway, following the indicated course on his wrist locator at a brisk pace.

Chapter 1

The drop-ship shook violently as yet another flak explosion rocked the ship's port side hull, sending a ripple of strong vibration through the floor of the small craft and into the feet and legs of the two-dozen republic troopers crammed into the ship's tiny hold. The chains of the handholds that hung overhead rattled with each explosion as they came one after another. The troopers kept their footing easy enough, most of them seasoned soldiers after all; but Brega, however, was far from comfortable.

The young chiss grasped his handhold with white knuckles, as if it was his very life-line. Sweat beaded all over his blue skin, tricking down his forehead and dripping into his eyes each time the ship shook. He wiped his brow with the hem of his robes, which was quickly becoming laden with moisture from the nerve-racked padawan’s profuse sweating. He noted the amused glances of the troopers nearest him, who kept their footing with relative ease while he jostled about hopelessly unbalanced. Brega shot them a glare, which made them chuckle only more as they looked away, shaking their heads.

The sound of the pilot's announcement, "LZ in two minutes!", was music to the young Jedi's ears. He breathed a sigh of relief and promptly began his own countdown.

"You alright there, friend?" a trooper over his shoulder asked, bringing his attention about. Brega could tell that he, too, was trying to hide his amusement. He supposed he could appreciate that as a courtesy at least, unlike the others who made no attempt to hide their mirth at his expense. Still, Brega silently cursed the man for making him lose his count.

"Fine," Brega replied curtly. A minute and five, a minute and four, a minute and three...

"Take it you don't like flying?" the trooper continued, noting the young padawan's obvious discomfort.

Brega sighed, regarding the trooper with a sarcastic smile. "Is it that obvious?"

The trooper chuckled. "Yeah, it is." He extended a hand then. "Name's Jack L. Landyl. Sign's Jackyll". Brega cocked an eyebrow. The trooper chuckled again. "Yeah, I know. Not terribly creative with the call-signs these days, are they?"

Brega accepted his hand, looking to the trooper with a curious expression. "Brega Tann. Pleased to meet you." He nodded, thinking their meeting concluded, and went back to his counting. Fourty-five, fourty-four, fourty-three ...

"Yeah I was no different my first drop," Jeckyll continued. Brega sighed audibly. "You got a weak stomach?" he asked. Brega shook his head. "I was up-chucking my breakfast all over the deck, in fact. Last time I ever ate Poteta 'n Wamprat Chowder before take-off, let me tell ya."

Brega frowned, trying not to imagine chunky, creamy vomit all around his feet.

"Yup, bad idea that was. The womprat meat must've been past due or something. I had that stuff all over the bulkheads. Guy next to me was covered in it, guy next to him, guy behind me, all over the deck - heck, there was scarcely an inch of the entire hold not covered in Poteta 'n Wamprat Chowder puke. And then everyone else starting throwing up, too. First one, then another, and another..."

A trooper off to one side suddenly heaved and vomited at his feet. Others protested, and then another man heaved and vomited as well. And then another. Brega dodged this way and that, as did Jackyll, as one by one the troopers all about them vomited.

Brega looked to Jackyll with disbelief. The trooper lifted the visor of his helmet, revealing blue eyes and a scruffy face, and a wide smile.

"They're not so tough either," Jackyll said, shooting Brega a wink.

Brega smiled for the first time during the flight as he covered his nose and mouth with the cuff of his robes. When the next flak explosion rocked the ship, he felt a bit less uneasy.

"Coming in!" the pilot shouted from up ahead. Everyone not holding their knees steadied their feet for landing, while the others toppled over and rolled into the legs of others. A moment later and there was a thud as the tiny ship's landing extensions made contact. The side panel that made upthe entire port side of the ship's hold slid open, blinding the troopers with sunlight temporarily as they charged down the ramp and onto the grassy hillside of Aldraig IV.

Brega shielded his eyes with a hand as he came out of the ship and took a deep breath of fresh air, exhaling with contentment. It was a much needed reprieve from the crowded hold of the drop-ship that reeked of body odor from the shoulder-to-shoulder troopers. The grassy region of Aldraig IV's western continent was enjoying one of its nicest summers. A warm breeze, laden with the perfume of the flowering treetops throughout the nearby forest, swept about Brega's bald head as he let the hood of his robes fall away. He closed his eyes, enjoying the various sensations. The sun warmed the metal plates upon his shoulders and forearms, and he was glad he thought to wear his lighter war robes as the sun warmed his body as well.

The sound of the pilot's disgusted exclamation as the man discovered the vomit-covered deck of his ship's hold brought a smile to the young Jedi's face as he moved down the ramp and walked briskly up the hillside.

The grass would've stood tall, but for several hundred yards in every direction it had been flattened by the bellies of republic tanks and personnel carriers, and the heavy boos of hundreds of soldiers. The landing zone was several kilometers south of Aldraig IV's capital city and on a high, forested range overlooking the valley in which the city rested. From their vantage point, the entire breadth of the capital could be taken in, as well as the immense destruction that could be seen both within and beyond its walls. All about the landscape where the republic army was amassing its forces, crates filled with supplies were piled high, a massive medical center for expected injured had been erected, and tents and armory depots had been assembled in a matter of hours – all in response to Aldraig IV's plea to the Galactic Republic for help.

A neutral planet itself, Aldraig IV had fallen into a state of civil war in recent years as a long-embedded terrorist faction slowly rose to power. After many months of conflict, the terrorists had finally won the upper hand. The outlying cities had largely been retaken by the government forces, but many others lay in ruins, while others were still in the hands of the terrorists. It wasn't until several days prior, when the terrorists succeeded in strategically destroying several power facilities and weapons depots across the continent, when the government finally conceded to asking for help. The matter had passed a breaking point and grander actions were needed -the price would be their neutrality, many expected; but it was a necessary sacrifice for ensuring the safety of their people and the liberation of their homes.

Brega reached the top of the hillside, glancing over his shoulder to the numerous departing drop-ships and the squads of troopers running up the hillside. Amongst a copse of trees, the republic forces' leaders were meeting with the government officials of Aldraig IV, all of them standing around a hastily built holo-projection table that currently displayed an image of the capital's inner levels. General Gnaw, a bothan Jedi master with rich-brown hair covering his lean body and an ash-gray canine face, was clearly losing his patience as he exchanged looks with his two trooper commanders as the four Aldraig IV councilmen continued to argue over who would represent the planetary government body.

