Book 2 Chapter 24

Riding in the transport as it flew off the coast, towards the isolated island, with thirty other Resistance fighters, Jorel realized that he’d been involved in far too many prison breaks.

He’d been the signal that had prompted the pirates to try and break out after The Flock had captured them, he’d broken himself and Hisku out of a criminal’s prison on Delle, and now he and Hisku, along with other rebels, were breaking others out on Pengalan. If this pattern continued, he’d be guarding a prison next time, which would then, of course, be broken into. Or out of. Regardless, he was going to be giving prisons a wide berth for the foreseeable future after this.

Dilvax Lonlen, the leader of the Resistance, had given the two of them the broad strokes: political prisoners were being held, they’d be breaking them out, and in doing so they’d be sending a message. The specifics, however, were handled by one of his lieutenants, a Blon Randuel, who’d called the pair to a meeting that night, gathering with a few dozen others, where he’d explained the plan.

The prison was in an area often battered by electromagnetic storms that regularly cut off communications, but also attempts to detect it by others. The secret prison was supposed to have gear that could still punch through the natural jamming, but it hadn’t been repaired properly, the funds to do so also secret, as the prison itself was supposed to be off the books, and thus it was easier than normal for corrupt officials to pocket them, which was to the Resistance’s advantage.

“Alright, how do you think we’re getting’ in?” Randuel, a middle aged man who looked more like the stereotypical speeder salesman instead of a hardened veteran, had asked them before they’d left.

Looking over the plans of the building, the complex multi-layered and densely built, the interiors seemingly labyrinthine, Jorel had suggested, “The transport drops into the yard, half of us leave, and then it moves over the comm tower where the other half of us repel down onto it, taking the comms in-case they’re still working even without proper maintenance.”

His suggestion prompted derisive laughter from the others. “Kid,” their commanding officer stated patronizingly, “this ain’t one of your holo-dramas. No one ‘repels down’ on things in real life. But you’re right ‘bout taking the comms. That’ll be Team Two’s job, with Kuna Halcorr,” he said motioning to a younger, red-haired man, who waved to the room as a whole.

Meanwhile, Jorel turned to glance towards his attaché, and tapped the descender hook on his armor, specifically meant for repelling down, and was a device which the Chiss woman had made sure he knew how to use before they’d made planetfall. Hisku returned his look with a flat one of her own, thoroughly unimpressed with the quality of their compatriots, a feeling the Padawan had to somewhat agree with.

Working under Waleye, he’d known the people with them were raw recruits, and had set their expectations accordingly, but they’d been told, at length, how this group were the ‘elites’, but in reality they had nothing on The Flock.

Then again, his master’s group were well trained, well-funded, and also an officially recognized military unit, so the comparison might be unfair.

However, hearing their plan, which amounted to ‘pretend to be the resupply, bluff their way in, and then start shooting when that stopped working’, Jorel had a feeling that maybe it wasn’t too unfair.

Regardless, Jorel and Hisku were part of Team Three, under a woman named Alyla Syko, who looked like she was probably still in her twenties. Their task was to make their way to the bottom level, and the armory, and then work their way up freeing people while Team One took the warden, and then passed along the security codes to everyone else to make their jobs easier.

As there were getting ready to leave, Syko walked over to them, giving the pair a once over, stopping and staring at their weapons. "Why are you using those?" the woman asked with distasteful disapproval.

"Because these are the weapons we were assigned?" Hisku replied, surely having noticed, like Jorel had, that everyone else was using different weapons, and also wearing better armor than the men and women under Stelog's command.

"You were given that druk?" their temporary commanding officer questioned, getting a neutral nod from the Chiss in return. "Nah, let's get you something better. But why didn’t they give you the good stuff when you picked up that armor from Kreenk?”

Glancing at the specialty armor he was wearing, along with Hisku’s ‘field-armor’, the Padawan told the older woman, “I don’t know who Kreenk is. These are ours. We joined up with them.”

Syko looked incredulous, but didn’t comment on it, leading them through the manor into a large warehouse like room, a Trandoshan at a table cleaning a blaster rifle. “Hey Kreenk, I need two rifles for Hisku and Jorel.”

The lizard-like alien didn’t look up. “Slevath said not to give them anything.”

The woman paused, then looked back at the two ‘recruits’, asking them, “What? Why?”

“My partner doesn’t like being touched,” the Jedi replied levelly, watching Syko for a response.

All he got from the Force was mild exasperation, as she glanced at Hisku. “Oh, that’d do it.” Turning back to the quartermaster, she continued, “Well, I need two rifles that aren’t druk. I’m goin’ on a mission Lonlen ordered himself.”

The Trandoshan jerked its head towards a rack of weapons, and their CO walked over, grabbing two rifles that looked much more like actual rifles instead of the oversized pistols they currently carried. Leaving their old weapons behind, Jorel checked and made sure that the tibanna gas cartridge that powered their old weapons would work on the new ones, finding it did as they left.

He was happy to leave it at that, but Hisku, with a low-simmering anger in her flat tone, questioned, “So that man’s. . . tendencies are known? And no one cares?”

