Arc 2, Chapter Two
Jorel Drettz, Jedi Padawan, hurried to strap on his armor. It was an odd thing, wearing armor for one whom the Force should be defense enough, but after he’d been shot, and nearly died, his master had disagreed. The armor wasn’t that bad, not that he had much experience wearing any. It was a little heavy, but he had trained to use the Force to assist his muscles, to the point he could keep it going at all times, and the suit was made so it wouldn’t restrict his movement. That meant there were a few weak-points, but, with the Force as his guide, that wouldn’t be an issue. As his master had directed him, ‘If you must be hit, don’t be hit there.’
On the surface, it was useless advice, how did you pick where you were shot when you could just dodge? But, with enough time with his attaché Sergeant Hisku’biatha’puzi shooting him with a low-powered blaster, and without his saber, he’d started to learn. He could block shots with his saber, but he wasn’t as skilled with those forms as his friend, Anaïs, and he could dodge, but sometimes he couldn’t. He’s insisted he could get better at blocking with his saber, at which point his caring master had allowed him to have the blade back, and then brought a few more of the crewmen in for ‘target practice’. When a dozen, or more, soldiers shot at you, it was hard to get through it unscathed even with a saber, something Er’izma had informed him had felled less trained, but higher ranking, Jedi than he.
Jorel, after many, many, sessions had started to get a sense of how to read the hail of stinging bolts, but anything more than a feeling escaped him. He could try to dodge, yes, and blocking helped, but half the time he ended up dodging into the attacks. With his armor, however, he didn’t have to move his entire body, or dance between the proverbial raindrops, only turn the part that was about to hit just so to splash harmlessly against his armor.
After listening, at length, about the benefits of armor, Jorel had finally asked, “If it’s so great, why aren’t you wearing any?”
The large, dark skinned man had smiled. “Why do you think I am not?” he’d asked, opening his arms, clad only as he was in his dark purple uniform.
“Because you obviously aren’t wearing. . .” Jorel had trailed off. “You, you aren’t going to say something like ‘the Force is my armor’, are you?”
“The Force, while a powerful guardian and asset, is not a passive defense,” his had Master agreed with him, saying no more.
Jorel had frowned, trying to think it over. “Is your uniform armored? Inset plates?”
Er’izma had shaken his head, but smiled as he replied, “Close, Padawan. It is the threads themselves. They provide passable defense against kinetic shock, but that is far less an immediate danger than energy attacks.”
“And I can’t?” The Padawan had asked, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest when the Force had flexed, one of the training weights sent hurling for him. He’d tried to dodge, but it followed, and he was barely able to get his arms up in time.
The solid metal bar had slammed into his arms with bone-breaking force, even strengthening his body with the Force as he was. However, the light purple armored vambraces distributed the kinetic energy across his entire arms, and he’d only been thrown backwards, rolling and coming back to his feet in an instant.
In return, he’d tried to send the training weight back at his master, with nowhere near the speed or accuracy, but the Jedi Knight had stood still, not moving, the muted flash of something purple barely visible as the weight bounced off him as if he was made of durasteel.
It’d taken the apprentice a moment, before he’d finally guessed, “Force Barriers?”
The man had nodded, “Though it will be many a year before you have that level of skill. Until then, you may consider them multipurpose training weights.”
And so, armor, which Jorrel was quickly strapping on, the door to his cabin opening and Sergeant Hisku, in her own much heavier armor, hurried into his room. “You’re not ready yet?” she demanded.
“Not as used to this as you are,” he replied conversationally, pulling on his gloves and connecting them to his sleeves, so they’d seal against vacuum if need be.
His assistant wasn’t having it. “And my armor has half again more pieces than yours.”
Glancing up, he looked her over, the white armor with purple trim indeed more complete and harder to put on than his own. “And your sword?” he asked, pulling his helmet to himself with the Force, and taking a moment to decide if he wanted to put it on.