Unable to hear them clearly, Brega moved around the other observers, crates, and outcroppings of trees and bush and took up a position a few meters to the side of the projection table. It was then that he spotted his master, standing just behind the two commanders and listening intently. Formerly the padawan of Master Gnaw himself, Master Sere Loki was an impressive man in his own right. A zabrak with bright red skin, his face and neck covered with black tattoos, gold flecked eyes, a crown of small, protruding horns, and golden-tan robes, Master Loki was a distinctive-looking Jedi if ever there was one. It was his great wisdom and knowledge of The Force however that had earned him such renown and respect among the Jedi ranks. Brega felt truly honored to be his padawan indeed. He watched his master for some time, only half-listening to the words of the bickering politicians, admiring his calmness of his expression. He stood so perfectly still, and with such immaculate posture, that Brega could imagine a republic tank running into him and the zabrak wouldn't budge an inch. A statue of composure Master Loki surely was.

"Nothin'" Jeckyll sighed with annoyance as he let the mattress drop down to the coiled-spring box bed. A puff of feathers went into the air like gentle fireworks, the trooper having torn the mattress in several spots with his vibro-knife. He turned away, hitting his head on the frame of the top bunk overhead, and sighed once again. "This is a waste of time," he growled, rubbing his forehead. He kicked away the dirty holo-mags laying on the floor beneath the bed, having fallen out of the tattered mattress during his search. A male servant, and the owner of the bottom bunk, paled as the profanity-filled literature landed at his own feet. The female servant at his side, presumably his partner, gawked at the holo-mags, and then promptly slapped the man's arm.

"Lekku Lingerie? Really, Orvil?"

"Don't judge me!" the man shot back, folding his arms defensively.

Jeckyll shook his head with annoyance as he moved past the couple and on to the next set of bunks in the servants' quarters. He had already searched, or rather destroyed, half a dozen others with nothing of significance discovered.

"Good morning, sir," a male servant greeted as the agitated trooper stomped over to his bunk. The man put on a pleasant smile, although clearly he was worried about his possessions, meager as they were yet clearly of value to him. "Cook's assistant, Logona, sir. *Ahem* You'll find nothing here, I assure you."

"Step aside," Jeckyll said, brushing the man aside with on hand as he reached for the top bunk mattress.

"Sir, please, I go to great lengths to maintain a tidy sleeping area," the man protested, stepping once more in the good trooper's way and presenting his reassuring smile once more. "We have so little, us servants," he explained, "we're expected to keep a neat bedside or else we can sleep in the closet, you see. Ask the others!" He gestured over one shoulder.

Jeckyll followed the motion to see a similar fellow standing by an open door. Inside were several wooden shelves, each tier loaded with cleaning supplies, soaps, and buckets. Brooms and mops leaned against one corner. "Terribly uncomfortable, sir," the man at the door offered, his expression dull and sullen. "Mice the size of your ..."

"Enough," Jeckyll interrupted, turning back to the man at the bunks and moving him aside. He glared at the man, warning him without words not to interfere. The man sighed as the trooper lifted the top cot, searched beneath it, flipped it, and then ripped it in two with his knife. He pulles feather stuffing from its insides, tossing it about and making a mess. He shoved what was left of the mattress into the man's arms dismissively and then went back to the bedframe. He sat on the bottom bed, looking up into the rungs, running his gloved fingers along the woodwork, searching for even the smallest concealed item.

After several minutes and a most thorough search of the man's bedside, Jeckyll hoisted himself up to his feet and stood before servant. "Looks clean," he reported, flashing a pleasant smile. "Next time stay out of my way."

The servant smiled back meekly, nodding his head. He looked to his bed as Jeckyll moved on. His bedframe was a tangle of broken wood slats and metal springs, and what was left of his mattress was scattered everywhere in hand-sized tufts.

"You finding anything over there?" Jeckyll shouted across the room to his accomplice, Draxun, as he approached the next set of bunkbeds. The two servants at their side were quick to move out of the way and graciously gestured for the volatile trooper to help himself.

Biography

Brega Tann

Jedi Padawan

Species: Chiss  Homeworld: Csilla

Brega, while barely into his twenties, has already demonstrated exceptional skill as a padawan. With a keen mind and an adept understanding of the nature of The Force, Brega has shown much potential in the eyes of the Jedi Council. Despite his deft skill and knowledge, a stigma has begun to grow around Brega's reputation as he has lost not one but two masters in battle - in as many years. This has shaken Brega's confidence and resolve, making him question his own actions in times when hesitancy can mean life or death. With reluctance, he now journeys to join his newest master, Sere Loki,  on Aldraig IV where the republic has sent an army to help liberate the planet from the hands of terrorists ...

STAR WARS

The Force

Chapter 1

War grips the planet of Aldraig IV. A terrorist faction has seized control of its major cities and threatens to disrupt the flow of the infamous Hydian Way trade route. Civilians suffer and die amidst the battles as the Aldraig government attempts to retake their planet.

Under the leadership of their self-appointed general, Arsan Quaid, the terrorists claim that Aldraig IV is only the beginning. The planet's major cities are under occupation, their civilians either killed or held in concentration camps, including the capital city of Aldraiga. The only thing standing in the way of their total planetary domination is their inability to decipher the security codes of the planetary defense systems, which currently prevent any ships from leaving the planet's surface. Should those codes be compromised, the terrorists' plans for conquest could be unstoppable.

The governing leaders of Aldraig IV, after months of civil war with these fanatics, have called for reinforcements in retaking their world. The JEDI ORDER, along with the GALACTIC REPUBLIC, have sent an army to help the expulsed government reclaim their planet ...

Jeckyll sighed with resignation as he walked down one of the palace’s many corridors. An endless red carpet softened the sound of his clumping boots as he headed briskly towards the servants’ quarters. He reached yet another intersection then, and, like at those previously, there was no indication as to which way to turn or whether to continue ahead.

“I’d kill for a You Are Here marker right about now,†he lamented to Draxun, the pureblood at his side. “Everything looks the same in the place.†He glanced at a stone bust on the wall, and then did a double-take, furrowing his brow with surprise, seeing that it was a likeness of their companion, Larial. Queen Larial, he thought with amusement. He smiled then, absently touching the lips on the sculpted head. Got her lips all wrong. Coming back to the moment, he turned to his comrade.

“You have any idea where we’re going here?†Jeckyll asked, sounding rather annoyed and gesturing to the signal device Draxun carried. Having traced a transmitting signal within the servants’ quarters, surely he could use it to find their way through the maze-like palace.

Jeckyll sighed with resignation as he walked down one of the palace’s many corridors. An endless red carpet softened the sound of his clumping boots as he headed briskly towards the servants’ quarters. He reached yet another intersection then, and, like at those previously, there was no indication as to which way to turn or whether to continue ahead.

