Table of Contents:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue: The Interrogation

 

"The Seven. Always seven. We are faceless. Nameless. If one was to fall, another would take its place as if nothing had happened and the regular soldiers would be none the wiser. But that rarely happens. We are given the best training. The best tech.

 

That, and the fact that we don’t fight the normal fights. We never just march right into any of the major conflicts. We didn't even exist before the Treaty of Coruscant, despite what the reports always say.

 

The written exploits of our little elite group have been highly exaggerated. Sometimes we are even tied to events in different sectors of the galaxy that happened on the same day. This all just contributes to the myth. We are stationed aboard capital ships. Interact with the common soldiers. Maybe they know about the falsified reports, maybe they don’t.

 

Our exploits are seeded across Republic and Imperial channels alike, to make our presence known and at the same time do exactly the opposite. Know us. Know of us. Always wondering. Instill fear and intrigue about some unknowable, unkillable foe. You know how these things work.

 

But the soldiers who knew the truth, the real truth, understood what we did. Because behind all the myths, once you strip away the veneer of hype perpetrated by Imperial Intelligence, there still existed a team capable of astounding accomplishments. Despite the rumors, we don’t specialize in black operations. After all, secret missions with no witnesses don’t exactly suit what we are trying to accomplish.

 

Gray operations on the other hand… Missions designed to leave just enough of a message. Just the right information, given out in measured quantities that, in the end, serve to further the Empire's agenda.

 

We are a strike force. Pure and simple. Clear cut objectives. Hardly any room for in-the-field decisions. Our success comes from planning. That and the fact that we are only given assignments with less than a ten percent perceived failure chance.

 

We are good, but we aren’t gods of the battlefield. We aren’t allowed to take unnecessary risks. After all, we are sporting arms and armament worth hundreds of thousands of credits. Each.

 

Now you see where the myth begins to fall apart. One could argue that any trooper with our resources could accomplish what we have. We are given easy missions on purpose, all to bolster our record. In the end, all people care about are the headlines.

 

So what if the bunker had an insufficient security force. So what if we boarded and detonated an already derelict capital ship. Our purpose was to produce results. Just not directly. The power of misinformation.

 

The Seven are first and foremost an experiment in mental and military thought. Charts and graphs my friend. Statistics. Imperial Intelligence wanted to see if they could create a force that could alter the outcomes of battle with words alone.

 

'Your request for reinforcements has been acknowledged. The Seven are on their way'. 'Alert: The Seven have joined up with the ground forces. Proceed with your original objectives'.

 

It’s amazing the kind of impact a few simple words can have if you send them out over the comm channels. Opposing forces might show the slightest increase in disorganization. A group of defenders might hold out for just that much longer.

 

And that was our purpose. An artificial psychosomatic form of battle meditation. At least that what the squad and I jokingly called it. Though, in truth, it wasn't too far off.

 

That is our true purpose. To alter the course of a battle without actively participating in it. The kind of tactical manipulation that only someone in the Sith Empire could think was worth funding. But in the end, it works. Either that or we've just been attached to one long string of happy coincidences.

 

But honestly, judging by my recent luck, I'd feel pretty confident in ruling that out. I mean, here I am, prisoner aboard a Republic cruiser. Hands cuffed behind my back. Stripped of my gear. Figuratively naked. Who knows? Maybe we're not the unstoppable force we're made out to be."

 

----------

 

"Interesting story Mister… Aurek was it? Rarely is my job as on-board interrogator so easy. Imperials are usually prone to withholding information, especially when it comes to secret intelligence involving the Ministry. This information… regarding 'The Seven', doesn't exactly sound beneficial to the Empire to let it slip out. What's the story? One of the higher ups must have majorly pissed you off at some point, right?"

 

"Quite the opposite, actually. My last report possessed some rather choice words for some rather sensitive military advisors. That's how I ended up on my current mission."

 

"You mean the mission we captured you during?"

 

"Oh, no. The mission of being caught."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Oh, yeah. This capture? Planned. I wasn't lying when I said our success stemmed from proper planning. The rest of my speech, well, that's a bit fuzzy. You see, I know you got some people on the other end of your comm just eating up this information. Digesting it. Wondering how a group that sounds this incompetent could possibly be this effective. Or how we could have survived this long. Wondering just how it is that they might not have even heard of The Seven. The right amount of bleeding between reality and fiction. That is our goal. Our purpose. The power of misinformation.

 

That bit about how we were just an experiment to see how the course of a battle could be changed by words alone? You think the experiment stopped? Just because you happened to have gotten me alone on your ship. No. Instead, you won't know how to properly react when my squad storms this cruiser and rescues me."

 

"Your squad? You mean a group of seven soldiers is going to attempt a rescue? Oh wait, since you’re here that means there will only be six. Unless they've already 'replaced' you that is."

 

"No, no. They wouldn't do that while I'm still alive. After this mission, though, who knows? We might need a new 'Cresh' though. He seems to be the agent with the highest mortality rate. Me though, I'm sure I'll be fine."

 

"So, you're all but sure you're somehow going to survive, while you sit here… restrained… in the detention center of a major Republic cruiser?"

 

"Well, we were sure to pick a ship that was understaffed. And you didn't exactly follow strict, or even proper, security protocol when detaining me. No armed guards, no detention fields. You honestly could just not believe the catch you made when I agreed to come along quietly. You were so overconfident that the information I had for you would be so intrinsically valuable, so beneficial to your career, that you wanted to be the one solely responsible for 'extracting' my 'confession'. And yet we find ourselves in a situation unlike anything you've ever encountered or could even imagine.

 

Plus, managing to undo your restraining cuffs is much easier when your hands are hidden behind your back and your interrogator is far too focused on a rather capricious monologue."

Edited February 5, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter One: The Squad

 

Red lights flooded the passenger bay of the Imperial shuttle, set to cease as soon as the ship exited hyperspace. Five soldiers were situated on the two benches that ran along the interior walls. The area acted as the corridor between the cockpit and the aft cargo area. Not the most spacious of crafts, the gap between the two seats was wide enough only for the appropriately marked entry ramp and little room for maneuvering should it drop.

 

The five bodies that occupied that space were a motley assortment of sizes and demeanors. Body size and language seemed to be the only way of distinguishing the armor-clad soldiers from one another in their identical battlesuits. The bodyglove and armored plates that covered them resembled the modern armor most Imperial Troopers wore, though with subtle differences.

 

Trademark black with red highlights were carried over from the norm. The thick armored plates that made up most of the suit were composed of some of the strongest materials credits could buy. Where the plates couldn't provide protection, the state of the art armorweave bodysuits were more than capable of defending against stray blaster fire that made it past the integrated shield system. Layered electronics and failsafe mechanics kept everything online after a couple of ion bolts and could even withstand a few seconds of sustained force lightning.

 

By benefit of being powered armor the suits possessed micro-hydraulics capable of increasing the user's strength, great for heavy lifting and preventing the wearer from collapsing under their own weight. From the neck down, they possessed some the purest mechanical brawn found amongst the Imperial Army. From the neck up, something even more spectacular.

 

Probably the most integral piece of the armor puzzle, the helmet provided advanced tactical data via heads up display. While possessing the basic flat topped conical shape possessed by most modern Imperial ground forces, its visor went uncovered by protective armor, giving its wearer a smooth, featureless black surface for a face. The suit was capable of analyzing the various biological processes that took place within its boundaries and report it to the user, or even the user’s squad mates if need be. The visors could provide instant data regarding the squad’s health, injuries, energy levels, fatigue, and information from four of the user’s five senses. With the ability to connect weapons data to the visor, the soldier could monitor his firearm’s continued efficiency and ammo capacity.

 

The sword, the shield, and the warrior. Body, mind, soul. All symbiotically connected.

 

The five armored men exuded equal parts subtlety and domineering intimidation. One would rarely take notice long enough to discover the one final deviation from the norm that was a standardly equipped Imperial Trooper: each soldier’s right pauldron. Instead of the matching Imperial logo of its symmetrical brother, they each featured a simple, bolded, white letter.

 

Besh sat on the port bench, nearest to the wall separating the room from the cockpit. The soldier, thinner and taller than average by comparison with the rest to the squad, sat calm and collected, his body compacted, arms crossed, and head dipped ever so slightly. Sniper. Tactician. Second in command. Recently upgraded to first.

 

Cresh sat further down along the same bench. Average build, his only discernable feature was his stance. Hunched over, forearm against thigh, head directed toward the floor where his armored foot nervously tapped the deck. Amorphous, with an inclination for triage. The most recently replaced member. Pistoleer. Medic. Feeling apprehensive.

 

Esk was furthest down the line. A bit sturdier looking than his predecessors. Stocky, even. He leaned aloof against the aft barrier, legs drifting apart, clenched fist supporting the chin of his helm while the other hand inadvertently supplied Cresh with accompanying melodic taps against the seating. Demolitions expert. Survivalist. Humorist.

 

Forn sat opposite the sniper. Possessed an average build like Cresh, but possessed a converse mood about him. Back straight, head high, arms not crossed so much as folded neatly in front of him. A cold aura flowed readily from the unyielding soldier before being drawn right back to its source. Dynamic weapons expert. Huntsman. Man of few words.

 

Grek took the second spot along the lesser occupied bench. Numerically at least. He was massive enough to count as two soldiers himself. His hunched stance carried with it equal serene and primal notions. While standing, the other soldiers could only hope to meet his chest plate at eye level. Obviously not human, his exact nature outside his armor was unknown, even to his squad mates. Heavy weapons. Brawler. All around big guy. Man of no words.

 

The doors to the cockpit opened to reveal Dorn making his way into the passenger area. His attention was focused on the datapad built into his left bracer. He managed to take a seat between Forn and Grek without peeling his gaze away from the glowing screen jutting from his arm. The smallest in stature compared to his companions, he was still a sizable individual thanks to his armor and additional technical gear he was sporting. Technician. Mechanic. Slicer. Impromptu pilot.

 

"Is our route set?" Besh calmly asked across the shared team comm.

 

"Yes," Dorn hastily replied. "Should be dropping into realspace soon." Besh supplied a nod before slowly raising himself from his seat. With his back to the cockpit, he addressed the entirety of his squad on the events to follow.

 

"Alright guys, our mission is to extract Aurek from his imprisonment on board Freedom's Runner. The target is a Republic Scout Cruiser. By size and dimension, it's your basic light cruiser, about 350 meters bow to stern. In truth, it looks like a bloated Thranta-class Corvette.” The soldier’s tone possessed little of the vigor expected from a man about to lead a squad into the dangerous fray of boarding a ship. Instead, they were the words of a man assigned a dutiful chore.

 

"Aren't those things designed to take out smaller ships?" Esk interjected in a gruff yet jocular voice.

 

"The corvette, yes. This cruiser, no," Besh replied. "These particular ships are mostly relegated to solo missions, where they specialize as mobile platforms for various non-combatant roles. Communication systems. Medical bays. Mobile barracks. The luxury of a base without the trouble of having to build structures on a planet you don't need a permanent presence on. That being said, it is equipped with enough firepower to drive off any local pirates."

 

"And we're better than your average space pirate, right? What with this… state of the art… Imperial… Shuttle," Esk respond with trademark sarcasm. “’Course, this isn’t even one of the official Imperial shuttle’s designated for troop transport.”

 

“They weren’t going to give seven troopers a double decker shuttle designed for carrying entire platoons now were they?” Besh replied. “Besides, this thing specializes in fast paced non-atmospheric transfers. That, and it happened to have the best cost to effectiveness ratio.”

 

“Expendable-class? I like it,” Esk humored.

 

"Well, at any rate, we should be able to adequately defend ourselves against the target's countermeasures," Dorn explained, with alacrity. "We're too small a target for the main batteries. The deflector shields should be able to stand up against the point-defense systems designed to take out fighters. And if anything should seep through, this shuttle has a more than adequate hull rating to get us to the hangar bay. I've programmed a boarding sequence into the shuttle's coordination systems, and I can make minute adjustment to the navigation from my datapad as need be."

 

"With our approach under automation, we can focus our attention on the combat to follow," Besh confirmed. "Once we're past the magnetic barrier we'll be performing a rather hot landing. We will have to begin exiting the craft whilst still hovering if we want to secure the hanger before they've had enough time to react. Disembark order hasn't changed since debriefing. Grek will be first off and draw any hostile fire while I follow. Next will be Forn and Cresh, followed by Esk and Dorn. After the landing area has been secured, we'll proceed to reestablishing contact with Aurek. Any questions?"

 

The squad's silence indicated that there were in fact none. The red constant that had permeated the room changed into a periodic flicker.

 

"That's our signal," Besh stated as he made his way astern. "We'll want to be completely geared up before red lights completely shut off." All but Grek made their way into the aft cargo hold, currently operating as an impromptu armory. The giant instead turned his attention to the discrete black plasteel footlocker that rested beneath his seat.

 

The others found themselves in the seemingly empty room, no larger than the one that had preceded it. Along the walls and floor however, were a plethora of removable panels that promised a bounty of weapons and equipment. Each trooper selected their own unique load out from the individual compartments, but their primary firearms would be a shared set of uniform blaster carbines, traditional military blaster rifles compacted into a more manageable size for close quarters combat. Little to no sacrifice in accuracy, but reduced stopping power meant each shot needed expert delivery. Possessed a shoulder sling, scope, and efficient energy cells. The weapons had been further modified with the absence of trigger guards, to facilitate the large, gloved hands that would be using them. Additional safety systems were needed to lessen chances of accidental discharge.

 

"Ugh. Carbines," Esk lamented as he examined the weapon in his hands.

 

"Once into the inner workings of the ship," Besh clarified, "we'll be in hallways less than four shoulder lengths wide. Plenty of twists and turns. Carbines will be the most effective. The hangar will be open, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem." As he finished his words, Besh retrieved his signature sniper rifle from a wall panel.

 

"If you're not confident in your marksmanship abilities… you can always let your helmet do the work for you," Forn joked, albeit in a rather stoic fashion. His voice matched Esk’s low pitch, but countered by carrying itself in a much smoother manner. Aside from a small sidearm hooked to his thigh, the hunter also slipped a pair of vibroknives behind his back.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Esk grumbled as he lined his belt with demolitions materials. The remaining soldiers armed themselves in silence. Cresh accepted his carbine and accompanied them with a pair of pistols attached to his sides. Dorn took his weapon and sidearm along with an assortment of security and computer spikes. Besh took a second carbine and tossed it to Grek from the open doorway. These two took their position near the entrance ramp, readied for their pending hot drop into the hangar bay. The others steadied themselves in the cargo room.

 

"Alright, everyone sync up with your weapons," Besh ordered across the group comm. "Also, give me a quick procedural check in on the secure channel."

 

"Cresh. Acknowledged."

 

"Dorn. Checking in."

 

"Esk here."

 

"Forn… Ready and able."

 

"…" This served as Grek's check in. The subtle clicks of the comm channel opening and closing. It took some time, but the squad became capable of proper communication with the vocally limited trooper.

 

"Good, everything is in order. Be ready," Besh advised. Silence flooded the shuttle as everyone directed their attention to the flashing lights above them, waiting for the refrain that would signal the beginning of the battle to come.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Two: The Boarding Party

 

The red flashing ceased as the shuttle finally switched to standard sublight traveling conditions and began making its way to the cruiser's hangar bay. Only a few moments of silence persisted before various alarms signaled that the shuttle was under fire.

 

The soldiers kept their cool as Dorn intensely eyed his datapad. The shuttle's maneuvers and various rumblings weren't enough to visibly shake the heavy troopers.

 

The rate of fire registering against the deflector shields lulled as the shuttle neared the port side of the hangar located towards the Republic cruiser’s hind end.

 

A quick jolt rocked the shuttle as it passed through the hangar's magnetic barrier and began to be influenced by the cruiser's artificial gravity. The blackness of the invading shuttle’s exterior immediately contrasted with the immaculate white interior of the Republic light cruiser.

 

Still maintaining forward momentum, the shuttle's entry ramp began to descend, it mouth nearest the aft cargo bay. Before the ramp even fully lowered, Besh and Grek made their move. The first off the shuttle was actually Grek's footlocker. A sizable thud followed as the full container struck the solid flooring beneath the hovering craft, officially sounding the beginning of the on-board conflict.

 

Grek followed, jumping from the craft with his carbine held solely in his right hand, landing a few meters below with nary a bend in his knees. Scores of sources of blaster fire sounded as the juggernaut began the assault.

 

Besh disembarked with a much greater sense of grace, rolling away as the shuttle came to a stop ahead of him and slowly descended. As he scanned the hangar from a kneeling position, Besh saw that Grek was drawing the attention of every hand on deck. The few personnel that had been on the landing level had already fallen to blaster wounds.

 

The main opposition rested on the two raised platforms, to the left and right of the shuttle, each leading to the ship's bow and stern respectively and running along the entirety of the wall in which they rested against. The flat, grated platforms jutted several meters away from their respective walls, supported at the edge by thin pillars composing the underlying framework.

 

Beneath said platforms lied a shadowed area fit for various storage containers. Three broad sets of stairs allowed access to each raised area, located at the center and outer extremes.

 

A rather small cruiser, at full capacity the hangar could only hope to hold two rows of four moderately distanced fighters. Although the hangar ran the entire width of the cruiser, it was rather stout and lacking in length.

 

Devoid of any ships of their own, white Republic crates matching the ship’s color scheme lay scattered across the floor of the hangar. Besh took cover behind a sizable grouping whilst Grek stood in the open. The indicator in Besh's heads-up-display showed optimal levels on Grek's personal shields, despite whatever hits he may have sustained during his original drop.

 

Grek began a charge up the closest set of stairs leading to the aft-ward raised platform as Besh directed his attention to the opposite side of the hangar. Sniper rifle now in hand, a monocular red ring lit up on the exterior of Besh's visor where his right eye laid beneath.

 

The scoped sight showed up as a picture in picture on the sniper's heads-up-display. One by one the soldiers along the raised forward level found powerful red bolts expertly delivered to their chests, immediately removing their threat from the battle.

 

The shuttle completed its landing on the far end of the hangar and the next two soldiers hurried out. Cresh and Forn stepped off the ramp, carbines raised, scanning the hangar. The young Cresh was surprised to see Grek had already made it up the raised stage, physically knocking soldier after soldier to the ground before permanently disposing of them.

 

As he turned away from the scene, Cresh found Forn had disappeared amongst the crates scattered about. A warning indicator flashed across his HUD as his shield absorbed a blaster bolt straight ahead of the ramp.

 

Cresh quickly took cover behind the nearest pile of crates to his right. Some of the Republic soldiers managed to get to the landing area and were in the process of approaching the boarding party’s shuttle. Cresh signaled a quick word of caution over the comm.

 

Seemingly ignoring his squad mate's warning, Esk made his way down the ramp in a rather moseying fashion. Still moving forward, Esk fired a couple of shots from his carbine toward the facing enemies. One enemy went down before the group scattered behind the cover of the crates.

 

The panicked group hadn't noticed that they had been flanked as one of Forn's vibroknives gently slid into the back of one of the soldiers. Before the lifeless body even hit the ground the hunter had closed the distance between him and the next Republic soldier.

 

Twin blades sunk between the combatant's shoulders and neck from above. The soldier dropped without Forn retrieving his implanted weapons. Instead he continued his assault with his carbine.

 

Accompanied by support from Besh's rifle, the forward group had been completely dealt with. As Forn made his way back towards the shuttle, he saw that Grek has finished cleaning up the aft platform. Dorn was last to exit the shuttle, hurriedly glancing back and forth between the opposing walls of the hanger.

 

Besh raised himself from his cover while Cresh found it hard to move from his position backed by the sturdy durasteel crate. Esk held his carbine aloof in one hand, raised and resting against his shoulder. Turning to his downed companion, he offered his free hand to help Cresh up.

 

Forn returned to the group, trying to wipe the blood from his retrieved weapons. Grek made his way back to the group while rotating his arms, apparently suffering from stiff shoulders. A short distance away from his squad Grek diverted his path to the area behind the shuttle where his footlocker had landed. Dragging the container by one end, Grek set it down once more after eventually being reunited with the six soldiers.

 

"Nice work," Besh congratulated his squad. "Dorn, lock down the hanger. Make sure no one enters or exits this room without our consent. Grek, Esk, Cresh, see if you can't clear this area and move some crates into a defensive perimeter surrounding the shuttle. Forn, patrol the aft platform until we're sure the room is secure. I'll accompany Dorn while he's busy with the initial slicing into the ship's systems and attempt to reestablish connection with Aurek. Let's get going."

 

The squad shared their simultaneous nods and went about their ordered business. Forn managed to silently slip away from the group despite the expected sounds of heavy boots clashing against the solid floor beneath them.

 

Dorn and Besh made their way onto the front platform, heading towards a wall console near the hangar's bow-ward exit. Grek began the relatively easy task of rearranging the uniformly cubic crates throughout the hangar.

 

Cresh and Esk took some time to clear the landing area of the fallen bodies that lay nearest the shuttle. Their powered armor allowed them to speedily drag the lightly armored bodies by their arms, lining them up under the raised platform leading to the cruiser's bow. The two Imperials made small talk over the local channel, utilizing the helmets' speakers meant for communicating with those within earshot.

 

"You did good out there kid," Esk praised, never taking his attention away from the soldier he was dragging as he shuffled backwards. Cresh gave off an inaudible chortle toward the perceived epithet, focusing on it instead of the compliment. The doubt in the young soldier stirred as the words repeated in his head.

 

"Good, huh? Is that what you call getting shot at and cowering behind a crate?" Cresh depressingly countered.

 

"It wasn't your fault," Esk reassured. "This is your first field mission. The suit's warning systems can overload your senses at first. Make you lock up. You'll get used to it like the rest of us." Cresh remained silent. "By the way, thanks for the heads up back there when I was exiting the shuttle."

 

The other soldier's silence persisted, but the Esk could sense his spirits being lifted.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Three: The Hangar

 

After lining up four of the fallen soldiers under the platform, Esk knelt down to get a closer look at one them. Thin lines of light passed through the grated surface above, but overall the area was illuminated enough to not warrant the technological assistance resting within the soldier’s helmet. The adult male he examined had two close scorch marks across his chest. Grek's carbine has no trouble passing through the soldier's chest plate. The armor stopped at the shoulders and arms, where little more than a few layers of cloth offered protection. The gloves and boots were woven cloth with additional plastic inserts. Poor soldier didn't even get a helmet.

 

"Something wrong?" Cresh asked, lacking the melancholy present before.

 

"Nothing wrong. Just a little strange," Esk admitted. "Intel stated that ship would be understaffed. But even so, I expected the opposition to possess standard military equipment. Republic troopers usually warrant more protection than this."

 

"Maybe we caught them off guard. Before they could prepare?"

 

"No. Their arrangements meant that they were ready for a fight. Just one of a different kind."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I mean they were protecting the hangar from someone else." Esk put a finger to his temple and opened team communications. "Hey Besh, any update on Aurek?" Esk looked up to see Besh and Dorn working on the wall console almost directly above him through the thatched metal framework that constituted the raised platform. Dorn had connected his datapad directly to the under workings of the console. Besh, meanwhile stood to his side, leaning against the solid wall.

 

"Not yet," Besh answered after a pause. "Been trying to sync with his helm's comm signal."

 

"How about getting the hangar secure?"

 

"Yes," Dorn chimed in. "That was pretty easy. Seems the hangar was already under lockdown. Didn't take much to route control to my datapad."

 

"Aurek must have escaped his captors before we arrived. It makes sense that if the crew was aware of his escape they would try and prevent him from making contact with us," Besh mused.

 

"Hmm, makes sense," Esk quietly commented.

 

"What are you thinking Esk?" Forn asked in his stoic tone.

 

"I think that until a few moments ago, the ship's security forces were entirely focused on Aurek. Our welcoming party wasn't ours at all."

 

"Last line of defense against an escaped prisoner… who might be making his way to the hangar for an exit." Forn observed.

 

"That's what I was thinking," said Esk. "You notice their equipment Forn?" The hunter paused his patrol of the platform to kneel down next to one of Grek's dispatched foes.

 

"Light armor," Forn surveyed. "Mostly pistols… with the occasional rifle. Now that you say it… poor fortification of the room… aside from the doors in and out. I think so far… we've been dealing with the ship's reserve security. Combat ready crew… but with limited access to the ship's armory. Primary soldiers stationed aboard… they must be busy trying to deal with Aurek."

 

"So it would seem all of the real troopers have been focused on Aurek, meaning Aurek’s escape was a little early… or we were a little late," Cresh commented. "At least the news of our boarding should alleviate some of that focus."

 

"Yes, now it is just a matter of figuring out whether Aurek is hiding or actively having to defend himself," said Besh. Each of the squad members knew that the option of Aurek already being dead was absurd and a non-factor. "Dorn, get us each a copy of the ship's schematics."

 

A progress bar appeared near the bottom of squads' HUDs. Direct copies of the ship's layout popped up before being automatically configured into a usable transparent image.

 

"Well, it looks like we're pretty close to the cruiser's stern. Only thing behind us are the engines and a few engineering stations," Dorn clarified.

 

"Since we're sure Aurek hasn't been through here, that puts him ahead of us… that should narrow down his location… somewhat," Besh admitted, staying calmly optimistic.

 

"He's got a tracker in his suit, right? Activate it and we'll make our way to him," Esk suggested.

