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| - The thick, gray dust kicked up by the relatively minor explosion that had breached the ceiling took its time in clearing. Not that it bothered either Silas or Laera, armored as they were, and certainly not HK-47. “Now what?” the Bothan asked as he gazed up through the vaguely round hole. “How do we—whoa!” His query was cut short as he was slowly levitated through the ceiling and set gently upon the floor above. “Care to give a guy a warning next time you do that?” “Sorry,” Laera replied, grinning beneath her helmet. “HK-47, your turn.” “Resignation: As you desire, Master. Oh, how I hate this part.” “Keep a look out, I'm coming up,” she advised as the assassin droid clanked to the ground and noisily prepared his blaster carbine. Lining herself up beneath the hole, she opened herself to the Force and deftly leaped through it to land catlike on the thickly-dusted permacrete that had, for many thousands of years, been the floor of the power generator room. Flicking on her helmet lamp, she glanced about the many shelves of rusted-out components that filled the room, looking for the primary fusion reactor that would have been installed here. “I can't imagine it's still in running condition after so long,” Silas commented. “But then what I know about power cores could be wedged into my—” “That makes two of us,” Laera said dryly. “It should be...” Her voice trailed off ominously as she poked her head through the last shelf, which had been stripped bare only recently. “Silas, do you know how easy it would be to carry one out of a base like this?” The Bothan, who had been guarding the door, turned to look in her direction. “Next to impossible, not without breaking it down entirely and schlepping it out piece by piece. Not exactly safe, but the scrap value would definitely be worth the risk—provided you didn't blow yourself up.” “That's what I thought,” Laera replied, her skin puckering beneath her body glove. “Our friends seem to have managed that feat.” “Then how...” His voice trailed off as well as he caught sight of the large, metallic ovoid shape that had been installed where the fusion reactor should have been. “Is that what I think it is?” Laera nodded grimly. “Yep, it's a WTF bomb.” “Where would they have gotten one, though? Revan made quite a show out of destroying the Mandos' weapons of war...” “Does it matter how they got it?” “No, I suppose it doesn't...” Wesk Trill Forn was Republic shorthand for the Mandalorian name given to the device, which was a highly-enriched form of the nuclear weapons that the Neo-Crusaders had employed at Serreco in a rather dramatic display of force and intent. The three letters also stood for the reaction given by Admiral Saul Karath, onetime hero of the Republic, when he had witnessed their first use: “What the fierfek?!” As if that wasn't enough, they could hear a soft, steady beeping emanating from a small control panel on the bomb's upper side. “Observation: Master, my life-form detectors are not showing any sign of activity within a two hundred meter radius. Conjecture: It does appear as though the pirate meatbags we are after are planning to leave, possibly demolishing the base as they evacuated the system.” Silas glanced from the droid to the bomb, then to Laera. “I hate to admit it, but I think he's got a point.” “I guess that, by destroying their fleet at the Point, we must have spooked them,” Laera mused, a calmness snaking into her voice and mind as she glanced at the readout on the device. She retrieved the surface-to-space comlink from her utility belt and attempted to raise the Challenger. “Laera to Asyr, come in...Laera to Ooryl, are you there? Ari?” Static greeted her query. “Didn't think so,” she mumbled as she replaced it, removed her helmet, then knelt before the bomb. “Fortunately, they were generous with the timer.” Silas removed his own bucket and held it under his arm, the fur on his face and neck raised almost vertically, his aura bristling with worry and consternation. “Don't tell me you can actually defuse this thing?!” Laera favored him with a grin. “I graduated near the top of my class in Tier 1 demolitions training, love. If there's one piece of high technology that I can work with, it's explosives.” “Commentary: One would hope that the Master is more adept at such a task than myself. Though I am skilled in the use of mines and grenades, thermonuclear devices are well beyond my ken.” “I didn't say this would be easy,” Laera corrected the droid. “But we have no other option, these damn things are as close to planet-busters as you can get without being startlingly obvious about it. Here, lend me your tools...no, not those, your slicing tools...” As Silas sloughed his pack and dug out the appropriate gear, he thanked whatever spark of foresight that had caused him to think to bring them along. As the woman he loved withdrew a micro fusioncutter and set to work, the timer rolled over with an audible clunk. They had thirty minutes to disable the bomb or die a rather ignoble death along with whoever else had been unfortunate enough to be left behind. — — — The Challenger popped out of hyperspace in orbit of Antic Alshir, the first planet in the system, and immediately angled in toward the largest of the close-orbiting gas giant's three dozen plus moons. “Running a sensor sweep,” Asyr said into the intercom as she parked the freighter in orbit over its back side, Ooryl and Ari still waiting in their turrets. “No hostiles to report, shutting down engines and initiating repairs.” “Ooryl will see if there's anything he can do to help,” the Gand replied, then clicked off his