Star-CROSSed

Posted on Wed Dec 1st, 2021 @ 10:18am by Reave & Bomoor Thort & Amare

4,064 words; about a 20 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Shuttle Calparion, Bastion
Timeline: Morning (Day Three, Week Four)

OLD

Mentis looked down slightly, "Of course, we were just discussing how this 'Empire Day' event may give us a bit of cover. We'll work something out."

"Then it is decided," Amare said as she started to leave, but then tapped the Rattataki gently on the shoulder as she passed and turned to him, "Mentis, before we go our separate ways for the day, may I have words with you for a few minutes? Alone?"

Rex rolled his eyes before he came up to stand beside Mentis briefly, a friendly hand placed on his bony shoulder. "Mantis my man, when a lady says that to you, it's never a good thing - especially when it sounds like it is." He shook his head and chuckled lightly. "Let me know when you're ready to get this bucking bantha ride started," he added with an extra pat, before working his way out of the room with Thane and Bomoor. "I'll be gearing up with Reave."

NEW

The Roan-class transport shuttle ferrying Bomoor, Amare and Reave was diminutive but sleek and modern, being ably piloted by a Bastion officer to their secluded destination, still under the jurisdiction of Grand Moff Tarses.

Able to ferry a small number of passengers, it was best designed for short journeys of a low-key nature, albeit still carried armaments that made it moderately capable of defending itself. This particular shuttlecraft, the Calparion, although ill-fitted for the transportation of soldiers, was one of those assigned to Tarses' palace, and had been meticulously maintained and upgraded, and there was more than enough room for each of them to manoeuvre.

Of course, of the group, Reave was the smallest - and the least settled. He had unbuckled himself from his seat, which had had the effect of making him appear even smaller than his already-reduced stature, and was now attempting to pear up at a topographical display halfway up a wall console, pushing himself awkwardly on his tip-toes to do so, leaning on a number of colourful buttons that lined the black-toned equipment he was now pressing his small frame against.

Bomoor and Amare both took a moment to watch the Jawa’s attempt, like a pair of watchful parents ensuring that whatever mischief going on was not going to end in tears. After a couple of unintentional button presses, which appeared to have no effect on their transport, Reave clamoured up onto the panel and began calmly observing the display.

With the moment passed, the Ithorian turned to his other companion, “So, I have not yet had a chance to ask you Amare: how did you find your experience within the chrysalis this time? This is the first time you consciously used that ability so did you feel you had more control over it? You evidently were able to release yourself from it successfully.”

The young Sith Nautolan had been mostly still and quiet since the shuttle lifted off under clandestine circumstances. The middle-aged pilot had introduced himself as part of the 33rd Logistical Studies Regiment and added that no one knew about the true nature of the flight other than the regiment's members and the Grand Moff himself. Officially, it was just another routine personnel transfer sortie.

Amare hesitated to answer for few seconds, not facing the Ithorian, then replied following a deep breath, “It was…a great pleasure…and a terrible agony. I’m not sure if you or Thane had noticed, but for several seconds, I was dead.” She turned to look upon him. “That’s what it does; a sudden incredible pain like a dozen sharp knives bursting out of my body all at once when the azoth escaped through the skin. Then it covered me in a hard shell, and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was floating within the ‘blessing’, and I looked down to see bit and chunks of that shell all over the floor. One piece had an imprint of my face and eyes on it, and it was looking back at me. That was when the Force seized my mind and swept me away. I had no control, Bomoor. I was completely at its mercy. I thought I had made the greatest mistake of my life.”

“But you don’t think that now?” Bomoor asked, his eyes curious, “The power you received on Korriban: would you hand it back if it meant a more tranquil existence? A simpler existence?”

Amare allowed herself a short giggle at the Ithorian's questions. She suspected he wasn't seeking answers, but rather confirmation of what he likely already intuited from his personal wisdom and sense of her through the Force.