It was part of the set, and it did have a glassteel faceplate so his expression wasn’t obscured, but it felt. . . limiting. Breathing through the armor’s systems added not only level of detachment, but made any of the small things, like scent and sound, off just enough to dull one’s sense in the Force, which was probably why so few Jedi used them unless, like Master Plo Koon, it was needed just to breath, and even Master Kun wore a minimal mask instead of a full helmet, to still feel the breeze against his skin.
Deciding to carry it, and only put it on if something really happened, Jorel strode past Hisku and into the hallway, breaking out into a light jog to double time it to the Bridge, the warning that they were dropping out of hyperspace early, doing so in a mere four minutes, coming two and a half prior.
“That is not officially required,” the blue-skinned Chiss woman finally replied, pure red eyes narrowing as he shot a skeptical look over his shoulder at her. Even now, a few months after the Sergeant gotten the sword, she still wasn’t comfortable with the weapon that only those of Captain’s rank, or higher, normally received, because of her position as the attaché to General Er’izma’s Padawan.
“And if I asked Er’izma-” he started to say.
“General Er’izma,” she corrected, as she always did.
“-what constitutes ‘official armor’?” Jorel asked, as they neared the elevator, hitting the call button with a bit of telekinesis. It was a small use of the Force, one that’d get him rebuked at the Temple, but here, in the Flock, his Master had impressed upon him that using the Force in small ways to do your job was what one was supposed to do.
It opened and they got in, along with a few others, both of them holding their helmets. “I’m sure the General has better things to do than perform equipment inspections,” she sniffed, and put on her helmet as he smiled at her, point scored.
The other soldiers got off on their next stop, the turbolift quickly moving upwards again, both of them jogging down the hallways as soon as the doors opened again, making it onto the bridge with seconds to spare. Everyone was at their stations, in armor, the only one out of it Er’izma himself who stood, waiting, at the front of the almost cavernous room. He looked back as the pair ran up, smiling, “Very good, Padawan. And good to see you remembered your helmet this time.” The man’s eyes darted over to Jorel’s partner. “Though you seem to be lacking a piece of your gear, Sergeant.”
Jorel couldn’t help but laugh, and Hisku glared at him, something she still managed to do even through her helmet. “Why are we in armor, Master?” he asked, as heard someone call, “Emergence in 5!”
“Because we are now in the Inner Rim, Padawan, and the likelihood of attack rises the further from the Core we travel,” the Jedi commander remarked, turning and calling, “Hold the Cranes!”
The swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace separated out into a thousand streaks, which rapidly shrunk to the blackness of space, a single damaged cargo-hauler seeming to appear in the distance, fresh laser-scarring visible on the surface.
“Scans are coming in, Sir!” another of the crew, Lieutenant Karisnova, Jorel believed, called out. “Damage looks real, and backups look shot too,” the Twi’lek reported. “Need a deeper scan for more.”
“Being hailed, Sir.” another crewman announced, looking to Er’izma, who nodded.
In the display, a woman’s face appeared. “Did you get our distress signal?” she asked, sounding hopeful, but below that there was a level of. . . worry. It was hard to get a read on her, as far away as she was, but something pulled at his developing Force Empathy, clumsy as it was. Seeing a capitol ship come out of nowhere was likely unsettling, but there seemed to be. . . more to the woman’s emotions.
“We did,” his master smiled, giving no indication that anything was wrong, even though if Jorel was picking something up, the other man certainly was. “I’m Knight Er’izma, Commander of the seventh Judiciary Legion. You’re very lucky we’re the ones that received your call, and not someone else. The very pirates that damaged your ship could’ve tracked you down once more.”
There was a pause, and the woman hesitated, looking to the side, before giving them a nervous smile. “That. . . thank you. If you could stay for a few hours, our repairs are almost complete.”
If anything, Er’izma smiled wider. “Don’t worry, I’ll send over a few of our Engineering Corps, they’ll have you ready to go to the nearest port in no time, and not at backup hyperdrive speeds either!”
“There’s no need for that,” the woman quickly replied, collecting herself. “I’m sure you’re busy. You can probably leave now, and we’ll be fine.”
