The Battle of the Masserix Belt: Heart of Steel

Posted on Wed May 10th, 2023 @ 9:55am by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Amare & Valavai Tarses

2,717 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: BSD Absolution, The Masserix Belt, Bastion Space
Timeline: Night (Day Three, Week Four) - The Battle of the Masserix Belt

OLD

For her part, Amare was no worse for wear, such that the pain she felt throughout the Force ritual pushed tears from her ears mixed with blood. Her auditory canals were ringing whilst the whole length of her back felt sore and raw as if she had just been flayed by her dead husband's shock whip all over again. She barely had enough strength to see the two starship collide into one another before she sank to floor riddled with heavy nausea and a nasty headache.

As she battled against her own inner weakness, she began to feel a stirring in her body. On her knees, she looked at her sweaty palms and saw a turquoise-hued surge of energy move from her arms to her fingertips beneath the skin, then she briefly saw small globs of liquid rise briefly from her hands, and the stirring within surged eagerly. She sensed the azoth was about to put her into involuntary stasis again to help her heal. She balled her hands into fists and closed her eyes tight, willing it to stop. Now was not the time to show such level of weakness in front of the crew, especially Thane. When she turned to check on her two masters, that was when her hearing started to clear and she heard the moaning and agony behind her...

NEW

The Absolution's crew were all slowly picking themselves up from their slumped over postions on their consoles, or attempting to help one another get up after collapsing on the floor. It seemed everyone, not just the dark trio, had suffered the wrath of the Force's dark side.

Most urgently, however, to Amare's great concern, was seeing Tarses himself down on his knees, one hand clutching urgently over where his heart would be whilst his other hand was desperately reaching for a small rod on his belt.

"Bomoor," Amare said in a fatigued tone barely more audible than a whisper, "Bomoor...the Grand Moff...everyone. I think we hurt them too." She was greatly perturbed when she overheard one of the struggling officers exclaim that the medics or any other departments weren't responding to comms.

She had no idea how it happened. She was ignorant of the fact that her middling Force drain talent trigged subconsciously out of survival instinct during the ritual. It had figuratively started as a ripple in the water and transformed into a tsunami that went in across the ship through the devastating prisms of Thane and Bomoor. Ethereal tinder for the fire.

Tarses' hand with the rod was wavering with heavy tremors, and he lost grip of it. He watched it roll on the floor away from him, and as he reached for it, a sudden explosion of extreme pain and a shocked gasp promptly sent him collapsing on his side to the floor.

"Get those medics now!" bellowed one of the bridge supervisors as Amare threw her Sith teachings aside and used Bomoor's bulky torso to push herself back up to her feet. Tarses was a critical ally and was literally the reason any of the Red Raptor crew still had their lives upon arriving on Bastion. She couldn't let the old man die just yet, especially if she or her friends had something to do with it.

She stumbled towards Tarses and fell to her knees beside him, but not before summoning to her hand the cylindrical injector device the Grand Moff had dropped.

From where Thane and Bomoor were, they could hear Amare trying to glean instructions from Tarses, but the old man could barely manage a couple of flailing gestures and a few weak and deeply pained words. No one else on the bridge that were still conscious seemed to know what to do and looked on in horror, the victory over the traitors losing luster to the impending death of their beloved head of state.

Amare began removing Tarses' uniform jacket, tearing a vertical slice down the middle with her shoto, then likewise ripped away enough of his undershirt to expose his chest. She raised up the injector high above her head, counted to three, and stabbed down over where she hoped the heart was and waited. There was no reaction and Tarses slipped into a coma.

Practically crawling over to her side, Bomoor tried to fix his eyes upon the older Human body that lay before him, with the injector still protruding from the chest. He tried to reach out a hand in a classic healing fashion but, after a couple of moments, he clenched his open palm closed with frustration, seemingly unable to draw on the healing powers that were usually so innate to him.

He tilted his head towards Amare, speaking between deep breaths, “He might… have a cybernetic regulator… for his heart. It… may have failed as well…”

Amare closed her eyes and placed her hands on Tarses' chest, screaming in her mind at the Force to give her the power to heal the elder statesman, but nothing happened. She felt the Force very much alive around her, but the commands of her inner were futile.

"I-I can't..." she said in deep frustration to Bomoor. "I can't channel any power to heal him. I did it once to heal Thane on Vaa. Why can't I do it again?"