Syko just shrugged. “Eh, yeah? Don’t worry about it, give him a month or two and he’ll find someone else,” she reassured, obviously assuming that the soldier’s complaint was with how she was being treated.

“And you do not see the problem with it?” the Chiss pressed.

Again, the human shrugged. “He hasn’t bothered me. Besides, the girls he goes for? They know what they’re getting into,” she offered. “Which is why he left you alone after you told him off. They can just say no, after all. He’s being a petty jerk about it, but if he was better he wouldn’t need to do that just to get some.”

Hisku stopped walking, staring, but Syko didn’t notice as she kept going. Jorel felt the emotions of both women, though his attaché’s righteous outrage burned brightly compared to the human’s apathetic superiority, that carried with it a faint undercurrent of distaste and judgement. From that, and from what he knew of the Chiss combined with what he could guess of the Resistance Sergeant, he knew this would end well if he let it play out.

Putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder, she turned to look at him in disbelief, and the Padawan shook his head, as convincing this woman that she was wrong was not why they were there. More than that, though, the Jedi got the vague feeling that Syko knew she was wrong, but didn’t want to admit it, making excuses. “It doesn’t matter that she’s wrong,” he told Hisku quietly. “We’re here to do a job, and that’s it.”

At his gentle push, she started walking, to keep pace with their CO, even as Hisku furiously whispered back, “That does not make it right!”

“It doesn’t,” he agreed, “And even if he sides with these people, how would Big E handle someone like that?”

The reassurance that it wasn’t just them that had to make things right seemed to be the right thing to say, the Chiss taking a deep breath and letting it out, nodding back to him. “You’re right, P-Jorel,” she replied, catching herself. After a moment, she remarked quietly, “I do not much like this sort of mission.”

The Jedi just nodded back. “Then I’ll ask we not go on them.” His attaché looked conflicted over that, but he shook his head. “I’m sure there’s other things we can do. This’ll have been good experience, but not something we need to repeat.”

That mollified the girl, and the two of them sped up a little, to catch up with Syko.

From there, everyone gathered once more, the two of them not having time to get used to their new weapons, something their CO told them “You won’t need, since we’ll all be in close quarters,” which was. . . not how combat worked. Regardless, the Resistance fighters had gotten into the transport, a rugged looking thing, and it had taken off.

Now, approaching their target, the modified cargo hauler was buffeted back and forth by the storm they had entered, the pounding of rain a muted drumbeat on the hull. The teams had loaded up in order, which meant that Jorel and Hisku, almost running late, were right next to the loading bay door, last in and first out. The internal compensator wasn’t the best, though not as bad as the Sergeant Major’s ship had apparently been, which let them feel as the craft started to descend, swinging about.

“Listen up,” Randuel said through the small comlinks they each wore on an ear, the man himself sitting up in the cockpit with their pilot. The range on the devices was short, not even reaching a mile out, but for operations like this the tech was worth the cost, a cost these central command fighters could apparently afford to pay. “We got docking, but something seems off, so be careful.”

Which, when paired with the growing sense of danger that Jorel was feeling through the Force didn’t bode well. “Syko,” he called, looking down the space to where his CO was seated in the back, along with Team Two’s CO, Halcorr, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

To his comment, the others just laughed, comments of ‘dumb kid’, ‘new meat’, and ‘baby’s scared’ offered from several of them, though a few at the back of the shuttle, just looked serious, expressions set in grim determination.

“Just do your best,” his CO offered, which was. . . not helpful, even as the ship continued to descend.

Looking to Hisku, she wore her customary frown, but nodded to him, agreeing with. . . something, he wasn’t sure what, so he nodded back, centering himself in the Force. Letting it infuse his body, he gripped his weapon, and tried to reach out, to better sense the danger, a general thing, with sharper spikes hidden within.

Feeling the ship land, he unbuckled his harness and stood quickly, Hisku following suit and lifting her weapon at the ready. The ones seated in the back with the COs were also getting up, while the others around them, the ones that had jeered, were taking their time, the sound of a faint discussion, quickly turning into an argument, coming from above them. The Jedi wanted to listen in, but the incoming feeling of danger rose dramatically, the loading bay door opening, along with two side doors set into the transport’s side that the Padawan hadn’t seen when he’d gotten on.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The Resistance fighters in the back piled through those, while Hisku and Jorel found themselves face to face with armored men wielding spray foam canons, a grenade, just like the one that the Jedi had used to pin down thugs on Delle, flying towards them.

Without thinking, Jorel took a step forward and slapped the glue-filled explosive, sending it hurtling back towards the prison guards. Hisku aimed at firing at another, hitting the ammo-tank of one of the cannons, which exploded, sending quickly-hardening foam to splatter their attackers, the glop grenade now activating and spraying the armored men down even more, as the Resistance fighters behind the pair swore, bringing weapons up to bear.

