Divisional Restructuring
Posted on Thu Nov 12th, 2026 @ 9:12pm by Reave & Darth Serus & Kalen "Rex" Vickers & Bomoor Thort & Mentis & FA-1S & G2-O7
5,280 words; about a 26 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Red Raptor Skies above the CEC Industrial Complex, Coronet, Corellia
Timeline: Evening (Local Time), Day Twenty-Two
The strategy room aboard the Red Raptor had become a battlefield of a different kind to the devolving situation in Coronet city below them. Data streams occupied every available display, containing various public access records, as well as a number of live report feeds accessed via unauthorised means. At the centre of these streams stood the humanoid, wire-framed form of FA-1S, its photoreceptors darting between the different screens, while its digits tapped away at the control panel below as though it was a separate organism entirely.
Joining the fabricant unit in the room was the astromech G2-O7 as well as NX-02, who lingered far behind, directly wired into one of the interface ports to provide occasional galactic data points that complemented the Corellian intelligence Faze and G2 were currently analysing.
"REQUEST:" the FA-unit began, never diverting its attention from the streams, "G2, interface with the comms system and try to resolve the connection to our Jawa operative. If audio is down, attempt to send a packet message to inform him that our other team has been discovered, requiring him to disrupt communication between CEC security personnel."
The answer came in a low warble, followed by a sharp double burst of binary.
"CLARIFICATION: You believe you can initiate a targeted comms jam from here?" Faze allowed its hand to pause from typing for a moment, inclining its head just slightly towards the astromech, "STATEMENT: I find that highly unlikely given the encryption specifications of their bespoke communication system, but you are free to attempt such an endeavour after you make contact with Reave."
There was another muted warble from G2 but Faze had already resumed typing and watching the screens. Unlike the two other droids in the room, Faze lacked a direct interface spike that would allow the unit to directly receive the data in the same way that they could. Even if it could, such binary data would need to be converted into Faze's own crystalline lattice-based programming language so it was actually more efficient to observe the data physically, much as an organic would. While the fabricant droid would never admit it, the process was slightly slower, hence the accepted usefulness of having the other droids working alongside its own efforts. However, the FA-unit's method came with the advantage of allowing improved creative synthesis of what it was observing, rather than the blind acceptance that came with having data written directly into one's memory.
A fresh series of reports came up on one stream, confirming the damage to the corridor bridge to the executive suites that he had already surmised from listening to the incoming audio stream from Mentis. However, the devolving situation within and surrounding the CEC facility below was leading to a slowdown in reporting from several of the other teams in the facility. Likely this would become even more of an issue as the security team began to focus all its efforts on their Force-wielding companions making their way through the executive building.
Finding one Jawa in all that was going to prove a difficult task without clearer data. Particularly in the absence of any fresh communication from him.
A thread of logic occurred and he temporarily flicked on the internal ship comm system in order to speak to the Human Rex who was currently looping them in an inconspicuous pathway around the steely Corellian skyline.
"ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Pilot Vickers, please respond. This unit would recommend a deviation in course to bring us closer to the facility."
Rex Vickers had spent much of the preceding hour doing remarkably little, which, under the circumstances, represented a considerable achievement. The Red Raptor was proceeding along an unremarkable circuit through the air traffic surrounding Coronet's industrial districts, its navigation systems maintaining a succession of perfectly legitimate course adjustments whilst the pilot reclined comfortably in his chair. A half-finished cigarra rested between the fingers of one hand, its smoke curling towards the overhead ventilation, while the other lay within easy reach of the manual flight controls. Rex had arranged their course to avoid the restricted approaches surrounding the CEC complex, occasionally adjusting their altitude or transponder declarations whenever the municipal authorities announced fresh limitations upon civilian traffic. There was no particular advantage in attracting attention from an increasingly overworked security service, especially when the vessel and several of its occupants remained persons of considerable interest to authorities across the Republic. The disturbances below had already produced a succession of increasingly agitated communications between traffic control, public security and private operators, but none had yet warranted the attention of a pilot whose vessel appeared content to travel harmlessly between established transport corridors.