"Bomoor, Bomoor, Bomoor...these innocent inquiries of yours are so cute," she replied gently with a grin. "I would never give it up. I think you know that already. I went through too much to be worthy of that ancient Sith's gift, though you err in how you describe it. What I possess is not so much a 'power' in the way you or I take for granted, but rather, I think it's..." she let her voice trail off for a couple of seconds as she sat back and gazed forward relishing what she felt within, and added, "...evolution."

Reave peered back subtly to his two companions, his aged leathery gloves splayed across the console, twinkling eyes narrowing at the development of Amare and Bomoor's conversation. Unusually, he gave no voice to whatever he was thinking, instead opting to simply observe.

Bomoor sat back, perhaps slightly irked at Amare’s manner of speaking to him, although her attitude had been becoming more hostile to him of late and it was beginning to become less surprising to the Ithorian, “I’ve seen so called Sith ‘evolution’ before, Amare, on Vaa. I did not consider it an improvement. You more than any of us have been changed by the dark side of the Force and most of those changes were not your choice so I merely wondered about your perspective."

He frowned and added, "Perhaps that was foolish of me."

"We are both fools," Amare retorted softly, her eyes on the wily Jawa, "and pawns. The difference is that you have a choice. You can walk--"

"Uu-chaa!" Came the sudden interruption from Reave, who had silently crept to the fore of the cockpit and was now pointing into the distance, shifting his glowing gaze between their stoic pilot and the view beyond. Through the clouds, and through the light spattering of precipitation that was collecting on the forward window, a facility could be made out in the distance.

"It-in tu muchee?" He babbled in a half-demanding, half-querying tone to the pilot.

"What in blazes is he saying?" the pilot asked aloud as he was trying to focus on his approach vector.

"Reave!" Amare snapped at him firmly. She was on her feet as she approached the cockpit. "You will be calm and let the pilot do his job," she said with a subtle wave of her hand. It had been a long time since she attempted a mind trick. "I have no wish to die in a crash before getting to the good part of this little sojourn. Do you?"

Reave had at first responded by glaring back at Amare, as she dared to declare his name so sternly, but sharpness of his golden-eyed stare faltered with the wave of her hand and the light suggestion within the Force. He took one misstep as he shook his head, his eyes appearing to lose focus. The Jawa brought his hands up to his face, as if trying to rub the confusion from his eyes, but he staggered again, using the consoles on the wall to balance himself as he shuffled towards the back of the compartment, looking to seem quite ill.

Although the shuttle had steadily decreased altitude in view of the facility, the approach vector was not for that place, but for a range of mountainous plateaus ahead.

"Why are we not landing?" Amare queried the pilot. She could see the lands below were temperate filled with dense forestation around the facility and dotted with light patches of snow.

"That's the logistics training and surveillance outpost," he replied. "The real facility is underground hidden under those mountains about ten clicks ahead. They call it the Bones of the World. Looks like a series vertebrae from above if you stare at it long enough."

There a short alert chime from the pilot's console indicating the shuttle was being targeted by surface-to-air weapons.

"Shuttle Calparion, flight Wesk-7465, we have locked onto your transponder," came a young adult female's voice over the comm system. "Transmit sealed security code. You have thirty seconds to comply."

"I swear Jenneth enjoys saying that last part," the pilot quipped to himself with a smirk as he pulled a red palm-sized square piece of plastic from his pilot suit's from breast pocket. He inserted it into a slot in his console. A small red light next to the slot turned on, followed by the sound of a hard thump inside, then an identical slot underneath had a green light turn next to it as a square piece of white paper appeared. The pilot removed it and replied, "This is Wesk-7465 on final approach. Three trainees on board. Security code Trill-Herf-Xesh-One-One-Three-Eight, over."

Trainees? Amare thought, but then it occurred to her that it was probably code to maintain secrecy of whatever Valavai Tarses was hiding from his political opponents. It was then that she noticed on the pilot's instrumentation that there were three flight modes: Cruise, Combat, and Stealth; the white light behind the Stealth button was on.