 

"I don't know," Dorn responded. "It's kind of a blind transmitter. Anyone manning a security console will be able to see the blip show up. Last thing we want to give Aurek is more undue attention or put a squad of troopers between him and his armor if he hasn't reached it yet."

 

"Say's the person with his fist jammed far up the ship's security hole," Esk joked.

 

"Give me some credit, will you?" Dorn responded. "I don't need lessons in subtlety from the demolition man."

 

"Hah, so what do you have in mind then?" chuckled Esk.

 

"Doesn't look like I can access the cameras from here without leaving a trail," Dorn admitted. "But I can check various sets of data from other sources. Room occupation. Locked door status. Aurek was probably smart enough to avoid tripping any unauthorized entry alarms. I can compile a list of the most likely rooms to find him."

 

"And then?" asked Cresh. There was a moment of silence as the squad thought of their options.

 

"If video is out of the question… what about audio?" Besh suggested. The idea wasn't met with much enthusiasm from the squad, but Dorn was entertaining the idea in his head.

 

"Technically, tapping into the speaker system poses the same troubles as tapping into the cameras. But even if I do end up leaving a trail it is a much lower priority system for monitoring," Dorn stated with renewed optimism.

 

"So, what? We just send a shout out to individual rooms until Aurek shouts back?" Esk responded, not sharing his companions confidence.

 

"If you must put it that way… yes," Dorn answered.

 

"But wait, it's not enough to tap into the ship's intercommunication system," Cresh interjected. "Even if the room he's held up in has speakers, it may not possess the comm systems needed for him to respond to us."

 

"Not likely," Besh replied. "Republic cruisers like this one usually have a small communications panel in any rooms that require some form of security or maintenance."

 

"You're kidding right? On the home cruiser, I have to walk around for five minutes before I can find a damned integrated comm," Esk begrudgingly admitted before producing a heavy sigh. "Is it any wonder the Empire needs folk like us?"

 

“He says whilst currently on a mission to rescue his captured squad leader,” Cresh lightheartedly chimed in. Esk chuckled at the prospect that his humor was rubbing off on the kid. “Alright, so we have a plan. Anyone have any idea which room to start with?”

 

Silence followed as each of the soldiers studied the schematics visible on their visor. Dorn notified the detention room Aurek most likely escaped from with a ping visible on all of the troopers HUDs. Lines then extended from it, leading to the prime candidates for rooms housing their squad leader.

 

After a brief examination, a ping associated to a different squad member directed everyone’s attention to an small, secondary armory not far from the detention area. The notification was from Grek.

 

The squad directed their attention back towards the shuttle to see the crates that had once been scattered throughout the entirety of the hanger were now situated in neatly arranged barriers circling the ship. After a brief moment of pondering the squad seemed in full agreement with the mute trooper. Dorn’s check of the armory’s data log provided the evidence needed to warrant an attempt at communication.

 

A single occupant. Entrance has remained locked since recently after the alarms for escape had sounded. The troopers looked in silence to Dorn, who in turn looked to Besh for confirmation. With a quick nod, the renewed rescue plan could officially begin.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Four: The Search

 

Dorn began attentively tapping at his datapad, attempting to connect Besh to the cruiser’s communication grid. A notification of success appeared in the corner of Besh’s visor, but Dorn beckoned Besh to delay commencement with a raised hand as he eyed the screen on his other forearm. Frozen for a few seconds, the slicer finally dropped his right hand, gesturing for Besh to continue. The sniper almost cleared his throat, but was interrupted by a large icon in his HUD signaling that he was live.

 

“Trooper, status report!” Besh commanded in a faux authoritative tone. There was a moment of silence as the squad eagerly listened in.

 

“Oh, uh. Here sir!” A nervous voice shot back from the armory’s communications panel. It was familiar to the troopers’ ears, but seemed tainted by the accent of a Corellian farmhand.

 

“I asked for a status report! Why are you locked within the armory?” Besh continued his castigation.

 

“Oh. Well, uh, you know that prisoner? He took me hostage, and forced me to take him to where his armor was. Afterwards he locked me in here while he made his escape toward the hangar!”

 

“Damn it, not the hangar! We just got word of a boarding party completely wiping out the security posted there!”

 

“You… you did?” the voice replied, almost dropping its accent.

 

“Yes! Now don’t worry soldier! We’ll send a squad down there immediately to get you out of there!”

 

“Uh… negative. It would probably to take too long to override the door controls. Go on without me.”

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll send a security expert.”

 

“No, wait, I think he rigged some explosives to the door. Any interference, and, you know… boom.”

 

“It’s okay, we have a demolitions expert on the way.” The two continued back and forth. It was all but confirmed that they had found Aurek, but the amusement of the two troopers blatant overacting was great enough that none of the squad members bothered to chime in. In time, Besh dropped the charade and directly confronted his squad leader.

 

“What kind of accent is that, anyway, Aurek?” Besh asked, returning to his usual vacant tone. The silence that followed had been one of the heaviest since beginning the mission.

 

“Corellian, I think. Just a lowly farmer with dreams of seeing the galaxy spreading the good will of the Republic,” Aurek replied in a light-hearted manner.

 

“Corellia has farms?” Besh wittily tested.

 

“If Balmorra and Tatooine can have farms, any place can,” Aurek reasoned.

 

“Well, it’s good to hear that you’re okay Aurek,” Besh admitted. “We’ve taken the hangar and will be on route to escort you out of here as soon as you are ready. I assume that you are there with your armor?”

 

“Yeah, but they slapped so many damned restraining bolts on it.” Aurek confessed with more than a hint of annoyance. “Managed to get the suit on and functioning, but the helmet’s still out of commission.”

 

“Will you have it ready to go by the time we get there or should we wait here for a bit?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll have it on and working by the time you all get here,” Aurek informed. It was a rule no one was to see any member of the Seven outside of their armor, especially without their helmet. One of the many protocols for the Project, and Project Protocol always came first. Luckily for Aurek, only the interrogator and two guards had seen him after he was stripped and detained, making the witness elimination process a bit smoother.

 

“You did make sure to deal with anyone who saw your face, didn’t you?” Besh obligatorily questioned.

 

“Yeah, yeah. They managed to get me all the way to the detention center before asking me to remove my armor. Minimal witnesses. Not a problem anymore,” Aurek answered.

 

“Security footage?” Besh continued. There was a beat, as the previously unthought-of of notion was processed in Aurek’s head.

 

“I guess they would have cameras… in the holding areas. Makes an inordinate amount of sense now that you mention it,” Aurek softly mused to himself, but still broadcasting to his team. “The footage is always so grainy and blue-ish, maybe they’ll just suppose I’m a Chiss?”

 

“That won’t fly with the Director. We’ll have Dorn work on destroying the electronic evidence while the rest of us come and rescue you,” Besh indicated. Dorn’s head sank when he realized he wouldn’t be moving from his station for some time.

 

“Oh, you’re too kind,” Aurek joked. “Well, you know where I am. I’ll be waiting.”

 

And with that the communications ceased. The soldiers in the hangar passed each other looks of relief knowing the safety of their squad mate had been confirmed. The looks stopped when the individuals realized they still lacked a definite plan of action. After communications ceased, the troopers still on the hangar floor ceased their previous tasks and began making their way toward Besh and Dorn.

 

Cresh and Esk dipped their head towards the Republic soldiers they had gathered before stepping out from under the forward platform. Forn popped out from behind a cove a stacked crates near the aft boundary of the room. Grek had attached his footlocker to the spine of his armor, serving as a backpack that increased his already sizable volume.

 

“Alright,” Besh began, “Dorn will stay here, with a second watching his back. The rest will make our way towards Aurek.” Each of the soldiers mini-maps shed the previous markings and pings from before and were replaced by a single objective point where their comrade could be found.

 

“And who will get the honor of guarding my person as I remain plugged into this console with an ever increasing soreness in my legs?” Dorn asked, only half-joking. Esk raised one of his hands as he ascended the brief stairs towards the two.

 

“Don’t worry, I‘ll keep the guy safe,” Esk promised.

 

“You sure?” Besh asked.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Esk confirmed. “Forn hates guard duty if he isn’t all by his lonesome, and Grek looks ready for a fight. Not too sure he’ll find another one in here. And I wouldn’t want to separate the little one from the group this early in his career,” he said jutting a thumb towards Cresh.

 

“I’m taller than you,” Cresh murmured in response. Esk responded with his own boisterous laugh.

 

“Besides, most of my stuff is on that shuttle. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to it,” Esk admitted.

 

“Most of your stuff better stay on that shuttle… wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the hangar,” Forn interjected, breaking his silent approach toward the platform.

 

“When have I ever used more than the recommended amount of explosives for any given situation?” Esk inquired. The turning and dipping of heads from his comrades provided a sufficient enough answer. “Fine. Discretion it is.”

 

The demolitionist’s heart and shoulders simultaneously sunk as he uttered one of his most detested words. One of those shoulders was met with the planting of a hand, one from Forn in fact.

 

“Listen. There are maintenance hatches… tucked away under the forward and rear platforms. Should you wish… rigging some traps… would prove advisable,” Forn comforted. With that, Esk’s shoulders and spirit simultaneously rose once more.

 

With the six troopers together, they each shared a series of subtle nods and what one would assume to be glances indicating that everyone was ready to proceed.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Five: The Surprise

 

Besh motioned for Dorn to unlock the double-doors that would lead them on the path to Aurek. At three by six meters, the barrier promised a compact enough path with which to trek beyond its obstruction. With a few taps, the team’s own lockdown had been lifted and the gateways began its slow process of parting.

 

The sense of ease and otherwise lethargic response of the troopers allowed the presence on the other side of the doors to remain unnoticed until it was too late. With the doors exposing only half of what rest behind its maw, a squad of heavy Republic troopers lay ready, guns raised and trained on their intended targets. Helmed and clad in distinctive white armor, these were not of the same class as the weak hangar defenders.

 

“Hold it!” a Republic soldier commanded from the forefront of the group. The command resonated forward, freezing not only the Imperials but seemingly the door along with it.

 

“Probably should have checked for that,” Besh slowly mumbled. The Republic squad leader rebuked his opposite with an order of silence. That order was quickly followed by a command for the Imperials to raise their hands.

 

Four and a half of the Imperials complied. Esk was the half, deciding that raising only his left hand would suffice. The demo-man looked as if he were about to hesitantly swear an oath instead of admitting surrender. Dorn was the man whose hands remained his own. Still hugging the wall console, the Republic troopers’ perspectives left them with no evidence of his existence.

 

“What? Were these guys just sitting behind the door? Or do we just have horrible timing?” Esk chimed in.

 

Not taking kindly to his aversion to silence, the Republic leader jerked his rifle towards the churlish Imperial, and submitted a repeated threat. One that was not accepted by its intended recipient.

 

“You think this is the first time I’ve had a blaster directed toward my face? For talking, no less? I’ve received worse from people who like me a lot more than you, pal,” Esk admitted.

 

The rest of the squad remained perfectly still as tensions flared between the two. Everyone’s attention was so focused on the two troopers that Dorn almost did not detect the subtle notification that appeared on his heads-up-display. One final taunt from Esk drove the Republic frontrunner forward, stepping past the half-open barrier, intent on delivering a stock strike with his rifle to the faceplate of the antagonistic Imperial.

 

Moving with speed uncharacteristic of someone his size, Grek intercepted the blow by positioning himself between the two soldiers. The result was a barely audible ting as the weapon bounced of Grek’s chest, causing a physical and emotional recoil by the Republic trooper. The white soldier hadn’t even a chance to recover before a heavy black boot planted itself right below his sternum. As Grek sent the trooper hurling backwards into his own squad mates, the previous notification on Dorn’s HUD flared.

 

Taking note, the engineer quickly began shutting the doors. The Republic troopers, now knocked completely to the ground by their own leader, only caught a short glimpse of the giant turning away. The demolitionist revealed behind him, his left hand still raised, swiftly scooped a silvery orb from his belt with his right and tossed it through the closing door. The lobbed explosive and the subtle wave goodbye from Esk’s still elevated hand were the last things the Republic squad saw before the doorway completely shut. The muffled thump on the other end of the door signaled the device’s detonation to the now relaxed Imperials. Yet oddly enough, Esk still had his single hand raised in the air.

 

“High five, anyone?” Esk proposed with restrained turns toward his squad mates. Grek, still in front of him, turned around and indulged the trooper in celebration.

 

“At least you managed to toss it beyond the door this time,” Dorn chimed in. “Last time it bounced off the frame and landed back at our feet.”

 

“Last time, your timing was off,” Esk fervently explained. “Plus, used my right hand this time. Because I learn from my mistakes, Mr. ‘Keeps Forgetting to Check What’s Behind Door Number One’, eh?”

 

“Wouldn’t want you to have naught to talk about during our extended time together in the hangar,” Dorn joked. “Nothing speeds up a slicer like critical analysis.”

 

“Alright, alright. Let’s just see what kind of cleanup is needed,” Besh interrupted in an increasingly commanding tone.

 

“Shall I take a peek through the console, or just open the doors again?” Dorn quipped. Esk responded with a soft flail of the hands beckoning the trooper to do as he wished. Besh confirmed the query with a single word, and not a moment later the barrier began to part.

 

The troopers were greeted with a scene of rather restrained devastation. All eight of the Republic soldiers lay scattered on the floor, slightly pushed away from what appeared to be the zone of impact. The effects of the explosive were no more evident than on that of the fallen squad leader. His once pristinely white chest plate had been blackened and utterly cracked.

 

The device was primarily concussive, with some thermal energies thrown in there for some added pizazz. A critical range of a few meters with a stun range a few meters past that. None made it to the stun range.

 

With the doors wide open, the four Imperials that made up the future rescue squad stepped beyond the threshold to examine the collapsed troopers. Kicking away weapons, they examined each for any signs of life.

 

“And the Director says explosives are expensive,” Esk commented, still in the hangar. “Divide the cost by eight soldiers and you’re down to a measly 125 credits.”

 

“For a man who hates discretion… you have an odd taste for economics,” Forn responded.

 

“What can I say? I’m a complicated individual with simple tastes,” Esk joked. The hunter bobbed his head in agreement. As Besh, Cresh and Forn checked the bodies and weapons that lay about, Grek stood adamant ahead of them, becoming a makeshift barrier for any additional soldier that might happen by.

 

“Everything seems clear,” Cresh informed. The other two examiners promptly agreed.

 

“Let’s head out,” Besh ordered. “Let’s divide the comm into separate party channels and leave the collective open for emergency communications while apart. Stay safe you two.”

 

And with that, the sniper offered a parting salute and Dorn sealed the doors behind them. The four troopers readied their primary weapons from their hanging slings and made their way toward Aurek. Esk almost immediately turned around and began heading toward the shuttle.

 

“Where might you be heading?” Dorn inquired.

 

“Shuttle,” Esk answered without missing a beat.

 

“I can see that,” Dorn admitted. “What for?”

 

“Gonna need more explosives.”

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Six: The Rescue

 

Besh and his three compatriots made their way down the pristine corridor, intent on reestablishing contact with Aurek. Besh lead the way with Cresh and Forn to his sides, positioned slightly behind him, and Grek protecting the rear. Thankfully the hallway was high enough not to encroach upon Grek nor the footlocker attached to his back.

 

Making their way through the bowels of the cruiser, the lights and sounds of a ship on high alert assaulted the invaders’ senses. The ship locked down, only with the help of Dorn did the automatic doors in the assailants’ path retain their automatic function.

 

The four troopers traced a path along the maps present in their heads-up-displays. A relatively straight path along the vessel’s spine until a sharp turn would put them toward a series of compact personnel lifts. The armory that housed Aurek was one level below, meaning a quick descent would be necessary.

 

Carbines and rifle in hand, the four troopers made their way toward their destination at a sprinting pace, looking to avoid combat if at all possible. Small doors leading to ancillary rooms lined the walls on either side of the marching Imperials. Fervently eyeing them as they passed, the soldiers did not want another squad of Republic troopers surprising them from behind an unchecked door.

 

One such door happened to open as the troopers made their way past it. A lightly clothed crewman had not even managed to get one foot out of the door before the massive Imperial in the rear shoved him back with the quick brunt of his bracer. The squad disappeared beyond a large doorway that shut behind them, vanishing before the ship’s tenant could even register what events had transpired.

 

The squad’s first turn in an otherwise straightforward venture put them a short distance away from the designated lifts. It also put them in the line of sight of the squad of troopers protecting said lifts. The four republic troopers fired upon the invaders before taking cover behind the corners where the hallway widened significantly.

 

The Imperials followed suit by taking cover where the path intersected the spinal passage they had been following. With a lack of navigable space, Besh and Grek deferred to Cresh and Forn to dispatch their foes. Blasting away from behind cover, what would have been blind-firing to most soldiers was actually precise maneuvering due to the Imperials’ weapon sights being synced to their helmets.

 

The Imperial carbines managed to make short work of the armored opposition, allowing the troopers to continue their advance toward the lifts. Unlike the ordinary doors that had preceded them, the elevators lacked the courtesy of ignoring the lockdown the ship was currently under.

 

Besh sent word to Dorn asking for assistance, but was told that unlocking the lifts would take some time. The news depreciated even more when word of incoming Republic soldiers was acknowledged by the Imperial squad. Not wanting to be locked down waiting for the lifts to come back online, Grek decided the best course of action was to forge a new path.

 

With his immense strength, Grek parted the lateral doors himself, exposing the dark maw of the empty tube that breached the numerous layers of the cruiser. Forn leapt into the tube and descended the few meters that separated the two levels of the ship’s interior.

 

Vibroknives drawn, the hunter kicked off of the shaft’s back wall and stuck himself into the wall next to the doors below, a slight hum emitting from each activated blade. Withdrawing one from its place in the wall, he jabbed it instead where the lift’s control panel rested on the other side. Slicing through the metal and circuitry, Forn quickly withdrew the blade once again before swinging through the now opened doorway.

 

Forn beckoned his squad mates to follow. Besh was first down the tube. Grasping Grek’s hand with his own, he was gently lowered down a sizable distance before Forn assisted him from the lower level. Grek offered his hand to Cresh, but the two were interrupted by the arrival of more Republic soldiers further down the hallway. After taking cover, Cresh signaled for his companion to go first. Grek nodded without opposition.

 

The sizable trooper flung himself backwards down the shaft, facing toward the doors as he descended. Falling quickly, he managed to catch himself on the bottom ledge of the level below and readily hoisted himself up. Cresh took a few shots at the opposition before making his own dash toward the chute.

 

A stray blaster bolt managed to hit his hand, spinning the soldier about down the lift and causing him to let loose of his primary weapon. The carbine fell into the darkness below. Cresh, however, managed to be yanked from his descent by the outstretched hand of Grek.

 

After a few moments were spent catching a breath, the squad continued their speedy trek toward Aurek. This level of the cruiser lacked the single hallway running its entire length that the previous level possessed. Instead it was occupied by a myriad of twists and turns and curved hallways.

 

Navigating the labyrinthine floor plan was made simple by the carefully calculated route on the Imperials’ visors. Due to the winding nature of the halls, the ever splitting pathways provided ample cover for the troopers’ approach. Each straightaway lasting only a few meters, it was easy to avoid being sighted by any of the squads patrolling the area. It was only when nearing the small armory that two Republic soldiers popped out from an adjacent room.

 

Cresh managed to drop one of the Republic troopers, his carbine having been replaced by one of the pistols that once rested at his hip. The other was brought down by Besh’s sniper rifle, shot from the hip. A quick look into the room that spawned the now fallen soldiers revealed it to be a sort of interrogation chamber.

 

The darkly lit room spied on its brother further in through specialized monitoring equipment. A video screen depicted the aftermath of Aurek’s escape: table and chairs knocked aside, interrogator suffering from severe case of blunt force trauma, armored guard lay defeated in the doorway connecting the two rooms. Taking a pause to look back, Besh noticed that a pair of restraining cuffs tossed to the ground in the hallway. Opposite the direction of the armory.

 

The squad continued until their visors declared they had reached their destination. The sealed door of the armory before them, the troopers took defensive positions while Besh tried to connect with Aurek. Cresh guarded the return path with his pistol raised and ready. Forn and Grek knelt side by side, training their eyes on whatever threats might approach from the unknown end of the hallway.

 

Besh banged the door twice with his fist before sending out a communications signal, hoping Aurek had managed to get all of his equipment online. After an uneasy pause, the squad’s leader connected his comm to the group and was met with a cheered welcome.

 

Chapter Six-Point-Five: “The Interlude”

 

Back in the hangar, Esk emerged from the shuttle toting a small but sizable box from the shuttle’s cargo bay. The crate was plastered with a series of warnings and labels in a bolded, vibrant font. Stepping off the vessel’s ramp, the demolitionist set the box on the hangar floor with a loud thud.

 

“And all I’m sayin’ is an X2 droid probably would have checked what was behind the door before opening it,” Esk muttered over the two-man channel connecting him with Dorn.

 

“So you’d replace me with an Astromech?” the technician bluntly replied.

 

“We’re not talkin’ about any ol’ Astromech,” Esk offered with a chuckle. “A military X2… with some modifications. Cortosis weave armor plates, matching paint scheme, and maybe some shoulder slings so Grek could carry it like a backpack.”

 

“Yeah, but then how would Grek carry his pride?” Dorn asked.

 

“Do you meet his literal pride or his footlocker?”

 

“Both.”

 

The two soldier’s antics were interrupted when word of Aurek’s returned echoed across the shared comm.

Edited August 23, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Seven: The Breakout

 

“So, you guys miss me?” Aurek asked over the channel. The words resonated in the ears of the six Imperial troopers. Finally, they had their squad leader back. In spirit, at least, as there was still the matter of getting him out of the locked down armory.

 

“We made do. Love to have you back, though,” Besh teased.

 

“Good to hear,” Aurek stated with a rather pleasant tone. “I got everything readied and suited up on my end. Have Dorn splice the door or Esk blow it off, I’m just ready to leave this place.”

 

“Actually, both Dorn and Esk are guarding the shuttle back in the hangar,” Besh admitted after a beat. A lengthy silence fell upon the squad’s communications.

 

“Don’t worry Aurek,” Dorn interjected. “I’m patched into the system. I should be able to remotely lift the lockdown from here.” Besh’s group adopted a much more casual appearance from their previous defensive positions. No longer kneeling with weapons drawn, the other three troopers opted to lean on the solid walls of the hallway as they waited for their leader’s return.

 

“What’s your status Dorn?” Besh asked after an extended period of silence.

 

“Having a bit of trouble on my end,” Dorn admitted with growing frustration. “Diagnostics are showing that the armory had an independent security system. And I can’t seem to find it.”

 

“The armory’s doors aren’t on the grid?” Besh asked for clarification.

 

“No,” Dorn shot back. “I mean, they aren’t right now. They were before. Not before as in earlier, but, okay as in earlier, but not since I spliced in.

 

“What are you trying to say?” Besh questioned with a heavy sigh.

 

“The doors are locked. Not because of the ship-wide lockdown. Because of the on-site locking mechanism,” Dorn explained with increasing haste. “I should still have some sort of control over it from the master override, but something removed the door’s information completely from the system.”

 

“Aurek?” Besh interposed, with a slightly accusatory tone.

 

“That… may have something to do with me blasting the control panel inside here,” Aurek confessed. The silence that followed from the other side of the doorway provided all of the shame needed for the squad leader. “It was the only way I knew to lock the door from the inside. I didn’t want someone on the bridge overriding it.”

 

“Then why did you even suggest Dorn splicing he door?” Besh interrogated.

 

“The panel might be scrap on this end, but I don’t think it made it through to the exterior door controls.” Taking a quick look at the protruding block next to the door, Besh could see that the control panel was indeed intact. A closer look, however, provided less enthusiastic news.

 

“The panel out here says ‘Unit Unresponsive. Call Maintenance’. Where did you even get a blaster?” Besh inquired.

 

“I am in an armory,” Aurek answered with pride. The second in command was forced to bring his hand to his visor’s brow.

 

“Aurek, are you behind the door right now?” Besh asked in his more usual serene tone.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, don’t be.”

 

Stepping aside, Aurek did not even have time to respond before door was knocked off its supports by the thunderous right foot of Grek. As the dented door fell sufficiently behind the visibly shaken soldier, the colossal trooper stepped aside to allow Besh passage into the humble armory.

 

Aurek stood frozen, unremarkable in appearance compared to his squad mates. Wearing the same set of armor, he possessed no indication of proper rank or authority, only his name written in white on his right pauldron. As the sniper examined the room, he noticed saw various racks of weaponry and light armors encroaching upon the already cramped floor space. His attention was drawn to the warped door that lay rocking back on fort near the back wall.

 

“They don’t build ships like they used to,” Besh commented, seemingly oblivious to the Aurek’s frozen figure.

 

“You want to give me more of a warning before you have Grek go kicking in doors?” Aurek slowly yet intently asked as he regained his composure.

 

Grek hesitantly peered in through the gap in the wall he had created before offering a slight wave of the hand in condolence. He thought to apologize from a closer proximity, but decided the armory was cramped enough. Outside the room, the other two soldiers seemed to be enjoying the light torment their squad leader was enduring.

 

“A warning? How about you warn us the next time you’re about to go mouth off complaints to the Director about our missions being too easy,” Besh calmly suggested.