It was the sort of work Rex had performed for years, albeit usually with considerably more valuable contraband concealed somewhere beneath the deck plating. The trick had never been to fly faster than everybody else, whatever the more enthusiastic members of his former profession might claim, but to understand the expectations of those responsible for regulating traffic and conduct oneself just sufficiently within them to escape curiosity. A pilot who repeatedly challenged instructions attracted attention, whilst one who followed every instruction with excessive enthusiasm sometimes attracted almost as much. Rex had learned to occupy the comfortable territory between the two, presenting himself as another moderately competent civilian operator going about ordinary business, and leaving the more spectacular flying until somebody had furnished him with a compelling reason to demonstrate it. There had been occasions when that distinction amounted to the difference between a profitable evening and a lengthy conversation with customs officials, accompanied by the confiscation of several thousand credits' worth of merchandise. It was a skill which remained useful even now, when the cargo he was occasionally required to transport had become rather more troublesome than anything he had once smuggled.
In fact, he had not properly engaged in the trade for more than a year. The realisation had occurred to him several times recently, usually when contemplating the peculiar arrangement into which his life had settled, and it remained faintly surprising. He had never imagined himself particularly suited to permanent employment, especially not with a collection of Force-users whose activities regularly involved ancient religious conspiracies, political intrigue and the destruction of installations which considerably more sensible beings would have avoided altogether. Yet there was beginning to be something unexpectedly agreeable about the stability of it all. He knew where his next meal was coming from, possessed a ship which remained available to him without the necessity of continually renegotiating ownership or employment, and had begun to appreciate the absence of creditors whose understanding of contractual obligations frequently involved physical injury. He was not becoming wealthy, admittedly, and he missed his own ship, but neither was he spending his nights calculating how many unpleasant jobs would be required to pay for his next overhaul. The arrangement, he realised now, provided an unfamiliar measure of security, although he remained reluctant to describe it in such sentimental terms.
And Thane, of course, had proved considerably more generous than Rex might originally have anticipated. The Human had always possessed money, or at least the means to acquire it, and appeared remarkably indifferent to the ordinary expenses associated with maintaining a starship and its occupants. Repairs were authorised, equipment purchased and supplies replenished with comparatively little argument, provided Rex could furnish a reasonable explanation for their necessity. There were limits, naturally, but they were limits considerably more accommodating than those imposed by most of his former employers.
Thane, he thought again, before correcting himself with a faintly amused exhalation. Darth Serus.
The title remained ludicrous when considered in isolation, the sort of theatrical affectation which would once have encouraged him to charge an additional fee for transporting somebody possessing it. Unfortunately, the man beneath his new respirator was sufficiently dangerous to make the distinction rather less amusing in person, despite the awful injuries he experienced. Rex had seen enough of his capabilities to understand that the title was neither a joke nor something its owner had adopted merely to impress strangers.
He drew upon the cigarra and watched a security patrol pass across the distant skyline, its running lights blinking through the increasingly congested traffic. There was something almost reassuring about the ordinary business of piloting after everything that had happened on Sleheyron and the recovery that followed. Even the droids had become increasingly familiar presences, although Faze's habit of treating casual conversation as an invitation to deliver an unnecessarily comprehensive technical explanation remained something of an acquired taste. Rex liked the machine, nevertheless, quite a bit. There was a personality buried beneath all those qualifications and declarations, whether Faze and the others recognised it or not, and the pilot had always found the distinction between a sufficiently complicated droid and an ordinary person rather less important than philosophers apparently did.
Then there was Mentis. He was-
A sharp tone from the internal communications interrupted the thought before Rex had quite settled upon what he intended to make of it. He blinked, glanced towards the illuminated indicator beside his chair and reached across to open the channel, shifting the cigarra to his other hand.