Jeckyll breathed a sigh of resignation. And there's the twist...

"I doubt you'll be able to trace their signal, Mr. Gamble," he began, shoving off from the rear wall with one foot and moving to join the others near the holo-projection table. He nodded to their new contact, Luka, and pensively raised a hand to his chin as he considered the implications of these new revelations. "

"If we are able to trace the origins of that message, I'd think it's because they want us to be able to. That would suggest either a simple misdirection ploy to confuse anyone searching for them or that there's a trap waiting for us at their location. In either case, I highly doubt the captive queen would be there.

"And I'm inclined to agree with Draxun - the security of the palace, while hardly inpregnable, is still solid enough that such a kidnapping could not have been possible without help from the inside. Perhaps instead of searching for the message origin, Colt, we could search for a concealed transmitter here in the palace, which would presumably be with whomever is in league with these abductors."

Jeckyll then regarded Luka. "What can you tell us of this group? Or of the twi'lek man? Are they well supplied and skilled enough to pull this off without inside help?"

Captain Jeckyll had made a point of reaching the briefing room before the others. After a quick scan of the room, he took up a position by the only entrance to the chamber. While he appeared at ease, with his arms folded across his chest and his weight shifted to one leg, Jeckyll's mind was on high alert as usual. Seemingly less dangerous missions, such as this one was looking to be, had a tendency of making the young captain more wary than he ever was in any battle-intensive combat zone. If his limited experience as a Remnant trooper had taught him anything, it was that the quietest missions always had a way of suddenly turning into nightmares. Remnants were never called in for anything as simple as a political kidnapping, even if it was for a queen; such matters were typically handled by planetary secret service or local authorities. But this was different, Jeckyll had to assume, and his instincts told him to be ready despite the apparent lack of danger.

Gotta be some kind of twist they haven't told us yet, he surmised. He turned then and nodded to his fellow Remnants as they began to filter into the chamber one by one. Even as his comrades entered, Jeckyll found himself scanning the room once more, looking for any potential threats to his team. Old habits die hard, the trooper said quietly to himself. Satisfied with the safety of the room, he shifted his weight to his other leg and prepared to take in the specifics of their mission ...

Sirian opened his eyes to see the azure, cloudless sky of Dac above him. The sound of the sea lapping against the floating piece of debris, upon which he lay, came to his ears. His felt the coolness of the water as his feet dipped into the sea with each passing wave. For many moments, he lay still in silence, savoring those simple pleasures, until finally a wisp of dark smoke rose into the sky above. He turned his head to one side to follow the source and immediately his temples throbbed from the movement. He attempted to sit up, but his body refused; his muscles and joints ached and his head swooned. He gritted his teeth and found the strength to roll onto his side, holding his breath as his back vigorously protested with a rolling, searing pain that ran up his spine. He exhaled, shuddering as the pain subsided having finally came once again to a resting position; but he was far from comfortable. Sirian wasn’t one for floating leisurely in a bacta tank, but at that moment he could think of no place he’d rather be. He followed the path of the smoke rising into the sky down to the sea and his heavy eyelids then went wide and his breath held in his lungs once again.

As far as the eye could see, fragments of the Remnants’ once proud capital ship could be seen, floating afire or quickly sinking into the depths. The main fuselage of the ship, or the tail end of it at least where the ship had broken into two, stuck out of the shallow water like a spire of twisted metal. Sirian could see rescue personnel boarding the open end of the ship and repelling down into its submerged sections, finding survivors Sirian sincerely hoped. He then spotted many, many skiffs and watercrafts combing the sea in the distance, looking for survivors as well; and while they did find some, they more often found the lifeless bodies of his comrades.

Why? Sirian found himself thinking once again. Why do I always survive, when they do not? It was a question he had asked himself on countless occasions. So many companions, and even what few family he had ever known, had been lost over the years of his life. He had always been the one in the forefront, ready to put his own life up to risk rather than those he cared about, but always he survived. Am I cursed? What do I have to do? He almost chuckled at the thought. While most others avoided life-threatening danger, he actively sought it out – even dared Death to take his life.

He pondered on the audacity of Fate letting him live once again through such devastation, his eyelids growing heavy once more and his body pleading for rest. The waves rolling under his makeshift raft made the battered Jedi long for sleep. As he was about to let himself roll onto his back once again, he heard the voices of others from afar. He spotted a skiff speeding his way; locals aboard it pointed in his direction and waved for his attention.

Sirian sighed as his back hit the raft. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or annoyed that help was on the way … once again.

***

“How many is that?†General Hun asked as he rose to his feet, waving away a quarren medic that was attempting to suture the bad gash across the general’s forehead. Hun stood upon one of the local’s larger skiffs, where many of the Remnants survivors were being dropped off by rescue teams searching the open seas around the crash site of Remnant1. Across the way, another large skiff was collecting the bodies of those less fortunate. To Hun’s dismay, their pile of Remnants was fast exceeding the one around him. He moved to help a group of quarren and mon calamari as another trio of survivors was brought in. He was relieved to find a familiar face among them.

“Padawan Dega!†He waved to the young nautolan to get his attention. The Jedi bowed as he came aboard and bowed before the general, wincing as he did so and clutching his injured abdomen. “What can you report about our people? My senior officers are unaccounted for," the general said.

“We’ve lost … I have no idea how many, sir, I’m sorry,†the padawan began. He looked out over the water. “They’re still coming in, but there are far more dead than survivors, I fear.†He looked back to the equally weary general and cleared his throat. “I’ve come to learn that we’ve also got a number of MIAs, confirmed before the crash. Their trace signals disappeared during the battle in orbit. Dac Intelligence has been instrumental in finding our survivors, sir; they’re working on tracing the MIAs as well.â€

The general furrowed his brow as he considered this unanticipated news. He looked up to the sky, to the visible graveyard of ships in orbit. Surely there were dead, and survivors as well perhaps, still in space above the planet, but MIAs confirmed before the crash were perplexing. Prisoners? Abductions?

The voice of someone suddenly called for the general’s attention. He turned and looked down to a diminutive, young quarren standing before him; and behind him, many other quarrens and mon calamari stood at attention as well.