With options running out, and Amare having no first aid training outside the Nautolan species, she was losing her cool and turned to the gawking officers.

"Where are those blasted medics?!" she shouted at them.

"I'm truly sorry, but they're not responding, ma'am," stammered the ranking deck officer.

"Find them! Now!" she demanded through grinding teeth and saw the young man bolt out of the room along with two junior non-coms.

Amare looked towards Thane, seeing he was still reeling from the takedown of the starships. Indeed, it was the Caanan's sheer iron will that made the impossible possible, and had likely suffered the most, but the apprentice knew of no one else who could possibly do something, anything to save Tarses' life.

"Master, is there nothing we can do for him?" Amare pleaded to Thane.

Her master had remained standing aside, his manner and expression still carrying a degree of cold detachment from the people and circumstances surrounding him. His nose was no longer bleeding, but his skin seemed paler and thinner, and his eyes had not yet lost their fiery golden-magma glean, shining orbs buried within dark, sallow pits.

It only seemed that he heard Amare's pleas now, her words finally appearing to reach him as if from some vast distance. His grim, appraising eyes fell upon the Nautolan and Bomoor beside her, before flicking to the paling body of the Grand Moff of Bastion, who looked increasingly cadaverous by the second. Another moment passed and he stepped closer to them, with some genuine recognition finally rippling across his eyes and face.

"The dark side will not so willingly let you surrender yourself to heal others," Thane finally said in that rasping tone that had stolen his usual voice, still with no urgency, but he did kneel down alongside his companions. "Nor should you, now. Mercy, joy, love... they will poison your personal power, limit you. Weaken you." Not clear if he was addressing Bomoor or Amare, the Sith extended his hand over Tarses and closed his eyes, seeking his own guidance in treating the dying man, who was at least kept stable by the Ithorian's own esoteric efforts. "It is amongst the sacrifices we make on this journey for the galaxy, to truly inhabit the potential of the Force and ourselves." Thane's hand paused suddenly, perhaps finding the cybernetic element Bomoor had theorised. "It is not to be cruel nor cowardly, nor to shirk responsibility. It is our penance - but it does not mean we are always without compassion. Of a sort."

Thane flicked his outstretched hand at a sharp angle, and a single bright bolt of blue-white Force lightning arced into Tarses' bare chest.

The dark lord's surgical jolt was well-placed for all it took was that single shock to shake the Grand Moff's entire body. Before anyone could ask what just happened, their venerable leader gasped for air almost as if he had been saved from drowning. His face quickly became flushed red as he took several rapid breaths. His eyes switched between Thane, Bomoor, and Amare, then asked, "Help me...help me up, please."

As Tarses was brought back to his feet, he said with deepest gratitude, "Thank you," to his saviors, and he yanked out the injector from his chest, breathing a sigh of relief that the blue witch struck the right spot and didn't make the problem worse. Through laboured breaths that were gradually stabilizing, he extended his hand to Thane.

The Caanan seized Tarses' forearm. Despite the physical exhaustion, the sheer cost of their actions, creeping tentatively around his body, he managed to call upon the Force again, albeit more subtly, to strengthen his grip on the Grand Moff and pull him to his feet without causing either of them further discomfort.

Tarses smiled and nodded to Thane. "Well done, son," he said warmly to the Caanan, placing a hand on his shoulder like a proud father. With that, the bridge was filled with applause as Tarses shook hands with Bomoor and Amare. By now, most of the uniforms were at least partially recovered from being drained by the Force, and they had been witnesses to everything. They still didn't understand how it all happened, only that it did, and there was no doubt who made the miracles happen.

Tarses turned and nodded to the crew and held up a hand to simmer down the sounds of the jubilant spike in morale.

"All of you are to be commended this day," Tarses told them, "but it's not over yet. Not until the remaining opposition forces have surrendered. To your posts."

He turned to Thane and saw the fierce influence of the Force's power still flaming deep within the young man's eyes. If he had been ignorant of the Force, he would've thought the Caanan as a man possessed, but he knew better, and saw it not as a curse, but as a sign of unbridled hope. "This old man is in no condition to command. You've done so much already, so I would understand if you said no, but I need you to assume control...take the conn with a field promotion to Captain."

He drew one of his code cylinders from his torn uniform tunic and handed it to Thane. "You'll need to wear this. Rendezvous with the fleet at Bastion. End this. Chase those GW worms out of the system for good."