"Super Protocol Droid - shoot," he answered, straightening slightly as he glanced towards the autopilot display.
"ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Pilot Vickers, please respond. This unit would recommend a deviation in course to bring us closer to the facility."
Rex glanced towards the distant CEC complex, its immense industrial structures rising above an increasingly agitated collection of traffic, security aircraft and news vessels. He drew once more upon his cigarra before leaning forwards to disengage the autopilot, one hand settling comfortably around the flight controls as the familiar resistance of the Red Raptor returned beneath his fingers.
"Closer, huh? Well, I suppose we weren't going to spend the whole evening sightseeing." He studied the navigation display, considering the restricted approaches before beginning a gradual alteration of their course. "How close are we talking, buddy? Because there's a fairly important difference between getting a better look at the place and having half the Corellian security force wondering why we're circling their biggest shipyard."
There was the faintest sound of clicking on the line as the droid was clearly furiously calculating something very complex and droid-y.
"CLARIFICATION: In spite of our combined efforts, Reave's communicator is proving difficult to raise and the threat level has spiked following security engagement with our other teammates."
Faze continued, "Assuming Reave remains within the facility's lower levels and accounting for likely material shielding, structural density and signal attenuation, we calculate an 81.8 percent chance of regaining contact should we move to within six kilometres of the complex. This rises to 98.1 percent within five kilometres."
Rex gave a low whistle at the figures, his eyes moving briefly between the navigation display and the increasingly congested airspace surrounding the industrial district.
"Ninety-eight point one, eh? Well, I suppose we had better not disappoint you."
He eased the Red Raptor into a gradual descent, adjusting their course to follow the broad traffic arteries ordinarily occupied by commercial transports and industrial service vessels. There was little urgency in his movements, despite the growing concern he felt for the others. Reave had always been remarkably difficult to contact when he was occupied with something interesting, and the Jawa's particular understanding of discretion often involved disappearing into places where nobody else could reasonably follow. Nevertheless, the reports of armed resistance within the facility were troubling. Rex had seen enough of the Cult's peculiar servants to understand that their apparent devotion could produce extraordinary recklessness, and Mentis, Bomoor and Serus were now somewhere amongst those creatures without the immediate advantage of a waiting starship. He found himself wondering whether Mentis had become involved in the fighting, a thought which lingered rather longer than he would ordinarily have permitted, thinking of his father's peggat resting in his new lightsaber.
His pa would never have imagined anything like that.
The approaching industrial district was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate through ordinary means. What had initially been a collection of competing demonstrations had developed into something approaching a general breakdown of public order, with thousands of Coalition, Centrality and even Alliance-loving supporters occupying avenues whose normal traffic had long since ceased. From above, the crowds resembled enormous, restless concentrations of colour gathered around the corporation's perimeter, their banners and holographic placards shifting amongst clouds of smoke rising from several intersections. Municipal security vehicles had established defensive positions across the principal approaches, although several appeared to have been abandoned or isolated by the movement of the crowds. One broad thoroughfare had been rendered completely impassable by an overturned public transport vehicle, its emergency illumination still flashing beneath the smoke as demonstrators climbed across its exposed undercarriage. Farther along the same avenue, a line of security officers was attempting to advance beneath the protection of armoured carriers, their progress repeatedly interrupted by objects thrown from the surrounding crowds. The flashes of stun weapons were unmistakable even from the altitude at which Rex was flying, although occasional discharges possessed a rather more dangerous intensity.
Above the disorder, the skies were crowded with craft whose occupants possessed competing reasons for remaining close to the violence. Public security speeders swept between the industrial towers, attempting to establish aerial observation positions above the most heavily contested approaches, whilst news vessels hovered in seemingly impossible proximity to the demonstrations below. Several broadcasters had deployed smaller camera drones which drifted amongst the upper reaches of the crowds, recording the violence from angles that would undoubtedly provide impressive material for the evening reports. Other craft were attempting to leave the district altogether, their pilots evidently deciding that whatever commercial obligations had brought them to Coronet were no longer worth the inconvenience of becoming trapped inside a developing riot.