 

“That was said in confidence to her. And it wasn’t a complaint,” Aurek corrected. “It was simply a factual statement. No cognitive emotional value attached to it all. Plus it wasn’t the Director who was behind this excursion, it was the Patrons, who felt the need to monitor that particular social interaction.”

 

“You know Project protocol. ‘Always assume you are under surveillance. Whether it be by friend or foe’,” Besh recited through monotone. “Speaking of which…” Besh broke conversation and made his way out of the armory, bringing two fingers to his helm’s right temple. “Dorn, did you manage to scrap the ship’s monitoring data?”

 

“Oh? Uh, yeah. I mean, yes sir,” Dorn answered, as if caught by surprise. “All data regarding Aurek being unmasked has been disposed of.”

 

“Something wrong Dorn?” Aurek chimed in as he exited the confined room, seemingly taking control of his squad away from Besh.

 

“‘Wrong’ is a strong word,” Dorn non-answered.

 

“Yes, that’s why I used it. Is there?” Aurek persisted.

 

“Well, you know how the door panel mysteriously disappeared from the system before. It would seem that the same thing happened to the, well, entire door,” Dorn hesitantly admitted.

 

“Right, that was Grek applying a manual override,” Aurek informed, glancing to the door-less opening. Grek offered another apologetic wave of his hand.

 

“That I gathered. It’s just that afterwards, activity on the ship’s security grid seems to have… spiked… significantly. Monitoring equipment. Room diagnostics. Everything,” Dorn hastily explained.

 

“So they’re aware of our presence. More aware at least,” Aurek clarified.

 

“It would seem so. They must have been biding their time, waiting for us to reveal where you had stowed away,” Dorn reasoned. “Orders are pouring out from the bridge. Main systems are being recalibrated. Auxiliary systems are being flushed. Troop movement is up-”

 

“What does it all mean, Dorn?” Aurek asked, keeping his calm as awaited the slicer to reach an adequate conclusion.

 

“They’ve been holding back, sir,” Dorn softly stated. Silence permeated from the entire squad.

 

“So they have,” Aurek replied, unfazed. “Dorn. Esk. There’s a chance they might not send everyone after us-”

 

“Don’t worry, boss,” Esk interjected alongside a light chuckle. “Everything’s fine over here. Got some defenses set up and what have you. You all just make it back in one piece.”

 

“Just make sure the hangar is there when we do return,” Aurek ordered, carrying Esk’s jovial tone as his own.

 

“Will do.” Thereupon, the communications between the two groups ceased.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Eight: The Return

 

The rescue squad had completed its primary objective, now all that had to be done was the simple task of returning to the shuttle and departing Freedom’s Runner. A straightforward undertaking, but complications were never far away from even the most simple of tasks.

 

As Besh lastly exited the armory, the five troopers were completely reunited once more and readied themselves for the task at hand. Aurek had seized a standard issue Republic blaster rifle from his room of confinement. Unable to sync it with his armor, the squad leader just hoped for the best. His companions stood at attention, eagerly awaiting something resembling a plan of action.

 

“Shall we return the way we came, or…?” Aurek casually queried.

 

“That may prove difficult. Grek had to perform a manual override on the lift much like the one used on the armory door. Plus Forn took a stab at the thing’s control panel to get the lower level doors to open. It’s most likely out of commission,” Besh explained. Aurek began stroking the chin of his helm, as if lost in deep thought.

 

“Why is it when I shoot a control panel, it seals a door… but when Forn stabs one it, it opens,” Aurek mused. The squads’ collective heads dipped when they witnessed their leader divert his attention to the mundane. After some more moments of intense pondering, Aurek re-opened the channel with Dorn.

 

“Dorn. It seems our return path is blocked. Can you patch me a path to another set of lifts?”

 

A progress bar popped up in the lower corner of Aurek’s visor. When filled, the cruiser’s schematics uploaded to his heads-up-display much like they had for the other squad members.

 

After being reformatted into the usual mini-map configuration, Dorn began to trace a line through the ship’s interior that would eventually lead to another set of lifts resting closer to the ship’s bow. The path winded and featured many abrupt turns, even cutting through some of the ship’s larger rooms.

 

“This is the best I can do,” Dorn explained. “They’re rapidly regaining control of their systems. Locking doors. Shutting off pathways. This is the clearest route I can get you. And it might not even last that long.”

 

“Then we’ll have to hurry,” Aurek admitted, still lacking any sense of endangerment. “Alright squad, let’s roll out. Form up two by three.”

 

The troopers began their quicken pace toward their objective, entering into formation as they went. Aurek and Besh, side by side, lead the charge. Behind them, Cresh and Forn, shoulder to shoulder. Once again guarding the rear was Grek. Generally, formation orders considered Grek as two bodies.

 

The soldiers made their way toward the operational lifts uncontested. Rapidly they rounded corners, but still there were no Republic troopers to be found. Most odd of all was the sudden withdrawal of the various sirens and signals that had been blaring before.

 

Lockdown lights no longer flashing, the Imperials finally witnessed what a stroll through the corridors might have been like on any other day. The signature white walls with various warmly colored adornments continued to haunt the Imperials’ vision.

 

An eerie silence flooded the halls, broken only by the clamoring footsteps of the few invaders. A terrifying serenity. Thoughts began creeping into the troopers’ minds. Where were all of the ship’s inhabitants? Why had the warning alarms been redacted? What was this feeling inside that persisted step after step?

 

Finally on a straightaway, the squad marched towards a set of doors at least four meters wide. The only way past this section of the ship was to cut through the sizable mess hall. Beyond its borders, rest the prized lifts. The troopers increased their pace, refusing to submit to the unknown feeling brewing inside them.

 

That feeling, however, reached a crescendo, as the doors ahead of the squad began opening far before the automatic sensors would have picked up the approaching Imperials. Time slowed to a crawl. As the doors opened, more and more Republic soldier were revealed with each passing moment.

 

Twenty meters beyond the rooms threshold, the Republic troopers had entrenched themselves at the opposite end of the mess hall. Fortifications built up to the waist out of furniture, supplemented by mobile energy barriers of the same height provided primary means of cover. The tables and chairs had been brushed to either side, providing a clear line of fire toward the Imperials.

 

Ten soldiers, clad in pristine armor, knelt behind the barrier, blasters drawn and aimed. Ten more stood behind them, sighting down the group of invaders. To their side, one soldier stood at an angle, resolute, holding an open hand above his head.

 

Before terror, came realization. The feeling from before was perfectly clear. They had been heading through a tunnel. Silently, the lead soldier’s hand fell. Still in mid-sprint, the Imperials had little hope of altering their path.

 

Blaster fire rang out, leaving no area of approach unscathed. The Imperials had no choice but to press on. They each attempted to get to cover behind either side of the door, but the narrow hallway didn’t widen for some distance.

 

Red-orange bolts of energy pelted the approaching troopers and surrounding area. Their black armor flashed when hit, shields absorbing the impact. Sparks flew and smoke emanated as blaster fire stuck the walls to either side of the squad.

 

Warning after warning flashed across each of the Imperials’ visors, shields reaching critical levels. Aurek dashed for the safe haven left of the door, and Besh attempted the same with the right. Aurek successfully make it to cover. Besh did not.

 

Two repeated bolts to his left hip were enough to make it past the shield and land a hit on an area unprotected by heavy plates. The injury sent the sniper spiraling to the floor, carried forward by his forward momentum.

 

Cresh and Forn immediately slid to his side and pulled him to safety, right of the entrance. Grek ducked to the left, taking his position by Aurek’s side. The squad leader eagerly peered across the doorway at Besh, who was being cared for by Cresh.

 

“Damn it, no wonder this was the only clear path. Can you do anything Dorn?” Aurek sounded off into the comm, as he blindly fired his procured rifle around the corner. The haphazard shots only provoked more retaliation from the numerous Republic soldiers ahead.

 

“I wish I could, but I am completely locked out of the system,” Dorn hastily admitted.

 

Aurek let out a heavy groan as the comm fell silent. Forn left Besh in the care of Cresh as he stood to provide shots of his own from his side of the door. Even with the sights synced with his helmet, Forn had trouble fully controlling the carbine while maintaining cover. Shots were returned by the Imperials, but none seemed to successfully hit a target. The Republic formation broke as the previously standing soldiers sought cover of their own.

 

Besh sat leaning against the wall between Forn and Cresh. A large area between his upper right thigh and abdomen had been scorched. Where the bodysuit had been breached, blackened skin presented itself. Cresh took a tubular vial from his belt and shook it before moving it closer to the sniper’s wound.

 

As the trooper applied pressure to the ampoule it began to spray a thick mist from one of its ends. The milky liquid covered Besh’s injury and slowly began to congeal. The infusion of kolto would start the process of healing the wound, the mix of stimulants and pain-killers would ensure his ability to made it back to the shuttle, and the sealant would cover the breach of skin and armor. Besh offered a woozy thumbs-up for the assistance.

 

“Got Besh patched up. The paralysis will take some time to wear off though,” Cresh bellowed over the comm, hoping to overcome the incessant sounds of blaster fire.

 

“Don’t think we have to worry about going anywhere anytime soon,” Aurek replied with a matching volume, not ceasing his haphazard shooting. At least, not until the weapon decided to stop firing itself. Aurek brought his weapon closer for a quick examination before promptly tossing it to the ground with a curse.

 

“Who stocks an armory with weapons lacking adequate power cells?”

 

“How many times did you shoot that door panel?” Forn joked, finding happiness through his stoicism as he continued firing around the corner into the mess hall.

 

Before Aurek could respond he received a gentle tap on the shoulder from Grek. The squad leader hadn’t even fully turned to face his companion before finding a carbine shoved into his arms. Aurek accepted the weapon with hesitance. Grek confirmed his decision by pointing to the carbine, tapping his helm, then pointing to Aurek’s visor.

 

The squad leader offered an appreciative nod as he re-synced the blaster to his own armor. Renewed, Aurek resumed firing into the mess hall, this time finding a target. Three defenders fell from the combined assault of Aurek and Forn, causing the Republic soldiers to rescind their all-out fire.

 

Utilizing their abundance of cover, the defenders kept the invaders at bay with more protective tactics. Monitoring the room through their scopes, the Imperials noticed a new soldier enter from the back door and join his compatriots behind cover.

 

“At this rate, we may never get through,” Aurek commented.

 

“They are stalling… they may attempt to sneak a group behind us,” Forn added.

 

Aurek paused to examine the entirety of the situation. Besh sat against the wall, silently recovering. Cresh crouched beside him, attention divided between triage and battle. Forn stood by the mass hall entrance, watching… waiting. Turning toward Grek, he was greeted with the sight of a soldier subtly nodding and awaiting orders.

 

Aurek became entrenched with thought, diverting his attention to the straight hall that had led them to the dining area. Scorch marks marred the surfaces of the walls where blaster fire had missed the soldiers. In their wake, a thick layer of smoke permeated the area, generated by the collective bursts of energy impacting against the solid walls. Noticing this brought on a revelation.

 

“I have a plan,” Aurek calmly admitted to his squad. They in turn ceased all action and become devoted all attention to their squad leader.

 

“If we’re going to push through his room, we’re going to need some cover. Grek, that means you’re going to have to lay down some suppressing fire.” The trooper nodded, took a step away from the wall, and placed the footlocker from his back onto the ground with a large thud.

 

“You sending Grek in alone?” Cresh asked.

 

“Yes. At first,” Aurek admitted. “Grek,” he continued, turning toward the now kneeling trooper, “I need you to configure your shield to reflect rather than absorb. That’ll make them last a little longer and should generate a cloud of cover with enough blasters bouncing into the surrounding area. Take out as many as you can and kick up enough smoke to fill the room. After which, I will signal for the entrance of myself, Cresh, and Forn to enter and begin taking out as many soldiers as possible as you back out and tend to Besh.”

 

“I’ll cover the rear,” Besh spoke up, having regained his voice. The sluggish sniper had his rifle sandwiched between his right arm and right leg as he sat against the wall. Each Imperial nodded, understanding their role.

 

“Alright team. Adjust your visors.”

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Nine: The Battle

 

After undoing the latches of the footlocker before him, Grek was able to retrieve his prize from the molded casing within: a customized two handed heavy repeating blaster. More than a meter from tip to tip, the bulky device weighed more than 40 kilograms. The cylindrical body was supported by two handles: a forward leaning vertical handle containing the firing mechanism at the rear, and an upright looped handle at the weapon’s midpoint for keeping the repeater steady.

 

Unable to be wielded by any of the other Imperials, the monstrous blaster resembled a black turbine that spewed red death from its single barrel. The end tapered just enough that it didn’t resemble a starship cannon, though it was possible that an armored troop transport somewhere was missing it’s turret.

 

Grek circumvented his felled footlocker with heavy repeater in tow. He was paused by his commander before entering the mess hall. Sliding slightly away from the doorway, Aurek beckoned Forn to take his former position, and Cresh would stand in the hunter’s previous spot.

 

With a nod and a deep breath, Forn fired a quick bolt into the dining area before sprinting to the other side of the gap. Republic soldiers stood from their cover, taking steady aim at the fleeing Imperial trooper. Their aim was interrupted as a new target entered the fray.

 

Time slowed once more as the Imperial juggernaut walked into the mess hall baring his heavy blaster, dominated by emotion just as before. But this time the feelings were not those of unsettling uncertainty, but of duty and pride. The Republic soldiers found themselves stricken with pause at the stunning sight.

 

Grek managed to saunter in and pull the trigger before the first shots had even been fired. The silence was broken by a sharp click. A soft hum emanated from the repeater as its internal mechanisms warmed up. Just then, the order to fire was boasted by the Republic commanding officer. The troopers in the mess hall complied. All of them.

 

His left side forward, Grek began sweeping the room with blaster fire. Sharp pins of red energy shot out of the repeater at a rate to ten bolts per second. Caught off guard, Republic soldier began falling one by one. But even as five combatants fell, their compatriots directed ample amounts of blaster fire toward the hulking aggressor.

 

The soldiers were surprised yet again when they found their own projectiles reflecting off of the invading Imperial. Bolts struck the surrounding area, and even some of their own troops, forcing the Republic soldiers into cover to escape the now combined barrage of blaster fire directed toward them. The defenders resorted to the same blind-firing techniques the Imperials had used against them, exposing the bare minimum from cover, but the single bulky target proved an easy mark.

 

Grek’s shield reserves and weapon energy levels were slowly depleting, but luckily a thick layer of smoke had begun occupying the space near the Imperials, and even spread to reach behind the Republic soldiers’ cover. Spending his weapon’s last breath, Grek opted to shoot the ground preceding him in a wide arc, tossing more debris and smoke into the air. Looking up from their cover, the defending troopers could no longer see their target, and further blaster fire directed at the spot in which he stood seemed to pass right through into the hallway behind him.

 

Turning to each other, the soldiers soon found themselves unable to see more than a meter's distance away, their vision inhibited by a thickening white cloud. Adjusting their helms, the Republic troopers began scanning for energy signatures. Green outlines marked each friendly soldier, alleviating some of the stress caused by the invasive cloud of smoke.

 

Suddenly, a Republic soldier was dropped by a single red blaster bolt implanting itself into the soldier’s helm. His neighbor yelped a warning but was cut off mid-sentence as he was shot in the chest. The remaining Republic troopers began firing toward the sources of blaster fire, but found no evidence of hitting their intended target.

 

The Imperials’ electronic systems should have been showing up on the defenders’ visors, but no red marks presented themselves. The defenders began to panic as two sources of red blaster bolts rapidly appeared to their left. Focusing of them, their right flank was fired upon by two sources of their own. The two sides fired at each other through the haze, though only the Imperials possessed the knowledge of whether or not their blows actually landed.

 

Two sources of blaster fire struck against the defender’s left and middle ranks. A single source now handled the right flank. Unable to foresee a chance of winning this battle, the Republic commander turned and made his way for the back exit, only to find the door had somehow shut behind them.

 

Turning back towards the unseen scene of carnage, the commander could have sworn he heard a soft whisper. In truth, it was the slight hum of an activated vibroblade sweeping itself across his neck. Crumbling, the commander fell to the presence of a pair of stark black boots that stood before him.

 

Silence fell on the mist of battle. Behind the various assemblage of stacked furniture and soft glow of the impromptu energy barriers, over twenty soldiers lay felled. Aurek signaled the all clear and beckoned Grek and Besh to enter the area.

 

Even through the electronic red-shift of their visors, the smoke still proved an impermeable barrier to the senses, but heavy artificial outlines marked each trooper on their heads-up-displays. Having placed his weapon back in its case, and the case upon his back, Grek used his arms to support the recovering Besh.

 

“Squad, check in,” Aurek calmly ordered across the white haze.

 

“Status is normal… Aurek,” Forn announced near the back exit.

 

“I’m fine over here,” Cresh admitted as he hopped the waist high barrier towards Forn. Two quick clicks from Grek’s comm signaled everything was okay on his end.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Besh woozily offered as his response. With everyone checked in, the squad made its way toward the mess hall exit. As they moved through a gap in the Republic soldier’s established cover, Grek accidentally walked Besh into some of the furniture, provoking a low groan from the sniper.

 

Grek offered an apologetic wave of his free hand towards the injured trooper but was unsure if it was received past the fog and growing ire clogging the soldier’s vision. With the squad regrouped near the back exit, the troopers could continue their journey back towards the shuttle.

 

“Dorn. It’s Aurek. Are you still locked out of the system? Can you at least confirm that the lift ahead is still functioning?” Aurek asked over the comm.

 

“Still locked out,” Dorn answered, “but monitoring is still up. From what I can see the lift is still operating. If it stops working however, don’t count on me being able to remedy the situation.”

 

“Ugh. Why couldn’t there just be a simple set of stairs to use,” Aurek lamented.

 

“Oh. Right. Stairs… Didn’t even think of stairs,” Dorn stated with a tone of epiphany. A long sorrowful pause struck each of the troopers.

 

“Kidding,” Dorn confessed, much to the half-delight of the squad.

 

“He’s certainly been spending too much time with Esk,” Aurek softly remarked. “Alright squad, let’s move out.” Ceasing communications, Aurek waved his squad forward.

 

With a brush of the neighboring control panel, the single door opened revealing the smoke-less hallway leading to the lift. First to step out of the room was Aurek, meaning he was also the recipient of having two blasters directed toward his face.

 

Two Republic troopers, fully suited in armor, stood to the left of the door, in the hallway running along exterior of the mess hall’s back wall. Aurek stood alone, his allies not interfering, with his arms firmly by his side, carbine held loosely in his right hand. The minute tremors in the Republic soldiers’ hands, as their weapons shook ever so slightly, betrayed their feelings.

 

The closest white-clad trooper ordered the invader, albeit in a rather irresolute manner, to drop his weapon. Aurek complied. A hint of surprise could be gathered from the faux-authoritative officer’s body movements. There was a hesitation as the defender thought of what course of action he could possible take. The Imperial troopers had just passed through a room occupied by over twenty aptly suited and armed Republic soldiers. What hope did he have in halting these mobile bastions of the Empire.

 

Thoughts raced, forestalling judgment as they competed for attention. Self-preservation and common sense had begun to chip away at the weakening foundation of patriotism and duty. All this and the Imperial had not even turned his head or raised a hand. Yet.

 

The Republic trooper attempted to issue a second order, but was interrupted by the hostile introduction of an armored gauntlet into his face. The blow caused the soldier to tumble to the ground, his helmet knocked loose, and his blaster flung from his hands. The accompanying white trooper could do nothing but look on in frightful awe as his ally lay unconscious on the floor.

 

His eyes locked with the cold, featureless visage of the invader. About to raise his weapon, the trooper discovered the same hand that felled his ally was now gripping the rifle’s barrel, impeding its motion. The Imperial stood unwavering as the blaster pointed directly at his chest.

 

“Take it from someone who’s attended his own funeral, you’re no use to your Republic dead,” Aurek stated. The tranquil words sprang from the invader’s helmet before they promptly gripped the Republic soldier’s ears and refused to let go. The defender croaked an inaudible reply, but it went unheeded by the dark soldier.

 

“Let go. Of your blaster. Of your feelings. Of your feeble notions of obligation. And let me and my squad pass.”

 

The chilling words cut deep into the wavering trooper, loosening his hand’s grip ad forcing him to drop to his knees.

 

“Tend to your wounded,” Aurek softly advised as he retrieved his weapon and waved for his companions to follow.

 

The defeated soldier sat on his knees, hands to his side and head hung in utter defeat, as the five Imperials passed him without a second glance.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

So far, from all that I've read... this story is amazing. Just wanted to be the first to comment and let you know! Edited March 29, 2012 by RulithBarakis

Chapter Ten: The Alert

 

The five Imperial troopers departed the cylindrical lift on their intended level, scanning the ensuing hallway for any signs of danger. Ahead, perpendicular to the squad’s approach, was the familiar spine of the cruiser, albeit further from the hangar than the last encounter with it. As the soldiers approached the hall, things took a turn for the worse when suddenly the ship fell dark. Silent blackness filled the halls of the ship, only broken by the few emergency lights that lined the floors where they made contact with the walls. The once white interior was now forced to bask in the yellow-orange glow of the substitute lighting.

 

More disturbing than the shift in mood lighting was the immense, but brief, shake that rocked the entire cruiser, nearly tossing the troopers to the ground. Almost immediately after the trembling subsided, the emergency lights shut off and the ship seemingly returned to its normal status.

 

“Before y’all even ask. That wasn’t me,” Esk preemptively stated over the team’s comm. Aurek nodded his head as he readied the second question in his mind.

 

“Dorn?” Aurek peacefully requested.

 

“Well, uh, I’m not entirely sure, but-”

 

“WARNING!” The cruiser’s auditory alert system had sounded off. “SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED. EVACUATION IS ADVISED.”

 

“-but the ship might be self-destructing,” Dorn finished.

 

“This damned ship is trying to kill us,” Besh commented, now standing under his own weight, but still drifting slightly from side to side.

 

“This complicates things,” Aurek admitted. “Listen. Dorn. Esk. If we take too long getting back to the hangar, I want you two to take the shuttle you came in for yourselves and escape. Our team will just commandeer the Republic shuttle and leave that way.”

 

“Uh, Aurek? What Republic Shuttle?” Cresh hesitantly asked.

 

“The one that brought me onto this ship up from planetside in the first place,” Aurek answered. “The one that should still be in the hangar.” The combined shaking of heads by his accompanying squad forced the squad leader to lower his own. “It’s not in the hangar is it? Damn, must have left for the surface for reinforcements once I escaped.”

 

“Is the ship self-destructing… or not?” Forn interjected. “Because standing around talking… leads me to believe… that you don’t think so.”

 

“Good point,” Aurek remarked. “Dorn how long until this place is done for?”

 

“Doesn’t say,” Dorn replied almost immediately.

 

“Rude ship…” Besh observed.

 

“What about escape pods?” Cresh inquired.

 

“They are launching as we speak,” Dorn replied. “They’re practically adjacent to the bridge for easy access by high priority personnel, so you guys are better off making your way back to the hangar.”

 

“Then let us do that,” Forn insisted. Aurek concurred and wave the squad forward. Once aligned with the cruiser’s spinal hallway, it would be a straight dash toward the hangar bay. It would be, if the series of doors between the squad and their destination weren’t on complete lockdown.

 

“How intent are they on killing us today?” Aurek said to himself.

 

“We must have angered the ship…” Besh further commented.

 

“Dorn, I pray that you aren’t still locked out of the system,” Aurek remarked over the comm.

 

“I am,” Dorn replied. Aurek’s closed fist slammed against the locked door before him in frustration. “Don’t worry. I am not a slicer without a few tricks. I have a security spike that can overload the entire system.”

 

“Why couldn’t you have just used that before?” Cresh impatiently asked.

 

There was a silence over the comm before it was broken by the electronic crackling brought on by Dorn implanting a literal spike device into a receptacle of the hangar control panel. As a result, the doorway blocking the squads path opened. As did every door ahead of it. Eventually, Aurek could see Esk standing in the distance, waving towards as it marked the first contact they had since the squad leader’s capture. Just as he was about to step forward, the door promptly shut in Aurek’s face. The trooper was confused even further when the door re-opened, and shut once again.

 

“Okay, question redacted,” Cresh admitted.

 

“Great, now the ship is trying to eat us,” Besh rambled.

 

“What was in that medicine you gave him?” Forn directed toward Cresh, who offered a general shrug of the shoulders.

 

“Alright, squad!” Aurek interrupted. “There doesn’t seem to be a steady interval here so… just try and do your best to get back to the hangar. It’ll require a bit of luck, but given the recent turn of events… okay, never mind. Just try and do your best.” And with that Aurek leapt through the opened barrier before it closed behind him.

 

The rest of the squad followed, with only one or two soldiers per segmented piece of hallway. A jump, and a pause. No looking back. No hesitation. Running on instinct, the troopers slowly made their way back to the hangar. Amazingly, Besh proved quite successful at wandering past the cruiser’s clutches in his state of medicinal stupor.

 

Towards the midpoint of their venture, the soldiers learned the consequence of failure as Aurek’s carbine got caught in the closing maw of a sturdy doorway. Crushing, and later splitting, the weapon into two crumpled pieces. Offering a quick apology toward Grek, Aurek and his squad pressed onward.

 

With the squad fast approaching, Esk waved for Dorn to disengage from the control panel and make his way back onto the shuttle. The slicer quickly disengaged the link between the console and his datapad and matched Esk’s hurried pace as he began his descent from the forward platform. The demolitionist retrieved the now empty box of explosives from the foot of the shuttle ramp before promptly entering the craft.