The Jedi laughed, “It’s no bother. They’ll be there in a few minutes.” With a flick of the Force, he closed the call, and turned to Jorel. “Well, she’s certainly lying. First Officer Zara?”
“Deploying Cranes, then the ‘Engineer’ Shuttle. Eta three minutes,” the armored Togrutan woman replied, without her standard datapad, but moving as if she still had it, tapping empty air, her armor’s systems taking care of the orders.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
From before them, the heavily armed and armored fighters known as ‘Cranes’ launched, flying down the notch inset into the capitol ship’s hull, and spinning about to defend from all angles, guarding the unarmed shuttle as it came next. The entire group flew for the freighter the capitol ship slowly neared, in tight formation but ready to break off at a moment’s notice. A second and third Flight were launched from the sides, forming a fighter screen around the ship proper.
“Then, is she a pirate?” Jorel asked, waving in the freighter’s direction. “Trying to lure in people that want to help? Wouldn’t it be better just to blast her to dust and be done with it?”
The other Jedi sighed, “Young Padawan, I know your distaste for that flavor of criminal, but we cannot for three reasons. The first, is that we are a Judiciary Legion. We do not know if the woman is truly a criminal, or just surprised by the appearance of a ship as magnificent as ours.”
“Isn’t pride ‘unbefitting of a Jedi’? Jorel had to point out.
“When it is not deserved, yes,” Er’izma nodded, smiling as he moved on, “Second, if she is a pirate, she’ll be calling the others. Captain Torrel?”
“Distress call has stopped,” the comms officer announced, and the Knight turned an expectant look his Padawan’s way.
Taking a second to consider it, Jorel thought out loud, “Which could be because we’re here so she doesn’t need more help, or that could be the signal for others to arrive.”
“Very good,” his master nodded, turning to face front, watching the freighter in the distance.
“And third?” Jorel asked, the Knight looking back expectantly. “What’s the third thing?”
Nodding, the older man noted, “It takes a lot of resources to make this operation work-”
“I know,” the Padawan interrupted. “You had me handle the finances for two months.”
“I had you review the finances for two months,” Er’izma corrected. “But if they are pirates, it’s better to take as much of their equipment as possible intact, the better to liquidate their assets for more. . . noble ends. And I highly doubt they have anything that will endanger our men.”
Before Jorel could respond, the call of, “Freighter is active. They have concealed weapons, powering,” came, the comms officer announcing, “We’re being hailed again, sir!”
“Put them through,” Er’izma smiled, but not nicely. Instead of the woman, an older man appeared, expression hard. “Why hello Captain, good of you to speak to us.”
“Pull your fighters back,” what was certainly the freighter’s actual Captain, and not the woman, snapped. “If you don’t want them destroyed.”
A trickle of Force came from the Knight, passing to the others on the bridge, who quietly started giving orders without being verbally directed. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mister. . .” Er’izma trailed off waiting for the other man to supply his name, only to receive a glare in return. “Mister unnamed. From our sensor readings, your ship is damaged, and we need to make sure it does not come apart in hyperspace. We might not be on a major trade route, but having to close it while we check for your debris would take far longer than checking your. . . repairs. It’s the least we can do as a Judiciary Legion.”
“Judiciary Legion,” the other man spat. “I’ve never heard of any ‘Judiciary Legion’. Just leave us alone.”
“Hmmm,” Er’izma said, making a show of it, the starfighters in the distance opening up with their ion cannons, to disable the ship without further damaging it. “No.”
The connection was cut, and the freighter tried to fire, but the Cranes used their overpowered engines to turn and accelerate out of the way of the slow turbolaser shots, something in the Force stirring as they moved as one, raining bright blue-white bolts of ionized energy that tore though the freighter’s surprisingly robust shields, before they started to hit the hull. Arcs of electricity danced over the surface of the freighter, the ship’s engine cutting out as it went dark, drifting in the void as the shuttle full of combat engineers closed on the airlock.