Rex watched a municipal patrol descend towards a particularly violent confrontation near a transit interchange, only to rise again almost immediately as the crowd beneath it surged against the remaining security barriers. He had witnessed civil disturbances on enough worlds to recognise the dangerous moment when neither side could meaningfully control the behaviour of its own supporters. What had begun as a political demonstration was now acquiring a momentum entirely independent of those who had organised it.
"Looks like the whole district's decided to have itself a little war," Rex muttered, banking gently around a column of commercial traffic whose occupants were being redirected away from the corporation's western approaches.
He had no particular affection for the political movements presently fighting over Corellia's future, although the increasingly obvious possibility that somebody might begin shooting at the wrong aircraft made their disagreements rather more relevant to his immediate concerns. A security patrol crossed their intended route several hundred metres ahead, its pilot evidently too occupied with instructions from ground control to pay much attention to the Red Raptor as Rex slipped beneath its projected flight path. The manoeuvre was neither especially fast nor particularly dramatic, relying instead upon the simple understanding that an aircraft behaving predictably amongst a great many other aircraft was considerably less likely to attract scrutiny than one attempting to avoid every potential observer. Rex had spent too many years carrying merchandise that officially did not exist to forget such elementary principles.
The industrial structures ahead grew steadily larger, transforming from a distant arrangement of towers into an immense landscape of manufacturing facilities, platforms and halls. CEC's principal complexes occupied a substantial portion of the surrounding district, their interconnected buildings rising above the streets in layers of reinforced architecture and exposed mechanical infrastructure. Several elevated transport lines passed between them, carrying automated freight vehicles and personnel shuttles through routes which ordinary commercial traffic was prohibited from entering. Beyond the outer structures, the upper portions of incomplete starships could be distinguished beneath protective construction frameworks.
Rex had always possessed a professional appreciation for shipbuilding, although he usually preferred admiring a completed vessel from the comfort of its cockpit rather than contemplating the extraordinary quantity of machinery required to assemble one.
He was bringing the Red Raptor around the outer edge of an enormous segment when the explosion occurred. The first indication was a brilliant orange flash emerging from somewhere beneath an elevated freight junction, followed almost immediately by a violent eruption of smoke and debris from the adjoining industrial structure. The blast appeared to originate within one of the lower service sections, where a series of enclosed maintenance galleries connected the manufacturing levels with smaller accommodation and storage facilities. For an instant, the explosion illuminated the surrounding architecture from beneath, throwing the complicated framework of the freight lines into sharp relief before a dense cloud of smoke expanded upwards through the intervening spaces. Fragments of panelling and shattered equipment scattered across an adjoining service platform, while a larger section of external cladding tore free from its supports and fell towards the industrial yard below. Emergency lighting began flashing along the affected structures almost immediately, accompanied by the abrupt cessation of movement amongst several automated cargo platforms whose operating systems had evidently registered the disturbance.
Rex straightened in his chair, his eyes following the expanding column of smoke as it rose between the towering industrial structures. For a moment he considered the possibility that the explosion had resulted from the fighting already reported within the facility, although something about the location and remarkably inconvenient timing suggested another explanation. Reave had entered the complex well before the others, equipped with an assortment of explosives, specialist tools and the sort of enthusiasm for mechanical destruction that made the Jawa simultaneously invaluable and extraordinarily difficult to supervise. The little scavenger had been instructed to prepare diversions and damage security, but Rex doubted that Reave had ever interpreted those instructions as imposing a particularly strict upper limit upon the resulting damage.
"Well, I think we've found our Jawa," he remarked, watching another plume of smoke escape through the damaged service structure. "Either that, or somebody else down there has developed his taste for subtlety."