 

Dorn made his way up into the Imperial shuttle, swinging around the struts supporting the lowered ramp as he made his way into the ship’s cockpit. The trooper picked from the myriad of switches and began flipping on essential systems, one after another, not even bothering to sit in the captain’s chair whilst doing so. The back end of the bulky black block of a ship elicited an awkward azure glow as the engine ignited.

 

A quick look out the port-side windows of the room revealed the rest of the squad had finally made it through the gnashing teeth of the haywire cruiser. A flashing indicator drew the pilot’s attention back toward the shuttle’s instrumentation. A inbound shuttle was making its way toward the hangar bay.

 

“Uh, Aurek? I think that shuttle you mentioned is on its way back,” Dorn informed over the comm. The squad leader checked back to confirm that the entirety of the squad had safely make their way into the hangar.

 

“Let’s go, we don’t want to be here when reinforcements arrive,” Aurek rapidly notified his squad mates.

 

Taking a pause, Aurek ensured that he would be last to board the shuttle as his companions rushed past him. Grek unfastened the encased repeater from his back and slid it under his assigned seat as he boarded the shuttle. The others made their way aboard, those who still retained their weapons not bothering to properly stow them in the cargo hold. As Aurek finally ascended the ramp, he notified Dorn to begin the launch, joining him in the shuttle’s cockpit.

 

“Alright, just got to back out and we’ll be on our way,” Dorn updated as he manipulated the actual shuttle controls rather than operate the ship with his datapad.

 

“No time,” Aurek hurriedly advised, standing adjacent to the seated trooper. “Just press forward through the starboard hangar entrance.” Heeding the squad leaders orders, Dorn finished retracting the landing equipment and gunned the shuttle onward. Toppling the crated perimeter Grek had set up, soon the transport had escaped the confines of the Republic cruiser.

 

“I don’t have any programmed hyperspace coordinates along this vector-“ Dorn tried to explain.

 

“Forget about that,” Aurek ordered. “Just get us as far away from the cruiser as the sub-light engines will go.”

 

The shuttle shook as Dorn pressed the shuttle forward, knocking Aurek back and into the door leading to the passenger area. The door automatically opened by his presence, sending the trooper backward. Luckily, Aurek was able to get a hand on the door’s frame, swinging himself into an empty spot on the nearby bench.

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

Epilogue: The Aftermath

 

The hangar floor lay static, a still frame of the events that had previously transpired. The scene was only disturbed by the introduction of a white Republic shuttle passing through the hangar’s port magnetic barrier. The miniaturized version of the traditional gully jumper transports gently settles on the hangar floor before opening its front boarding ramp.

 

A squad of seven Republic troopers exited the craft, gun raised and scanning the room. The dismaying scene that greeted them forced a drop of the heavily armored troopers’ resolve. It took a moment before the squad even noticed the alarms blaring over the cruiser’s communications array.

 

“Sergeant, that’s the warning for self-destruction,” the squad’s engineer informed. The front-running trooper quickly snapped his attention to his following squad.

 

“Damn it, I’m not to give up on the Runner!” The squad captain barked. “I made a pledge to the Republic, and I’m not going to see a vessel and its crew needlessly thrown away. Now… anyone thinking of evacuating can do so. Meanwhile, I believe we have a ship to save.”

 

“Yes sir, Sergeant Kier!” The squad responded in unison.

 

“Good. There should be a maintenance hatch under the aft hangar platform. We can follow that to the emergency override near the reactor. Let’s move out.”

 

The Republic squad marched forward at a sprinting pace. They were forced into a single file line as they squeezed behind the stacks of crates occupying he underside of the aft platform.

 

Eventually, the lead soldier came to a hatch, noticeable only by the thin lines that marked its borders and two inset pockets to grip it with. The squad leader hastily removed the access panel and set it aside.

 

The first step into the dark passageway of exposed wiring and framework was an awkward one for the soldier. Taking a step back, the trooper realized he had stepped onto an irregular disk attached to the flooring. Only after it began blinking with an angry red light did he realize his mistake.

 

Two explosions followed. One was indicated by the Esk’s loss of the signal connecting his helm to the perimeter defenses he had set up. The other was indicated by the immense fireball of a detonating starship that was quickly consumed by the vacuum of space.

 

----------

 

The squad was back together in its entirety once again. Aurek had been rescued from his purposeful imprisonment. Besh had successfully lead an operation as acting commander. Cresh had managed to beat the odds and survive his first combat mission. Dorn had gone the entire mission without being shot at once. Esk had the privilege of detonating a variety of explosives. Forn had kept himself sufficiently entertained with the on-board combat. Grek had lived up to his standard of responsibility of duty. Today was a good day for the Seven.

 

“So wait… does that technically count as leaving evidence?” Cresh asked, adopting a rather smug veneer.

 

“Well, it was a self-destruction,” Aurek admitted. “So, if it works toward the Project’s goals, we triggered it. If it works against us, they triggered it. That or we blame it on Esk.”

 

“Hah, I almost feel like taking credit for the detonation under any circumstance,” Esk boasted with a trademark chuckle. All the squad members seemed in his spirits, all except Besh, who seemed to be focusing on his wound.

 

“First aid wearing off, Besh?” Aurek inquired. The sniper replied with a confirming nod. The adjacent Grek offered the injured trooper a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Once we’re through to the home base we’ll send word to prep the med bay for you. Although I must say I’m relieved. After what I said during the interrogation I would have felt really bad if it was Cresh who had been shot.” Besh offered only a glare from behind his visor.

 

“Who said I was going to get shot?” Cresh queried, almost dropping his jocular attitude.

 

“Statistically speaking, Cresh has the lowest track record for… well, survival,” Aurek hesitantly admitted.

 

“Statistically speaking… your boasting of statistics is what stuck us with this mission in the first place,” Forn chimed in with his familiar stoic tone.

 

“Statistics are what the Seven are all about. This is the third cruiser sized ship we’ve infiltrated and destroyed.

 

“Yeah, but this was the first one to actually have any meaningful opposition aboard,” Esk noted.

 

“Is that a good or bad thing, Esk?” Aurek inquired.

 

“Doesn’t matter to me. I’m just the demo-man.”

 

“Yet everyone always seems to get lumped together for blame when something spontaneously combusts,” Dorn interjected as he exited the shuttle’s cockpit. “Hopefully the Director won’t be too riled up by this little explosion.”

 

“She shouldn’t be. No actions during the operation conflicted with the Treaty of Coruscant. The Empire was retrieving a capture prisoner. The Republic was defending itself against armed aggressors. Simple as that. With no off-site reinforcements, each side can sufficiently say they were within their rights. Each side equally at fault for any investigated grievances. No territory lost or gained. Just one of the many quarrels that pop up and go unnoticed by the galaxy at large. Only difference is information regarding this operation will be spread to just the right people.”

 

“Aurek, the path back to base should be clear for hyperspace,” Dorn interposed, still standing in the doorway between the two rooms.

 

“On to home, then.”

 

----------

 

So concludes The Seven: Episode One - "Assault of Freedom's Runner"!

 

Stay tuned for the squad's next assignment: "Crusade on the Dune Sea".

Edited January 26, 2014 by Osetto

So far, from all that I've read... this story is amazing. Just wanted to be the first to comment and let you know!

 

Many thanks for the kind words! I always welcome comments, questions, and feedback, especially now as the 'episode' has been concluded.

 

Aboard the Ulterior – Part One

 

The lines of stars across the cockpit’s viewports returned to their normal dotted arrangement as the Imperial shuttle exited hyperspace. The shuttle had arrived at its destination, amongst the blackness of space, with nary a noteworthy chunk of rock anywhere near it.

 

Instead, a single Imperial battlecruiser lay dormant, showing no intention of heading toward any sort of destination. The wedge-shaped capital ship merely floated amongst its surroundings, waiting. As the shuttle approached the ship at a speed much lower than what its engines were capable of, Aurek casually strolled into the cockpit. A quick look out the shuttle’s viewport was followed by a his index finger continuously pressing one of the many buttons the lined the area.

 

“Ulterior, this is Aurek of The Seven. We are returning from the successful completion of our assignment, and heading toward Hangar C to dock,” Aurek stated in a rather monotonous tone.

 

“Acknowledged,” a voice responded after a moment’s pause. “The Director will want to confer with you after you have boarded. The rest of your team are to return to their private quarters.”

 

“Understood,” Aurek said with every sense of proper protocol. “However, we have one wounded. I request that you prepare Med bay S2-1 for his presence.”

 

“Request granted. Will he require a means of mobility assistance?”

 

“He’s capable of walking, but a single escort would be beneficial.”

 

“Acknowledged. Orders stand for the rest of your squad. You are clear to land.”

 

“Thank you.” Aurek finally released his finger from the communications grid and returned to the passenger area of the shuttle. To his right, he could see Besh slightly bent, covering his wound with his gloved hand.

 

“Got medical set up for you when we arrive Besh.”

 

“Sounds good,” Besh admitted through exhausted breaths. “Don’t suppose you managed to secure me a hoverchair on arrival?”

 

“Sorry Besh, you know the Director doesn’t like the ship’s crew seeing us as vulnerable. Going to have to walk it off. As for the everyone else, your orders are to return to your private quarters for the time being. I gotta talk to the Director about the mission and what have you. I’ll see if I can’t arrange us some leisure time in the mess hall. Sound good?”

 

The various squad members bobbed their heads in agreement.

 

The shuttle made its way to the capital ship’s starboard hangar, becoming more and more miniscule by comparison as its approach continued. Beyond the ship’s magnetic barriers, cold dark panels and fixtures greeted the shuttle, providing a much more suitable atmosphere than the Republic cruiser could offer. Lowly officers and service droids darted from one side of the hangar to the other.

 

The shuttle set down amongst an array of Imperial starfighters as the hangar staff swarmed the new arrival. The processes of refueling and maintenance were underway before the shuttle’s entrance ramp had even deployed. Once it had, the shuttle released a soft grunt as the various pistons began to extend. The noise signaled the exterior workers to immediately part ways from the exiting path.

 

Aurek was the first to disembark and was greeted by two Imperial officers a short distance away from the shuttle. The leftward officer was a male human and dressed in standard Imperial Navy regalia. The numerous lines across his badge as well as his face detailed his many years of service to the Empire. The rightward officer was female human, garbed in a lighter uniform with various patches designating her as one of the on-ship medical personnel.

 

Before either of them however, was a hangar mechanic standing beside a rather large, but empty push-cart, staring ahead trying not to make eye contact with the armored warrior.

 

As the other member of the squad disembarked from the shuttle, they placed their various spent weapons and tools on the worker’s cart. The worker jumped with a bit of fright as Grek placed his footlocker on the cart with a rather audible thud. As Dorn lastly exited the shuttle, he was replaced by one of the many mechanics making his way up into the bowels of the shuttle.

 

As a group, the seven troopers walked forward toward the awaiting duo of officers, with no apparent arrangement other than Besh being surrounded by the less visibly injured. Aurek met the two officers with mutual salutes, directing the medic toward Besh before continuing with the other.

 

“Captain,” Aurek said nonchalantly.

 

“Aurek,” the Captain replied with equal levels of enthusiasm. “The Director is waiting in the main conference hall.”

 

“I take it you are to accompany me?” Aurek asked.

 

“Correct,” the Captain replied.

 

“Wonderful,” Aurek responded, faking any semblance of eagerness.

 

Conversations between Aurek and the Captain rarely permitted more than short, brunt questions and answers, and this one was no exception. The trooper glanced to his squad one last time before accompanying the Captain into the ship’s innards. With Besh in the caring hands of a medic and his other squad mates delegated to a bout of isolation, there was nothing for Aurek do to other than begin his silent trek toward a conference with the Director.

 

Five of the seven soldiers made their way toward their specialized on-board residences. The Seven were intruders to the Ulterior, with the Project commissioning the capital ship as a temporary base of operations. Not temporary enough for many of the ship’s denizens.

 

Whilst the Seven were away, the Ulterior’s compliment of crewmen and solider were forced to cease operations until their return. Such cessations were tolerable should the squad’s outgoing missions last one or two days, but on longer assignments, the ship’s natives were forced to bear an intolerable wait as they were forced to submit to the ambiguously rank-less, yet somehow authoritative, Special Projects soldiers.

 

Each member of the Seven possessed their own quarters, in a hall that was void of any of the ship’s usual denizens. Any form of monitoring was forbidden in the trooper’s personal lodgings. In each room there existed a large, mechanized chamber that granted each squad member their only means of existence outside their armor.

 

From its interior, each chamber would offer a personalized means of solitude, bearing libraries of holovids, holobooks, and music. The size of a regular soldier own quarters, the chambers were just another added layer of security in regards to protecting the identities of those within the Seven.

 

Getting past the front door would prove difficult. Breaking into the private chamber would prove next to impossible. All the matters of nutrition and hygiene that would be hampered by an all-encompassing suit of armor were alleviated within the confines of such a place.

 

Whilst the healthy troopers split into their various lonesomes and Besh was busy tending to the crippling pain in his gut, Aurek was well on his way to the meeting in which he would disclose the events aboard the Freedom’s Runner with the group’s direct superior.

 

Aurek stood in silence as the Captain operated the security panel outside the ship’s main conference room. The quick jabs of the officer’s fingers against the touchscreen correlated with the stern visage currently occupying the Captain’s face. The Captain could be considered one of the Ulterior’s denizens who weren’t too keen with the Seven’s continued stay aboard, a fact that he made readily apparent to Aurek when he could.

 

Beyond the now opened door laid a grandiose circular room, bearing no inhabitants but an equally grand rounded conference table and a lone seated individual. The sculpted wood of the piece provided a sense of regality amongst the surrounding dark palette. At its center rested an technological emitter meant for holographic communications. A single female sat in one of table’s many lining chairs, nearest to the room’s exit. As she turned as stood from her seat, she greeted the two guests with a smile.

 

The Director. Human. Female. Instead of the uniform of any enlisted officer, she bore light robes more reminiscent of a politician. Light brown hair was restrained in a rear bun, revealing a soft face of someone who couldn’t have been past their late twenties, the usual impressions of a life of battle completely absent. A genuine smile graced her lips, lacking any of the negative connotations generally assumed of a ‘pleasant’ Imperial, let alone a ‘pleasant’ politician. Leader and spokesperson of the Seven Project. Tactical savant.

 

“Aurek,” the Director began with a warm, inviting tone, “Always a pleasure to see you return safely. Here. Take a seat. Captain, you may return to your duties.”

 

With one hand she beckoned the armored trooper, whilst the other promptly shooed the perturbed naval officer. Aurek took a seat neighboring the Director, ready to divulge the details of the Seven’s most recent mission. He began with the original capture, recounting the event to eager ears.

 

The Director digested the information with genuine interest, her gaze locked in her own reflection across the troopers black facemask. And so it was that Aurek continued his story, and a story it was. It was no report. Reports were useless at this stage. A loose sequence of events, rough numbers, a beginning, and an end. That was all the Director required. And that was what she got.

 

The ‘distress’ call planetside, the ‘capture’ by the nearby Republic outpost, the ‘imprisonment’ aboard Freedom’s Runner. The intrusion, the reunion, the emission. The defenders, the offenders. The white walls and silent halls. And most importantly, going out with a bang. A hint of hesitation graced Aurek’s words when he finally mentioned the self-destruction of the cruiser, but the Director’s face bore no sense of disapproval. Instead, she couldn’t have happier.

 

“So that’s how it went down… excellent work,” the Director congratulated. “I had feared that the more uncalculated parameters of the mission would have led to some dire complications, but even with limited intel and a separated group you and your team performed more than adequately.”

 

“Well, if you ignore the wounded man and narrowly escaping an exploding vessel, I’d be more than happy to agree with you,” Aurek stated, trying his best to instill some humility.

 

“You know how many squads would kill simply to walk away with only a single wounded soldier?”

 

“I would hazard a guess of… all of them, considering the nature of their occupation,” Aurek joked.

 

“Semantics,” the Director joked back.

 

“And if there’s one thing you know, it’s semantics.”

 

“It would be an insult to my craft to simply think that my talents lie in mere badinage and wordplay.”

 

“And what of your talents? I take it by your gleeful reaction that the mission was considered a success in more than the traditional sense.”

 

“Correct. A single squad extracting a prisoner from and then detonating a Republic cruiser makes for great material. And with Republic evacuation protocols being what they are, there are sure to be plenty of accounts of the events surfacing in the coming days from the survivors. We will monitor the usual channels and broadcast our own version when the proper time comes. In the meantime, you and your squad have earned some rest. For the best, considering the condition of Besh.”

 

“Hmm. And here I thought you’d just chuck him out the airlock and give us a new sniper,” Aurek commented, voice laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

 

“Do not think of the Seven Project with such simplicity. Replacement is a primary concern. But cohesion takes precedence. I don’t just need a squad of heavily armed and armored troopers. I need a team.”

 

“A team… of heavily armed and armored troopers…”

 

“Get some rest Aurek,” the Director advised with a grin.

 

The two stood and shared a nod noting the meetings cessation. Aurek followed with an obligatory salute before making his way out of the conference room. At the door, Aurek turned toward his superior once more.

 

“By the way, I told the guys that I’d ask for some time in the commons…”

 

“Alright, but not until Besh has completely recovered. You need the full set before you can go out interacting the with regular soldiers.”

 

“Understood. Thank you Director.”

 

“No problem Aurek.”

Edited February 21, 2014 by Osetto

Aboard the Ulterior – Part Two

 

Aurek passed a very dissatisfied looking Captain as he vacated the conference room. The trooper offered a half-hearted salute before making his way toward the medical bay, sauntering away as the officer slowly shook his head. Traversing the brightly lit but darkly colored halls of the Ulterior, Aurek managed to find his way to the med bay with only a few uncalculated misdirections.

 

Passing through the automatic doors, he was met with a sense of sterility that almost matched his personal quarters. Various beds and tanks of medical supplies lined the sides of the sizable room. A short distance away, Besh was the lone injured occupant, sitting over the edge of a bed, being tended on all sides by a motley assemblage of medical personnel.

 

“Besh!” Aurek gleefully announced his entrance. With a soft lean to his side, Besh looked past the nurse in front of him to see his squad leader, much to his delight. That is, until he realized bending to the side at the waist did nothing to soothe the wound at his hip. A few soft shoos later, and the medical staff dispersed, allowing him to stand up from his bed. Besh walked toward Aurek with only a barely noticeable change in his gait. A little more noticeable, though, was the large square patch covering the break in the trooper’s underlying bodysuit. Luckily it matched it in color.

 

“Aurek! How are you?” Besh asked during his approach.

 

“Come on Besh, I’m the one who should asking that,” Aurek admitted, fixing his gaze upon Besh’s patched wound. “Looks like the doctors did a good job fixing you up.”

 

“Got Cresh to thank for that. His treatment kept the wound from getting any worse,” Besh informed.

 

“Well, you’ll have the chance to thank him in a bit. Got us all some free time in the commons,” Aurek updated.

 

Besh would be banished to his personal quarters as long as the suit was undergoing repairs in the future, so Aurek’s news of free time in the commons brought a nonstandard sense of positivity. The female medic that first tended to Besh on arrival discharged him from medical care and the two troopers walked to their barracks to round up the rest of the Seven.

 

The duo received curious looks from the various denizens who walked the ship’s halls as they made their way to their comrades. A technician might look up from a chart only to see the troopers and hastily avert their gaze. Some of the on-board military personnel would meet the faceless visages with subtle approving nods. Others with arched brows and veils of contempt. It seemed as if no two people possessed the same opinion of the Seven. And that’s just how the Director would want it.

 

The chatter and bustle of the halls drastically declined once the duo reach their private sector of the ship. Walking down an empty, unforgiving hallway, Aurek and Besh couldn’t help but relive the events aboard Freedom’s Runner in their heads. Wounds seemed to resurface. Some physical. Some mental. But they pressed on without a word, sure that once they were all together again, their recent troubles would melt away.

 

At their intended destination, Aurek and Besh separated themselves to either side of the hall. The rooms lining the corridor were moderately spaced, but far more than one could expect from military accommodations. One by one, the two walked down the aisle, pressing their hands upon a room’s exterior panel before moving on to the next one. A quick ringing of the doorbell was all that was needed to stir the rest of the Seven from their quarters. Almost immediately after each trooper received their signal, they vacated their room into the hall, fully armored as always.

 

Eagerness emanated from the released members of the Seven, each of them looking forward to their time in the commons. Each of them bore nothing but their armor, except for Grek, who held a small, boxed, container by its handle in his right hand. The troopers shared their various greetings, but mostly spoke toward Besh and his well-being. After basic pleasantries, the Seven made their way toward the mess hall in regular formation.

 

At their destination, they were greeted with a large expanse filled with numerous set of tables and chairs. At one end of the mess hall, food was being served. The rigidity of military scheduling had lessened since the Seven’s arrival. Coupled with the countless variations in shift schedules and work hours, the cafeterias always bore a significant population of the ship’s denizens, soldiers and mechanical staff alike.

 

There was a lull in the static conversation of the room as the Seven entered. Even though they possessed armor aesthetically similar to that of the regular troopers, their presence and identities were instantly recognizable by those who met them. Each of the mess hall’s inhabitants would glance up from their plates to catch sight of the Seven, and then promptly resume their eating.

 

The Seven made their way to one of the empty tables and sat down. The durasteel supports of the chairs couldn’t help but let out a soft whine at the added weight of the armored troopers. Each of the Seven waited patiently as Grek placed the box he had been carrying on the table. Undoing the latch, and folding the top backward, one could see an assortment of cards, arranged in decks of various sizes. It was time to play some Pazaak.

 

Each trooper let out a soft cheer with the reveal of the cards. After the removal of the main decks, the box was passed around the table for everyone to remove their personalized side deck. Months of play and exchanging of cards meant that no two side decks were the same in quantity or composition, factors that spoke of their owner’s skill. Besh possessed upwards of thirty cards, whereas Esk barely owned the ten necessary to constitute a deck.

 

“So what rule set are we using? Senate? Council?” Besh asked, engrossed in thumbing through his cards.

 

“If you want a little extra fun we could always try Nar Shaddaa rules,” Esk offered with a chuckle.

 

“Ignoring, for the moment, Project Protocol… no one here wants to see you naked Esk,” Aurek responded.

 

The demolitionist’s positive outlook stuttered for a moment as he realized the insinuation that he was incapable of winning.

 

“I say we just try to have fun and waste time for now, so Senate rules. Last thing we want is our free time cut short because Besh has won all of our cards.”

 

“I dunno,” Dorn interjected. “Besh might still have some of that experimental medicine swimming around in his system. Now might be the best opportunity for some high-stakes playing.”

 

“That reminds me,” Besh uttered, his attention directed toward finding a specific card in his hand. The rest of the squad watched in silence as the sniper eventually plucked a card from his deck and tossed it across the table to Cresh. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

 

“Oh… no problem Besh,” Cresh stated as he hesitantly picked up the card. ‘Plus or Minus 1’. Not the rarest of cards, but quite useful considering the Seven were isolated from outside sources. “So… who’s playing whom?”

 

“Well, considering someone just insinuated that I might not be operating at peak efficiency, I think I’ll have a nice little game with Dorn.”

 

“And considering we’re playing for fun, I doubt Forn is too keen on participating,” Esk suggested, jutting a thumb toward the cross-armed trooper.

 

“The prospect of victory… is spoils enough,” Forn admitted. “That is, of course, assuming I had a worthy challenger. I’m content to watch for now.”

 

“I’m playing with Grek, so Esk and Cresh will be the third pair,” Aurek announced as he and the others repositioned themselves to be sitting across from their opponents.

 

Harder than any of the missions the Seven had been assigned, was the prospect of wasting time. The isolation for extended periods of time proved tolerable only for the members who had become content with their own thoughts. These breaks in the mess hall provided the greatest sense of entertaining and camaraderie the Seven could hope for. They never ate, for that was business intended for the confines of the chamber.

 

Instead, they would pass the time with games of Pazaak, discussions, or challenges against the other denizens of the ship. To this day, the ordinary soldiers still hadn’t figured out the Seven. They were far more approachable than they had any right to be. And yet always there were barriers between them. Physical and mental. Some perplexed at the merriment that seemed at odds with the stories they had heard. Others held spite toward the fact that they were forced to inaction while Seven played their little games.

 

But in the minds of the Seven, the only thing that mattered was the activity at hand. Pazaak. Closest to 20 wins. Cards drawn from the main deck, numbered from 1 to 10, were presented to the player and added up over time. The player could bolster or hinder the progression with the cards from their personal side deck. Knowing when to stop was a matter of skill, luck, and the ability to know what your opponent was planning to do themselves. Some of the Seven embodied these matters. Other’s weren’t so lucky.

 

“So, Aurek, would you say the last mission raised or lowered your expectations for the Seven,” Besh chatted, able to hold a conversation without hindering his focus toward his game against Dorn.

 

“Well, I had always wondered how we’d function in a ‘real’ mission. I was pleasantly surprised,” Aurek admitted, never averting his gaze from his cards.

 

“There were plenty of surprises. I don’t know if I’d call them pleasant,” Besh countered.

 

“What? Your wound?” Aurek asked, turning toward the sniper for but a moment.

 

“Somewhat,” Besh began, ”but more so the narrow escape from a terminally exploding vessel.”