Shortness of breath was catching up with the Grand Moff, and Amare came up beside and steadied him.

"I'll be...fine...need the medtechs," Tarses said softly, exhausted, his words starting to slur.

"I'll take him," Amare promised Thane and Bomoor, guided Tarses' right arm over her shoulders, and cautiously walked him through the open aft blast doors off the bridge. As they walked by, reports of casualties from all decks across the ship were coming in along with repairs underway and the hyperdrive coming back online.

As Thane looked down at the cylinder he had been handed, Bomoor rose himself up to his full height once again and placed a hand upon his friend's shoulder, once again making physical their deeper Force connection.

"A worthy life spared, I think, amongst all the death brought today," he seemed to weigh the scales out loud, "But it seems that this day is not over yet. How shall we proceed, Captain?"

Finally looking up from the code cylinder, as much a metaphorical representation than anything else, Thane let his eyes wash across the gathered bridge crew and his companions. They regarded his gaze, which he knew could be seen as neither reassuring nor even Human, with intermingled expectation and confused discomfort. Their recent jubilation at a victory snapped from the jaws of defeat could only go so far against their natural aversion to the power he, Bomoor and Amare had utilised, especially against the sight of his ethereal visage.

His eyes fell upon the remnants of the explosion beyond the viewport. The dual-starburst explosion had spread in all directions and was dissipating in intensity. Debris littered the view and had spread to now collide with asteroids. The occasional proximity alarm within the command centre signified impending collisions with the Absolution, although the automated turrets seemingly made short work of any risk.

"Deploy the majority of the complement of the Destroyer's transport shuttles and gunships with medical crew and technicians," Thane ordered, placing the cylinder into his tunic. "Sweep the Belt for any survivors of the conflict and tend to their wounded. Direct our wings of TIEs to broadcast amnesty to all surviving enemy fighters - but destroy those that refuse. Prisoners over casualties - show them the wisdom of loyalty to the Empire." He spared a brief look to Bomoor before continuing, his voice gradually returning to its more natural timbre, even as he sought to evoke a commanding presence from within. "Broadcast a message across the Imperial network that the traitor Anthark and Executive Morthart have been killed. Include any relevant recordings of the conflict in the data package, and direct all Bastion forces to capture and detain GalactaWerks personnel and equipment. When the hyperdrive is functional, set course for the largest loyalist fleet - where all moffs not planetside are to rendezvous with us immediately." He looked across to a younger officer at a lone station. "Have the Red Raptor return to the hangar bay before departure."

Despite their wounds and wearied sense that was present across the command crew, there was, to their credit, no hesitation as the respective departments took to enacting Thane's edicts. A sense of purpose replaced all prior fear or concern at their recent conflict or new commanders, and Thane took the opportunity to pace forwards, bringing himself close to the viewport, still regarding the site of their remarkable, harrowing achievement. With his face this close to the transparisteel window, he caught a clearer sight of his face in the distorted reflection, of his darkened eyes and sallow features.

He allowed himself an exhale and his shoulder slumped slightly in the relative privacy at the fore of the bridge, as Bomoor sidled up beside him. Thane looked into the eyes of his friend's reflection and offered a small and very brief tired half-smile - an expression that seemed almost farcical on his chalk-pale face. "The rise and fall of empires?" He said quietly, the words somewhere between a comment and a question. The exhaustion now punctuated his words, and he felt himself withdrawing, slowly and carefully.

Bomoor listened intently to Thane's words, before sighing heavily and rubbing his neck, “Yes, history has shown us that Empires do not tend to last. So little in this galaxy does and even the Force seems to ebb and flow with it.”

His voice, though still weak, began to gain a little strength as he added, “But I have seen here today that we are not mere bystanders to history. If the old must give way to the new, then we must be the ones to shape what comes next.”

Thane kept his gaze on Bomoor's reflection, the Ithorian's words resonating. Darkness often allows us to understand others, to see what they value when they believe no one else is looking, Master Sotah had once told him. It allows us to be honest with ourselves, to express those values that we would disavow in the light.

The words had not been an endorsement but a warning, but as he now looked upon his friend, the meaning of his words echoing within them both, he knew, Thane considered that they were no longer stood within the darkness. They stood upon the precipice of true exposure, of revelation to the universe in the gleaming brightness of the supernova they had caused. And, in that moment, he knew that their empire would blaze brightly, dwarfing GalactaWerks, the Jedi and the Republic.

RSS Feed