The Red Raptor passed above the outer edge of the affected sector, its lower hull briefly illuminated by the emergency lights now spreading across the manufacturing district. Rex adjusted their course to avoid a small formation of security speeders converging upon the damaged buildings, allowing the ship to descend through the space between two enormous industrial towers before turning towards the broader construction yards. Beneath them, employees were evacuating several elevated platforms, their movements initially orderly before another succession of alarms provoked a hurried retreat towards the nearest enclosed accessways. A group of workers emerged from an industrial loading bay only to stop abruptly as armed security personnel moved across their intended route, one contractor gesturing for them to return inside whilst another appeared to be arguing into his communicator. The confusion was spreading beyond the location of the explosion, and Rex could distinguish additional disturbances amongst the galleries surrounding the principal manufacturing halls.
There was something rather more concerning about the pattern developing beneath him. The explosion was only one incident amongst several, and the movement of security personnel suggested that the corporation was responding to threats arising from multiple directions. Several patrols were converging upon the administrative structures, while others had been redirected towards the freight network and the temporary accommodation areas nearer the lower manufacturing levels.
The public authorities beyond the perimeter remained overwhelmingly occupied with the demonstrations, leaving CEC's contracted personnel to contend with whatever was unfolding within their employer's property. Rex had little difficulty imagining the consequences of an armed confrontation inside a facility containing thousands of workers, enormous quantities of volatile industrial equipment and enough unfinished spacecraft to provide an ambitious saboteur with a lifetime of opportunities.
The pilot brought the Red Raptor around the exposed framework of a partially completed freighter, the vessel's skeletal superstructure rising alongside the cockpit windows as they passed. Great lengths of unfinished hull plating hung from suspended assembly gantries, while automated welding equipment continued producing brilliant showers of sparks against the exposed metal. The construction cradle was sufficiently large that Rex could manoeuvre through the adjoining airspace without difficulty, although the proximity of the enormous vessel made the scale of the surrounding operation particularly apparent. For several moments, the Red Raptor appeared almost insignificant against the immense unfinished ship, its dark outline passing between banks of industrial illumination before emerging above a series of lower manufacturing platforms.
From this position, Rex could see considerably farther into the corporation's interior arrangements. The administrative galleries occupied elevated sections of the complex, their expensive enclosed corridors extending between the industrial towers like an elaborate network of bridges suspended above the machinery below. One of those connections had been extensively damaged. A substantial portion of its outer structure was missing, exposing the underlying supports and leaving a conspicuous break between two surviving sections of the passage. Emergency lights flashed around the breach, whilst smoke and dust continued escaping through its fractured edges. Far beneath it, debris had scattered across a construction platform adjoining another unfinished freighter, where workers and security personnel were attempting to establish a safe perimeter around the wreckage.
Rex regarded the damage with an expression of mounting recognition. He had seen enough of Serus and Bomoor's increasingly extravagant applications of their magical powers to suspect that the destruction was not necessarily the result of conventional explosives.
Rex considered the prospect of eventually presenting CEC with an invoice for any damage sustained by the Red Raptor, before reflecting that the corporation would probably be considerably more interested in presenting one of its own.
"Right," he murmured, his earlier amusement giving way to a more thoughtful expression. "Looks like the others are having themselves a busy evening with the crazies, too."
He eased back upon the controls, bringing the ship into a broad, measured turn which offered an unobstructed view of the industrial complex without committing them to an approach directly above the most heavily defended structures. The Raptor was close enough now that the various disturbances could be distinguished as parts of a single developing crisis. Smoke rose from the damaged accommodation sector, armed security personnel converged upon the administrative levels and the machinery below continued operating amidst increasingly widespread disruption. Beyond the perimeter, enormous crowds remained locked in violent confrontation, their political allegiances still dominating the attention of the public authorities despite the extraordinary events unfolding within the shipyards.
