Coruscant
Sergi Dio's Private Quarters
Sergi’s cheeks burned with a dull fire. He had been smiling incessantly for the past 5 hours during an interview and he was feeling the effects. His undershirt was dripping with sweat beneath his pristine, stylish robes. All he wanted in this life was a cool glass of water and a nap.
As he sat in a lounge chair massaging his cheeks the familiar footsteps of Sophia, his body guard, could be heard pacing toward him. He groaned to himself knowing that the emphasis in her foot fall could only mean she was bearing bad news.
“Dr. Dio, we have a situation.”
Sergi’s hands wrenched at his hair in frustration. He looked up and saw both Sophia and Kayleigh standing side by side. Their body positioning suggested there was still tension but they both seemed completely transfixed on the burgeoning politician. Whatever it was they had to say must have been important to garner such cooperation from the two.
Sophia continued to speak, briefly checking the datapad in her arms as she did so. “Our techs near Kuat have gotten intel that several ranking R&D scientists from Balmoran Arms are quietly looking for a way out. It seems that they have become disenchanted with the CIS and have no wish to continue designing and building war droids for them. Problem is the CIS would likely imprison them as they have worked on several of the more experimental designs produced for the CIS war machine over the past year. To top it off Balmorra has a fleet of luckrehulks protecting it from Republic assaults.”
“—those are the big fuckers right?” Sergi interjected. His mental exhaustion was still apparent but he seemed much more engaged in the conversation than originally.
“Yessir, very big. The Isangoma would last a half hour at best against a single one. They have more droid fighters than a bantha has fleas. However, we do know the complex that the VIPs are being held in and that they are all Balmorra natives. One by the name of Tellex Sigor appears to be a senior operator with 30 years under his belt. These guys are big timers. Unfortunately that’s all the information we have.”
“That’s it? I’m expected to extract 3 random pencil pushers who are discontent with the color of their cubicles?” Sergi sounded more disappointed than frustrated. It was going to be a risky operation but he knew this could be a major play for the Republic. Knocking out a handful of lead R&D specialists would not only cripple their respective programs but give the GAR valuable information that could save thousands of lives. At least Republic lives.
Sergi continued to sift his fingers through his hair, a tell-tale sign of his stress. Suddenly the outstretched hand of Kayleigh Walsh nudged his shoulder. She was offering him her canteen. She remained silent and simply nodded. Her characteristic smirk was replaced with a hardened gaze which Sergi mirrored back. Sergi quickly unscrewed the bottle and took a long sip. The cold water in his mouth was a miniature paradise. He poured some on the top of his head and swept his hand through the soaked hairs. Instantly he felt like a new man. His mind raced into action and his words followed in swift pursuit.
“Put all appropriate hands on deck in the Isangoma. Karns, Barr, Quain, and Shalla have 4 hours to be on station and their subordinates accounted for. I want the shuttle with all the doo-dads and sensors off of the Galipot and onto my vessel, Miss Valencia doesn’t need it. Tell her to stay here on Coruscant and kiss any bare ass she comes across. Scramble Glaxtus from Uyter and have him meet us in our holding pattern outside the Balmorra system. Kayleigh, get your ground team ready, they’re your pick by hand. I want as much intel on that planet and complex that we can muster and I want to know everything about Tellex Sigor; where he’s from, who his family is, what hand he wipes his ass with. Dangle a couple thousand credits over the heads of the techs that got us this intel and see what else they can scrape up before we go topside. And get me a glass of water.”
Within the hour, the Isangoma was enroute to the Balmorra system just outside of where the crew suspected the CIS holding fleet could make sensor contact.
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Outer Rim Territories (S-18)
Lamaro System
Lamaredd
*Cchhhhhhh* “Uhh, all operators be advised, Which Doctor 2.2 has eyes on a mosquito the size of a midget. Over” *Cchhhhhh*
The small taskforce of Twi’leks bounced through the rough jungles of Lamaredd on their skimpy light-armored vehicles. Four of the warriors rode on top of the vehicles while the other half were forced to endure the sea-sickening ride from inside. Were they hit by a mine or ambush this would relatively ensure the survival of half the crew but many inside would argue that they would rather be dead then endure navigating story tall root systems for much longer.