 

“In the end, I had no doubt that we would succeed in our mission,” Aurek divulged. “Each step along the way just cemented my thoughts. My escape. My rescue. Our escape. Each sequence connected with each other in such a fluid way that I couldn’t see a negative outcome.”

 

“Come on Aurek, there’s positivity, and there’s delusion,” Besh countered.

 

“No, honestly. We have assembled, what I think, as close to the perfect team that one could get on our budget,” Aurek confessed.

 

“We have a budget?” Esk interjected.

 

“I mean, there’s always going to be a better group of soldiers, but look at us. For seven guys with a fancy set of armor and tools, we do pretty well. And going into the future, I can’t help but see good things,” Aurek admitted.

 

“If you say so, Aurek,” Besh unbelievingly conceded.

 

“Look. Each one of us embodies an essential aspect for our line of work."

 

“Grek: Strength. I mean, beyond the physical capabilities, I have never met someone so ready and able. Strong body. Stronger heart.”

 

“Forn: Dexterity. Flexibility incarnate. I could pick ten weapons at random from any armory and he would be proficient with nine of them. And the tenth one he could just bludgeon you with."

 

“Esk: Constitution. If there was ever a man who refused to cease, it would be you. How many firefights, tussles, and explosions have you walked away from the center of with nary a scratch.”

 

“Dorn: Intelligence. The man who is capable of creation something from nothing. Capable of thinking of new possibilities at each turn, with a specific program to carry out those possibilities."

 

“Besh: Wisdom. What he doesn’t have in raw smarts, he makes up with the ability to utilize the information he’s given with unparalleled insight. Perceptive. Disciplined. And blessed with the gift of common sense I wish more possessed."

 

“And then there’s me: Charisma. The guy who weaves together the patches that were thrown away long ago into a work of art. I’m not the strongest, fastest, or smartest, but I can understand and predict people in ways you can’t with just facts and data.”

 

“What about Cresh?” Besh asked. Cresh attempted to mask whatever feelings his body motions may have portrayed by engrossing himself in his card game.

 

“Well, considering he’s still with us: Luck. That last, unseen element that you never knew you needed or even wanted until the moment where it finally presents itself, proving its worth all along.” Cresh’s shift in posture revealed that he was content with the sentiment. For a moment, anyway.

 

“Wait, why is it such a big deal that I survived?” Cresh questioned. “How many Cresh’s have you guys gone through?”

 

“Two,” Aurek clarified.

 

“Only two? You know how many squads would kill for a track record that good?” Cresh chastised.

 

“People should really stop using that expression. Besides, we lost the last two back when we were still doing dreadfully easy missions,” Aurek clarified. “Every-step-in-its-entirety-planned-out type mission. Less-than-a-two-percent-chance-of-failure type missions. We’ve lost two Cresh’s and a Dorn along the way.”

 

“Does Project Protocol even allow the discussion of our past selves,” Cresh inquired.

 

“It’s a gray area,” Aurek admitted. “So long as we don’t uncover cold hard facts about each other identities, there shouldn’t be a breach. However, some things can be circumvented with… ‘assumptions’.”

 

“Assumptions?” Cresh probed.

 

“While we cannot learn of whomever is resting under each of these suits of armor, we are allowed some general ‘assumptions’. And so long as we don’t outright confirm each other’s ‘assumptions’, we’ve done nothing wrong. For example, I ‘assume’ that the majority of us are Human. Me, Besh, you, Dorn, Esk. Whereas with Forn, I ‘assume’ he is an Iridonian Zabrak, who at some point in his life joined up with and then left the Mandolorians for Imperial employ.”

 

“That’s a lot of assumptions,” Forn stated with a hint of positivity in his voice.

 

“Indeed,” Aurek playfully responded.

 

“And how exactly do you make these ‘assumptions’?” Cresh questioned.

 

“Like I said. Charisma. I’m the people person,” Aurek explained.

 

“Is it me, or is declaring yourself to be charismatic conditionally uncharismatic?” Esk joked. The squad shared a laugh, with Grek offering a soft repeating nod.

 

“Then what about Grek?” Cresh asked.

 

“What about Grek?” Aurek countered.

 

“I mean, if you’ve figured out the rest of the squad…”

 

“Grek is a curious case. His size and silence make it a little hard to determine his species. But even if I did figure it out, it wouldn’t be my place to disclose such information,” Aurek declared. “He is a man of deeds. Not words. He doesn’t want preconceived notions of his lineage to alter the perception of his actions. Isn’t that right?”

 

Grek offered a slow approving nod as he placed a card on the table in front of him. Cresh couldn’t help but stare at the large trooper.

 

“I’ll assume he didn’t outright tell you this…”

 

“You’ll assume correctly,” Aurek commented. “I like to think that Grek and I have a respect for one another, and I would betray that trust were I to constantly attempt to uncover his identity. I’ll leave that to Esk.”

 

“What do you mean?” Cresh questioned.

 

“He’s talking about how every so often, I’ll shout out a species name from across the hall to see if it gets a reaction out of Grek,” Esk explained.

 

“Get anything out of it?” Cresh asked.

 

“Nope,” Esk and Aurek simultaneously answered.

 

“Honestly, ‘ve never even heard of half of them,” Besh reminisced.

 

“But I think of it as more of a game than me prying at the guy, right Grek?” Esk asked, leaning forward to catch his nodding response.

 

“What makes you think Grek is a guy? Assuming a rather alien lineage, Grek could be female or sexless,” Besh proposed.

 

“Or a droid,” Esk offered.

 

“Speaking of droids,” Dorn interrupted. “You guys know Esk want to replace me with an astromech?”

 

“The logic is sound,” Aurek admitted after the entire squad had fallen silent.

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dorn muttered.

 

“Hey, if Grek is in fact a droid, I’d say that’s a damn good display of the results they can deliver,” Aurek confessed.

 

“Yeah, but if he were in fact a droid, you’d think he’d be better at Pazaak,” Besh offered.

 

“What makes you say that?” Aurek questioned.

 

“Well, all you’d need a the right program and it just becomes a series of numbers and probabilities,” Dorn interjected. “A machine just has to follow a set of instructions and it will always choose the best course of action.”

 

“Oh how I wish that were true,” Aurek commented.

 

“Okay, what makes you say that?” Besh asked.

 

“Well, what are we but not machines?” Aurek inquired. “A machine is just something that performs a function. It need not be made of metal, or be given programming, and yet we qualify for both those things. Even machines are capable of fault, misinterpretation, misjudgment, unexpected change. We’re just machines made up of gooey bits.”

 

“And how do you take this designation?” Besh queried.

 

“Surprisingly well, “Aurek admitted. “It is not something that is exclusive to us. It’s not even something that’s exclusive to soldiers. It is what makes up all life. Just a bunch of tiny machines doing conflicting functions across the galaxy. But so long as I am still moving, still performing some function, I know that I’m still alive.”

 

“Oh, have you ever found yourself unsure if you were alive or dead?” Besh asked.

 

“Yes,” Aurek bluntly stated. Without words, the rest of the squad seemed to look up from their cards, deeply entrenched in thought.

 

“I suppose I know the feeling,” Besh stated.

 

“Aye,” Esk responded, with the rest of the rest supplying their own nodding heads. And with the same silence that had preceded them, the troopers returned to their card game.

Edited March 20, 2013 by Osetto

On the next episode of The Seven: "Crusade on the Dune Sea"

 

----------

“Gentlemen, this is Tatooine, a desert world in the outer rim and location of your next mission. Your task will be the elimination of a particular cult of former Sith.”

 

“Whoa… like… Imperial Sith… or Sith Sith?”

 

“Force-sensitives.”

 

“What makes them ‘former Sith’?”

 

“They’re not exactly exiles as they left of their own accord. Rogues would be the proper designation. The leaders we’ve identified as having belonged to the Sith Academy on Korriban at some point in the past. But they have denounced the Empire in pursuit of their own goals.”

 

“And what might those be?”

 

“The basic goals of any cult. Power. Recognition. Control.”

 

“So Sith… but not our Sith.”

----------

“I’ve already died for the Empire once. I don’t wish to do it again.”

----------

“What about scatterguns? We got any of those around here?”

 

“Those aren’t a part of the standard armory stock, sir.”

 

“Bleh.”

----------

“Do you have a name?”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Aurek.

 

“Sebastus.”

 

“Is that a real name?”

 

“What is real, Mr. Aurek?”

 

“Isn’t it your job to know?”

 

“Isn’t it your job to not?”

----------

 

Tune in next episode, when the Seven are removed from their controlled environment, when the limits of superior technology are put to the test, and the worlds of reality and myth collide.

 

 

Prologue: The Dispatch

 

A week had passed since the Seven’s last mission and the entire squad found themselves seated in the main conference room of the Ulterior. Besh had completely recovered and his armor was completely repaired. Now, the seven armored warriors sat patiently around the grandiose conference table adjacent to one another, awaiting the arrival of the Director. When she finally entered the room, the Seven immediately stood at attention.

 

“Good to see you all,” the Director proclaimed. “Take a seat.” The troopers followed her order without hesitation. Making her way toward the table, the men saw her intensely eyeing the datapad held within her grasp. With a few taps of the device, the holo-emitter in the center of the conference table ignited, displaying a brilliant model of a sandy brown planet. “Gentlemen, this is Tatooine, a desert world in the outer rim and location of your next mission. Your task will be the elimination of a particular cult of former Sith.”

 

“Whoa… like… Imperial Sith… or Sith Sith?” Dorn questioned.

 

“Force-sensitives,” the Director clarified.

 

“What makes them ‘former Sith’? Besh asked.

 

“They’re not exactly exiles as they left of their own accord. Rogues would be the proper designation. The leaders we’ve identified as having belonged to the Sith Academy on Korriban at some point in the past. But they have denounced the Empire in pursuit of their own goals.”

 

“And what might those be?” Esk jeered.

 

“The basic goals of any cult,” the Director explained. “Power. Recognition. Control.”

 

“So Sith… but not our Sith,” Esk joked.

 

“In a way,” the Director conceded. “Normally a group of this size and caliber would be of little importance and warrant little effort at removal, but they have begun to impact Imperial operations in the area.”

 

“And just how might this task have happened to have fallen to us?” Aurek asked.

 

“I offered your abilities in rectifying the matter to the higher ups.”

 

“Doesn’t exactly seem like one of our usual operations,” Aurek continued.

 

“No, not exactly. I’m afraid that due to the nature of the circumstances presented, I was forced to accept the assignment rather hastily lest another department be assigned to it. So I’m afraid we won’t have our usual level of intel and preparation.”

 

“We seem to be making a habit of that,” Esk chuckled.

 

“Do you think we’re prepared to go after such targets?” Aurek questioned.

 

“The lower ranks of the group should be mostly comprised academy drop outs and uninstructed Force users,” the Director admitted. “You should only be troubled by the elites.”

 

“And how many of those might there be?” Besh asked.

 

“Our sources indicate no more than ten,” the Director answered. “The main threat is the pair of moderately powerful darksiders leading the cult. Take them out, and the group should eventually fade away of its own accord.”

 

“Do we have equipment for taking out Sith?” Aurek inquired.

 

“You’ll have your normal assortment of blasters, accompanied by some specialized vibroblades that should give you a chance in melee combat. Your armor is combat ready against the occasional lightsaber strike and blast of Force Lightning,” the Director detailed.

 

“What about the pushy, grippy aspects,” Esk asked accompanied by fanciful hand motions.

 

“Your armor has built in procedures for handling bursts of kinetic energy. That should translate to Force manipulations,” the Director explained.

 

“Even the choking?” Esk persisted.

 

“I’m afraid the only defense to that is organic. Either overpower the urge or receive assistance from one of your squad mates,” the Director advised.

 

“Well, that’s all I need to know,” Esk admitted.

 

“Really? How about intended targets, areas, or anything resembling a plan?” Dorn casually berated.

 

“Don’t sweat it, Dorn. Last mission went great, and this time we’re running with a full party,” Esk reasoned.

 

“We almost blew up,” Dorn reminded him.

 

“When don’t we?” Esk retorted.

 

“He’s got a point,” Aurek joined in. “Anyway, I’m fine with a little uncertainty. Besh?”

 

“Our plans rarely hold up for any meaningful amount of time,” Besh admitted. “So I should be able to strategize just as well during this mission.”

 

“Cresh? You’ve been rather quiet,” Aurek continued.

 

“Uh… I don’t know. I guess we’ll be alright,” Cresh predicted. “I’m pretty confident in our abilities.”

 

“Dorn?”

 

“As long as we get as much information as we can before we reach Tatooine,” Dorn proposed, “I’ll have no problem.”

 

“Esk?”

 

“You know I’m up for anything,” Esk reminded his squad leader.

 

“Forn?”

 

“Are these guys… actual Sith? Not just young academy rejects?” Forn asked.

 

“So it would seem,” the Director answered. “While most of the cultists left the academy, it was of their own accord and after years of training therein.”

 

“Then I’m good to go,” Forn admitted.

 

“Grek?” Aurek concluded. The giant offered an assuring nod. “Well, we’re all in agreement then. When do we head out?”

 

“We’re prepping your shuttle for launch,” the Director disclosed. “So you’ll have a few hours to retrieve your tools from the armory and make your way to the hangar. Since you may be needing an extended stay on Tatooine, we’re installing some backup power cells for your suits. The last thing you want is for your cooling systems to go out in the middle of the desert.”

 

“Understood. Thank you Director,” Aurek stated, rising from his seat. As the director offered a gracious smile, the rest of the squad rose and vacated the conference room. On their way to their personal armory, the Seven bore a gait of hesitance. Besh was the first to voice his concerns.

 

“Aurek, you realize this is different from anything we’ve ever done.”

 

“Are you having doubts?” Aurek asked.

 

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t,” Besh responded.

 

“You don’t think us capable of this kind of mission?”

 

“It’s hard to measure capability with our track record. There is no precedent for an extended Sith hunt with limited preparation. We’ve never been first into a large scale conflict. We’ve never operated in a venue that wasn’t isolated from exterior forces. We’ve never faced opponents who had anything resembling an advantage. Everything about this mission is wrong, and goes against what the Seven have been up to this point.”

 

“I think it’s very within the goals of the Seven. Our purpose is to prove our superiority, allowing our name to gain influence.”

 

“No, it is the Director’s purpose to prove our superiority. Our purpose is to complete easy assignments which give the spin doctors something to work with.”

 

“So I take it you are against the escalation we’ve been seeing as of late.”

 

“I’ve already died for the Empire once. I don’t wish to do it again.”

 

The Seven continued toward the armory in silence, no other trooper opting to voice whatever concerns dwelled within them. Arriving at their destination, the group was greeted by an armed guard standing at attention in front of a locked door. The guard was suited in a full set of standard issue Imperial Infantry armor, like a slim brother to the members of the Seven.

 

Noticing their approach, the guard removed a hand from his rifle’s grip and placed it to his ear. With a nod, the guard stood aside, before beating twice against the door behind him. With access to the armory granted, the Seven proceeded to its interior to pick through the plethora of weaponry.

 

Along the walls of the sizable room, racks of rifles and side arms lay ready for the common soldiers. Further back however, a set of racks and crates distinctive from the rest were tended by two technicians. Upon witnessing the Seven’s entrance, the officer immediately shot to attention, each snapping off a salute. Aurek calmly waved for them to go about their business. Beside the Seven’s personal armament, a push-cart bore the spent weapons from the Seven’s last mission a week ago.

 

“Officer,” Besh spoke, directing his attention toward the cart and then to the nearest technician, “have these weapons been maintained since our last mission?” The two technicians looked at each other for a moment before one spoke up.

 

“I’m afraid not sir. The weapons there were listed as low priority.”

 

“But that is my favorite rifle…” Besh lamented.

 

“That’s what you get for bringin’ it on a Carbine load out.” Esk joked whilst trying to choose his weapon from the functioning stock.

 

“What about Grek? His repeater’s on the cart as well.” Besh reminded his squad mates. Grek offers a softly dismissing wave as he search for a weapon alongside Esk.

 

“Grek doesn’t want sand clogging up his pride and joy,” Aurek clarified.

 

“Makes sense,” Besh admitted. “Officer, can you find me a BG2-SA?” The technician darted off to search the many racks lining the walls for Besh’s specified model.

 

“I guess we don’t have a planned load out for this mission,” Dorn commented.

 

“Correct,” Aurek responded. “Pick whatever your most comfortable with. We’re hunting Sith here, so we need to be at our best.” The nearby technician visibly stirred at the squad leader’s comment, before finding himself drug by the elbow by Esk. Turning around, the officer found the stout trooper holding two weapons with a pondering glance between the two.

 

“Which do you think would be more effective for taking down a Jedi type?” Esk questioned. “The DA-O or the DA-2? The ‘Two’ is faster, but I’m a bit nostalgic for the ‘Oh’. Then again, I’m not exactly familiar with lightsabers, so the quicker firing rate could be a detriment. Any experience in that field?”

 

“Uh… I’m afraid not, sir.”

 

“What about scatterguns? We got any of those around here?” Esk continued.

 

“Those aren’t a part of the standard armory stock, sir.”

 

“Bleh,” Esk grunted, returning the weapons to their place on the rack. “Forn. I hear you’re pretty good at killing things. Any recommendations?”

 

“Lacking any… truly specialize weaponry… just grab a rifle and some explosives,” Forn recommended, whilst retrieving a pair of vibroknives.

 

“You planning of taking some on in melee?” Esk asked, pulling a standard infantryman’s rifle retrofitted to compliance with the Seven’s armor systems.

 

“Absolutely… and it seems I’m not the only one,” Forn admitted and he turned toward Aurek, who was examining a full length vibroblade.

 

“Really Aurek?” Esk bantered.

 

“What? I’m trained in single-edge swordplay. I’d rather have it and not need it than… you know.”

 

“Uh… guys?” Dorn intruded. “I’m not… I mean… I guess I don’t really know what I should get. I mean, you don’t really need a slicer for hunting Sith. Has Tatooine even advanced to the point of electronically locked doors?”

 

“If all else fails, you can jam a security spike into their eyes,” Esk joked. Dorn could only dip is head toward his compatriot.

 

“You’re the best pilot and machinist on the team, two skills vital to an extended mission such as this,” Aurek consoled. “Your engineering and Cresh’s medic training could be important now more than ever.”

 

“He’s got a point,” Cresh admitted, pulling two pistols from a wall panel. “We’ll be on our own down there. No one to take care of our armor, weapons, or bodies except ourselves.”

 

“At least now I’ll know who to blame for not keeping my rifle maintained…” Besh stated, slightly raising his voice. The technician had returned to the eager sniper with a rifle in hand. Almost exactly the same as Besh’s previous weapon, only a master of the craft could detect the differences in minutia.

 

“Sir, I found a BG2, but it’s a T-B instead of an S-A…” Besh offered only a long dry stare as his response.

 

“Besh, there’s practically no difference. Just take the damn rifle,” Esk demanded.

 

“How would you like it if I started giving you advice about your explosives?” Besh offered.

 

“Y’all give me advice about my explosives all the time!” Esk countered. Silently, Besh snatched the sniper rifle from the officer. “Honestly, you don’t hear Forn complaining about not getting his favorite weapon.”

 

“One, that’s because we barely hear Forn at all,” Besh stated. “Two, he’s specifically trained to be an expert with any weapon he picks up.”

 

“It’s true… I could kill that technician… with his own datapad.” Forn joked. The officer couldn’t help but shiver with fright.

 

“I, on the other hand, am trained for accurate and precise marksmanship,” Besh informed. “To be at my best, I need to be more than familiar with my weapon. At which point, I’m much more deadly than a pair of blades.”

 

“Want to test that?” Forn offered.

 

“Sure, let’s put a kilometer between us and see who can hit who first,” Besh proposed.

 

“Sound like fun,” Forn admitted.

 

“Have you guys always been like this?” Cresh interjected.

 

“Don’t worry,” Aurek advised, “we all know it’s not serious. Just playful words to motivate and inspire.”

 

“Wasn’t always that way if I recall correctly…” Besh bluntly stated.

 

“Should’ve know better… than to antagonize me that close to a cliff,” Forn responded.

 

“Well at that point none of us knew you were some testy Iridonian…” Besh reasoned.

 

“Officially, we still don’t know that,” Dorn reminded.

 

“And we’re all about being official,” Aurek stated, turning away from the weapon racks. Born upon his back was a blaster rifle that appeared to be the scaled-up version of the carbines the team had used to rescue him from Freedom’s Runner. Sandwiched between the gun and his back was a secured vibroblade. The one handed vibrosword measured 1.5 meters in length, was composed of darkened materials to match the bearer’s armor. “Gentlemen, if you’re done chatting, gather your gear and meet me at the shuttle.”

 

“Wait… the same shuttle as last mission?” Dorn inquired.

 

“Correct,” Aurek confirmed.

 

“Isn’t it a little… compact… for an extended stay planetside?” Dorn continued.

 

“It’s what we’re getting. The Director is making a few modifications to it though.”

 

“At least I won’t have to update my flight algorithms…”

Edited June 7, 2012 by Osetto

Chapter One: The Arrival

 

Exiting hyperspace, the Seven’s personal shuttle began its journey toward the dusty surface of Tatooine as the system’s twin stars radiated their divine glow across its flank. In the cockpit, Dorn fiddled with the occasional switch and dial as Aurek initiated the communications system. Under his visor, the squad leader watched as his helmet synced with the shuttle’s broadcaster.

 

“Calling Mos Ila spaceport, this is Captain Orhjinn requesting permission to land,” Aurek casually spoke.

 

“Ah yes… Captain Orhjinn,” the ship’s speakers responded after a pause. “You’ve been given a private dock for your ship and crew, as per your ‘employer’s’ wishes. You are free to approach and land in hangar eighteen. Have a nice day and enjoy your stay in Mos Ila.” There was a soft click as Aurek disengaged the communications grid.

 

“I guess even while on an entirely different kind of mission, the Director’s knack for disinformation is not left behind,” Dorn commented, now more thoroughly engaged in the shuttle’s controls.

 

“Not entirely the Director’s doing. Believe it or not, Tatooine may be dry, hot, and all but abandoned, but it is still contested. Mos Ila is safe for Imperials, but it’s always safe to take extra precautions with audio transmissions,” Aurek explained.

 

“I hear yah,” Dorn stated. “Interception was a bit of a hobby of mine before joining the Seven.”

 

“Enlisted or freelance?”

 

“Freelance. Ended with my conscription into the army in lieu of punishment.”

 

“Careful now Dorn, wouldn’t want to reveal anything that would allow me to uncover your true identity,” Aurek offered in a lighthearted tone.

 

“Don’t worry,” Dorn replied with a chuckle. “There were a plethora of other slicers who met the exact same fate as I.”

 

"I wouldn't say 'exact same fate', now would I?"

 

The cockpit returned to relative silence as the shuttle continued its approach to the planet’s surface. Finally within Tatooine’s atmosphere, vast stretches of sand and rocky crags plagued the landscape outside the shuttle’s viewports. The occasional structure emerged from the blasted lands, but true settlements seems few and far between.

 

Dorn took the shuttle down and docked in one of the smaller private hangars of Mos Ila’s spaceport. Looking out the front viewport, the bedraggled droids that made up the hangar support staff made their way to the floor surrounding the shuttle, keen on prepping the ship for its extended stay.

 

Aurek ordered Dorn to power down the ship and the two proceeded to join the rest of the squad in the sitting area. Walking through the door, Aurek saw five of the Seven sitting patiently, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“So. I guess this the first time we’ve had a mission like this,” Aurek relayed to his compatriots. “Our objective is to eliminate the rogue group of force-users currently hiding out south of Mos Ila.”

 

“Where south of Mos Ila?” Besh interrupted.

 

“Not sure,” Aurek admitted. “Our first day on this planet will likely be spent gathering information from the locals. This group cannot operate out here without supplies. Chances are we’ll pick up some reliable intel from the local business men.”

 

“I can track them… assuming we can find a reliable staring point,” Forn acknowledged.

 

“Any hostile forces we have to worry about aside from the Sith?” Besh questioned.

 

“I’ve gone through the Director’s report on local happenings, and destabilized is one of the first words that come to mind,” Dorn informed. “For one thing, both the Republic and the Empire are starting to show renewed interest in this forsaken dust ball. Emperor knows why. ‘Pub’ territory is far north of us so we shouldn’t have any run ins with them. Mos Ila used to be a Jawa trading post before the Exchange kicked them out and took over. Criminal element kept a firm hold on the local populace until the Empire came in and ran them out. The Exchange is supposedly falling on hard times, causing them to become somewhat desperate and reckless. Czerka used to have a profound presence on the planet long before the war. Eventually pulled out due to native quarrels, but they’re interested in something enough to have returned.”

 

“Who’d think so many groups would be so concerned about bunch of sand?” Esk mused.

 

“It’s what under the sand that’s so intriguing,” Aurek concluded. “The first outlaws who came here sought and found relative security from the galaxy at large. Influential force-users are born here, trapped here, brought here. This planet is a curious place.”

 

“It’s true,” Besh conceded. “Think of how many stories you hear of Jedi or Sith coming here and miraculously finding something of significance amongst the vast nothingness. Artifacts. Fonts of power. That sort of thing.”

 

“Think that’s why the rogue cult came here?” Cresh inquired.

 

“They certainly found a place to hide,” Dorn admitted.