Rex glanced towards the distance indicator, then the communication controls, considering what further instructions might emerge from the strategy room. They had come sufficiently close to make the ship's presence useful, although remaining inconspicuous was becoming a rather more complicated proposition. He was not particularly worried about the flying. There were plenty of routes through the industrial structures, and he knew how to make use of them. What concerned him was the growing possibility that his companions would soon require something rather more substantial than improved communications, and that the enormous corporation beneath them might possess sufficient resources to make any attempt at extraction unpleasant.
For the moment, however, the Red Raptor remained another vessel moving through Coronet's increasingly troubled skies, its pilot watching the destruction below with the familiar calculation of a man who had spent much of his life deciding precisely when discretion ceased to be profitable.
He reached towards the communications panel once more, his cigarra now forgotten in the small receptacle beside his chair.
"Faze, we're comin' around the construction yards now. There's been a big ol' explosion down in the service levels, and I can see security moving all over the place. Whatever Reave's been doing, I'd say he's made himself pretty karking unpopular." Rex glanced again towards the fractured administrative galleries and the distant columns of smoke. "We're close enough, buddy."
The droid's voice returned almost immediately.
"ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: This unit concurs with your assessment, Mister Vickers. Maintain your present distance as long as operationally practical. We are opening a direct channel now."
As Rex settled in to wait, he watched another security speeder streak across the industrial skyline ahead of them, its running lights disappearing between two enormous fabrication towers. Around him, the Red Raptor remained steady, its engines maintaining the same unremarkable transit profile that had carried them through much of the evening.
There was no immediate response and his eyes drifted again to the smoking collapsed region of the CEC complex. Only the faint hiss of an open communication channel and the distant background noise of industrial traffic moving through the surrounding airspace.
Several seconds passed, then Faze spoke again.
"CONFIRMATION: We have identified the operative Reave. Vital signs remain present. Attempting connection now."
A burst of static followed.
Then another.
The channel crackled with interference before something abruptly connected.
What emerged was not speech. Metallic scraping echoed through the audio stream as though a communicator were being dragged through a ventilation shaft. Fabric buffeted repeatedly against the microphone in hurried succession, accompanied by the muffled sounds of movement through a confined space.
Somewhere in the background, a piece of machinery emitted a protesting whine, which was followed by an unusually quiet burst of agitated Jawaese. More scraping followed, then another thump, then another muted outburst of frustration, this time considerably less polite.
Rex listened to the extraordinary collection of noises emerging from the communicator, his expression gradually settling into a familiar mixture of amusement and disbelief. He had spent enough time in Reave's company to recognise the particular cadence of the Jawa's complaints, and understood considerably more of the increasingly colourful tirade than anybody else aboard the ship was likely to appreciate. Whatever circumstances had driven his partner-in-crime into such an apparently uncomfortable position, he was evidently taking considerable personal offence at them.
"Reave, buddy, you sound like you've crawled up the backside of a malfunctioning sandcrawler. You still got all your bits attached?" He grinned but comically winced as an especially vigorous outburst of Jawaese erupted through the interference, accompanied by the sound of something metallic striking the communicator. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure his mother was a lovely woman. Now, you wanna tell me where you are before you bring the rest of the building down on yourself?"
Another succession of hurried, indignant syllables followed, but this time the amusement gradually disappeared from Rex's face. He listened more carefully, his eyes narrowing as Reave continued speaking between the sounds of frantic movement. Somewhere behind the Jawa, a weapon discharged, followed by the unmistakable report of something heavy striking metal. Rex had heard his friend angry, triumphant and thoroughly unreasonable on more occasions than he cared to remember, but he knew when the little bastard was actually frightened.
