Uncertain Strategy

Posted on Fri Jul 10th, 2015 @ 9:48pm by Thane & Loren† & Bomoor Thort & Morgo Le'Shaad

2,539 words; about a 13 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Lower Levels, Jericho
Timeline: After "Sentinel"

OLD

“You overestimate my appreciation for survival, Sentinel—certainly when safety and freedom are the exact opposites of what you will offer me.” She said with dark amusement, her low tones prickling and perplexing as her eyes eventually slid to Thane and settling upon Bomoor’s dark eyes, “But if this is the will of the ‘Council’…”

Her nose wrinkled daintily as derision tugged the tight smile on her face into a sharp edged taunt, “…I suppose we'll have to learn to 'love' each other.”

And with that, Morgo slid her finger onto the trigger of her blaster.

NEW

The three Humans and their Ithorian companion had been largely gripped by a tense silence since their uncomfortable, staggered reunions. Whilst they at this moment worked in unison towards a common goal, propelled by a desire for survival and escape, the synergy that once typified the smaller groups that made up the whole was not now apparent. Instead, cautious eyes discretely observed their cohorts.

Shuffling along one of the dirt-laden corridors leading out from the area of Jericho where the cells still served their original purpose, an intrusively loud mechanical grinding sound pierced the air above the quad.

Briefly startled, connection to the Force broken as it was, Thane's reddened, drug and fatigued-strained eyes shot upwards and his battered body tensed, much like a rodent hearing the predatory call of a bird. Aside from the odd meaningful glance towards Loren, a look that was oft reciprocated albeit with more of a troubled and emotional glare, the Caanan had been silent and reserved.

Opting to follow the two strong women who had each come to the rescue of the two beleaguered Jedi, Thane was third in the line of four, clutching the sabre he had relieved from Morgo's quarry tightly in his left hand.

Realising as the others did it was merely the creaking of the ancient station - noises he and Bomoor had largely grown accustomed to - he relaxed slightly. At the expression Loren offered him, an odd culmination of pity, concern and irritation, he merely glared back, almost sullenly.

Only holding his gaze for a moment, she turned back around and continued to lead them forward. As they had been progressing cautiously, knowing that Zrad Rezer was entertaining guests that effectively vindicated Thane and Bomoor's initial presence here, their progress had been slow. During their journey from the Jedi's cells, they had needed to only cut down two further Exiles, neither of which had been particularly alert; one was sleeping whilst the other's breath was rich and thick with alcohol. Not wishing to alert any that may be nearby, Loren and Morgo had each made short work of them silently with their respective skill sets. Thane and Bomoor, for what it was worth, regarded them in a way that conveyed how they felt.

Reaching an archway now with a broken door jammed halfway across its arc, its systems seemingly no longer functioning from years of activity and inattentive caretakers, Loren turned to her cohorts.

"We are leaving the cells," she said simply in a hushed tone, the leather-clad hilt of her lightsaber firmly in the grip of her own left hand. "The armoury is not far from here, and the hangar only another short trip from there." Kneeling, she had begun to mark out a poor imitation of Jericho's floorplan in the dust. Looking up, and predominantly regarding Morgo, she asked, "What are we to do of the Jedi killer and the pirate?"

Morgo's grey eyes swept over Loren with cool detachment.

"Sev Rezer and Nimo are not our concern." She pronounced smoothly, "Their objectives are independent of ours."

Nimo was here for his own interests and Sev was here to slay his cousin. Morgo was quite aware that Sev could very well die in his last stand against Zrad, and Nimo likewise if his luck fell through. In that scenario, Morgo would escape Jericho with whoever was left.

Resting a slender brown arm upon an irregular metal panel that protruded from the rusted wall, Bomoor could feel the hum of the station. It was stronger here than in the depths of the cells, indicating a closer proximity to the power core and the heart of the station. Bomoor remembered feeling it before when thrown against the floor in Zrad's 'Throne Room'; a dull growl of power that echoed from deep within the beast. The further they pressed on, the stronger he knew it would become. In order to escape it, they first had to push through it.

"Then we must press on with our own objective and hope that they find success on their own," Bomoor looked to the ground between the two women, still feeling the station as he spoke, "To the armoury, then the ship, as Loren said."