 

“There are better places to hide,” Forn reminded. “They are not here… without purpose.”

 

“I guess so,” Dorn confessed. “If I simply wanted to hide, I’d go somewhere less hot. Less dry. And with less Sand People.”

 

“Whoa, wait. Sand People?” Cresh interrupted.

 

“Natives,” Aurek explained.

 

“Right. Sort of forgot of them earlier,” Dorn apologized.

 

“Could you try forgetting the things that don’t represent a particular danger to us?” Esk jokingly asked.

 

“To be fair, you interrupted my briefing,” Dorn defended himself.

 

“Got me there,” Esk conceded.

 

“What are their capabilities?” Forn probed.

 

“They aren’t too sophisticated,” Dorn detailed. “But generally regarded as savage humanoid sentients. Wrapped in head to toe in desert cloths. Tribal social structure. Rarely sedentary. They’re able to piece together reliable melee weapons and rifles with salvage and scrap.”

 

“But how dangerous are they?” Besh wondered.

 

“They are the most often attributed reason for any established group deciding to leave the planet.”

 

“Great,” Besh sighed.

 

“For now we need to meet up with our contact. An agent from the Ministry.”

 

“Someone from Imperial Intelligence is here and we still have to do the investigating?” Esk lamented.

 

“The agent was on Tatooine for other business, and was in the process of returning to Dromund Kaas before our business delayed his. He is merely acting as a brief envoy to get us locally situated,” Aurek explained.

 

“Oh, great. Nothing an agent likes more than having his business interrupted by some of us troopers,” Esk joked.

 

“Don’t we have closer connections to the Ministry than the Imperial Army?” Cresh wondered.

 

“Doesn’t matter. We manage to piss off whichever group we come into personal contact with,” Esk revealed.

 

“Stop saying that like it’s mandatory!” Besh exclaimed, uncharacteristically emotional. “People have no reason to hate us if we didn’t give them reason.”

 

“When have we ever given the other soldiers a reason to hate us?” Esk replied. Besh merely stared at the demolitionist in silence. “Hey, they instigated that fight!” The sniper could only sigh.

 

“It was just mashed potatoes. Did you really have to flip out over such a thing?” Besh interrogated.

 

“I was on edge that day. Still hadn’t gotten over losing Dorn,” Esk admitted, bearing some semblance of a solemn tone.

 

“Look,” Dorn began, “let’s not make our contact wait any longer. And I’m sure a terrestrial stretch of the legs will do us all some good.”

 

“Good idea, Dorn,” Aurek commended. “Everyone grab your standard load out and we’ll make out way into town.

 

The troopers made their way into the aft cargo room. The modifications to the shuttle left little of the storage space that was present in the mission before. Instead, every soldier had the barest of their equipment stored in a minimal area. The rest of the cargo bay had been stocked with overnight recharging stations for the suits of armor. Retrieving the their chosen weapons from the Ulterior’s armory, the squad vacated the docked ship.

 

The cavalcade of service droids buzzing around the shuttle quickly dispersed as the Seven lowered and descended the shuttle’s ramp. A single technician feverishly eyeing a datapad stood a short distance ahead of the squad.

 

“Uh… Mister Orhjinn?” the technician barely muttered.

 

“That’s me,” Aurek declared. “This is my ship. These are my associates. We are here on business of a mercantile variety. Our docking fees have been paid for, with a little extra thrown in to cover security… and discretion.”

 

“Of course sir!” the technician replied.

 

The Seven walked out of the dusty halls of the Mos Ila spaceport and into the town itself. The squad was stricken with pause as the amalgam of population and desolation that seemed to make up the planet’s motif. Whitish blocks rose from the hard ground in the form of buildings. Large sheets of canvas supported by tall pillars danced in the wind, providing shaded areas for the streets below. If they could be called streets. Mostly dirt alleyways of varying sizes were all that separated the structures and prompted pedestrian travel.

 

The streets were far from bustling. At midday, there was little transit between the local shops and homes, only the occasional resident could be seen drudging to their unseen destination. As a unit, the Seven made their way toward the local cantina. Aurek paused at the open entrance to the unassuming establishment.

 

“I’d think it’d be best if I meet the agent alone,” Aurek revealed. “Places like this don’t react well to the intrusion of groups like ours.”

 

“You’re embarrassed of us, aren’t you,” Esk commented with faux-heartbreak.

 

“If I was, I wouldn’t be giving you free reign to move about the town until we reconvene,” Aurek reassured.

 

“Which will be when, exactly?” Besh asked.

 

“Don’t know,” Aurek answered. “I’ll signal via the team comm when I’m done with the meeting. Until then, look around town, acclimate yourselves to the local culture, stock up on supplies. Try and do something productive, and I’ll see if I can’t do the same with the Agent. Dismissed.”

Chapter Two: The Investigation

 

Aurek entered the Mos Ila cantina unaccompanied by his squad mates. The trooper was pleasantly surprised that the cantina didn’t match the dark and gloomy ambiance he had come to expect from similar outer rim establishments. Instead the brightly lit rooms and coloration seemed to beckon him forth.

 

As Aurek descended a nearby stairway into the underbelly of the cantina, he saw that the inhabitants didn’t exactly match the architectural style. Gangsters of all sorts watched the entertainment in the form of a staged band and exotic dancer. The denizens gave a curious look toward the descending Imperial, as the entirety of the cantina seemed to skip a beat when he touched down on the floor.

 

In silence, Aurek offered a dismissive waft of his hand to signal he meant no harm. Whether the gesture was truly accepted was unknown, but the gangster seemed keen on returning to their business. Across the way, a humanoid figure signaled for the trooper to approach. When Aurek was closer, he saw that it was in fact a human, garbed in dark clothes of seemingly tactical significance. A thick outer coat hid the assortment of belts and tactical pouches that wrapped themselves around the figures belt, as well as the blaster pistol resting at his side. The face was familiar enough in form, bearing the standard posh-ness that Aurek had come to expect from Imperial Intelligence field agents. Taking a seat upon the adjacent stool in the bar area, Aurek engaged the agent in conversation.

 

“So what brings the agency to Tatooine?” Aurek warmly asked. The agent sat in silence as he focused on his drink. He stirred, with seeming precision, the clear liquid that filled the glass with the thin straw he currently grasped betwixt his gloved digits.

 

“You know how it is. Eliminate a threat here, further a goal there,” the agent calmly stated in an almost sardonic manner, never taking his eyes off of his drink.

 

“Do you have a name?” Aurek inquired. The agent offered a quick chuckle as his immediate response.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Aurek.

 

“Sebastus.”

 

“Is that a real name?”

 

“What is real, Mr. Aurek?”

 

“Isn’t it your job to know?”

 

“Isn’t it your job to not?”

 

“Heh, it sure feels that way sometimes. I’m told you have some information for me and my squad.”

 

“Ah, yes. The illustrious Seven.”

 

“We prefer The Seven.”

 

“Your… Director… contacted my people. Thought you could use a little help. Something about a cult of Sith that needs to be eliminated.”

 

“That’s correct.”

 

“At least when the Sith interfere with your business they’re overt about it.”

 

“We’re in the same business. Imperial Intelligence wants these guys dealt with, they just want to make a show of it.”

 

Agent Sebastus finally drew his eyes up from his drink.

 

“So how does the Seven actually come across a mission such as this?”

 

“The Director told the ministry we’d handle it. Had to jump on the opportunity in fact. With a lack of preparation, you can understand why we might seek the aid of an agent who has information about the area.”

 

“That… I can understand. So what have you been briefed on so far?”

 

----------

 

At the local bazaar, the other six Imperials looked upon the local wares and merchant stands, scouring for anything of interest. While mostly interested in goods, occasionally a trooper would dutifully ask a shopkeeper if they had any information regarding the cult of Sith. Grek of course gave up trying to retrieve information through hand gestures, and just browsed whatever items were for sale. The merchants seemed rather ignorant of any local happenings outside the city limits. After a while, the squad regrouped in the middle of the marketplace.

 

“You guys find anything out,” Besh asked the group. The others each offered their own version of the word ‘no’.

 

“This investigation business is harder than we thought,” Cresh admitted.

 

“Hopefully Aurek’s time with the agent is fruitful.” Dorn commented.

 

“With Aurek’s penchant for conversation, we may not hear from him for a while,” Besh concluded. “Maybe we should head back to the cantina.”

 

“Can we wait a while longer?” Esk pleaded. “I think I found a weapons shop I want to check out.”

 

“One of the stands?” Besh inquired.

 

“No an actual workshop,” Esk answered.

 

“I might like… to see this place as well,” Forn chimed in.

 

“Alright, let’s try it,” Besh said, gesturing for Esk to lead the way.

 

A short distance away from the open marketplace, Esk delivered the squad to a rather simplistic looking building that seemed to blend in with the surrounding environment. A sign next to the door displayed ‘Weapons’ in numerous languages and scripts ranging from Basic Aurebesh to Huttese.

 

Esk pressed an archaic buzzer next to the shop’s heavy locked door. As the squad waiting for the door to rescind, they group heard the muffled crash of metallic bits from the depths of the room beyond. When the interior of the building revealed itself, the squad looked in to see a male Devaronian casually leaning against a counter situated in a large circular room. The horned humanoid looked to be trying his best to look casual as he welcomed the Imperials to his shop.

 

“Welcome. Welcome. Always glad to have forces of the Empire walk in my shop.”

 

As the squad entered the threshold of the establishment’s main room, the group saw the number of small arms that populated the circular wall that wrapped around them. Where the wall and floor met rests numerous pieces of scrap and small crates of unknown contents.

 

“We’re procuring supplies for a field mission,” Besh commented.

 

“Well, I don’t know what I could offer Imperial soldiers,” the merchant stated. “Most my stuff is just for the locals looking for a little self-defense or problem-solving capabilities.”

 

“Is this your full stock?” Esk candidly asked.

 

“When the Imperials took the settlement from the Exchange and kicked them out, they imposed a few measures on weapon’s dealings. As in independent dealer, it would be foolish of me to sell any black market items,” the merchant explained with a sly wink. With the advent of this information Esk offered a simple nod to Besh.

 

“Well, as enforcer of the Empire, we have a duty to remove blacklisted items from the public trade,” Besh coldly explained. “As such, we have the authority to grant a sum of credits to any good-minded merchants who might want to turn over some banned items they may have come across for any of the numerous justifiable reasons.”

 

The merchant’s smirk widened as he took in the sniper’s words. The merchant maneuvered his hand below the counter to activate switch, and the grinding of mechanical gears built into the walls could be heard coming to life. Previously unseen panels lifted themselves from the wall, folding up toward the ceiling. The pistols and rifles that the squad had previously be looking at were replaced by a wide assortment of powerful and heavy ordinance.

 

Esk became giddy, and Forn looked impressed in as subtle a way as possible. In silence the squad examined the revealed special stock. Holdout blasters, disruptors, a battledroid, an assault cannon, explosives of all varieties. Feverishly examining the stock, Esk apparently found his sought after prize. The demolitionist picked up the bulky weapon before placing it on the merchant’s counter.

 

“How much for the scattergun?” Esk bartered. The weapon resembled a bloated rifle, possessing twice the volume of his current weapon and a secondary stabilizing handle closer to the end of the weapon’s large barrel.

 

“Well, credits are good, but trade is better.”

 

“Whoa, hey, I don’t think we can just trade in our equipment,” Dorn admitted.

 

“What does Project Protocol say about it?” Cresh inquired.

 

“Technically nothing,” Besh answered. “All our limitations generally involve the armor or intelligence. Our weapon’s may be good, but they aren’t unique.”

 

“But should Esk be trading in his rifle for a… shotgun?” Dorn pondered.

 

“All the guy said is he preferred trade,” Besh reminded. “Doesn’t mean Esk is going to trade in his rifle.”

 

“I’m trading in my rifle,” Esk admitted. Besh was forced to cover his visor with the palm of his hand.

 

“Tactically speaking it is a good choice… for Esk at least,” Forn informed. “He’s never been one for accuracy. He’s something of a scrapper… so a slugthrower with a wide spread would suit him best for a force-sensitive combatant.”

 

“Ah, but this is no mere slugthrower my well-informed friend,” the merchant interrupted. “While it uses manually loaded shells, it possesses an internal power pack capable of wrapping its bullets with energy, exacerbating light wounds or paralyzing foes. It accepts solid-slug as well as packed-pellet shells, both of which I have a large supply of. It is of the utmost sophistication in archaic design.”

 

“Esk, you haven’t been officially trained in its usage, you have to reload it constantly, its unorthodox…” Besh began listing.

 

“Sir, is that a BG… 2 series rifle?” the merchant inquired, gesturing toward the sniper’s weapon. Besh nodded. “I suppose that’s a fine model, for the right job, but might I interest you in this?”

 

The merchant pointed to a slender rifle placed upon a decorated placard directly behind and above the counter. Besh gazed upon the weapon with intrigue.

 

“This here, is the Czerka Bolt-Cycler Prime. The epitome of Czerka’s personal weapons manufacturing.” The merchant retrieved the sizable rifle from its mount and carefully handed it to Besh. The weapon stood almost as long as it’s wielder was tall.

 

“Long ago, Czerka tried to deal with the native sand people in a number of fashions. This rifle was manufactured and refined to the point of perfection, to be given to a local chief as a sign of appeasement. Centuries old, yet still state of the art, with countless kills to its name as it’s changed hands over the generations. Sophisticated scope and targeting systems. Extended barrel conditioned for utmost accuracy.”

 

“What does it shoot?” Besh inquired.

 

“Anything you can lay eyes upon,” the merchant chuckled. “It’s a slugthrower like your friend’s. The ‘Bolt’ in the title actually comes from the bolt-action mechanism. Slow re-fire rate, but in the hands of a skilled marksman, a truly devastatingly powerful weapon.”

 

“So how much for the scattergun, rifle, and ammunition?” Besh asked. Esk clenched his fists in excitement.

 

“Well, what are you willing to part with?” the merchant bartered. Besh looked to the rest of his squad mates, studying the situation.

 

“My BG2-T-B, Esk and Cresh can offer their rifles.”

 

“I can also throw in some grenade,” Esk offered.

 

“Whoa, wait, my rifle?” Cresh interrupted.

 

“I know you prefer pistols and that you’re better skilled with them,” Besh commented. “With the situation we’re getting in, I’m not going to have you sacrifice your talent because standard procedure says to use a rifle.”

 

“Three weapons for two… but my weapons are of much higher value,” the merchant remarked.

 

“These possess special diagnostic and integrations systems, capable of improving the wielders abilities or allowing them to be placed under automation. Plus, we’ll through in a small sum of credits.”

 

“That deal... is reasonable,” the merchant admitted.

 

“Excellent,” Esk stated. “Did you see anything you wanted Forn?” The hunter gave a quick surveillance of the surrounding armament.

 

“Not much of a selection… for melee combat. You ever heard of a beskad?” Forn asked, directing his attention toward the shopkeeper.

 

“A what?”

 

“I thought as much. I’m good for now,” Forn admitted.

 

“Then let’s get this transaction underway.”

Edited June 5, 2012 by Osetto

Chapter Three: The Dunes

 

Aurek and Sebastus ended their meeting with a series of subtle nods to each other’s person. Despite earlier protests of having to stay on Tatooine, the agent seemed keen on remaining at the bar while the trooper exited the cantina. As Aurek ascended the cantina stairs he opened the squad’s comm line.

 

“Aurek here. Finished meeting with Intelligence. Let’s meet up in front of the cantina.”

 

“Already there, Aurek,” Besh quickly responded.

 

As the squad leader casually walked from the cantina’s interior, he was greeted with a surprising gathering of his squad mates. More surprising where some of their updated looks.

 

Most eye catching was Esk, who stood at the forefront of the group. Two bandoliers worn across his chest and shoulders crossed in an ‘X’ pattern were lined with numerous cylindrical shells. Held aloof in the demolitionist’s right hand was his newly procured weapon.

 

“I call it Torrid,” Esk giddily stated, hefting the sizable weapon in the air. Aurek could only offer a blank stare to his squad mate, before directing the same stare to Besh.

 

“We made some load out changes to suit the mission,” Besh reasoned shifting the sniper rifle born on his back, utility belt bearing numerous bullets for said weapon.

 

“I’ve noticed. And does your rifle have a name?” Aurek asked, almost forcing himself to play along.

 

“Odyssey,” Besh plainly stated. Aurek only renewed his stare. “What? I didn’t name it. It’s specialty item. One of a kind. Probably didn’t use traditional serials.”

 

“Well, I guess I did give you the freedom to do as you wished,” Aurek admitted.

 

“We did a bit of trading and dipped into our discretionary funds,” Besh explained.

 

“Keyword: discretion.”

 

“Says the man with a sword upon his back,” Esk joked.

 

“Alright, alright. Look, I know how much enjoyment you draw from your craft. If you’re happy with your situation, I won’t try and distort it.”

 

“Thank you Aurek,” Besh expressed. Looking to the other squad members, Aurek scanned for any more surprises.

 

“Find anything you liked Cresh?” Aurek asked.

 

“Nah,” Cresh casually responded. “Traded in my rifle to help pay off their weapons.” Aurek was confused by the trooper’s overly positive tone.

 

“Cresh is something of a gunslinger,” Besh commented. “I don’t think there’s anyone from the Empire to make a fuss all the way out here.”

 

“So long as you all are combat ready and sufficiently motivated, you can use whatever you please,” Aurek stated, lightening up from his previous demeanor. “I just hope we have enough credits to rent some speeders. We’re meeting up with an Imperial outpost south of here that’s noticed some strange happening with the sand people that may connect with our little band of cultists.”

 

“Details on the outpost?” Besh inquired, adopting his usual coolheaded spirit.

 

“It’s a Mobile Imperial Command Crawler.”

 

The Seven made their way to the town’s outer perimeter, where a small lot of used speeders were tended to by an exhausted human sitting in under a small patch of shade. The approaching squad of black-clad, armored troopers was enough to draw the beleaguered speeder salesman’s eye, but do little to move him from his spot.

 

“How might I be of service to such illustrious servants of the Empire?” the salesman appeased, cooling himself with a hand-held fan.

 

“Cool, even people all the way out here know who we are,” Dorn celebrated.

 

“Doubt it,” Besh whispered. “He’s just trying to make nice with us Imperials with a little sweet talk.” Aurek offered a subtle downward wave of his hand to politely hush his world conscious squad mate.

 

“Ah, yes. We have business south of here and would like to rent some speeders. What do you have?” Aurek negotiated.

 

“Well,” the merchant responded, drawing out his speech as much as possible. “We got bikes. Plenty of ‘em. But, uh, I don’t know if they’re certified for someone like, him,” he said, gesturing toward Grek. The giant trooper only offered a slight rotation of his neck.

 

“Don’t worry about us, we’ve ridden bikes before,” Aurek admitted.

 

“Maybe, but not on Tatooine I bet, and certainly not on these piles of scrap.”

 

“It’s almost like you’re trying to not make a sale,” Esk joked.

 

“I rent, not sell. I need speeders back. Can’t have you Imperials crashin’ them ‘cause you don’t know about lift to weight ratios and sand pockets.”

 

“Look, we need to get moving, what do you suggest?”

 

“I suggest you use a crawler like you’re suppose’ to. But now, I got five speeders that can hold six of you, four singles and a double. For the big guy, I got a swoop that should hold ‘im up.”

 

“Do we really need to be giving Grek a swoop?” Dorn warned. “Those things are basically ship engines with a seat welded on.”

 

“We all need to travel as group, so we’ll take what we can get,” Aurek reasoned.

 

“Good, good,” the salesman rejoiced.

 

----------

 

With their dues paid, the Seven straddled their motley assortment of misused and abused transportation. The majority of the vehicles were of a dull-gray paint scheme marred by the occasional black or brown addition. Aurek, Besh, Cresh, and Forn piloted the single pilot speeder bikes measuring around four meters in length.

 

Seated upright, the troopers kept their hands upon two handles and their feet upon two pedals slightly in front of them. The light framed bikes seemed to have no trouble keeping the troopers hovering stationary. Grek sat upon a swoop similar to his compatriots’ vehicles, but possessed decidedly more bulk. Measured an extra meter in length and width and packed a serious amount of power.

 

A larger two-seated landspeeder was piloted by Dorn, with Esk as his passenger. While similar in length to the bikes, it possessed over thrice the width, and a much more solidly constructed chassis. Possessed an open air seating area, with only a forward windshield to divert the passing air and sand, and was driving by two sizable aft engines. None of the vehicles piloted by the Seven possessed integrated weapons systems.

 

“I like how we didn’t even discuss who wouldn’t get the chance to pilot a vehicle,” Esk sarcastically commented.

 

“Do you not remember our third mission?” Besh politely asked.

 

“I’m a bit hazy,” Esk plainly stated.

 

“Speeder bike… crashed through a wall… detonation,” Forn reminded.

 

“That was a purposeful tactical strategy.” Esk explained.

 

“No one here is doubting that everything you do in on purpose,” Dorn commented.

 

“Let’s try and stay focused, shall we?” Aurek interrupted, putting an end to his squad’s banter. “We got a crawler to meet up with.”

 

“Destination?” Besh inquired. After a few moments, the soldiers’ H.U.D. updated with a map and a waypoint to follow. Definitely more than a few kilometers south. With a firm press of his foot on a pedal, Aurek took the lead and he promptly sped off. The others soon followed in a disorganized fashion.

 

----------

 

Jagged orange and brown crags jut up from the unending sands, impeding the most direct path southward. When the rocky canyons opened up wavy hills of sand stretched onwards beyond the horizon.

 

The Seven rode on for almost an hour before encountering a mountainous ridge that ran perpendicular to their path. A single crevice allowed for the passage through the otherwise impassable terrain.

 

“Yeah, this doesn’t look like a spot for an ambush… at all,” Esk mumbled into the comm.

 

“This was a hotspot for Sand People raids. However, the Imperial forces here have managed to push them from the area,” Dorn informed. “We have more to worry about with the rocks and cliffs than any armed attack.”

 

“Wonderful,” Esk stated, the chin of his helmet resting in his palm, attached to an arm with rested its elbow on the side of the speeder’s cockpit.

 

The Seven cautiously maneuvered their vehicles in single file, with Aurek leading the way. The narrow passageway would fork numerous times, and without a proper map, there was little hope for someone to make it through to the other side in a reasonable amount of time.

 

Peacefully they made their way along the path highlighted on their H.U.D.s, until they finally could see the clearing ahead fast approaching. A sense of delight filled the troopers as the exited the caverns. A sense of dismay overrode that feeling as they set their eyes upon their intended target in the distance.

 

A large grey behemoth of a land vehicle hugged the ground. It was the Imperial sand crawler. And emanating from it was a steady plume of blackened smoke. The crawler looks to have been deployed, hunkered down with a series of makeshift tents and supplies surrounding it.

 

Most of those surroundings, however, were decimated. Fuel barrels prolonged the fires that dotted the area surrounding the crawler. Bodies lay half buried in the shifting sands. No movement at all could be seen as the Seven approached with increasing pace.

 

As the troopers rode into the center of the encampment, the Seven quickly dismounted to get a closer look at the scene. Blaster marks were present on practically every surface. Forn examined the fallen imperial officers, turning over corpse after corpse, each bearing dissimilar wounds.

 

“What happened here?” Cresh barely muttered.

 

“The crawler was besieged,” Besh plainly stated.

 

“Yes, but by whom,” Aurek questioned. “There are too many enemy forces on this planet to jump to any conclusions.”

 

“He’s right,” Dorn stated. “This could have been the work of Sand People, or hostile Exchange members. Primary investigations don’t exactly scream Sith cult.”

 

“Blaster marks… on the officers,” Forn informed. “As well as blunt trauma. Some blade wounds. Most likely Sand People.”

 

“So it would seem,” Besh admitted, gazing upon the out-of-commission sand crawler. “But something peculiar. Look at the marks on the crawler.”

 

“The file says that Sand People are capable marksmen,” Dorn notified.

 

“It’s not the precision, but the fact that they knew where to hit,” Besh reasoned.

 

“The Empire has had troubles with the natives as much as anyone else,” Aurek reminded. “Could be that a tribe has sufficiently studied our weak points.”

 

“Could be,” Besh conceded.

 

“Let’s check inside,” Aurek commanded. “Dorn, Cresh, with me. Everyone else, stay on your guard.”

 

The squad leader approached the side hatch of the sizable crawler. A hybrid of the local technologies and the treaded APCs the Empire used and similar worlds, the vehicle possessed a decidedly cramped interior. Miniature halls lead between storage, barracks, and control stations. Aurek forced the exterior hatch open, and proceeded inside, looking for survivors.

 

Aurek received his answer in the form of a bisected Imperial laying upon the grated floor. Diagonal cut. Shoulder to hip. Cauterized wound. The work of a lightsaber.

 

“I daresay that provides some much needed evidence,” Aurek stated.

 

“I’m not picking up any systems,” Dorn informed. “Whoever did this trashed this place inside and out.”

 

“Doesn’t look to be any survivors either,” Cresh solemnly admitted. Just then, the troopers heard a shout from outside the crawler. It was Esk beckoning them to return. When Aurek and company exited the vehicle, they saw the other four troopers had their weapons trained on a seemingly intact crate adjacent to the crawler’s front. A soft whine could be heard from the large container’s innards.