The crews on the outside were enjoying themselves as much as one could in the situation. They wore all wore black body suits and camouflaged torso armor but that was where the similarities ended. Each of the Twi’lek operators had a different signature style about his garb. Whether it was tribal paintings, intricate lekku tattoos, or talismans hanging from random parts of their uniforms, they were all a unique group of very grungy men. What united their looks were the gallons of sweat and mud that clung to each of their bodies.
This particular mission was one along the list of many like it. Their vessel, the Shaman, had received an unknown distress signal while on “general patrol” as their commander Sergi Dio liked to call it. What it really meant was to wait around said area and do nice things for people. Help damaged vessels, ward off any meandering pirates, and if anyone crashed into a shithole like the one they were in now, be the first one to help and make sure someone was filming. Though this planet was inhabited by a small colony, the locals were deathly afraid of the far north jungles where the distress beacon of a crashed shuttle emanated. It fell upon this motley crew to check it out. Naturally the story was running 24 hour coverage on local news.
The convoy of four light vehicles came to a sudden stop. Almost instantly a large, dark human leaped from the passenger side of his second to rear vehicle and coolly strode up to the front. He was puffing on a fat spice joint that was clearly out of regulation. It was Paccu Xcubu, the eccentric and universally loved leader of the Witch Doctor unit. He was an intimidating figure with long, mangy dreadlocks that seemed to have something growing in them at all times. He was at best unkempt but he had a fierce intuition and knew his way around even the most backwater of worlds.
When the large figure reached the front of the convoy he saw what had stopped them. Before the rescue team was a large lake covered in a tick film of algae and various floating flora. At the other edge of the shore were the outlines of small huts with the faint imprint of campfire smoke smudging the sky.
“My boyyys, why it is that you stopping, eh? Tell me which one of you can’t swim; they get to go first.” Paccu spoke with an almost indiscernible accent that was made even more difficult by his rumbling laughter. The Twi’lek warriors seemed to understand as they chucked morbidly at the colonel’s joke. Without further dialogue the convoy lurched forward into the unwelcoming swamp and Paccu jumped atop the lead vehicle.
“All units, this is Which Doctor 1.1. Be advised, we have eyes on a native hamlet 2 clicks north east of our pos. Break. Maintain defensive posture… Please keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times. I’d bet my next leave that there is an Opee waiting for every toe that goes in this water. 1.1 Out.”
The team that sat atop the point vehicle with Paccu shook their heads in subtle laughter. Their A280’s were clinically trained on the water surrounding their amphibious craft as they putted across the filthy water at incredibly slow speed. It wasn’t clear if their rate of attack was intentional so as not to disturb anything that might be lurking beneath or if their kit really was as subpar as they always lead themselves to believe.
“Any bets on how fine the ass is in this little town were rolling into?”
“I’d say if the creatures in that hamlet even have accommodating parts they are probably shaped like a sarlacc pit. I doubt these things even stand on two legs.”
“That has never stopped him before.”
“I don’t care if they look like a damn verpine, I’ve got 20 credits and a liberty pass when were stationed at the Estate that I can nail the brains out of one of them by the time we exfil.”
“You are aware you literally condoning yourself to a night licking Lieutenant Dan’s boots instead of hitting Lilly town, right? Like you realize you are the stupidest thing floating on this truck right?”
“I’m making an alphabetical list of every species I’ve done the deed to and I’m already in the U’s. I don’t care if these things don’t even speak basic, home-girl is gonna make an uhhh sound and I’m scratching U off the list.”
Paccu interjected into the all Twi’lek conversation, his lack of Basic making him miss most of the childish punchlines his troops threw about. “Dese guys speakin dat Menahu shiit. Dat’s some bad shiit to be speakin too. They sound like they talkin to da devil when they sayin the hello.”