“General Hun, I am Swee’la, of the Dac. Our people will not stop with our rescue efforts until every Remnant, dead or alive, has been reclaimed from both space and the sea. We cannot thank you enough for your people’s efforts here today. You have not only helped to unite us, but you have sacrificed your own ships and livelihood to save ours. You may ask anything of us. We are forever your humble friends.â€

“Thank you, your highness,†the general replied, managing a smile as he shook the young king’s three-fingered hand. “It’s our pleasure to assist.†The general then looked to those gathered around, to the Dac helping his crew, to the Remnants survivors and their dead, and to the wreckage of their fleet all around them. He then turned back to the king and, with a hint of smile, he added, “Mind if we stay awhile?â€

Those within earshot of the two figureheads chuckled, and were thankful for the much needed levity. Swee’la clasped hands with the general once again, his big eyes bright with gratitude. “It would be our pleasure, general.â€

THE END

(you may still make a final post if you like)

Moderator's Note:

Thank you to all whom participated in this Epic-Style RP. The story played out well and many more twists and turns than I had originally planned for, which made it all the more fun for myself and, I hope, all of you. I cannot express my thanks enough for your continued support with RoH's forum RP and hope to see you all out there in the RPs to come.

Sincerely,

Sirian

Pre-Conclusion

What was left of the capital ship of the Remnants shot down through the atmosphere of Dac, a flaming meteor of metal that lit up the sky as it plummeted down to the planet's watery surface. Inner explosions sent pieces of the vessel into the sky like fiery shrapnel, trailing across the sky as Remnant1 shot across the clear skies. Far below, the survivors of the surface war, battle-weary but victorious, watched with great lament as the proud ship fell to its doom. They took comfort however in noting the numerous escape pods that jettisoned from the ship as it passed far overhead; but still, they knew there were more than enough pods for the ship's crew, and yet far fewer pods could be seen than there were crewman. They could only hope that the others had gotten off in time ...

"Go, go, go!" Sirian shouted as he shoved a pair of troopers into an escape pod on Remnant1's port side midship deck. He nodded at them, Good Luck, and moved on as their pod hatch sealed and the tiny craft launched. It shot into Dac's atmosphere, mingling with dozens of others; some of them moving to the safety of higher orbit while others, captured by the planet's gravity field, fell to its watery surface. Sirian waded through a throng of troops as they frantically ran for their pods. Remnant1 was equipped for three times as many pods as it had crewman. It was a prudent precaution and one the Jedi was thankful for. Many of the pods had launched long before the collision of the two great ships, most of them with Imperial troops inside that made a hastey exit the second they learned of the incoming missle that was their own capital ship. By all accounts, most of the imperial boarding troops had made it off Remnant1, but not all.

"Please! We surrender! Take us with you!" Sirian heard a voice shouting. He turned amidst the fleeing troopers to see a group of Remannts fighting back a group of unarmed Imperials that had ran into their midst, looking to escape from the ship even if it meant capture. The Remnants shoved them back, refusing to give up precious pod space to enemy troops. The imperials would not relent as they attempted to wrestle their way through. Sirian sighed as the Remnants finally raised and fired their weapons, killing the defenseless imperials where they stood. Their bodies were lost in the crowd as the frantic swarm of fleeing troops resumed scrambling into what few pods remained. The true enemy in war is war itself, Sirian recalled his old master saying long ago. There could be no victory for either side in a battle such as this one. Casaulties of this scale trumped any positive outcome for either side. Soon the deck was cleared, with the last few Remnants in sight climbing into one of the last two pods. "Hurry up, soldier!" he shouted to an injured trooper struggling across the deck to the last pod. Sirian ran to his aid and half carried him aboard. With two other soldiers already strapped in, Sirian helped the injured trooper into his seat, took one last glance about the deck for any stragglers, and prepared to strap in himself.

"Wait! Please!"

Sirian turned about to see one last trooper standing a few feet away, clutching a broken arm and with a fearful expression upon his paled face. He looked to Sirian with pleading eyes, for he knew that the Jedi had no reason to help him - being an Imperial.

"Leave him!" Sirian heard a Remnant aboard the pod shout, looking past the Jedi to the Imperial. "There's only one seat left! He doesn't deserve it!" said another. Sirian scowled at the Imperial, thinking on all the destruction the Empire had wrought this day, of all the lives lost - Remnants lives - and of friends he had lost, or did not yet know he had lost. It was the Empire's way, and Sirian had always hated them for it.

"Would your people have saved one of us?" Siran sneered at the trembling imperial. The imperial's expression broke and he wept, his chin quivering and his eyes closing. His shoulders sagged as he dropped to his knees with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"No. No we wouldn't ..." the imperial replied.

He flinched then, his eyes going wide, as he found himself flying through the air towards Sirian's outstretched hand as the Jedi drew him close with the Force. Sirian shoved the imperial roughly into the pod and quickly strapped him in. Stepping back through the hatch, he looked down at the shocked man, who did not understand what had just transpired.

"Remember this!" Sirian growled at the man. The hatch sealed and a moment later the pod jettisoned, leaving Sirian aboard Remnant1. All the escape pods had launched.

***

Sirian was standing at the rail high above Remnant1's atrium, looking down over the lush greenery and flowers of the small park that many Remnants had frequented during their off-hours. He was pleased to see it unscathed by the battle aboard the ship, which had spanned nearly every deck of the ship. He had often come to the atrium over the years, seeking refuge from the terrors that often lived in his mind after many missions.He smiled, smelling the perfumed air and closing his eyes as he revelled in ...

Remnant1 slammed into Dac's watery surface, ripping decks apart and sending massive sections of the ship into the air and skipping across the waves. She plunged into the shallow sea like a spear and the warm waters flooded in, quickly filling any intact compartments and pulling what was left of the great ship down into the shallow sea until she rested upon the sandy bottom many meters below the waves.

***

Anlai slowly opened her eyes and found herself still floating safely in her bacta tank, which to her surprise was no longer in Remnant1's medical bay, but rather was sitting on the sandy bottom of the ocean. Colorful fish flittered amongst the coral formations that surrounded her tank. Looking past the fleeting fish, she could see pieces of wreckage laying upon the ocean floor and further in the distance more remains of Remnant1. Through the haze of her vision and the cloudy waters, Anlai then spotted a light overhead, descending toward her. In time, that light was directly upon her and she could see a group of divers searching the area around her. Two of them moved to another bacta tank that she had not previously noticed, and another diver moved to yet another tank, each of them intact. The last diver moved to Anlai's tank, standing before her. The face shield flipped up, revealing a familiar face ...

Brega smiled warmly as he pressed his open palm against the tank, his red eyes filled with genuine happiness as he looked upon his friend, floating safely within. Though she could not hear him, she could read his lips clearly.