headset. Though they had successfully evaded the gaggle of raiders, a pair of them had each lobbed a proton torpedo, their combined firepower knocking out the aft and ventral shields. Follow-up laserfire had bit into the hull, cutting power to several systems. The ship could still jump, but its acceleration had been cut in half and its maneuverability by a third. As the two old friends met in the main hold and began scrounging for tools, Ari momentarily joined them. “The top turret seems to have the best angle for the moment,” she explained. “I will keep watch while you restore our systems.” “Sounds like a good idea,” Asyr replied, not looking up as she began teasing a panel loose from its mountings. When the Sa'ari had moved on, she shook her head ruefully. “Hopefully CEC's core design philosophy hasn't changed that much in the last four thousand years...” “I know what you mean,” Ooryl said into her thoughts. “Here—watch out for that capacitor.” A half-hour later, the two managed to get the freighter's systems patched up to ninety percent of nominal efficiency. The one complication was that their shields were still vulnerable, with the Gand having had to splice a few lines in order to drain enough energy from the front and upper barriers to cover their belly and behind. It was just in time, too, as the proximity alert began to beep urgently. “Fighters, fighters!” Asyr barked as she skidded into the cockpit and began reinitializing the controls, not bothering to strap in. “Their Die-wings found us, and in our current state even they could take us out!” “On it,” Ari's voice came back. “Roll right and climb, they're attacking our blindside!” The ship juked violently as the wave of cobbled-together snubfighters streaked in, firing as they bore. Their marksmanship was less than stellar, however, which was the only reason they survived the initial assault. The Sa'ari gunner was up to the challenge, however, tagging the hindmost pair as they banked away. “Looks like they brought friends,” she remarked as the incandescent clouds of destruction faded. “Crimson Allahu is coming up on our other side!” “Booster would've loved to see this,” Asyr muttered to herself as she flipped a switch. “Heading back to Bad Alshir...” — — — “Any time you care to, love,” Silas said, his teeth beginning to chatter with nerves as the counter ticked over into its final minute. Laera was up to her armpits in the device, having spent the last twenty-nine minutes peering through its guts. Poking this circuit, cutting that wire, she had moved carefully through the bomb's delicate inner workings. It had been decades since she had last diffused anything this complex, but she was not without precedent; Tier 1 graduates were required to be able to dismantle the most complex explosive ordnance then available. That meant proton bombs, timed thermal detonators, high-yield improvised explosive devices from a hundred different cultures and, yes, nuclear weapons. Theory was irrelevant when it came to actually dismantling one, all that mattered was a knowledge of simple physics, steady hands, and the gumption to cut what needed to be cut. “Almost there,” she muttered, reaching in once more with a set of cauterizing wire-snips. “Gotcha!” “Uh, Laera,” Silas muttered in reply, his voice and aura spiking even higher with fear, “it's still ticking...” She put the tool aside, wiped sweat from her brow, then stood up to regard the indicator panel. “There's nothing more I can do, Silas.” The timer ticked again; fifteen seconds left. “I want you to know, Laera,” Silas began, his voice throaty as he enclosed Laera's hand in his, “that I love you, and it's been an honor—” The timer clunked to zero. A wooshing, sputtering noise heralded a gout of white dust and gas as it gushed up from the bowels of the still-open bomb case, momentarily bathing the room in a noxious-smelling miasma that coated everything in a fine white powder. The two began coughing heavily as they scrambled for their helmets and sealed them in what was perhaps record time, the filtration devices within cutting out whatever it was that swirled about them. Able to breathe relatively clean air, their hacking fits soon died off. “What the karking hell was that?!” Silas growled indignantly. “The detonator charges,” Laera stammered, her own nerves sparking like mad as the adrenaline rush of having accomplished her task kicked in. “Nukes literally have to be blown up before they can blow up, if that makes any sense.” “So...what did you do?” “I disconnected the detonators from the core.” The two of them stared at each other through their helmets. Then, as the gas dissipated, they removed them once more. Silas's violet eyes sparkled with relief and affection, as did Laera's sapphire irises, and soon the two were in each others' arms, raining kisses upon their cheeks and lips as they danced a sort of awkward two-step. The moment, however, didn't last for long. “Warning: Master, I am picking up life-form signatures approximately six hundred meters away, linear distance. Shall I prepare for the initiation of assassination protocols?” Breathing hard, the pair broke apart and scrambled for their weapons. Laera, still fueled by nerves, extended her awareness outward, catching a jittery impression of a couple dozen armed beings pouring into the base from a hole in the perimeter that had been carved in eons past. “I...I'm not sure,” she said hesitantly, then fell back on an old Jedi technique designed to still her mind and focus her senses more clearly. “No, I...I don't think they're after us.” “Whoever they are, it's probably not a good idea to let them catch us down here,” Silas