The apparent simplicity of the plan held some comfort, but he was concerned nonetheless.

As Morgo watched Thane and Loren exchange glances, seemingly a language of its own, she looked away, casting her eyes down the length of the corridor. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she idly scraped away the chapped skin there and tasted the vaguely salty tang of what was no doubt Trandoshan blood. Briefly, she thought of Sev, and the underside of her wrist ached like an unwanted reminder.

The workings of Morgo's mind turned in the groaning silence of Jericho.

"What of the Kaiburr shard?" Morgo asked like she would the weather, not turning to face them, "Axion is already here to collect it."

The mention of the Kaiburr shard was troubling to Bomoor. Already a hydrospanner had been thrown into the works of the simple escape plan. The Ithorian's mind was forced suddenly to consider the possibility of resuming their original mission, along with the extreme risk that posed. But he was quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as he felt that great pain and exhaustion that left him in a poorer shape than the first time they had failed to retrieve that cursed crystal fragment.

"For us to go for the shard now, with the threat of both the cultists and Zrad's lot," Bomoor considered the options in his mind, "It would only serve to undo all the efforts you made to save us."

Thane’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the shard and Axion, the recollection of that other, earlier defeat only incensing the bitterness that permeated his dry mouth. His hands had been cracked and charred by the cult leader’s red lightening that night, a pale facsimile of the damage his right hand had since suffered.

“We can’t just let them leave with it,” he almost hissed, resolute to not suffer a second stunning failure. “We’re in no fit state, I agree, but this would be the second shard they have that we know of.” Thane’s mind raced, searching for options. “If we get to the docking bay, we could find their ship; we could sabotage their navicomputer and stop them from making any quick jumps from the system. We’ve got the Raptor, and when stalking us, you must have the Woe,” he added, directing the comment with some derision to Loren.

Not turning her head back, Loren responded with the aloof tone she had adopted earlier. “You wanna spend more time skulking about this kriffin’ station in the state you are, and then start slinging laser bolts all around the system with the hopes of blastin’ that shard to smithereens?” The Sentinel shook her head, although it was hard to tell now if she was amused or flabbergasted. Perhaps both.

Despite himself and the situation, the corner of Thane’s mouth uplifted slightly, but it soon fell away when he considered the destruction of the shard; the destruction of such a talisman was not something he sought, but better no one had it than Axion. But, perhaps better he had it than no one.

“We don’t know what sort of power that murderer will wield with two of those shards thrust up his silk sleeves,” the Caanan insisted, “let alone what the Council’s verdict will be on our progress.”

At that, Loren did turn back, advancing on Thane in a manner befitting only one who knew their victim so intimately, wearing a grim expression that one could only interpret as belonging to a slighted party. “Your bruised and crippled ego is the least o’ the things you should be worried about with the Council,” she seethed, her bright blue eyes, glassy though they were, locked onto Thane’s own yellowed ones.

Whilst the moment was fleeting, a degree of realisation and vindication swept across Thane, widened eyes narrowing once more as Loren quickly turned away, continuing on along the creaking corridor. His left hand tightened around the rusted hilt of his adopted weapon as he felt himself grinding his teeth.

Behind Thane, the soft crinkling at the corners of Morgo's eyes was almost satisfied.

Moving past Thane to continue after Loren, she brushed against the man's shoulder, a fleeting moment of contact that might've been entirely accidental had Morgo been the kind of woman who was accidental about anything. It was as close to a pat on the back as the Duchess would ever voluntarily approach. While not quite the same gesture of understanding, it was all Morgo's stunted sense of sympathy would allow.

She stepped on light feet following Loren, letting her eyes briefly fall on the back of the woman's head, then down to the nape of her neck, exposed only when her brown hair swayed with her strides. Morgo's hooded gaze paused on a particular sliver of skin, where a notch stood out on her nape. Even as Morgo noted it as the protrusion of Loren's atlas vertebrae, and that circumventing bone would be simple if one slide in a blade through the side of the neck, Morgo reached inside her own mind and closed that crimson door.

The shadows stopped reaching. Morgo's mind was silent once again.