The team aboard Paccu’s APC stifled their laughter. Their commanding officer was like one of the people you saw on the Holonews and wondered if they were even speaking the same language as you. Admittedly, Basic was Paccu’s 4th language so the troops gave him some slack. He hadn’t even begun to learn it until a year before he entered Sergi’s services. How Colonel Paccu Xcubu (a name only pronounceable with a tongue click) really communicated was through body language. His slightly jaundiced eyes, sun beaten forehead, and coarse scarred hands gestured in any way he needed to speak. But for now, while his men’s sights were trained on their respective sectors, he was practically a mute.
As the convoy approached the small village, the planets natives began to appear. They were only rudimentary cloths made of animal skins. Though unattractive by any means, many of the race’s females were topless. Having not seen women for almost a month now, many of the Twi’lek marines exchanged subtle fist bumps.
The natives crowded the shoreline. It appeared that many were drawing bows and preparing to fire on the floating armored beasts. Immediately the four vehicles fanned out to laterally take the beach in force if necessary. Marines atop the roofs scrambled to present a 75% frontal firing arc, picking out targets of opportunity. But before a shot could be fired, Paccu stood up on his craft and waved slowly at the on looking crowd. Perhaps he was trying to show that these were sentient beings riding the armored beasts and not some sort of spinney creature trying to attack them. Whatever it was, it worked.
As the APC’s took to the beachhead they were met by cheering children and slightly bewildered but pacified adults. The top-side marines had dropped their defensive posturing and were mingling with the natives. Within minutes the APC’s were emptied of troops who were playing with children and handing out humanitarian rations. The Menahuun seemed enthralled with the vehicles, believing them to be great beasts that the warriors had tamed and ridden to their town. Clearly this lot had not been the ones assaulting the colonists thousands of miles to the south.
As the squad leaders of the 40 men tried to maintain order and security over the bustling scene, Paccu had begun looking for the village elder. He had strapped the upper body of a protocol droid to his back. It was to act as a translator for when they did find someone who might know about the crashed vessel the team had received a distress signal from. The bottom half of the droid had been bitten off by a nexu on a previous operation and they had never received funds to replace it. Though it was only a talking torso, C4-PK received an inordinate amount of adoration from the populace.
“Colonel, how do you say ‘vote Loyalist’ in Menahu?”
“I think it sounds something like, *click* *gulp* watch your *click* fucking *purr* sector.” Replied Paccu with a crystal white smile. However his face clearly showed he was also quite disturbed by the clamoring situation. “I don’t like these people. They smile with daemons behind their eyes.”
Suddenly a flare ripped into the sky from inside the village. The Twi’lek marines immediately drew their weapons to bare and scrambled into defensive positions. The turrets of the APCs swiveled quickly to train their ordinance on the origin of the red smoke streak. Natives dispersed in all directions. Paccu quickly shot up a one fingered hand signal and began moving at pace into the town. Team one’s operators began following him before the order was even relayed by their squad leader over comms.
The 11 men moved quickly through the town, only stopping to clear sporadic alleyways between the thatched huts. They moved deeper and deeper into the primitive village until they came to a central courtyard. In it were crowded a number of Menahuun natives and a thrashing Muun female hog-tied to a beam. The team quickly took up a defensive half circle arcing at the 30 or so natives standing around the figure and began to advance. The APC that had transported the team soon rolled in behind with five more marines from team three as its escort. All the Twi’leks had their weapons fixed on the mob that was accumulating around the captive Muun.
A shrieking chant reverberated as the mob joined in one after another. Sticks were being assembled at the base of the Muun’s feet and her piercing cries drowned into the chorus of the natives. Her face was badly bloodied and her long nose was visibly broken. All around her tattered body, the natives were whipping themselves up into a frenzy. Pieces of her equipment and clothing, and what appeared to be scraps from a space shuttle were all being tossed about the horde that bolstered in size every minute. This prisoner of theirs had stolen all the attention that had been given to the landing party minutes before.