"Hey"

***All RPers make your Final Post***

***There will be one final concluding post to end the RP after your own***

(Green Team)

"It's about time!" an officer said, scowling as he looked up to see a shuttle descending towards him and his men standing near the Imperial flotilla's landing pad. He shielded his face as another wave crashed against the walls of the facility, sending a splash of sea spray up onto the deck. An explosion sounded not far away, one of many that had rocked the facility in the past minutes. The Remnants and Dac army had broken through and now the two factions were entrenched in battle. The shuttle would bring them much needed supplies and perhaps reinforcements. The officer's men guarded the landing pad entrance as the officer ran ahead to meet the shuttle as it came down on its small legs, its side panel sliding opening and the ramp extending down to the platform.

"Thank the emperor you're here!" he began. "We're nearly overrun! What have you brou...?"

The officer's smile melted away as Master Aramis and Areldur stalked down the ramp, along with Night Squad and several others. Lightsabers ignited in their hands.

The officer sighed and his shoulders sagged with defeat. "This day just keeps getting better and better ..."

***

"We're winning the battle!" Swee'la exclaimed with excitement as he shot across the flotilla courtyard with his pistol, and then ducking behind cover next to Sergeant Cepha. The young quarren was beaming. His people had cast their differences aside after years of feuding and finally joined to repel the imperial invaders from their homes, and they were indeed winning. With the imperial fleet destroyed, the flotilla's supplies and reinforcements had been cut off. Now, the battle on the surface of Dac had come down to this single battle.

"Don't celebrate just yet, my young friend," the mon calamari sergeant advised, although he couldn't help but share in the young quarren's optimism. He knew the outcome of this battle was far from certain. The imperials were greatly outnumbered by the native Dac, climbing up out of the water and scaling the flotilla's walls on all sides; but their weapons and training were superior. Were it not for the Remnants troops are their side, Cepha had no doubt the Dac would've been easily defeated. He looked out over the courtyard to see a pair of Jedi running out of the facility to join the fray, one of the supported by the other. Unknown to them, a trio of imperial snipers was perched on the rooftops just above and they took aim as the two Jedi ran into view.

"No! Watch out!" Cepha cried out, charging out of cover to intercept the Jedi. He fired his blaster as he ran, attempting to distract the focused snipers.

"Down!" Padawan Dega warned, the nautolan grabbing Master Coran. He forced him to the deck and shielded the master with his own body, turning as he did so and igniting his lightsaber. He deflected two of the sniper's shots away just as they would've buried into the backs of both Jedi's; but the third shot was not for them.

Swee'la ran into the courtyard, his blaster falling absently from his grasp. Dega was back on his feet, standing protectively over Master Coran. He grasped the air before him with an outstretched hand, using the Force to pick the sniper up from his position and then, with a tossing gesture, threw the sniper away over the rooftop. He then turned and helped Ben to his feet as well.

Sergeant Cepha's bulbous eyes blinked repeatedly as the veteran clutched at his chest. He seemed not to be in pain when Swee'la finally reached him and kneeled at his side. "Are they safe?" the old mon calamari asked with concern. Dega and Ben then came into his view as they stood over him. "Good," Cepha said quietly with relief. "You have done so much for us."

Captain Adad of the quarren and Captain Eelo of the mon calamari, both of them having been present throughout the battle on Dac's surface, joined the group in the courtyard, along with many of their troops. The battle was won, the flotilla taken and the last of the imperial troops killed or taken prisoner. Cepha smiled as he saw the troops of both species looking down at him from all around. He looked to Swee'la then, the newly appointed King of Dac.

"Dac is ours again," he said, coughing. He patted the cheek of Swee'la. "Yours, my young friend."

Tears welled up in Swee'la's eyes. He clasped Cepha's hand in his own. "You have taught me so much, Sergeant. And you have been a hero for all of Dac's people."

Cepha wheezed and his bulbous eyes blinked slowly as his eyelids grew heavy. "I'm an old man, Swee'la. I'm not hero. But do grant an old man his last wish - make us whole. Make us one people and bring everlasting peace to our world."

The mon calamari and quarren gathered about the dying veteran looked to one another with appeasement, seeing each other as equals for perhaps the first time. Years of discrimination and hatred between them had been utterly forgotten on this day as they fought at each other's side for a common cause: the safety of their homes and loved ones. For the first time, they found themselves believing that such a peace between them was truly possible. And it was a wonderful possibility that they could make a reality after these life-changing events.

Swee'la smiled inwardly as he saw the peace and pride in those faces, that Cepha's words had rung true in their minds, and when he looked back to the sergeant, now passed, his heart was filled with not sorrow but hope. The army stood silently, looking down to the departed hero in reflection. The only sound being the lapping of waves against the ruins walls of the imperial flotilla.

"Master! Look!" Dega suddenly said, grabbing Ben's arm. He gestured up into the sky, where all the others looked as well and simulataneously gasped.

The two behemoth vessels, visible in orbit above Dac, collided, creating a great explosion that ripped Remnant 1 in half and obliterated the imperial dreadnaught. The gathered Remnants and Dac were speechless as they watched the forward half of Remnant 1 break apart and fall into the atmosphere like a flaming meteor, heading for the watery surface of the planet.

(REMNANT1 Team)

The young Remnant trooper could barely make out the general’s words as he looked up at the war veteran from the floor. The trooper’s breathing was erratic and he could scarcely focus on anything except for the seemingly excessive amount of blood spurting from a wound just beneath his armpit. He could feel the warmth seeping out of his body and trickling down his side under his armor.

“Am … am … am I … gonna … am I gonna …â€

“You’re going to be fine, son!†the general reassured him.

The young trooper blinked repeatedly, trying to remember his training for keeping oneself conscious. Name the systems in the Inner Rim … Agash, Ambria, Aphran, Ari … Arid… He turned his head as a mouthful of blood welled up in his throat. He let it drain out of him and onto the deck, and then watched as many booted feet splashed through it, running by him to continue the battle just meters away in engineering. The trooper turned his eyes back skyward and looked at each of the many familiar faces charging past, none of them paying him any mind. Silently he screamed at them. Look at me! They didn’t. The general was nearby, he could hear; but he could not see him, nor the person to whom he was speaking.

A deep, resonating voice was shouting over the deafening sound of blaster fire.. “Engines are offline! Repair teams can’t get to them – boarders have the compartment secured! Life support is failing! And they have taken decks 5 through 13! What news of the imperial dreadnaught?!â€

The young trooper flinched, thinking another grenade blast had found him, as he felt the thud of the general’s boot kick the panel near him. “I just got word from the bridge – the Ragnarok's on a collision course!â€

“Are they mad?!†the other replied in disbelief. For a moment, only the sound of battle could be hear between them as they both went silent with consideration.

The young trooper strained to see the general, lifting his head from the deck to spot him a few feet away. He was standing with Jedi Master Vaat, the trooper could now see.