There was a brief delay before Jenneth spoke, "Code confirmed, Calparion. You're cleared to land. Did they really use that code again?"

"Twice in six months," the pilot replied. "Cryptogs getting lazy again. Dinner tonight?"

"Your tab," Jenneth replied.

"Deal," the pilot said with a relaxed grin and glanced over his shoulder to Amare. "Please be seated, ma'am. The crosswinds can be rough during landing this time of year."

Amare nodded and returned to her seat, her dark void-like black eyes switching focus between both Bomoor and Reave.

Bomoor leaned forwards slightly and spoke quietly to Amare, "Perhaps there would be less turbulence if he was more focussed on piloting and less on making dinner plans. Speaking of focus, we should be extra vigilant from this point onwards. Not all these Imperials are going to be keen on divulging their secrets to a group of off-worlders so we must remind them we are here with the authority of the Grand Moff."

He tapped the rank pips he was still wearing on his outfit, "That should be enough for them."

The Calparion swooped in towards one of the plateaus and gently ceased all forward momentum. In its hovering position, its wings folded up and started to lower itself down. There was some rough turbulence, but the shaking was only minor as Calparion continued to lower itself. Rather than landing atop the plateau, it turned out the mountain was hollow and deep, and the shuttle was surround in total darkness as a hidden platform closed above. The shuttle finally made touchdown, but seconds later as the group started to rise from their seats, there was further downward momentum again.

A spacious elevator platform began lowering Calparion down as oval shaped strobe lights appeared along the sides of the shaft. After a minute, the elevator stopped, and thick blast doors parted ways as the elevator moved horizontally into a very large hangar bay with several other craft and shuttles that were very much like Calparion in outward appearance.

"Welcome to Forward Research Operations Base Helios," the pilot gestured to the hangar outside his cockpit window. "Everything that happens in here stays in here until the Grand Moff himself says otherwise." That was when the shuttle came to a stop. "The lieutenant outside can answer any questions you have. One bit of advice: stay close to him and don't do anything stupid. They designed this place to be escape-proof and the security is wound up tighter than a mynock's arse. Stay on their good side, and they might let you leave this place in one piece. Now, out you go." The passenger ramp then opened and lowered for the group to disembark.

"We would not be here under the Grand Moff's approval if we were going to do anything foolish," Bomoor raised an eyebrow at the pilot as he arose to depart, "But thank you for the warning nonetheless."

Bomoor gestured for Reave to get down from his perch and join them as the group strode down the ramp and into the hollow mountain shaft, lit on both sides by white strip lights that extended off into the distance, showing the way to the facility deeper into the rockface.

Ahead just a few paces was a Human male wearing an officers' uniform and bearing the lieutenant's rank on his badge. He was flanked by two troopers on either side. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties with black hair swept back so that it mostly disappeared under his cap. His face was clean and mostly shaven, barring a thin moustache adorning his top lip, and he was wearing a flat expression but his dark eyebrows were raised just enough that he appeared somewhat curious about the three individuals pacing towards him.

“Ma’am,” the lieutenant greeted the newcomers in a clipped, crisp accent, nodding curtly to Amare, “sir,” he added, offering the same nod to Bomoor, clasping his hands behind his back and spreading his feet apart in true military presentation.

At sighting the hostile Jawa just behind the pair, the barest hint of a frown skirted across the man’s face, but he gave no voice to any concerns he had – nor did he refer to Reave as sir. He was the picture of professionalism, in spite of his lack of true acknowledgement of the Tatooinian warrior, appearing to show no other outward view, positively or negatively, of the foreigners standing before him, adorned with Bastionite rank bars.