It was as if the presence of the 15 marines and APC poised to slaughter the gathering wholesale were of no importance. Paccu’s screams at the crowd to disperse fell upon the turned backs of the dancing villagers. The crowd had now quadrupled in size. Paccu finally lowered his weapon and began to push through the crowd toward the captive. Naturally his men thought this a brash move but they maintained their posture and took up kneeling and prone positions to provide support. The elements of team three that had joined the fray began to take up sniper positions on the thatched roof tops.
When Paccu had finally elbowed his way to the center of the crowd there was a man clad in feathered regalia holding a flaming torch aloft feet from the well fueled pyre of the prisoner. His hands were stretched out upward and so too climbed the horrendous chanting of the mob. Paccu brandished the barrel of his A280 inches from the chieftain’s face and yelled desperately at the droid on his back to interpret what he was saying. But it was to no avail. The crowd was deafening and the chieftain couldn’t have heard the protocol droid even if he wanted to.
The chieftain instead slowly lowered his torch toward the pyre, his stare transfixed on that of Paccu’s. The creature was in a trance. The eyes that had appeared like daemons to Paccu were now soulless, glazed with white. The colonel’s ears were ringing from the steady, unrelenting wail.
With a swift jab, Paccu sent the muzzle of his rifle into the mouth from which the earsplitting wail was emanating. The blow dashed out most of the chieftain’s teeth and he fell to the dusty ground. The torch in his hand toppled harmlessly into the dirt. All of the noise stopped. It was as if someone had pressed mute on the whole world…
“Tell him she is mine!” Paccu yelled at the droid strapped to his back, his voice booming in the eerily silent courtyard. The droid did not respond. The dreadlocked warrior had no idea why of all times the protocol droid was dead now, but it was. He was alone in the midst of some 200 crazed Menahuun all staring at him with sealed lips and unrelenting eyes.
Paccu kept his composure, or at least tried too as a cocktail of sweat and adrenaline dripped from every pore of his face. He pointed at the broken Muun girl whose muffled whimpers now filled the silence—much to Paccu’s relief. He then pointed sternly at himself.
The gesture was understood immediately and the chieftain arose to his feet filled with the greatest rage the grizzled ranger had ever seen in a creature. The Menahuun lunged at him with white furry. Paccu grappled with his assailant’s weight before plummeting to the ground with the beast. The deranged chieftain bit into his face before Paccu could draw his knife and slice the creature’s abdomen. The Menahuun lurched off in surprise as much as pain. As he did so, Paccu sent a head shake toward his troops eager to flay his attacker with blaster rounds. Paccu knew he would have to speak a universal language to these people: trial by combat.
The chieftain was thrown a crude spear from the crowd which he expertly caught without looking. The man paced back and forth in front of Paccu as he unlatched his defunct protocol droid and tossed down his blaster. He even peeled off his drenched fatigues and tactical vest, allowing his tattooed, rippling muscles to gleam in the searing light of the sun. All the while the chieftain waited longingly, the daemon in his eyes growing in strength with every passing second.
Finally Paccu outstretched his barrel-like arms and gestured a “come hither” sign to his opponent. Without further ado, the chieftain lunged at him with an outstretched spear. Paccu cleanly parried the attack with the chop of his Ryyk machete. Howling in rage the chieftain pivoted and sent the blunt end of his spear crashing into the side of Paccu’s ribs. The blow made Paccu crescent his body but his bearlike frame contained the blow.
Paccu quickly grabbed the rear end of the spear that was jabbed into his side before his opponent could fully retract it. With the dull side of his blade, Paccu backhanded a blow onto the Menahuun’s elbow and heard it shatter with glorious effect. The creature shrieked a pitch that made Paccu retract from further attacks.
The chieftain took advantage of this and once again lunged at the dark heap of muscle. This time the creature was off balance, hindered by his limp right arm. The spear thrust was aimed downward at Paccu’s right leg. It was a slow strike and easily juked; leaving the spear tip plunged into the soft ground.