The general’s next words were hushed as he wanted those crewman nearby not to hear. “We’re losing her…â€

Master Vaat’s already stern expression hardened and his eyes looked to the floor as the gravity of the general’s words came to bear. He looked up then, and he nodded knowingly.

The general clasped the big man on the shoulder then. “You know what to do, Sirian.†The Jedi nodded again. “May the Force be with you.â€

“And with you, sir.â€

The trooper’s head fell back to the floor then. Barely able to keep his eyes open, let alone keep his head up, he began to drift into unconsciousness, or death. He couldn't be sure. But just as he began to take solace in the idea of either outcome ...

“Private!†The voice of Sirian exploded in the young trooper’s face as he felt strong hands lifting him from the deck. His eyes went wide and his heart leapt out of his chest. After a moment to recover his senses, and feeling quite alive in that moment thanks to the sudden jolt, courtesy of the Jedi, the trooper looked to Sirian with both shock and appreciation. “You can die when I say you can! Now, on your feet!" the Jedi barked at him, lifting him up to his feet and all but tossing him into the arms of two medics. They immediately began tending to his wound as they rushed out of engineering along with the others.

Sirian’s voice boomed behind them as he shouted into his comlink. “All teams, fall back! Get to the pods!â€

(ALL TEAMS)

A debilitating charge of electricity surged through the wrist bonds of Per-ja, Thraxen and Aidus as they woke and strugged atop their restraining tables aboard the mysterious ship. Their bodies writhed in agony for many seconds until finally the shock ceased. Wisps of smoke rose from their bodies and they were exhausted and pain-stricken.

“I would suggest that you remain calm,†someone said. The lights overhead activated, illuminating the three Remnants – and several other unknown captives – and the large cargo hold in which they were all held. At first glance, the others appeared to be Sith or Imperial; but there was something about them that made the Remnants think otherwise. The restraining tables then jolted and began to incline in place, giving the captives a clear look of each other and the ship’s hold. Their captor stood before them: a human male dressed in an odd mixture of both Jedi and Sith clothing and armor. His skin was almost as pale as his stark white hair, which he wore long about his angular face. Piercing blue eyes looked each of the captives over as the man smiled pleasantly and walked among the now-upright captives.

“Force tricks do not work on them,†he began, motioning to their wrist bonds. “In case you were wondering. So please, don’t waste your energy.â€

“You’ll be needing it for the trials ahead,†a second voice said from behind them, although it sounded indistinguishable from the first. The owner of the voice came around into view to stand before Aidus. Unlike the first, this one had jet-black hair and somewhat darker skin, almost grey; but the same blue eyes inspected Aidus intently. “An interesting lot, you are,†he said, turning Aidus’ head from side to side. Satisfied, he patted him on the shoulder and moved to stand next to his friend. It was then that the captives could see they were clearly more than constituents – they were twins.

“Fate, it seems, has other plans for you at this time,†the stark one said as he stood before one of the others, a male zabrak with a furious expression. He spat at the man with defiance. Much to the zabrak’s annoyance, the stark one did not retaliate. He merely smiled, shaking his head with amusement, and dabbed the spot of saliva upon his shoulder with the cuff of his tunic. He patted the zabrak’s cheek.

“No need to be uncivil, my young friend,†he said, although not with condescension. His tone was akin to that of a teacher instructing a pupil.

The two then came to stand before Per-ja and, together, they looked at him closely. The dark one sighed with resignation. “You’re concerned about your friends,†he said, almost absently. The stark one nodded. Despite their calm demeanor, Per-ja could sense a power between them that was not like any other he had encountered in all his journeys. The mental acuity of both men dismissed any thought Per-ja could have regarding the use of Force abilities. The stark one then bade the other to depart. The two then left the hold, but not before one of them paused at a control panel. He glanced out the viewport, drawing the attention of the captives. The bulk of the imperial dreadnaught, the Ragnarok, was passing by as the sleek Phantom ship left the battle. Their stark one looked over his shoulder to the captives. “Don’t worry, the Force awaits them.†He activated a series of commands, and then left the hold.

To their amazement, a series of massive explosions suddenly erupted from the Ragnarok as the their soared beneath its bulk. A chain reaction of internal, catastrophic damage began ripping the giant vessel’s sections apart. The sith and imperial captives looked on with outrage and awe as they watched their capital ship’s hyperdrive engines implode, sending the ship careening forward on a collision course with the already heavily damaged Remnant1.

The defiant young sith looked on with both anger and admiration. “Both ship’s will be destroyed. Brilliant…â€

A thousand pieces of ship wreckage floated in space above the planet of Dac, colliding without sound and carried off by what little momentum they had retained from whence they were together whole. Bodies of both imperials and remnants alike floated amongst the debris and behemoth ships. Their expressions, frozen in time, captured their last emotions: peace, disbelief, horror. The sun was rising behind Dac, casting countless shadows across the battlefield and revealing more ruined vessels and bodies in the darkness of space than one could imagine. It was a graveyard of war, profoundly awe-inspiring and terrible to behold; the scale of which none who were not present would ever be able to fathom.

Small, Remnants medvac pods moved silently amongst the ruins. No larger than a starfighter, the bubble-shaped vessels combed the wreckages with search lights, seeking survivors, but finding very few. Reports had come in: more than twenty-two hundred lost souls among the Remnants' fleet's thirty-three hundred. It was an inconceivably great loss, and the battle was not yet over. In the distance, Remnant1 and the imperial dreadnaught battled on in what would be the last breath of this great battle.

Somewhere in this vast graveyard, far from the planet and the few living still entrenched in battle, a set of eyes looked upon the spacescape above Dac, watching the remains of the great ships collide and break apart, the pieces of wreckage floating by, and the beautiful sight of the system's rising sun. Soon it would cast its warming light across the planet and her pristine, azure-blue waters would be as magnificent to behold as any sight in all the galaxy. Those eyes blinked slowly as they resisted the body's need to close them, once and for all. The lids closed upon them, as heavy as permacrete; but the eyes fought them open once again. They refused to let go, for the sake of holding on to life itself or simply to cherish every moment of the progressing sunrise before them. Either reason was sufficient motivation, but the latter even more so. So beautiful, a voice murmured. Was it his own? The sound of a laboured breath, fog on a transparisteel plate before those eyes with each exhale.