“I am Leftenant Nolus Haig,” he introduced himself, using an irregular and archaic pronunciation of the rank, albeit he appeared too old to hold such a junior officer’s grading. “I am the logistical liaison officer to Forward Research Operations Base Helios and the CROSS Trooper Project.” He turned on his heel and gestured to the large industrial doorway behind him, and the flanking stormtroopers parted, akin to an honour guard, for the trio to move forwards. “If you please. I am also authorised and required to answer any questions you may have regarding this base and the projects held herein.”

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Left-tenant,” Bomoor mirrored the man’s pronunciation of the rank with modest accuracy, despite being less familiar to him.

Alongside Amare and followed along by a curious Reave, the Ithorian followed the man’s directions and proceeded with them deeper into the facility, “We are most keen to learn more about the project and what makes your troopers able to match a Force user’s reflexes,” he commented, “However, I am curious as to why Grand Moff Tarses felt it a priority for us to visit you in particular, since he assures us this is purely an Imperial project, with no GalactaWerks involvement. Is that not correct?”

"They must be experimenting with Force-sensitives here," Amare deduced, her eyes on Haig. "I sensed the presence of the Force from within that cyber-armour during that little 'test' you people threw at my friend Mentis. Agent Palidor must've been one of these 'CROSS Troopers'."

Haig did not bat an eyelid at Amare's casual talk of the Force or Grand Moff Tarses, which clearly betrayed a degree of the man's knowledge and assignment to the recently-appointed commissars, as they all turned and began making their way into the structure properly. "It is not my place to comment on the decisions of the Grand Moff or other members of the hierarchy," he said, tone not deviating, "but I can confirm it was Commander Tarses that requested your presence here. I am also confident in confirming that the GalactaWerks Corporation holds no involvement nor stake in the work undertaken at this facility or those linked to it. Notwithstanding that fact, you should not be surprised to see their equipment here. It is a poor leader that does not capitalise on their foes' - or their allies' - technology or talents."

The party made their way through the large automated doors into another industrial setting, surrounded by large hardware and a number of technicians and staff diligently working. They seemed to share in the lieutenant's work ethic, as they did not seem to notice or acknowledge the presence of newcomers at the base, and instead continued in their own efforts.

"The facility regularly plays host to experts appointed to the role by His Excellency; you are no different, in this instance, to the staff you see surrounding you," Haig explained. "Trusted to absolute secrecy, professionalism and a warm home and pension, they do not second-guess the decisions of their superiors."

With the pace Haig was setting with his stride, the troopers were having to march more quickly than others they had seen, and Reave was almost at a light jog, albeit he was fascinated with his surroundings. "This facility," Haig went on, as if detecting the Jawa's interest, "is sprawling. If you wish for more technical figures, they can be made available. There are a series of interconnected tunnels and rocket subtrams between the different departments and systems, with numerous built-in redundancies and other fail-safes, for both security and efficiency should there be any danger or lapse in functionality."

The group continued along the corridor, which opened into a small tram station, where a capsule-like tram car was already open and awaiting them. They caught a glimpse of the facility map above the tramline, showing the vastness of the facility, with the transport network looping around and stopping at key junctions.

They boarded and began to speed off, in a clockwise direction, into a tunnel. After a few moments, they emerged into an open area with yet another sprawling work floor beneath them with further workstations and even more personnel attending to projects. Some appeared to be working on armour and others on mechanical components too obscure for the newcomers to decipher. At the end of the gangway

"I can see the wisdom in keeping your most sensitive projects away from GalactaWerks eyes," Bomoor's eyes scanned the activity below, "But, I must say, it appears as though this facility has been in place for longer than the company had a presence here. Was this project initially devised as part of your conflict with the Mandalorian Empire?"

"The barbarian threat to Bastion is occasional, fleeting and rarely fixated on the finer details of technical warfare," Haig replied to Bomoor. "Whilst the Mandalorians, their various guises, have posed existential threats to the nation-states of the civilised galaxy throughout its storied history, and in spite of the fact their current accepted doctrine lends itself more to a certain degree of society than previous iterations, they do not pay much heed to the art of subterfuge, espionage or observation, preferring to excel in battlefield strategy and shock tactics. That is not to say they are not eminently dangerous, but Grand Moff Tarses' vision for Bastion has much broader scope than Mandalorians. This facility, and its age, are testament to that vision."