 

Grek approached the crate’s side, and delivered a powerful kick, forcing the sideways container’s lid to snap off. As the lid fell, so did an injured Imperial roll out onto the hot sands. The officer curled into a ball, his hand covering his face as he begged those looming over not to kill him.

 

“Don’t worry, sir, we’re Imperial,” Aurek spoke up.

 

“No! No! So were they! Get away,” the panicked officer shouted, trying his best to put some distant between him and the troopers with some slow scurrying. The Seven shared a round of knowing glances as they received confirmation that their enemy was involved in the raid.

 

“Settle down. Let me help you,” Cresh softly commanded, hoping to assuage the bewildered officer.

 

Unarmored, the Imperial looked of the political sort, tasked with some form of command rather than active combat. His face looked bruised and battered, but no other significant wounds could be noticed. The officer eventually calmed down in the hands of Cresh. He sat him down, leaning against one of the nearby crate’s upright faces.

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you what happened here,” Aurek questioned, doing his best not to provoke any unneeded reactions from the Imperial.

 

“S-Sand People,” the officer eventually muttered. Aurek was momentarily confused by the answer.

 

“I thought you said Imperials did this?” Aurek continued.

 

“Yes! N-No!” the officer shouted. Looking down, the Imperial bit his lip as he gathered his thoughts. “We were out here, to deal with one of the Sand People tribes. They have a sizable settlement south of here.”

 

“Settlement? The file says they are nomadic,” Dorn interrupted.

 

“Usually. But some of the larger tribes hunker down when they find a place with abundant resources.”

 

“And this tribe attacked you?”

 

“No. Maybe. We were here to enter diplomatic relations. We even brought a droid that can communicate with them. They were interested in entering peace talks, or whatever the equivalent is for them.”

 

“Peaceful Sand People?” Aurek questioned.

 

“Certainly not in the file,” Dorn reminded.

 

“The prospect was unheard of. That’s what made it so intriguing,” the officer admitted. “That's why a member of Imperial Anthropologic Service is even on this dust ball.”

 

“Then what of the people who attacked you?”

 

“There were dozens. We were deployed, had been for a while, when we saw a small band of Sith approaching us. We didn’t… we couldn’t question them. Not if we wanted to live. But now… it never even mattered. But then, they were join by a large group of Sand People.”

 

“Did you think they were from the tribe you about to meet with?” Aurek asked.

 

“No. They were similar, but each tribe possesses distinct wrapping. These warrior, they were different. Similar, but different.”

 

“So our Sith cult has been bolstered by a tribe of Sand People. Perfect,” Aurek lamented. “Did you notice anything from inside the crate?”

 

“I… I heard the Sith shouting in Basic. I couldn’t hear the words, but it wasn’t the language he Sand People speak. They were nearby. I thought they’d find me eventually. But still I hid. The Sith stopped talking, then silence. They left… but I dared not reveal myself just in case. Now… now, I’m the only one left.”

 

As the troopers listened to the distraught officer, all but one of the Seven seemed totally enraptured by his story. The seemingly uninterested Forn turned his gaze outward, looking upon the sands that surrounded the crawler as the wind gently danced across its surface. He watched. He listened. Then, he began to process the officer’s words.

 

“Damn,” the hunter slowly murmured into his comm.

 

“What’s up Forn?” Aurek asked.

 

The hunter had seen this before. Total annihilation. Destruction. Small intrusion. Supplemented by deadly force. Blasters. Staffs. Swords. Sabers. Anything and everything laid under siege. Nothing missed. Nothing. Personnel: Wiped out. On board systems: Taken down. One lone survivor. Purposeful.

 

In the distance something caught the attention of every trooper. Swirling winds gathered and focused themselves around a single point, kicking up dust in a most violent manner. It culminated in a whirlwind of devastating force and remarkable grace. A sandstorm now approached the Seven. Silently, Forn raised his weapon outward toward the landscape.

 

“We’re not alone.”

Chapter Four: The Raiders

 

The sandstorm approached with crawler with increased haste, swirling and kicking up an dangerously obscuring cloud. Each trooper nervously scanned the horizon, each trooper except Forn. The hunter stood completely still, unmoved by the approaching torrent of whirling sands.

 

“Oh no… the sand…. the sandstorm is back…” the cowering Imperial officer panicked.

 

“What do you mean back?!” Aurek shouted, his sights still directed out toward the horizon.

 

“It came before the slaughter! It’s back! We’re doomed!”

 

“Forn?” Aurek tried to get some information out of the reserved trooper. At first, Forn couldn’t seem to have been bothered, unable to pull his gaze from the sands in front of the squad. Then, a response.

 

“Esk… did you trade in all of your explosive?” Forn asked with utmost haste.

 

“I still have some grenades,” Esk answered.

 

“Throw one out there as far as you can,” Forn directed, pointed toward the approaching storm. Esk complied. Unclipping an explosive metallic orb from his belt, the demolitionist flung the device outward. It landed far from the squad’s position, but nowhere near the sandstorm. The explosive planted itself in the ground’s soft surface, before detonating a moment later and kicking up a pillar of sand. Not a second afterward did the landscape in front of the Seven shift.

 

Rising from their hiding spots, raiders wrapped head to toe in ragged brown clothes unearthed themselves from the sands. Faces hidden behinds wraps, goggles, and what appeared to be respiratory masks, the Sand People had been lying and waiting under Tatooine’s shifting surface. In one motion, the raiders rose to a standing position, and raised their rifles before the sand had even completely fallen from their shoulders.

 

The Seven opened fire on the Sand People, and they returned fire in turn. Slugs enveloped in green energy flew towards the squad's position, and surprisingly found their marks with trained marksmanship. The shields were able to deflect the ordinance, but they wouldn’t stay up under concentrated fire without cover.

 

The soldiers took whatever refuge they could find behind the leftover scraps and crates left behind from the last siege. Cresh join the side of the panicking Imperial officer and shoved his head downward for safety. Dozens of raiders had appeared from the blistering wastes. Most of them bore arms in the form of the cyclers Besh's rifle improved upon. A few, however, charged the soldiers’ frontline with makeshift melee weapons. Staves of twisted and flanged scrap metal.

 

Forn confronted the first to approach the Seven, sidestepping a heavy downward swing intending to crush his skull, and effortlessly sliding one of his blades across the aggressors throat.

 

“Forn, take cover!” Aurek ordered, firing his rifle into the enclosing raiders. The sandstorm was almost upon the crawler, and would completely alter the course of battle when it enveloped the Seven. “Forn!”

 

“In a moment!” Forn retaliated, gazing beyond the Sand People, beyond the sandstorm, toward the rocky ridge that jutted from the sands a distance away. Finally, he saw it. A lone figure. Almost motionless. Standing atop the orange rocks and watching the battle proceed below it. “Besh, there’s a target on the far ridge, can you hit it?”

 

“I can’t see that far with the sandstorm,” Besh replied, planting a headshot on one of the nearer Sand People. Ejecting his rifle’s spent casing and recycling the bolt action mechanism, the sniper turned his gaze toward the hunter. “Don’t you think we should focus on the danger at hand?”

 

“Aurek, we need to take out whoever is standing on that ridge.” Forn concluded.

 

“Are you sure?” Aurek responded, firing another burst toward the approaching enemies.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then do what you need to do.”

 

Forn ran back toward the crawler’s flank, and where he promptly mounted one of the speeder bikes. With a firm press of the pedal, Forn pressed on through the sandstorm that had finally arrived at the Seven’s heels. Visibility had now been severely limited for the troopers.

 

Forn drove forward, dodging bits of debris from the last battle as he weaved to the left and right. An unseen assailant had launched a bolt toward the speeder’s driver, but passed by, narrowly missing the rider’s helmet. Once the shooter could be seen through the sandy haze, Forn offers a quick slash of his blade whilst refusing to slow his progress.

 

Firmly gripped, the weapon raked itself across the raider’s chest and sent the Sand Person spiraling to the ground. The rest of the squad saw a black blur enter and exit their collective field of vision as Forn made his way toward his target.

 

“This situation is rather ironic isn’t it?” Besh commented, firing his rifle into the storm.

 

“And what makes you say that?” Esk questioned, crouching behind a crate a short distance away from the sniper.

 

“Well, usually we’re the ones pulling this tactic. Usually this would be no problem, but with primitives like these, our helms can’t outline any energy signatures.”

 

“I guess now it doesn’t really matter if our weapons aren’t compatible with our armor,” Esk pleasantly noted. Just then, one of the invading forces hopped on top of the crate Esk hid behind, and let loose a primal howl. The raider was forcefully knocked back and the full spread of the demolitionist’s scattergun charge planted itself in the enemy’s chest. “I certainly have no regrets with my decisions today.”

 

“How atypical of you,” Dorn sarcastically bellowed. "Maybe we should try going thermal?"

 

"Great idea, thermal imaging on a desert planet," Esk scoffed.

 

"It measures differences in temperature, so it could still be useful in sighting the enemy. It's hard to brain storm in the middle of a sandstorm."

 

"Even without clear visuals, I'm pretty sure we haven't encountered a Sith yet." Besh interrupted.

 

“Well, that’s good and bad,” Aurek admitted, continuing the firefight. “We should be able to hold out against this assault, but we’re not really any closer to getting some answers.”

 

“Maybe the officer was lying to us,” Besh coldly stated. The Imperial released another shriek of fright as a blaster bolt zoomed over his head.

 

“I doubt that,” Aurek stated with confidence. “Dorn, it’ll be safer for our new friend inside the crawler.”

 

“I hear you Aurek,” Dorn responded, taking the anthropologist by the arm and dragging him into the crawler’s interior. Grek covered the officer and his new guardian as the sought refuge inside the armored walls of the still mostly intact mobile command center.

 

Forn had breached the outer extremity of the sandstorm, driving onward in an area of comparative serenity. Closer to the rocky ridge, Forn saw with greater clarity a robed figure standing at its low peak. A dark figure, wrapped head to toe in black clothes similar yet different than those of the Sand People. Upon closer inspection, his arms appeared outstretched, hands dancing in front of him like some manic puppet master.

 

The hunter spotted a naturally slanted pillar of rock a short distance away, leading to the dark figure. Diverting his course, Forn began to ascend the rock pathway, adjusting his speeders repulsors for maximum lift. The speeder managed to make it to the top of the peak, where the cloaked figure stood entranced, fully devoted to the scene below. Only when the hunter dismounted his vehicle did the figure turn his gaze.

 

The two individuals now stood upon the flattened peak, as sensible an arena as any. Looking forward, the opposing figure appeared a peculiar amalgamation of the Sand People of what he’d expected from the Sith. Body wrapped head to toe in tattered clothes, not an single spot of flesh showing. The clothes hugged the figure’s body is manner similar to the robes of a warrior.

 

A hooded cloak topped the figure’s appearance, dangling to the back of the figure’s legs, and bouncing ever so slightly in the wind. Beneath the shadowy hood, the figure’s face appeared completely wrapped, but sans the goggles and breather Forn had seen on the Sand People, showing no visible means of sight.

 

The dark figure glanced at the trooper, before looking back to the battle below. Dipping his head, the figure appeared to come upon an unknown realization, and dropped his hands to his sides. The ground-ward members of the Seven were relieved to notice that the sandstorm that had been plaguing them was dissipating.

 

Forn, meanwhile, drew his vibroknives and adopted a combat ready stance. The dark figure did the same, reaching to his waist and brandishing a familiar silver cylinder. With a flick of the wrist, a red beam of energized plasma emanated from the hilt.

 

Forn had finally found the tangible connection between the Sand People and the Sith. On the grounds below, the rest of the squad began to systematically eliminate the remaining raiders due to their increased clarity. As each Sand Person fell, Aurek expected the remaining forces to turn and flee, but no such thing happened. The warriors pressed on till the last man.

 

A peculiar red glow emanating from the ridge across the sands caught the eye of a few of the Seven still near the crawler.

Edited April 7, 2012 by Osetto

Chapter Five: The Duel

 

The two figures standing atop the flattened plane at the top of the orange ridge prepared themselves in silence, only the soft whistling of the gently blowing winds providing the scene with any audible accompaniment. Two warriors, clad in black. Each represented a multitude of contrasting values and ideals. Flowing clothes met with contained metals. The primal faced the advanced. The mystic faced the tech. But in the end, these opposing forces were as similar as they were different. Each a destruction force of nature, bearing an intense martial skill behind their respective blades.

 

Back at the crawler, the remaining Seven had disposed of the last Sand Person to march on their position. Gazing into the distance, they were confused to watch the tow figures stand motionless on the top of the ridge.

 

“What is Forn doing?” Cresh pondered aloud.

 

“What do you think he’s doing? He’s getting ready to fight a Sith,” Besh stated, seemingly bearing no emotional investment in the situation.

 

“He’s the most capable of us,” Esk admitted, surprisingly focused.

 

“Should we just stand here? Should we help him?” Cresh inquired, genuinely unsure of how to proceed.

 

“Besh, think you can hit the target from here?” Aurek asked.

 

“Probably, but that would probably just make him mad,” Besh answered.

 

“The Sith? Or Forn?” Esk joked.

 

“Well, if you’re going to take a shot do it now. If you try after they start fighting it’s just going to distract Forn and be a detriment,” Aurek informed.

 

“Too late,” Besh acknowledged.

 

On top of the ridge, the duel had finally begun in earnest. The Sith gripped his lightsaber with both hands, directing the blade vertically, and guarding the wielder’s right side. Forn brandished his two vibroknives, his left held in a saber-like grip and his right held in a reversed grip, thumb capping the bottom of the handle. A soft hum emanated from the blades as they were activated.

 

Forn was the first to make his move, closing in on the Sith with blistering speed. As the trooper drew near, the Sith simply swung his saber downward hoping to instantly cut down his opponent. Forn batted the saber away with his left blade and followed through with a swipe of his right. The Sith was barely able to dodge the blade meant for his neck, taking a sizable leap backward. The Sith paused, tilting his head in a curious confusion as he glanced to his lightsaber.

 

“What’s the matter? This can’t be the first time… you’ve encountered something you couldn’t cut,” Forn stoically provoked.

 

The battle continued, the Sith’s movements exponentially more careful, and more capable. Pressing the attack, the Sith possessed an advantage in his weapon’s reach, but the trooper proved adept in dodging and weaving with grace despite his suit of armor.

 

As Forn increased his pace, the faceless Sith seemed to match him. One of the warriors would attack, and the other would adequately defend, both favoring superior movement and dexterity. Whilst on the defensive, Forn would match every movement with one of his own, bringing his blade into contact with his opponent’s lightsaber only when absolutely necessary. The battlefield had expanded to encompass the entirety of the ridge’s peak, the only boundaries the sheer drop that graced the outer extremities of the field.

 

“How’s the fight going?” Dorn nonchalantly asked, exiting the crawler.

 

“It’s hard to say,” Aurek admitted, not turning his gaze from the action taking place on the peak.

 

“Well, the anthropologist is calm and stabilized, so we’re ready to proceed whenever,” Dorn informed.

 

“Am I the only one who finds it weird how we’re just standing around nonchalantly whilst one of our squad mates is in the middle of what ought to be a duel to the death?” Cresh questioned his fellow troopers.

 

“It’s alright, Forn prefers to fight alone. It lets him concentrate,” Aurek enlightened.

 

“Besides, Forn has the highest projected survival rating after Esk,” Besh acknowledged.

 

“Projected survival rate? How do you come up with something like that?” Cresh inquired, dumfounded by the sniper’s cold delivery.

 

“Well, for the members of the Seven who are still on their first iteration, it comes down to a formula of past experiences, martial ability, and other minor but significant qualifiers,” Besh explained.

 

“Forn is the most capable all around fighter, possesses an inherently strong biology, and has actually fought opponent like this before,” Dorn further detailed.

 

“Then why is he second to Esk?” Cresh wondered.

 

“He’s the oldest, age wise, and has the weird knack of walking away from disastrous, harmful, and downright terminal circumstances. It sort of skews the formula in his favor,” Aurek clarified. Esk offered his own gruff chuckle at the assertion.

 

“How old is he exactly,” Cresh inquired.

 

“Protocol, Cresh,” Besh plainly stated.

 

“Riiiight,” Cresh solemnly accepted. “So this is just normal for you guys…”

 

“I wouldn’t say normal,” Aurek corrected. “I mean, I’m damn sure none of us have faced a Sith during our tenure as the Seven. But then again, the abnormal is our normal. We’re all weird in our own way, and knowing when to restrain or release that weirdness is tantamount to ensuring our continued success.”

 

“What he’s saying is, Forn went up there for a reason,” Besh informed. “He knew what he was getting into.”

 

“So that precludes him from receiving help?”

 

“Not at all, he just functions at his peak when there isn’t anyone to interfere with his craft.” Aurek explained.

 

“His craft?”

 

“Battle. It’s what he does best, and what he loves to do. It drives him,” Aurek stated. “We all have our drives, to be masters of our individual crafts, to prove ourselves, whether it be to society or to oneself. Besh has his skills with a rifle, Dorn has his tech, Esk has his explosives, I have my squad.”

 

“And what do I have?” Cresh wondered.

 

“That’s not for me to decide,” Aurek answered. “That’s up to you, and you only. Others may voice their opinions, or concerns, try to help you or hinder you, but in the end, only you can make that choice. If you want to be a trickshot, or a save lives, or just keep breathing until the next cycle, it’s your decision.”

 

Cresh watched the scene on the far ridge in silence as he pondered his squad leader’s words. Eventually he turned to the silent giant next to him. Grek watched the battle with the same steadfast curiosity as the others troopers, his arms crossed in front of him.

 

“And what about you, big guy?” Cresh asked of the large trooper. Breaking his gaze toward the ridge, Grek glanced to his neighbor for a moment before uncrossing his arms, and lightly placing a hand on Cresh’s shoulder.

 

“My guess… a family,” Aurek answered for him, Grek politely nodding.

 

Up on the ridge, the two warriors showed no sign of fatigue of their continuous battling. But Forn had decided that the duel had persisted long enough. With one final charge, the hunter sought to break through the Sith’s guard. And he succeeded. The Sith swung his saber at the approaching trooper and it connected, it wasn’t enough, however, as the red blade of energy merely glanced the trooper’s left pauldron, producing no effect other and a flashy show of sparks. Forn on the other hand, swung his blade across the Sith’s chest making sufficient contact.

 

The vibroknife managed to cut well past the multiple layers of dark cloth and draw blood from the slash that crossed the entirety of the Force user’s chest. The weapons vibrations compounded the cutting force, ensuring the wound was as deep as it could be. The Sith recoiled in pain and panic. Clutching at his wound with his free hand, seemingly holding the bisected clothes together rather than reacting directly to the deep gash.

 

The Sith used the last of his energy to offer a response, swinging his saber toward the trooper’s lower guard. Forn easily stepped back out of its reach, just as the Sith had hoped. Capitalizing on the soldier’s backward motion, the Sith sent forth a surge of kinetic energy from his saber wielding hand. With no foundation to latch on to, neither the armor or its inhabitant could resist the powerful Force push, sending the trooper over the edge and plummeting toward the sands below. The other members of the Seven stood in horror as they witnessed their ally falling from the ridge.

 

“Forn!” Aurek shouted. Without a word, Besh raised his rifle and took aim at the Sith standing atop the ridge. The dark figure had limped out of sight before the sniper could fire off a shot.

 

“Now, is the time when we interfere,” Besh stated, lowering his rifle.

 

“Cresh, come with me. The rest of you, stay on your guard,” Aurek commanded as he made his way toward the speeders with Cresh close behind. Cresh mounted a speeder bike whilst Aurek piloted the landspeeder, and the duo made their way toward the fallen friend.

 

“Forn, Forn can you hear me?” Cresh attempted to communicate with the hunter mid-journey.

 

“It’s no use, he turned his comm off before the fight so we couldn’t bother him,” Aurek informed, urging the speeder forward.

 

As they neared the base of the ridge, they saw their compatriot lying flat on his back, half buried in the surrounding sands. The two troopers dismounted their vehicles and rushed to Forn’s side.

 

“Forn, are you alright?” Cresh lamented via his helm’s speaker, daring not to touch the undiagnosed soldier. After an intense delay, Forn replied.

 

“Don’t worry… got in one good cut. Should bleed out… or be sufficiently weakened for quite some time,” Forn nonchalantly stated, not shifting from his position in the slightest.

 

“We’re worried about you, not him!” Cresh admonished.

 

“I’m fine,” Forn plainly admitted.

 

“I guess the director was right, these suits really can handle a kinetic impact,” Aurek joked, looming over the prone squad mate. Cresh was forced to take a knee and gather himself emotionally. “Can you get up?”

 

“I seem to be locked up a bit. Give it time,” Forn suggested.

 

“Noted. So what can you tell me about what went down”

 

“He was definitely Force-sensitive,” Forn detailed from the ground. “He was behind the sandstorm. Saw him doing something… with his hands. Interrupted him… stopped the storm.”

 

“Well, thanks for that,” Aurek recognized. “I’d think conjuring sandstorms would be a pretty monumental task. You think he was one of the big two leading the Sith cult?”

 

“No.”

 

“That’s a shame. What makes you think so?”

 

“He was a skilled combatant… but almost seemed unfamiliar with a lightsaber. He paused… when he saw he didn’t slice through me. His strikes… they were of a hand used to wielding something with heft.”

 

“So what do you suppose that means?”

 

“I think the cult… may have been bolstered by the Sand People in more ways than one.”

 

“A Force-sensitive Sand Person? Is that even possible?” Cresh inquired.

 

“The file didn’t make any note of such possibilities,” Aurek answered.

 

“Well, he may have been a Sand Person, but he bled like a Human.”

 

“You know, sitting in back at the briefing, I didn’t think this mission could get any more complicated,” Cresh admitted.

 

“It seems like the questions just keep piling up,” Aurek stated.

 

“So what do we do now?” Cresh asked.

 

“We find our answers,” Aurek answered. “Forn, can you stand?”

 

“Yeah… I’m getting control back.” Forn admitted as he groggily lifted himself from the encroaching sands. Supporting his squad mate, Aurek lead Forn to the landspeeder and the three troopers rode back toward the crawler.

 

“So how do you suppose we find these ‘answers’ Aurek?” Cresh questioned.

 

“Well, given recent events and the resources at our disposal, I suppose we should take a trip to the Sand People settlement the crawler was destined for.”

Chapter Six: The Conference

 

Aurek and Cresh piloted their vehicles back toward the group. In the short time of their absence, the remaining troopers had something of a defensive perimeter set up, but no one involved seemed particularly engrained in their position. They instead watched the soldiers’ return with concern for their injured squad mate. Cresh dismounted his speeder bike and joined Aurek in helping Forn out of his seat in the landspeeder.

 

“You know Forn,” Besh broke the silence, “you could try not cutting off your communications from the rest of the group. Makes it hard to confirm your status.”

 

“Ah… knew you cared,” Forn stoically joked, now moving of his own accord. Esk accompanied the hunter with his own chortle.

 

“Told you he’d be alright,” Esk admitted.

 

“You did no such thing,” Besh corrected.

 

“Alright, alright,” Aurek interrupted. “We have a new destination. We’re going to finish the mission the Imperials of this outpost were carrying out, at least in some degree.”

 

“You mean meeting with the Sand People?” Dorn inquired.

 

“Correct,” Aurek answered. “Is the officer still in the crawler?” The slicer offered a positive nod of his helmed head, before being interrupted by a peculiar thought.

 

“How are we going to travel?” Dorn asked. “We’re up one man, and down one speeder.”

 

“The bike might still… be at the ridge,” Forn admitted. “Didn’t hear the Sith… speed away with it.”

 

“Then why leave it?” Besh asked, verbally poking the hunter.

 

“Aurek put me in the landspeeder,” Forn complained.

 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Aurek asked, before instantly remembering the hunter’s inherent penchant for silence. “Alright, Dorn, Esk, take the landspeeder and see if you can bring back the bike. I’ll have a little chat with our anthropologist.”

 

“Good, I finally get to drive something,” Esk warmly commented.

 

“Do. Not. Crash it,” Dorn coldly retaliated as the duo hopped into the landspeeder and went on their way.

 

Aurek entered the darkened halls of the crawler with Cresh at his rear, and the rest of the troopers on lookout outside. The still visibly shaken Imperial officer was sitting hunched over in a chair in front of an inoperable comm system. His elbows on his knees and his gaze toward the floor, the officer tried his hardest to ignore the various corpses of his once breathing allies awaiting just outside his peripheral vision.

 

“We never caught your name,” Aurek warmly greeted the officer.

 

“Officer Hingsley. Imperial Anthropologic Service. Niche detachment of the Imperial Reclamation Service. Served under Officer Korrensky…”

 

“That’s quite the name,” Aurek joked. “I think we’ll stick with Hingsley.”

 

“Sorry,” Hingsley blushed, “still trying to process everything that’s happened… sir.”

 

“There’s no need for that. Name’s Aurek,” the trooper politely indicated, pointing a finger toward the pauldron bearing his namesake. “My squad is known as The Seven.”

 

“The name rings a bell, but I'm afraid I can’t recall any specifics…”

 

“Yeah, we’re like that,” Aurek chuckled. “Listen, me and my squad are here hunting traitors of the Empire. A Sith cult. People I think were behind the attack on your outpost. Given recent events, I think they have converged with a group or tribe of Sand People. As such, I think it would be in our mutual best interests to finish the diplomatic mission you and your people were currently undertaking. Do you think that would be possible?”