For a brief moment, Brega was aware of himself once again as his body hung in space. He vaguely recalled how he had came to be in such a state, having ejected himself and the trandoshans from the Hammer to save his comrades - his friend. The UVA mask he had affixed to his head had kept the vacuum of space from sucking the life from his body, and he had called upon the Force to protect his exposed body; but both devices were beginning to fail him. As the air supply within the mask waned, so did his consciousness and thus his ability to shield his physical form. He could feel the pressure of space fighting against him, wanting to crush him; and he could feel the Force wanting to give him to it, wanting to take his spirit in. But it would not leave him. It appeased his request to linger and he smiled, thanking it for allowing him to at least see this one last sight.

The sun reached its pinnacle then and Brega's tiresome eyes went wide with awe. Dac's beauty multiplied ten fold as the sun illuminated its waters in the most breathtaking display of blues, purples and greens. He watched the snowy white clouds drifting across unmarred skies. A tear streamed down Brega's cheek as he finally gave in, satisfied with departing this life having seen such an incomparably beautiful sight. He let his eyes close and bade the Force take him into its warm embrace.

So beautiful ...

A bright light shone upon him and as he began to depart this life, he faintly heard a voice. "Found another one! Let's get him aboard. Hey! Wake u-..."

(GOLD & RED TEAM - Final Stage. Read from here forward to catch up)

Remnant 1 was utter chaos when the survivors of Red and Gold team arrived in the main hangar bay. Their shuttles landed indelicately and the medvac teams quickly ushered their passengers out of the ships and onto the hangar deck, where emergency medics waited with stretchers and medical droids, ready to receive the wounded. Within minutes, the medvac shuttles lifted off once again and soared out of the hangar, setting out to recover other stranded or injured Remnants throughout the great battle over Dac. Looking all around, the Remnants watched troopers forming up and charging off in various directions, charging down corridors and into the bulk of Remnant 1 to repel imperial boarders that had somehow gotten aboard.

“Her injuries are severe,†a medical droid commented as it looked over Larial, laying upon a stretcher. “I calculate a 47.9% chance of ….â€

Crisp shoved the droid aside, giving it a glare, and then turned the chief medic about to face her. “Fill us in, what’s going on?!â€

The medical chief gestured to his staff to go ahead as he turned to address the newcomers. Tank stood with his arms folded across his barrel chest, watching as the staff carried away Larial, Anlai, and Maitrayen upon stretchers, no doubt to put them in bacta tanks in the ship’s medical bay. Tank then looked to Colt, who was also suffering from injuries. While he was able to stand, it was apparent he was in quite a good deal of pain.

“Command reports both fleets are destroyed, save for Remnant 1 and their flagship, The Ragnarok,†the medical chief began. “We’ve lost over 1800 crew fleet-wide that we know of, many more are MIA, and there are even more losses down on the planet’s surface. Medvac shuttles keep bringing them in.†He gestured to the hangar around them. “We’ve temporarily turned the hangars into an emergency medical bay, but it’s not enough. Our losses are too great.â€

Tank watched as several shuttles entered the hangar and troops disembarked. “Those men are from our air and troops carrier,†he said with a perplexed expression. “Is the imperial boarding party that large?â€

"Yes, and no," the medical chief replied. “The imperial boarders are causing a lot of damage internally to the ship, so we must stop them quickly before they can disable us." The chief then hesitated to reveal the next bit of information, but could see the group gathered was looking for answers. Reluctantly he continued.

“We’re pulling out. Remnant1 has been ordered to retreat. We’ve sustained heavy damage. Our troops are winning the war on the planet’s surface, and the dreadnaught does not have the troops to reinforce their claim below, so the imperials are essentially beaten; but there’s still a prize they’d love to take home with them – Remnant1. Command cannot allow her to be captured. She’s too valuable. But without the fleet, we’re outgunned. It's only a matter of time before Admiral Gregarin and The Ragnarok break through our shields. After that, we'll be dead in the water within minutes and they'll take her. Repair teams are attempting to fix the hyperdrive as we speak. When we’re able to, we jump.â€

Tank’s big arms fell to his sides and his eyes went wide. “What about our troops out there? There are hundreds of men and woman stranded on those derelict cruisers, and there could even be fighter pilots who …â€

“We’re bringing them in as fast as we can, Sergeant,†the medical chief interrupted. “The rest … we can only hope that they’re still alive by the time the Republic gets here.â€

“The Republic?†Crisp questioned. “They’re coming?â€

“They’ll be here soon to blockade the planet in our absence,†the medical chief replied.

Tank’s expression darkened as he considered the number of Remnants that would likely be left behind. The thought sickened him, churning his stomach; but his sense of duty pushed his nausea aside. “What can we do?â€

Relieved to hear the trooper’s sensibility prevailed, the medical chief smiled for just a moment. “Boarders have seized decks 5 through 7 and are pushing towards engineering level. They’ll attempt to override our security systems to shut down Rem1’s shields if they get there. If they succeed, game over. Admiral Gregarin will eliminate everyone left onboard and tow Remnant1 to the nearest imperial starbase. Our repair teams are working on our hyper-drive engines, but they won’t be ready in time at the rate the imperials are coming, so you need to buy them some time. General Hun and Master Vaat are leading our forces through the ship to meet the boarders head on. Link up with them and we may have a chance.â€

(GOLD TEAM)

"Jester!" Tank roared as he wrestled with a trandoshan that had pinned him to the deck. Struggling to look over the creature's massive, scaled shoulder, Tank growled in defiance as he watched a pair of the things rushing back to their ship through one of the Hammer's airlocks - with several unconscious crewman, including Jester, carried between them. Tank gritted his teeth as he summoned his strength, the big trooper placing his hands between himself and his attacker and pushing him up. The trandoshan snarled, its forked tongue flicking in the air and drool trickling out of its maw as it tried to claw at trooper's chest and face. Tank fought to keep the thing's talons away, until finally it ceased its assault. Tank, with his head turned away to avoid the thing's snapping teeth, wore a confused expression as the trandoshan fell limpy to one side. It was then that he noticed the molten hole in the creature's forehead, the mark of a well placed blaster shot.

"Stop them!" Crisp shouted from down the corridor, the tan-skinned zabrak rushing to help Tank back to his feet. "You hurt?" she asked, lifting his torn chest coverings aside to inspect his torso. The trandoshan's talons had scratched his chestplate, but the armor had held thankfully. Tank winced however as Crisp lifted one of his arms across her shoulder. Further inspection revealed serious lacerations across his ribs on either side, forcing him to slouch as the much smaller female helped the big man into a nearby room and lowered him to the floor. Tank was saddened to see the beaten, unconscious Maitrayen sitting much like himself to one side.