His attention shifted towards the smoking industrial structures beneath the Red Raptor, the enormity of the complex suddenly seeming rather less impressive than it had moments earlier. Reave had entered the facility alone because his size, technical expertise and particular enthusiasm for sabotage made him ideally suited to the work, but Rex had been perfectly content to let him undertake the dangerous part whilst he remained comfortably aboard the ship. That was hardly unusual in their partnership, and he knew the Jawa would have been deeply offended by any suggestion that he required supervision. Nevertheless, the thought of his oldest friend struggling whilst armed fanatics hunted him was considerably less entertaining than the prospect of him thieving or larking.
Rex leaned towards the communicator again, his voice losing much of its earlier levity. "Alright, pal, I hear you. Just keep your head down and we'll get you out of there."
He switched his attention towards the internal channel, keeping the connection to Reave open as he adjusted the ship's course to remain within range of the facility.
"Faze, I don't like the sound of that. He's in trouble - proper trouble - and I don't reckon he's got much room left to wriggle out of it." He had followed Reave into plenty of questionable enterprises over the years, and had occasionally been responsible for suggesting them in the first place. The Jawa was capable of looking after himself, certainly, but that had never quite relieved Rex of the responsibility he felt towards him, particularly when their latest undertaking had placed an entire corporation's security apparatus between them. "Can you get hold of the others? Someone needs to get down there - kriff to their little magic mission!"
With a faint chime, followed by a low crackle, Mentis heard the headset in his ear spring back to life.
"QUERY: Mentis," the voice of Faze came through crisply, with less interference causing little distortions of the vocalisation than before, "What is the status of your team? Operative Reave has been located and requires assistance."
Slowing his pace slightly, the Rattataki pressed a finger to his ear, "Still working our way towards the executive's office. I think..."
He suddenly shot his hand down towards his blade as he sensed approaching danger. Right on cue, a blaster bolt soared along the corridor in their direction. Ahead of him, Bomoor reacted faster, wrenching the security officer's blaster, along with the Nautolan man holding it, violently forwards. The corporate employee's cyan head tendrils whipped back violently as he found himself careening towards Bomoor's outstretched hand only to find the Ithorian thrusting his head downwards to the floor at the last moment. Then, no more movement.
The Ithorian's head spun about towards the lagging Rattataki.
"What is it Mentis?" he spoke with the calm collectedness of one who had not just thrust another man's head against the hard, thinly-carpeted floor.
Straightening up and releasing his hand from the hilt that still held that sentimental peggat within it, Mentis answered.
"Faze says Reave is in trouble and needs support..."
In his ear, the voice continued, "ADDENDUM: Our Jawa operative has engaged cultists on the lower levels and self-reports to be 'dangerously low on explosives'."
"...and there are more cultists with him."
Mentis felt his stomach drop slightly, imagining the one hundred and thirty-seven possible remaining cultists swarming below them, surrounding the tiny humanoid.
"We still have a job to do here, Mentis," Bomoor answered sternly, before adding a little more moderately, "But we will deal with those cultists soon enough, once we have dealt with the head of this particular serpent."
Mentis rubbed his fingers together, considering the weight of the moment before them - the chance to do real, unmistakable damage to Axion's network. He brought his digits up to his ear once again, eyes holding on Bomoor's own a moment.
"Faze, we'll be down just as soon as we finish here. Send me the co-ordinates."
"ASSESSMENT: Significant delay is inadvisable if you wish to avoid the loss of this associate," came the droid's reply, before adding a surprisingly un-droid like addendum, "Or the emotional stress it would cause Mister Vickers."
The mention of Rex wrenched Mentis' diaphragm down further as though the ground below him had suddenly given way.
"CONFIRMATION: Sending you the co-ordinates." Faze concluded before the headset chimed and disconnected once again.
Bomoor seemed to be growing impatient, eyes flicking to Serus just up ahead then back to Mentis.
"We should hurry," was all Mentis found himself able to say, before speeding on once again past Bomoor.
He could feel the Ithorian's eyes on the back of his head a moment longer before he felt the firm thuds of his feet pads resuming their quickened pace along the corridor towards Orwole's office.
TBC
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