 

“You… you want try and meet with the Ardent Sons tribe?”

 

“If that’s who you were set to visit, then yes. You said the raiders who attacked the outpost were similar to those of this tribe, so there’s a good chance they’ll be a good source of information of the local happenings that are influencing our mission.”

 

“So your interest in our mission lies in completing yours.”

 

“In a sense, yes. Don’t think that makes me adverse to the peace you are trying to foster. I promise I will not jeopardize your goals to suit my own. But if me and my squad don’t get some answers regarding what’s actually going on in this desert, there’s going to be a lot more death in the time to come.”

 

“I… I understand. But… I’m not sure I’m in any capacity to complete what our group set out to accomplish on my in, with the state of our supplies.”

 

“What, and with what, was your group hoping to do?”

 

----------

 

A short time had passed, and Esk and Dorn had been successful in retuning the lost speeder bike. Making their way back to the outpost, Dorn saw that Aurek was beckoning him to enter the crawler when he was ready. As Dorn entered the mobile base of operations, he saw Aurek leaning against one of the inner walls next to the Imperial officer.

 

“Tell him what you told me,” Aurek directed the officer.

 

“Well,” Hingsley hesitantly began, “We were meeting with a peculiar tribe of Ghorfa, an older, more technical term for the Sand People, known as the Ardent Sons. They live in a firmly established settlement, fortified, built into a large rock formation. They are peculiar for multiple reasons, the most apparent being their minimally savage nature, and their willingness to modernize. Our assignment was to try and broker an agreement between the tribe and the Empire, acknowledging their presence and permitting them their continued settling on Tatooine in return for their allegiance and our parting with certain technological amenities. Our main gift were some power generators, which were stolen after the initial raid on the outpost.”

 

“Which is why I would like to direct you over here,” Aurek interrupted, leading Dorn to the inoperable comm system of the crawler. “I wanted your expert opinion. Now at first glance I had just assumed they had taken down the systems to prevent any survivors from calling for backup, but…”

 

“But…” Dorn took over, examining the communications display. The screen bore a wide arcing slash of a lightsaber cutting through the bulk on its mass. The equipment below the screen was completely barren, only the occasional hanging wire presenting itself. “It wasn’t just smashed about, was it? It looks like it was gutted, physically removed rather than destroyed.”

 

Looking around, Dorn saw similar actions taken out on the various pieces of equipment that once populated the crawler. What appeared at first glance to be utter wanton destruction, was actually a calculated removal of any salvageable piece of technology.

 

“Do you think the scavenging was the raider’s primary or secondary goal?” Dorn inquired.

 

“It’s hard to tell,” Aurek admitted. “They could have been trying to sabotage the peace mission. They might have solely set out to kill Imperials. They might have simply been after technology and the Sith knew a reliable source of it.”

 

“What would the raiders want to bits of electronic scrap?” Dorn asked.

 

“Well, if the idea came from the Ghorfa, they could have been trying to emulate the modernizing Ardent Sons tribe,” Hingsley reasoned. “A group of outsiders wanting to adopt a similar lifestyle, or a splintered sect wanting to abandon the settlement but not their ways.”

 

“I can understand what the Sand People might want with this tech, but not the Sith,” Aurek contemplated.

 

“So now that we know this, how do we act?” Dorn further inquired.

 

“Well, that’s the other reason I called you in here,” Aurek admitted before gently pointing toward the slicer’s boots. Looking down, Dorn saw the severed head of a humanoid droid. “The outpost had a droid that could communicated with the Sand People. Unfortunately, it’s in a bit of a state of disrepair.”

 

“No kidding,” Dorn muttered as he picked the head off of the ground. The head resembled the standard protocol droid utilized by the Imperial military. Wires hung from its neck, showing a forceful severing rather than the smooth slice of a lightsaber.

 

“Do you think you can repair it?” Aurek asked. Dorn only offered a somewhat dumfounded tilt of his head.

 

“Well… if I can find some stabilizer cables lying around, I might be able to integrate it into a fresh power source. Might have to let it siphon power off of the my suit.”

 

“Would that be a problem?” Aurek questioned.

 

“Would it?” Dorn replied, unknowingly. “I mean, I doubt it would use up too much energy, but even if I can revive the head, I don’t know how much of its programming would be intact.”

 

“The entirety of the droid’s programming is housed in the cranium of this protocol series,” Hingsley commented.

 

“Even so, the trauma could have caused some internal damage,” Dorn reasoned. “Last thing we want is for it to misspeak during a diplomatic venture with a notoriously dangerous peoples.”

 

“Just see if you can get it working. Officer Hingsley knows enough about the Sand People to help you make adjustments with the droid’s programming after you get it up and running,” Aurek informed. Aurek walked out of the crawler, leaving Dorn and the officer to work on repairing what remained of the protocol droid. As the squad leader exited the crawler, he saw the rest of his squad conversing with one another, having recovered mentally from the attack they had defended against. Esk cracked his usual jokes. Besh teased Forn over his apparent defeat. Cresh and Grek watched in silence, enjoying the jovial events unfolding around them.

 

Time passed. And the small fires that dotted the scattered bits of equipment surrounding the outpost eventually faded. Aurek hesitated to break the casual mood, but his suggestion to clean up the site and gather the bodies of the fallen Imperials was not met with a single hint of opposition. As the squad worked, the twin suns of the desert planet continued to beat down on the landscape, and showed no signs of ceasing anytime soon.

 

----------

 

Hours had passed since the Seven defending what remained of the Imperial outpost from the Ghorfa raiders. The armored troopers were currently on route toward the Ardent Sons settlement, speeding toward their destination atop their vehicles. They followed a similar formation to the one that got them to the outpost in the first place.

 

Officer Hingsley sat behind Aurek on his speeder bike, face firmly scrunched to defend against the wayward onslaught of sand that would come his way. Esk piloted the landspeeder whilst Dorn sat in the passenger seat, carrying the reactivated droid’s head under his arm.

 

Eventually, the Seven had reached their destination. The tribal settlement was an unfamiliar sight for all who laid eyes upon it. A high mountain ridge ran behind the walled village, promoting an astounding presence of security. The walls that formed the outer perimeter were forged from a motley assemblage of sheeted scrap, but bore no spots of inherent weakness across its entire length. Beginning and ending at separate points on the mountains base, it wasn’t a matter of how large the village was, but how deep.

 

As the Seven approached, they stopped their vehicles a sizable distance away from the main gateway to the village. Atop the fortified walls, there appeared to be thin walkways populated by tribal defenders who trained their primitive rifles on the unknown presence. The set of salvaged auto-turrets that sat on each side of the village gate compounded the organic defenses in place.

 

As the Seven and their ally dismounted their vehicles, the gate cracked slightly, and a small group from the Ardent Sons walked outside the village’s fortified perimeter. The armored troopers slowly approached the village with a dominating sense of unease as they followed Hingsley.

 

“That is the tribe’s prime huntsman,” Hingsley informed Aurek, who marched by his side.

 

“You’ve met with them before?” Aurek asked with surprise.

 

“No. But his dressings indicate a significant rank within the tribe’s hierarchy, but his stature and presence outside the walls means he is still a warrior, and not the tribe’s chief.”

 

The two groups approached one another, until eventually they stopped with only a gap of a few meters separating them. The small group of huntsmen that met with the Seven were only four strong including the warrior of higher rank. They stood unflinching, bearing no inherent signs of hostility, but ready to defend themselves at any moment.

 

After an uneasy silence, Hingsley waved for Dorn to come stand by his side. Dorn hustled forward, cradling the protocol droid’s head in his left arm like a small child. New cables stemming from the droid’s neck ran a short distance before connecting into the integrated datapad on the slicer's wrist.

 

“Is the droid ready?” Hingsley insistently inquired.

 

“As ready as it’ll be,” Dorn haphazardly responded, confident in his repairs.

 

“Alright. Ahem. Respectable members of the Ardent Sons,” Hingsley recited. “I am Officer Hingsley of the Imperial Anthropologic Service, acting as the dutiful replacement for Officer Korrensky in Imperial diplomatic proceedings that were scheduled to take place on this day.”

 

Taking a pause, the officer looked to Dorn who, after a slight shifting, redirected the disembodied droid head with its speaker toward the listening group of Ghorfa. As its voice box activated, it released a slew of horrific growls and grunts from its mouth.

 

“Damn it Dorn, I thought you fixed that thing,” Besh whispered into the team comm.

 

“I did. That’s their language,” Dorn whispered back.

 

“What have we gotten into?”

Chapter Seven: The Settlement

 

The droid head finished retelling the officer’s words in the Sand People’s native tongue. The leader of the tribal group listened intently to every word that emanated from the mechanical cranium wresting in Dorn’s arm, processing the communications that were slightly tinged by the electronic taint of the droid’s voice box. Eventually, the warrior offered his reply. The low grumbles and growls of the Ghorfa’s abrupt speech graced the Seven’s ears. The droid processed the Sand Person’s words within Dorn’s datapad, and presented their Basic translation as text in the bottom left corner of the soldiers’ HUD.

 

“We are confused. This is not the group we expected. Where are the supplies? Who are the machines?” the text read.

 

“He says…” Dorn began to relay to the helmetless officer.

 

“Don’t worry. I got the gist of it. I’ve studied the people and their language extensively,” the officer admitted.

 

“Something tells me these aren’t the kind of people you just want the ‘gist’ of,” Besh lowly commented.

 

“We were attacked,” Hingsley explained. “By an enemy tribe. They destroyed the supplies meant for your tribe. I am the last survivor of my group. The Empire still wishes to proceed with peace negotiations.” The droid translated the officer’s words once more. The head warrior tilted his head.

 

“And the machines?”

 

“This guy thinks we’re droids?” Esk teased. Dorn waved for the demolitionist to be quiet.

 

“These are not machines. These are ‘The Seven’, a group of the Empire’s finest warriors,” Hingsley explained. Upon hearing the explanation, the Sand Person combed his critical gaze across each of the armored troopers.

 

“Have them remove their masks,” the Sand Person growled.

 

“Remove yours,” Aurek countered. The Imperial officer panicked, but the droid had already spoken the squad leader’s words. The Ghorfa warrior’s stance immediately straightened as he separated himself from the group. He approached and stood immediately in front of Aurek, rigid and combative.

 

The rest of the Seven raised their weapons toward the ranked warrior, prompting the armed entourage of Sand People of raise their weapons against the aggressors. Watchmen stood atop the settlement’s barricade wall, aiming their cycler rifles. Aurek and the lead warrior remained completely still, utterly focused on one another, each gazing into the faceless visage of the other. Opaque face mask opposite goggles surrounded by desert face wrappings. After an intense passing of mere moments, the Ghorfa warrior dismissed the rest of his clan with a soft wave of the hand. As the Sand People lowered their weapons, Aurek ordered his men to stand down.

 

“Go inside. Speak to the Chief,” the warrior growled as he turned back toward the settlement gate. Officer Hingsley was stunned, flooded with a mixture of awe and ire.

 

“What were you thinking?” Hingsley angrily whispered to Aurek.

 

“We are an unfamiliar element, currently bearing no items of goodwill,” Aurek explained. “We were entering into communications under unfavorable conditions.”

 

“So you decide to pick a fight?”

 

“Not picking a fight. Just showing we aren’t that different from them,” Aurek revealed. The officer perked up.

 

“Of course!” Hingsley realized. “The reason they thought you were machines in the first place was because you’re covered from head to toe. Ghorfa tradition probably teaches that they are the only living peoples willing to adopt such a practice. Though peaceful, they are still a tribalistic warrior culture, and respected your ability to challenge them on their own terms and customs. How did you know they would react that way?”

 

“I didn’t know, to be honest,” Aurek admitted. “Sometimes you just go on warrior’s instinct.”

 

“Really… warrior’s instinct…” Hingsley disapprovingly repeated.

 

The large gates of the settlement opened to welcome the Imperials into its midst. Passing the barrier of scrap surrounding the village, the soldier saw that the settlement’s interior continued the salvage motif. Small huts of welded sheets of metal dotted the Imperials’ sights. A strange array of cables ran along the rocky foundation that the village sat upon, running from hut to hut and terminating at the occasional power generator.

 

Various signs and lights stolen or salvaged from the nearby vestiges of civilized society were affixed to the occasional structure. Large poles stretched into the sky above the village entrance, and held up an array of canvases providing shade. Deeper into the settlement, the Sand People breached the cave system provided by mountainous ridge surrounding it and utilized its natural bastion.

 

As the Seven walked amongst the settlement, they witnessed the hidden machinations of the Sand People’s society. Figures wrapped head to toe in cloths moved around the village, never not stopping to catch a glance of the intruding Imperials. The Seven found the first sign of people deviating from the standard dress code they had previously encountered. Humbler figures, dressed in more domestic wrappings instead of those of the warrior. In addition to the parade of adults, the occasional group of children darted across the village’s common area.

 

The greeting party of Sand People led the Seven deeper into the village, passing by the homes of the various families that made up the tribe. A quick glance around them revealed that the settlement’s population must have measured in the hundreds. After passing through an open plaza in the center of the village, the Imperials came upon a large domed structure, much of its exterior architecture looking to have been salvaged from a starship freighter. Passing the threshold of the building, leathery canvases lined the interior metallic walls, each bearing beautiful tribal paintings by the Sand People. Sentries were posted in much denser positions the further the Seven traveled.

 

Entering a large circular room, large enough for the Seven and their escorts to reasonably enter and stand within, the Imperials saw a grandiose Sand Person sitting upon a makeshift throne. Even sitting, the figure possessed a domineering presence. Affixed to the top of his chair and above his head, a large metallic staff presented itself. Crafted from scrap, yet utterly meticulous is its structure. Flanged edges and sharp needles dotted both ends of the gaderffii, the traditional melee weapon of the Sand People.

 

The figure sitting upon the throne, obviously the tribe’s chief, was of sturdy build and wore the wrappings of a warrior despite his position of status. A cape of furs and hides draped over his shoulders, and distinguishing red sashes hung from his torso. The leader of the escort group silently ordered the Imperials to remain where they were as he approached the chief alone. The two figures shared a brief conversation, outside the ranged of the translating droid. The Imperials remained perfectly still, trying not to inadvertently offend the chieftain. After the chief’s conversation with his warrior, he beckoned the Imperials to proceed forward. Aurek, Dorn, and Hingsley approached the chief whilst the rest of the Seven remained at the room’s entrance.

 

“Great chief of the Ardent Sons, it is an honor to be in your presence,” Hingsley stated with a bow of his head.

 

“Heh, are sure this guy is an Imperial?” Esk commented through the team’s comm channel. Besh offered a quick backhand against the demolitionist’s shoulder.

 

“Imperials,” the chief growled. “Certain conditions were supposed to have been met before our tribes would enter talks, correct? Am I to understand that you do not have the power generators we had requested?”

 

“I’m afraid so, chief,” Hingsley apologized. “A tribe of Ghorfa bearing similarities to the Ardent Sons raided my team and our supplies. I’m afraid the generators were either destroyed or stolen.” The chief tilted his head as he processed the officer’s words before turning to his fellow warrior.

 

“The Fallen Sons, exiles and traitors of our tribe,” the chief explained. “You were defeated by these deserters? Why should we ally ourselves with a tribe that cannot face those we rejected?”

 

“The warriors… the Fallen Sons, their ranks have vastly swelled, and they have join forces with… otherworlders,” Hingsley carefully explained.

 

“Regardless, our tribe cannot welcome weakness into its arms.”

 

“I’m sure that we can…” Hingsley began, before being halted by Aurek placing a hand on the officer’s shoulder.

 

“The Fallen Sons attacked an Imperial outpost with a surprise attack. Me and my squad came across them after the attack. When they returned a second time, we wiped them out. Seven warriors against more than twenty. We even defeated the tribe’s leader, a warrior capable of moving objects with his mind. We… are not weak. Our tribe’s warriors are strong,” Aurek declared. As the chief listened to the translation, he perked up at the mention of the exiled Force user. Staring at Aurek, the chief brought his hand to the chin of his breather.

 

“And the generators?” the chief inquired, still not fully satisfied.

 

“What kind of generators were these?” Aurek asked of Hingsley.

 

“Standard Imperial domestic power generators. Four of them, each capable of supplying power to a small structure or machine,” the officer detailed. The squad leader pondered the situation for a moment before turning to Dorn.

 

“You think the recharging stations we had installed on the shuttle would have similar capabilities?” Aurek inquired.

 

“I suppose. But do we really want to be giving those away?” Dorn asked.

 

“For now, we can share,” Aurek commented. “Chieftain, I can have an alternative set of power generators here tomorrow. In exchange, you will remain open to future negotiations with our tribe. Also, me and my squad will use this settlement as our home base while we hunt down the remaining Fallen Sons and their off world allies.”

 

“You are brave to make demands in my home,” the chief stated, never breaking his gaze from Aurek. “Very well. Your people have the freedom to walk amongst mine. We will aid you in your cause to eliminate our mutual foes.” Hingsley and Aurek dipped their heads in respect to the seated chief. The chief stood from his throne and offered a dutiful nod, before retreating further into the halls of the large hut with the tribe’s prime warrior following him by his side.

 

“You’re quite the negotiator Mr. Aurek,” Hingsley commented, cracking a smile.

 

“We’re good for now,” Aurek admitted, “but the last thing we want to do is wear out our welcome. We need to get these people their supplies and carry out our mission as quick as we can.”

 

“We’ve been granted hospice by the tribe. Leaving too quickly would actually be a sign of disrespect,” Hingsley informed.

 

“Great…” Aurek muttered. “Dorn, we’re not going to get very far without proper means of communication. Can you upload a version of the droid’s translation programming to our armor?”

 

“Speech-to-text should be pretty easy,” Dorn admitted. “Us being able to communicate with them individually might be trouble, however. I suppose I could patch into our helmets’ speaker system…”

 

“We've got time, Dorn. Do what you can.”

 

“Alright, for the moment I’ll upload the rough data so we can understand them without the droid, at least. Find me if you need something specific said, otherwise you’ll have to rely solely on body language,” Dorn informed the squad.

 

The armored troopers nodded in unison as they vacated the chief’s hut as a group. Exiting the structure, the Seven realized they were in an utterly unfamiliar environment, surrounded by unknown forces. The group passed their time in front of the chieftain’s hut with idle banter whilst Dorn tapped away at his datapad. Eventually, a progress bar appeared on the bottom of the soldiers’ HUDs. Once filled, each of the Seven possessed a means of understanding the spoken language of the Ghorfa, though still lacked ways to vocalize it.

 

“Okay men,” Aurek addressed his squad, “Dorn and Hingsley will work on updating the translation software so that we can communicate with the Sand People. The rest of you have the day to yourselves. Remembers, follow Project protocol and try not to endanger our relations with the tribe.”

 

“What you suggest we do?” Besh inquired.

 

“Come on, we specialize in wasting time off duty. I’m sure you all can find ways to pass the hours,” Aurek stated,

 

“What’ll you be doing?” Cresh stepped in.

 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m going to see to our extended stay in the settlement. Bring in our speeders, make sure the locals don’t salvage anything of ours for the time being,” Aurek explained.

 

“What of the shuttle? And the generators?” Dorn asked.

 

“Just worry about the translation for now,” Aurek politely ordered.

 

“You know, I can technically pilot the shuttle with my datapad from here. If you’d prefer, I could have the shuttle here by sundown.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, nuh-uh,” Esk interjected. “You’re a good pilot in the cockpit, but we don’t need you wrecking our ticket off this dust ball because of some signal interference or somethin’.”

 

“We’ll stick to our safest options for now,” Aurek answered. “You and an escort can ride to Mos Ila in the morning and bring the shuttle here. We can go the night without recharging our armor.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Dorn accepted. “I’ll update our software as soon as possible.”

 

“Excellent. You’re all dismissed,” Aurek stated as he made his way toward the settlement gates. The remaining members of the Seven puzzled with one another, unsure of how to proceed. As Dorn and Hingsley relocated themselves to work on their project, the other troopers began to wander the Ardent Sons settlement. Eventually, the Seven splintered as they walked amongst the Ghorfa peoples.

 

In the main plaza of the village, Grek walked in typical domineering silence. Suddenly, a small group of children, known as the tribe’s ‘uli-ah’, danced around the towering trooper, playfully prodding at his legs with metallic rods and sticks. As the children attacked Grek in the form of a mock ‘bloodrite’, Esk offered a chuckle, witnessing the events a short distance away. Hearing his compatriot prompted the silent trooper to play along with the uli-ah, swiping his arms above their heads, and playing the part of the lumbering beast, though never uttering a single noise.

 

Eventually, two of the children were hanging from Grek’s arms, cheering in their own form as they dangled from the soldier’s high reaching limbs. As Esk watched the playful scene, a portion of the children splintered off and focused their attention on the demolitionist. Removing his bandoliers and placing them, along with his weapon, atop a high fixture, Esk joined in on the fun, chasing and being chased by the jovial uli-ah.

 

Besh and Forn had happened across a training grounds of sorts. In a circle of rocks set upon the ground, two Ghorfa warriors dueled one another in melee combat, clashing their gaderffii against each other. To the side, a targeting range, where a number of Ghorfa tested the accuracy of their cycling rifles. The two troopers shared a glance before separating, each walking toward their more suited destination.

 

Forn approached the dueling Ghorfa, and was stopped by a warrior impeding his progress. A short growl later, and a challenge appeared to have been issued. Not needing words, Forn accepted and stepped into one of the adjacent rings. Besh approached the sharpshooters gathering around an arrangement of tables that preceded a large stretch of empty space that ended at a face in the ridge that surrounded the village.

 

Nearing the group of Ghorfa, the shooters looked up from their weapons and puzzled at the approaching figure. The most interesting aspect of the newcomer was the unique weapon he possessed. Brandishing the “’Odyssey’ Czerka Bolt-Cycler Prime”, the Ghorfa each hoped to gain a closer look at the trooper's rifle. Steeping aside, they offered Besh a chance to fire down the targeting range. Seeing a drawing of a monstrous beast painted of the rock face a distance away, the sniper raised his weapon, took aim, and fire a bolt straight into the creature’s eye.

 

The Ghorfa seemed satisfied with the performance, and Besh laid his weapon upon one of the nearby tables. This prompted one of the tribal sharpshooters to rise with his own cycler and attempt to fire down range. With a pull of the trigger, the shooter let out a Ghorfa expletive as the gun refused to fire. Returning to his seat, the settler place his weapon upon the table in front of him, and began to stare at it from every angle, Approaching the disturbed figure, Besh offered his hand, requesting permission to handle the Ghorfa’s cycler. After the permission was granted, Besh began to disassemble the rifle and take a closer look at the inner workings.

 

At the dueling circle, Forn faced off against one of the young warriors of the Ardent Sons. In such a confined space, there was little room for movement, only those involved in the swinging of a weapon. Forn brought his daggers against the Ghorfa’s gaderffii. After a quick bout, the trooper brought the warrior to the ground with a blade at his neck. With the Ghorfa admitting defeat, Forn holstered his daggers and offered his hand to the fallen warrior. With the Ghorfa now upright, Forn began instructing the warrior in the proper form of combat. Maneuvering the figure's hand with his own, moving his feet into the proper stance, showing him the proper way to emphasize his swings.

 

Walking amongst the settlement by his lonesome, Cresh happened across a bustling hut. Figures darted in and out of a small structure, carrying the occasional box of supplies. The Ghorfa were female, evident by their different style of garb. Their robes and clothes possessed a sense of confinement, shawls and hoods as opposed to the articulatory robes of the male Ghorfa scouts and warriors. Peering past the flap that designated the hut’s entrance, Cresh saw a kneeling female tending to a warrior laying upon a flattened slab. The prone Ghorfa was clutching his stomach in pain, covering an obvious injury. Looking up from the fallen warrior, the tending Ghorfa saw Cresh looking in and shooed him away with a sharp howl, trying to forbid the troopers from laying eyes on the wounded warrior’s slightly unwrapped torso.

 

Cresh rescinded his gaze, but processed the quick glimpse he saw. Puncture wounds. Mostly likely caused by one of the horned creatures of Tatooine. The figure was bleeding profusely. Red blood. Humanoid flesh. Peering in once more, the medic received another howl of protest. Undeterred, the trooper knelt next to the fallen warrior, taking a vial from his belt. Offering a calming wave to the tending Ghorfa, Cresh began to apply a kolto pack to the warrior’s wound. The figure’s pain subsided, and the wound stopped its flow of blood. The Ghorfa nurse looked on with amazement as the patient calmed and stabilized. While not offering a vocal thanks, the Ghorfa gave an appreciative nod toward Cresh.

 

The suns of Tatooine fell as the day turned to night. Dorn had finished adapting the translation program to work with the Seven’s speaker system, but the troopers found themselves without need of it for the most part. They had walked amongst the Ardent Sons, witnessed the inner working of their society, and found themselves accepted with no words spoken from any of them. They had achieved understanding through actions and actions alone.

 

Inside this tribe, the Seven had interacted with figures like them, sworn to hide their physicality from the world. They had communicated on the basest of levels. Through the laughter of children, through the movements of martial combat, through the helping hand of selflessness. As hour after hour passed, the Seven found they had experienced an unfamiliar joy. A feeling they had forgotten, trapped in their armor, in their rooms, in their solidarity. A feeling of acceptance, family, and what it means to be alive.