***

With their exit cut off, the handful of trandoshans near the hold of the ship suddenly ceased to push forward towards the main decks of the ship. Instead they drew back and fired from the safety of cover upon the blue-skinned young Jedi. Padawan Brega stepped forward one foot at a time in the corridor, whirling his lightsaber before him to deflect shots back at his opponents. He made little ground with his advance, but with each step back they took the safer Anlai and his comrades would be. With their backs to the cargo hold's loading doors, they weren't going anywhere.

"There's another one!" a voice croaked from down the corridor behind him. Brega dared a quick glance over his shoulder, and then spun about entirely and ran swiftly back to the chamber where he had left his friend. A trio of trandoshans were there, seizing the moment to clamor through the fractured doorway and into the room.

"Anlai!" Brega cried out, knowing he wouldn't reach the room in time. A blaster bolt from his enemies in the hold caught his shoulder as he ran. He lost his footing and tumbled sidelong into the corridor wall, but was up and running without hitting the floor. "Wake up!" Another shot caught his calf, sending a surge of pain through his leg. He resisted the urge to grab his wound, again pressing forward. As he reached the chamber, a trandoshan lept out from within, jabbing out at him with the hilt of its weapon. Surprised and on poor footing, Brega grunted as the hilt struck him in the side, flattening him to the deck. He groaned as the trandoshan leered down at him, but his eyes went wide then as the thing turned and reaching through the crumbled door frame and retrieved the unconscious body of Anlai. Blood trickled from her nose and from a fresh gash across her forehead. Brega winced audibly as he attempted to lift himself, but his body wouldn't oblige. He turned onto his side and did a push-up, going to his knees as the other trandoshans exited the chamber and together the trio ran off down the corridor with their prize.

"Stop! No!" Brega ran after them, holding a hand to his broken ribs and favoring his left leg as he pursued the trandoshans, who were quickly disappearing from his view. As he reached the end of the corridor, Brega could barely stay on his feet; but just ahead he could see and hear the trandoshans arguing in the cargo hold, no doubt questioning their method of escape. Brega inched into view, spotting the six creatures and Anlai, slung over the shoulder of one. Brega's eyelids were heavy. He was losing the strength to stand, but Anlai's life depended upon his actions; and so many other lives, of their fellow remnants, were out there still because of her actions. He could not let her be taken.

"Detach from the aft airlock and make a breach seal with the cargo hold!" he heard one of the trandoshans say into its communicator. Brega could hear the roar of the hunters' ship's engines outside as it followed the instructions.

Brega closed his eyes then, knowing what he must do, and what many Jedi could do in such great time of need and in such grave physical condition as his. He slowed his breathing and delved into the Force, summoning its energy from all around him and soaking it into his body, into his muscles and joints, until his strength and vigor returned. He breathed deeply, feeling his fortitude return, and then opened his eyes. Stepping into view, the young chiss clipped his lightsaber onto his belt and cleared his throat for the intruders to hear. They turned all at once. "That doesn't belong to you," he said, his tone like still water. He thrust his open hands forward suddenly and grasped the air before him. The hunter holding Anlai stumbled and lost its footing as Anlai suddenly flew from its shoulder, carried through the air by the Force until she came into Brega's arms.

"Kill him!" the leader shouted. His hunters charged, swinging their blades in the air before them.

Brega quickly lowered Anlai to the deck, and then ignited his lightsaber and lept straight at the first pair of hunters with his weapon leading the way. His blade impaled the creature through the midsection as Brega drove it back. With his free hand, the padawan Force Pushed the second hunter hard into the hold's wall. It slumped to the ground, unconscious. The leader's battle cry was a squawking, reptiliian sound that made the padawan's neckhair stand on end. Brega pulled his blade free of the dead trandoshan and whirled about to meet his next opponent. Another body hit the floor, followed by a fourth. He spun about again to meet the last of the hunters, just as the largest of the creatures - the leader - pounced upon him. The bulk of the trandoshan was unavoidable as Brega attempted to duck. He was pinned beneath its girth and struggled to free himself, but the strength of the trandoshan was great and Brega's own was once again beginning to leave him. The leader rose to its feet with its arms wrapped around Brega's waist, crushing him and squeezing the air from his lungs.

"First you, and then your little friend!" the leader hissed in his ear.

Brega watched as Anlai stirred in her unconsciousness, laying upon the floor at the far end of the hold. Anlai, get away from here, please. The trandoshan suddenly threw him up, slamming him into the ship's hull. He fell back to the floor, along with crumpled panels and items from a storage compartment overhead. As clawed hands grasped his shoulders, he took particular notice of one unique item upon the deck that had fallen: an emergency ventillator mask for UVAs.

Brega didn't like the idea even before he decided to act upon it; but he could not best the leader's strength and ferocity, and those trandoshans that had survived in the cargo hold were beginning to wake as well. I have no choice. I must.

Grabbing at the mask, Brega quickly affixed it to his head and turned to face the leader. He smashed an elbow into the thing's open maw, shattering several teeth, and then struck it solidly in the stomach with another. His strength had long left him, so the blows did little to hurt the large trandoshan; but damage was not Brega's intent. He needed it to be on poor footing. As the leader stumbled backward, Brega turned and extended a hand out to the hold's control panel on the far wall. Using the Force, he activated the hold's internal shield barrier. A wall of permeable light cut the hold in half, with the trandoshans and himself on one side and Anlai on the other.

She woke just then, the activation of the shield barrier jolting her senses. She opened her eyes to see Brega looking to her from the other side. The leader, struggling to keep its footing after the padawan's strike, was reaching for him with ravenous claws. In her mind, Anlai then heard the still-water voice of her friend ...

To keep you safe.

He gestured again to the control panel. The manual release lever slammed down and the cargo hold's doors opened. The shrieks of the trandoshans echoed through the hold for only a moment before the void of space silenced them. They were instantly sucked into space, their reptillian faces frozen in horrific expressions as their life was literally sucked from their bodies. With his hands holding his UVA mask tightly to his face, Brega, too, went tumbling head over feet into space. The brilliant light of the system's sun rose from behind the sparking-blue planet of Dac beyond, revealing the shadows of countless destroyed fighters and the broken ruins of once great destroyers in orbit. Anlai could only watch as Brega's form went beyond her sight, disappearing into the field of wreckage.

As she slumped down once more with exhaustion, Tank and Crisp came to her side. They lifted her together and, after looking out of the now closing cargo hold doors with awe, they carried her away. She drifted in and out of consciousness, even as medical evac teams retrieved the crew from the Hammer and transported them to Remnant 1, where Anlai promptly found herself being carried upon a stretcher to the captial ship's medical bay. All the while though, she could sense an unmistakable presence in her mind.

He was still alive...