The view from the tram shifted from narrower workspaces to a massively more open environment, which was quite baffling to behold in the setting of the sprawling underground facility. A towering communications system, unmistakeable in its magnificent design, was plain to see beyond the windows. A mile-wide comm dish with many needle-like protrusions each of varying heights, some about as tall or taller as some of the 'dwarf' skyscrapers dotting the likes of Corella, poked upwards from its circumference.

"The Helios Array," Haig explained without prompting. "When active, it is mechanically raised up to the surface, and can be launched into orbit and disassembled for redeployment elsewhere in the galaxy, if necessary. A sister array is already orbiting the capital planet." Spying the looks on their faces, Haig posed a question of his own. "Your Republic and its Jedi do not boast such feats of engineering?"

“Perhaps not, at least from my limited experience of the latest technology,” Bomoor gazed up and down the incredible chasm that housed the array, “But there have not been need of such dedicated transmitters for thousands of years and certainly nothing of this scale. I assume that whatever data you are transmitting from his array cannot travel through subspace?”

"Galactic conflict is the presumption of galactic society," Haig responded first, in relation to the 'need' of such devices. Their view changed once again, as the tram entered another tunnel. There was an almost imperceptible change in the speed of the carriage, as a number of advanced servos and machinery ensured the passengers were less affected by the forces at play against them. "And I am not entirely informed as to the advanced physics that the relay is reliant upon, but Bastion scientists have long enjoyed the benefits that a morally-liberal scientific canvas can offer them. I imagine this GalactaWerks would claim much the same, away from the delicate ears of your senators and democrats."

The carriage finally came to a stop, and the doors parted to reveal a whole new environment, quite different from those they had already experienced. Brightly-lit chambers and corridors sprawled out into different directions, illuminating everything in sterile-white lighting, as if all of the surfaces surrounding them were light sources, including the walls and flooring.

Haig stepped out first and led them straight through the doorway opposite, which opened almost noiselessly into a broader room, with broad, curved windows stretching out on the far-side, giving an unblemished view of innumerable and mysterious pods lining tall pillars, each glowing some odd inner light. Based on the computers, machinery and staffing, it was some manner of control centre.

"The CROSSLink," Haig explained, stepping aside to allow the Raptor crew members an unblemished view of the room. "And where I was charged to bring you."

Amare, Bomoor and Reave all stepped out, eyes raised or widened as they took in the extent of the room and, for the Force users at least, get a reading on the lifeforms they could detect just ahead of them past the broad windows. Most people in the galaxy had some vague sense of what a cloning facility looked like from the now legendary tales of the Clone Wars. The art of cloning had never been perfected as well as in those days after the Empire of their time had purged their facilities to keep them from raising an army against them. Nowadays, any cloning projects were strictly regulated by the Third Republic. But, of course, they were not in Republic borders any more.

Moving slowly forwards, Bomoor looked at the individuals in this control centre, all of whom turned to offer a nod of respect before returning to monitoring their screens. They wore a slightly different Imperial uniform, which he assumed identified them more as technicians or engineers than naval officers. However, they also bore a patch with an emblem, which was also repeated several times in this room as well as emblazoned in the centre of the floor below, surrounded by the numerous pods.

"Clones, remote battle-suits and a gigantic relay," Bomoor commented, turning back to Haig, "This CROSS project clearly synthesises all number of scientific and technical marvels, but just what is it, Leftenant?"

"Well," Haig began, "I am not the best-versed in the strategies and goals of our overlords, but-" The officer paused as he spotted an approaching figure, and he stood a little stiffer to attention at the approaching man. "But Commander Tarses will forgive me for stating, I'm sure: he is much better-placed to explain the intricacies of the endeavours to you..."

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