It docked, and Er’izma motioned for his apprentice to put on his helmet. Jorel did so, sealing the armor and activating the internal systems. In his display, at the top, the inset screen displayed the view of the lead engineer, the display showing it to be Captain Zerd’rasi’bino. The special shuttle was modified with internal defenses, an energy shield shimmering in place between the armored soldiers and the airlock.
“Breaching,” a voice came over communications, as the shuttle’s airlock opened, to show the freighter’s, still shut tight. The energy shield dropped just long enough for a breaching charge to be tossed through, then it raised again as the explosive went off with a muted explosion. A barrage of blaster bolts came through the smoke-filled hole not even a second later, splashing harmlessly against the shield.
“Deploying suppression,” a different voice called, and the ceiling on the unshielded portion of the shuttle slid apart, a slim turret peaked out, which started to fire back through the smoke with blue, ring-shaped stun blasts.
After several seconds of firing, the smoke starting to drop, Jorel heard a clearer voice, probably the captain, yell, “Drop and charge. Capture priority, but not top!”
The energy barrier dropped and the Captain ran forward through the smoke, weapon up, dodging to the side as a blaster bolt came for his head, firing stunners of his own in kind. A second later he emerged into a hallway littered with paralyzed crewman, one that’d been hiding in a doorway falling to the ground as he did so.
Lucky dodge, Jorel couldn’t but help to think. With his connection to the Force, he’d’ve been able to feel it coming, but for a non-sensitive that had to have been a combination of a little luck and a great deal of experience.
Looking down from the screen, through his visor, the Padawan saw they had gotten within range of the downed freighter, their scans identifying it as the Sochi Scooter, likely after the nearby planet. The fact that a freighter was named after the closest planet was a bit odd, but sometimes coincidences were just coincidences.
“Scans complete,” a Bridge officer announced. “Ship is disabled, fifty crew, twelve stunned in the corridor, others spread out through the ship, no cargo found. Scans forwarded to the breach teams.”
“So it is Pirates,” Jorel scowled, looking back up to watch the Captain lead his men, half breaking off to go after the ship’s power core, the other half going for the bridge. If a freighter left port without cargo, is definitely planned to get cargo before it made landfall again.
However, Er’izma just glanced his way, responding with a single word: “Perhaps.”
The freighter without any freight, but more than enough people to board and take any ship that tried to help, was taken, room by room. The attack team were all equipped with weak personal shields that could take a few shots, the radiation buildup such devices created negated by the armor they wore, which was rated for space operations. They barely needed it, though, the experienced soldiers scything through the pirates with ease, softening up hastily constructed barricades and sending the scum sprawling long enough for the combat engineers to overrun and stun them all.
Soon enough, the Captain’s team breached the Bridge, a pair of flash-grenades causing the fire the bridge-crew was pouring though the entrance to go awry as the defenders were temporary blinded, letting the Captain, with a blaster in one hand and a collapsible metal shield in the other, lead the charge inside, easily moving the durasteel defense back and forth to catch the shots that still came their way.
“Bridge taken,” Captain Zerd’rasi’bino announced, another engineer pulling open a panel in his armor’s vambrace and pulling out a plug, wire spooling out as he inserted it into the ship’s computer. “Sir, something’s wrong here. These don’t seem like pirates. Too clean.”
“I am aware,” Er’izma replied. “Hold the Bridge, but be prepared to depart.”
“Connection established,” one of the crew on their bridge reported. “Slicing now.”
As their crew wormed their way into the freighter’s computer systems, Jorel, bringing up the armor’s systems, toggled his view from the captains to the other officers as they took room after room with cold efficiency, barely a word said, but moving together in near synchronicity.
A sense of Danger brushed against Jorel’s mind, not the sharp feeling he was used to, but dulled, quiet, almost second hand, and his eyes widened as he realized he wasn’t feeling a threat to himself, but to the person he was watching. Opening his mouth, and moving to toggle his comms, Lieutenant Dez’kofi stopped, the man commanding, “Fall back.”