advised. “Got a meeting place in mind?” “You're right,” Laera nodded. “This base took a pounding during the siege, and they've probably caved in a loose wall. We should meet them at the inner landing field; the one the pirates erected beyond the wire is far too open.” Shouldering their packs and weapons, the trio walked the ghostly halls of the old outpost, which had only been given a token refreshment when the pirates had moved in. Memories of the base in happier times flashed before Laera's mind as she led the way, indulging in their ordinariness as they walked. They took a freight lift, which looked to be recently-installed, up to the main level, eventually making their way to the gates separating the base itself from the old starfighter landing area. The portcullis was also relatively new, and swiftly succumbed to Silas's slicing. It rose into the stout permacrete wall, bathing them in the orange glow of an Alshiri noon. “Hey, you there!” shouted a loud and uncouth voice from somewhere beyond the landing field. “We've got twenty blaster rifles pointed right at your chests! Arms where we can see them, and no sudden moves!” Taking it slow after a nod from Laera, the two of them and HK-47 placed their blasters on the ground and raised their arms in a universal gesture of surrender. The voice, however, wasn't done with them. “Now, kick your weapons away and start taking off your helmets and chestplates. Nice and slow, if you want to live—you too, droid!” As they made to comply, Laera kept her cool, picking out their possible antagonists within the Force and locking in on their intent. They weren't pirates, that much was clear; each and every one of them were in fact secretly terrified of having to enter the base and confirm that the raiders had indeed left. They weren't stupid, either; most of them were keeping their distance, shrouding themselves in the sun's rays by standing with their backs to the outer retaining wall. As she slowly and deliberately placed her armor's breastplate onto the dusty ground and returned to a standing position, Laera watched as six of them disengaged from the whole and strode cautiously toward them. “Might not want to get much closer,” she advised as they came to within ten meters, carbines at the ready. “My droid is awfully protective of me.” “And if it makes a move, it'll be awfully useless to you,” said the same voice as before. Belonging to a middle-aged Zabrak male whose horns had been deliberately mutilated, it appeared to speak for the group. “We saw their ships leave, but we ain't takin' any chances.” “If you're referring to the pirates, we're not with them,” Silas advised. Several of the impromptu soldiers emitted hollow peals of mocking laughter. “Just how stupid do you think we are?” a Gotal grunted grumpily. “You come out of their base, looking for all the stars like you own the place. What the stang are we supposed to think?” The Zabrak with the dashed horns seemed to consider them for a moment longer. “Best not to take chances, then,” he said, raising his carbine and taking aim. As his forefinger met the trigger stud, Laera acted. The Force pulsed outward from her upthrust hand, sending everyone within the landing zone off their feet, including Silas and HK-47. As more than two dozen bodies tumbled to the ground, she plucked the weapons from the nearest six and sent all but the leader's carbine flying high into the air, catching the sole exception in her outstretched arms. “I told you it wouldn't be a good idea to get any closer.” “How the...?” the mob leader stammered as he scrambled away from her on all fours. Laera made a show of examining the weapon in her hands. “What the kriff kind of blasters are they making these days?” she retorted scornfully. “Tell me, what's this one called?” “That's...that's an E-11, made by BlasTech,” the Gotal answered haltingly as he attempted to stand on unsteady legs, his head wobbling woozily. “The Empire issued them to all their stormtroopers...” Turning the carbine over in her hands as Silas and HK-47 also stood up, weapons now pointing at the mob, Laera gave it another once-over. Without warning she slammed the weapon over her armored thigh, cracking it in two as it emitted a loud report, then lazily tossing the pieces aside. “Shows how powerful this so-called Empire was, doesn't it?” she asked the Zabrak, the poisonous honey of disdain heavy in her voice. “Would you care to listen to us now?” “I...um...well...” “We'll take that as a 'yes,'” Silas intoned. “We really don't want to hurt you if we don't have to.” “Indignant: Master, when I agreed to accompany you to the surface, you promised that I would be able to exercise my assassination protocols! Now look what you've done! Commentary: Stupid Jedi and their pacifism...” “You didn't agree, you were ordered,” Laera shot back. “Besides, the pirates are all gone, you said it yourself.” A Rodian came forward from the group that had lined the outer wall, her arms empty, her step somewhat uncertain from the unanticipated acquaintance she had recently made with the ground. “Please, don't hurt us,” she pleaded, her voice skittish but determined. “We're just simple colonists, traders, mechanics, not soldiers. This used to be a halfway decent place to live, until the Jiphad came...” “The Jiphad?” Silas asked, lowering his rifle slightly but eying their audience warily. “Is that what they called themselves?” “Yes, that was it,” the Zabrak added from where he sat in the dirt. “Two years ago they came out of nowhere, descending like carrion birds and claiming this world and all on it as their property. As overseer of this shadowport, I had considered it my