Paccu hacked at the lodged weapon and it split in two. He harnessed the same circular force of his strike back around and careened the blade into the shin of his opponent’s leg which had been outstretched supporting the earlier thrust. The slash cleanly severed through the anterior portion of the shin and sent splintered bone hailing out of its opening.
The creature was silent this time but still attacked again in frenzy. The chieftain grabbed at Paccu’s hair with his only usable arm and went again to bite the man’s face. But this time Paccu easily pivoted him off-balance. The crippled native still clung fanatically onto Paccu’s dreadlocks and wrenched his head toward the ground with the falling beast. Paccu loomed over the silent creature as it writhed about the floor trying to pull him downward.
With an upward swoop Paccu severed the chieftain’s left arm just below the shoulder. The cleaved arm still clung to its first full of dreadlocks as Paccu descended down on his maimed prey. He tossed his weapon to the side and it splashed gently in the dark blood pooling around the victim’s severed, squirming shoulder.
As he straddled the man’s heaving chest Paccu looked one last time into those soulless eyes. For a moment he felt like he had lost himself in them… Without thinking, Paccu’s hands felt their way up the Menahuun’s face. He was still lost in those eyes, those unrelenting white eyes that looked into him and yet through him to another, darker world. He felt his thumbs slowly slip over the empty vessels. And then they squeezed. They squeezed with a force that Paccu had never known he had. They delved deeper and deeper into the silent skull like wells frothing with red, gelatinous liquid. He wanted to tear the entire head asunder and cast its brains over the village for all the crazed citizens to see. But he did not. He could not… Mostly because that’s a really fucking hard thing to do.
As Paccu slowly drew his bruised body off the slain animal he saw that the crowd around him had dispersed. Only stragglers remained now and they seemed completely unenthused by the whole scene. They hung their heads and went on about their daily lives as if nothing had happened; as if they had never even known the man whose mangled body lay ashen in a pond of his own bodily fluids.
Amongst the dispersing natives were the familiar frames of team one. They appeared still very leery of the situation but now had their weapons pointed softly at the ground. A disbelieving smile crept across many of their faces as they secured a perimeter around Paccu and the still bound prisoner.
“Seems like they weren’t very impressed with your display, colonel. You would think that they were pretty keen on seeing people die beforehand.”
“—it is because you killed the hunter.” The Munn prisoner interjected weakly. “He was the one who captured me…” She sputtered for breath and spit out a clump of congealed blood. “You could tell they thought nothing of him until they saw he had me. Now he is dead, there is no strength. Their people crumble at the feet of the next warrior from a different tribe. I am yours now and I owe you my life.”
“You pretty wise, yeah? I’m sorry to say that wouldn’t be the case if we had gotten here sooner. You would not have seen these things for what they were and we’d have all much betta for dat,” Paccu whispered as he untied the crude ropes holding the girl prisoner. “Speaking of tribes, which one do you work for?”
The Muun woman looked pensively at her rescuer before answering, perhaps trying to assume what side of the galactic conflict this motley crew served. “I am an envoy of the Galactic Banking Clan on behalf of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Return me and you will be rewarded handsomely.”
“Oops, wrong answer,” whispered one of the Twi’lek marines. His joking comment was met with general laughter. However, the Muun found it less funny to suddenly realize she was probably moving from the hands of one captor to another. Her face soured in panic to what it had been atop the sacrificial pyre.
“You have nothing to fear, love. I will not see you return to the torture you just escaped. Dis is not something one person does to another but what only a creature can do. When I ask what tribe you are for, I see in your eyes that you are for the tribe of light. In the end we are the same tribe… I will see dat you are sent home. You will be treated as or flesh aboard our boat and when we part, I will wish you all the grace under the stars.”
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“Muun… That starts with an M doesn’t it. Well when Pacco pronounces it, it starts with a U so that’s just how well have to spell it…”