Watching the two women walking steadily ahead, the artificial lighting above them failing and blinkering intermittently, it seemed almost to Thane as though the darkness was swallowing them whole. The chemicals coursing through his veins similarly upset his vision, shifting from great, refined clarity to blurred distortions, all timed perfectly with the headache that pounded away within his cranium.

It was only with the gentle weight of Bomoor’s branch-like fingers resting upon his shoulder that the Human paused his teeth-grinding, replaced now by an aching jaw. Looking to his friend, he remained silent, offering instead a slow nod as he stepped away to join the others, rolling his shoulders within his borrowed naval uniform.

As they closed the distance between themselves and the women, Thane was forcing himself to focus on the true matter at hand - their survival – as opposed to letting his thoughts linger too long upon the elder Jedi before them.

Once again struggling against the miasma of thoughts in his mind, he was brought to the fore by Loren raising an open palm, stopping them in their tracks. Bringing her hand back down, she fingered at the small device embedded within her right glove, the Jedi Shadow blinking a few times before looking to the others.

“A freighter landed in the station a short while ago,” she said simply. “The data coming from my ship’s scans don’t say much; looks to be big enough to carry a few bodies, though.”

“A short while ago?” Thane repeated as a query, dubious. Another ship landing in the bay would not be conducive to their efforts – more Mandalorians definitely reduced their chances, even though they were now close to the armoury. Of course, the ysalamiri presence would be weaker or even null there, unless Zrad had repositioned his creatures for the sake of the cultists or Thane and Bomoor.

Loren shook her head, braided hair tumbling about her small face. “Jericho’s got some weird defences and the local star could be messing with Woe’s systems. There’s a reason the Imperials built a penal colony he-“

A heavy grating noise cut the conversation short, the metallic sounds of one Jericho’s doors screeching somewhere in the next corridor, accompanied by harsh alien tongues and overzealous laughter. Just beyond the next half a dozen of ailing light fixtures, the strobe effect danced about and reflected off of various pieces of metal adorning a selection of figures moving forth in a slow single file.

Loren and the others moved back and against the wall, obscuring themselves from view as best as possible, luckily in one of the many sections actually without a fully working light above. Peaking forward, the head of the group was a one-eyed Sullustan, numerous bandoliers and trinkets hanging from his small frame, with a collection of different species, variously armed, following suite.

Standing beside them, as if on guard and observing, was one of the fully-armoured and initiated Mandalorian Exiles, his oversized repeater gripped firmly in the golden metal of his gauntlets.

Doing his utmost to focus yet remain hidden alongside Loren and Morgo, Thane spotted a sigil that appeared on several of the newcomers’ clothing and equipment – a sigil he recognized, but could not yet place, causing him to grimace deeply with frustration – the emotion that had seemingly become his mainstay.

With a quick knock against Bomoor behind him, he drew a rough copy of the sigil in the grim of the floor beneath them, feeling the station’s aching thrum against his sore fingertips, hoping the Ithorian would recognise it.

Silently, Bomoor studied the shape that had been formed in the dust and grime. It was a simple and recognisable design: several distinctive slashes within a thick circular border. Bomoor knew he had seen it in bright offensive colours somewhere relatively recently.

Clamping her hands shut, Loren clenched her eyes shut, the pupils moving tirelessly beneath her eyelids, only for them to open seconds later, her irritation plain to see.

"Still no Force," she whispered as she looked once again the bandits beyond, only loudly enough for Morgo to hear.

Before any response could be offered, a guttural series of noises drowned out anything that may have been said; an Aqualish in the group was bleating loudly at the Exile and thrusting one of his three fingers at his shining chestplate.

"You'll get yer chance!" A roughly-dressed Human admonished him, tugging the Aqualish away from the Mandalorian (despite the alien's ongoing protestations and verbal assault of both men). "We got Jedi t'collect, you mad bastard. Ain't that enough for ya?"

Whatever response the Exile offered in his own tongue was too muted for Loren and the others to hear, but the way he gripped his weapon and watched the motley crew was telling enough.

Morgo let her head fall back against the wall, a wry almost-smile on her lips.

"My, my. The heads that launched a thousand ships." She whispered, rolling her head to give Thane and Bomoor a sidelong look from the corner of her eye, "This day continues to bear gifts."

TBC

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