duty to look after our people, to make sure that though we couldn't overtly fight them, we could at least keep them from completely dominating our lives.” He gestured to his mangled horns. “You can see how well that went over.” “They tried to convert us to their way,” added another of the six, a Jenet whose face was heavily scarred from having had acid splashed on his skin. “They had some sort of religious crusade thing going, they wanted to use Bad Alshir as a staging area for building up an army. They boasted about taking Taris and killing 'the infidels' there, if that was even possible...” Laera's expression softened slightly as she called upon the Force once again, testing its ethereal waters to feel out whatever truth there might have been to this story. This place was indeed thick with a heady zeal, a residual effect that could only have been generated by a fervency that fueled itself on violence and the desire to subjugate. It was a sensation she had felt before, upon having liberated outposts, bases, and cities once held by the Sith. “We should talk more about this under less stressful circumstances,” she said at last, extending a hand to heft the former port master to his feet. “We really are here to help.” The Gotal shrugged, a gesture of resignation. “Of course you are. Power like that, we'd be dead already if you intended otherwise...” — — — Despite everything she tried, every trick she had ever picked up while flying with Wedge Antilles and the rest of Rogue Squadron, there was just no keeping the pirates at bay. Minutes passed by like years as the chase continued, and flashbacks to the dogfight over Distna threatened to send her into gimbal lock. But she pushed past the mental interference as she sent the Challenger through a dizzying corkscrew to avoid another barrage from the corvette that was pacing them. Ari and Ooryl's combined efforts at the turrets had managed to whittle their fighter strength down by a little more than half, with the Die-wings long dead, but they still had the Crimson Allahu and the other three IPV-1s pursuing them all the way back to Bad Alshir. Can't hold back now, she thought to herself as she rolled the ship again. Laera and Silas are depending on us... The freighter had taken more damage as well. Asyr could not risk coming about to fight their pursuers head-on, because they no longer had any forward shields; every erg of energy that could be spared had been shunted to the aft barriers, with the turbolasers taken offline so that their power could be added to the defensive screens as well. The rig was inelegent in the extreme, but she considered herself fortunate that T7-H6 had managed to splice together the necessary systems. That was on top of the astromech's continuing efforts to coax more speed out of the main engines, even though they were already pushing one hundred fifteen percent of recommended specs. Their maneuvering had suffered as well, so that any attempt to turn onto a new heading would present the corvette with a fat, juicy and easily-vaped target. Gritting her teeth, she called for another report. “How many Uglies left?” Ari's voice, still unflappably calm, was the first to reply. “Another X-TIE gone, they're breaking off for the moment.” “Ooryl thought that he managed to give one of the patrol boats some pause, but they are once again pursuing.” “Hold on to your butts, then,” Asyr replied. “It's about to get interesting.” Barely a moment after the words had left her mouth, the corvette was sheered in two by a fusillade of crimson turbolaser blasts. Another wave of destruction popped two of the three remaining IPVs like overripe vine fruit, causing the sole survivor to try and make a blind jump out of the system, only for it to fail spectacularly due to the interdiction field that had suddenly enveloped the battleplane. The surviving Uglies, slow to respond to this new development, exploded in droves as a squadron of new arrivals swooped down on them seemingly from out of nowhere. As one of them flashed into view while it took up an escort formation, she recognized it as an Eta-5 light interceptor. Then the comm unit crackled to life. “Freighter Challenger, this is Colonel Bhatia of Moonraker Squadron,” a well-modulated voice inquired. “The pirates have been eliminated, may we be of any further assistance?” Asyr had to catch her breath before she could reply, slowing the freighter down so that the rest of their rescuers, all bearing Galactic Alliance markings, could catch up. “We...we're okay for now,” she said, her throat threatening to constrict around the words. “There's a trio of disabled Gallofree transports and a fourth patrol craft in orbit of the second planet in the system, we think there are more pirates aboard.” A new voice joined the open channel, and she could hear satisfaction within it. “Captain Findell of the Davish Krail here, we've got them on our scanners. We're also seeing that you've taken some damage, would you like us to bring you aboard?” Asyr glanced at the systems monitor and then the sensor board, doing a double-take upon realizing that they had been saved by one of the Alliance Navy's next-generation anti-pirate Victory-class Star Destroyers. Booster Terrik, I'm going to kill you, she thought gleefully. Right after I shake your hand, that is. “No, I think we'll manage for now,” she replied instead. “We've got some comrades on the surface who were supposed to be clearing out their nest.” “Then we would be happy to escort you the rest of the way,” the warship's commander replied. “I'll have a landing party ready to help by the time we arrive.”
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