Grabbing a stun grenade, the engineer toggled it, tossing it down the corridor, and when the near-invisible burst of force went off, the entire corridor exploded into a forceful conflagration, hidden explosives detonating prematurely as the squad hunkered down, lifting their weapons and opening fire as a group of pirates rushed around the corner to take advantage of their trap, only to be met with a barrage of stun blasts, dropping to ground, the one in front landing facedown on the deck that still shimmered with heat.
“Forward,” the lieutenant commanded, kicking over the first pirate over, the man’s skin already burned, but stopping further damage. “Captain, we’re getting traps. Permission to go lethal back?”
“Permission denied,” the Captain replied. “You have your Rules of Engagement. Follow them, Lieutenant.”
“Understood,” Dez’kofi sighed, motioning forward as the continued to take the ship.
In the space of five more minutes, a total of ten since they first arrived, the ship was captured. Jorel smiled, turning to his master, who frowned. “Captain Votta’ogash’uzu, you should’ve gotten in. Who are these people?”
“Sorry sir,” the Chiss slicer replied. “They had Milspec protections, and custom ones at that. I just got in. They’re either not pirates, or they’re really, really good at counter-intelligence.”
The Jedi raised an eyebrow. “Assume they are not.”
“Well, sir, they’re-“ she started to reply.
There was a stirring in the Force, and Er’izma’s expression darkened, the Knight’s presence flaring into prominence as he pushed down on everything, stilling the ripples that were ever present, before sending a single, overwhelming PULSE of Force out, bouncing off everything and everyone nearby, before his head snapped up, looking at nothing. “Deploy Flights,” he started to order, before pausing, even as someone else announced, “Incoming Hyperspace signatures. Three ships, two Corvettes and a Frigate.”
“Belay my order, do not deploy additional Flights. Order Flight three to defend the Dove, Flights one and two to defend the freighter, Flight four prepare for launch but standby, and Flight Five stand down,” Er’izma ordered, smiling, as if he’d solved a puzzle. “What was that about these Pirates, Captain?”
“They aren’t, sir,” the slicer sighed. “But you already know that, don’t you.”
The smaller capital ships appeared, two modified CR90’s, and a CC-6200, the last of which Jorel recalled was an interdictor, able to make an artificial gravity well that’d prevent ships from entering hyperspace, the call of “Interdiction field active, General” completely expected.
“Always good to have confirmation, Captain. Answer their hail,” Er’izma directed, before the comms officer could say a word, and an older man in a military uniform appeared, scowling. “Good evening. How can I help you?”
The man glared, “Politeness won’t save your hide, pirate. You’re under arrest by the-” He broke off, looking off screen, but still audible as he replied to someone out of the communicator’s pickup range. “I’m talking with them now. Yes, we received he signal. What do you mean ‘it’s big?’” he questioned disdainfully. “Where would a pirate get a battle cruiser? Just show me. . . oh. Oh that is big.”
The enemy captain let out a long breath, closing his eyes, centering himself, before turning back to the still open display, glancing to the side again as he grit his teeth and said, “You didn’t mute the. . . fine.” Turning to face the Jedi, the other man said, “I don’t care how you got your hands on a battle cruiser, Pirate, but on behalf of the Sochian government, you are under arrest for the crimes of piracy, murder, extortion, and many, many more. Submit, or we will be forced to use lethal force.”
“Wait,” Jorel sputtered in disbelief, knowing he was out of the comm unit’s pickup range. “They think we’re the pirates!?”
The knight, however, just smiled. “I believe there is a misunderstanding. How-
“Do you submit, yes or no!” the enemy commander yelled.
Er’izma just smiled wider. “On behalf of the government of the Republic, pursuant to article five-zero-four of the Republic penal code, and as commander of the Republic’s seventh Judicial Legion, I, Jedi Knight Er’izma, declare that you and all your forces are under arrest, Admiral Smycrow, for attacking an officer of the Republic, threatening an officer of the Republic, and preventing an officer of the Republic for carrying out his sworn duties.”
The admiral stared, looked off screen, and then went back to staring at the grinning man, anger swiftly turning to shocked disbelief. His eyes darted down, spotting the sheathed lightsaber, and he gulped loudly enough to be picked up over the communication line.
“Well Kriff me running.”