A moment of warning was all he got, but all he needed, as he yelled, “Out!” and jumped through the loading bay door, darting to one side, Hisku, following his order, doing the same on the other, the people behind them opening fire belatedly, many of their panicked shots going wide, a few passing through the spacse he and his attaché had been standing in a moment prior. There had been no anger or malignance in it, which would’ve been easier to spot, as the others hadn’t wanted to shoot them in the back, there had just been the faint stirrings of danger, which Er’izma had been training him to try and spot.

Because they didn’t meant to possible shoot him, they were just panicking.

As for the guards, now immobile targets, their armor held up a little, only half the bolts from those still in the transport hitting, but under the massed fire from the Resistance fighters the men quickly died, unable to move out of the way of raining plasma.

Jorel, looking around, spotted a turret emerging from the ceiling, as well as guards armed with blasters running in to reinforce their already dead compatriots, not needing to look to see the same thing was happening on the other side, where his partner now stood.

Trusting Hisku, he lifted his weapon, trying to replicate what he’d seen her do as he focused on the automated turret, which itself was firing down at the Resistance fighters who’d come out of the side doors, now taking cover. Lining up the angle in the Force, he pulled the trigger, holding it down as the weapon released a stream of green plasma, trying to wrestle the metaphorically bucking gun into exact compliance, the blaster bolts not creating very much recoil, but the shots weren’t anything close to even, requiring him to slightly re-angle the gun between shots as the automatic weapon fired to compensate for the differing directionality of each bolt.

He wasn’t good at it, by any stretch of the imagination, most of his shots splashing harmlessly against the armored turret’s shell, but Syko had been right, this was a better weapon, and enough of his attacks hit the barrel, the optics, and the joints of the turret that, only a few seconds after hearing an explosion from the other side of the ship, his target went up in a similar blast.

Feeling the danger of incoming shots, the attention of the guards now directly on him, the Padawan took off running, as the remaining guards tried to hit him. However, no longer suppressed, the Resistance soldiers to either side started attacking in turn, as Jorel slid behind a few crates, the guard’s red bolts landing around him. Waiting a moment, the danger diminished to one side of his cover, and he rolled that way, coming up and sighting on the guards, only two left standing. Following a feeling, he shot the one on the left, who was half-hiding behind a different crate, as the one on the right ducked behind a pillar, only for a single green bolt to come flying in from behind the ship, the man’s headless corpse falling down on the other side of the stone structure. Jorel’s own target was taken in the shoulder, going down with a scream, a second bolt from the Padawan putting him down for good, and ending his pain.

There was a moment of silence, as the Jedi let out a deep breath, the stench of Death thick in the Force, and, looking around, he noticed that a few of the Resistance fighters were dead as well, the feeling starting to disperse as it had on other battlefields, but not as quickly as it should, the tainted energies seeming to seep into the ground. The Dark Side hung around this building in a way that Jorel hadn’t seen before, and he didn’t like.

A low-droning siren started to sound, and Randuel’s voice came over their comms. “Good job people! Team One and Two, we’re going through the west door, Team Three, the east! We need to hurry before they can get their feet under them! Go!”

Jogging towards the back of their transport, Jorel wasn’t really sure which door was the ‘east’ one, something the others in his assigned squad seemed to be having some trouble with as well from how the looked around dumbly. Hisku ran up to him, unharmed, and gave him a once over, looking slightly relieved that he was uninjured, as the Padawan spotted Randuel, who was heading for one door, along with sixteen others, while Syko mad her way to the milling resistance fighters of Team three.

“Only lost three?” she questioned impressed, and Jorel spotted that some of their team had already died, something their CO took in easily, despite having already lost thirty percent of er team. “Not bad! And you two, glad I got you those guns, huh?” The Jedi nodded, motioning for the door, and the older woman smiled. “Yep, that’s it. You two mind going first?”

Doing so would cut down on casualties, given their skills and Force Sensitivity compared to the others, but something about the way the Resistance Sergeant said that rubbed the young man the wrong way. It’s because I’d never say that, he thought, knowing, just from the few combats he’d been in, that he preferred to lead from the front, where he could protect people. His CO apparently had the opposite outlook, so he agreed, jogging up to it, Hisku beside him, as Syko corralled the others to follow.

Remembering the map from the briefing, he moved through the halls, stopping at one corner where danger lurked and waving a hand around it, pulling it back as shots were fired, waiting a moment for the sense of possible injury to lessen. The second it did he jumped out, aiming at the three guards who’d taken cover, and went for the most exposed one, this guard only wearing a uniform, which provided no protection to the blaster bolt that tore through his chess, Hisku taking down the second while the third hid.

Running down the hall, the last guard stuck his gun out, firing blindly, and, following the whispers in the Force, Jorel dodged around the stream of plasma packets, ducking to the side and slamming the now-shimmering barrel with one gloved hand, a touch of Tutaminis to help disperse the heat further, creating an opening as the Padawan turned the corner, a single shot killing the other man.

Looking back, Hisku was quickly walking to him, weapon still raised, and fired, even as Jorel felt another warning of danger, rolling backwards. A couple red bolts hit where he’d been standing, a fourth guard having been hiding around the back corner, but Hisku’s shot caught the man in the arm, sending him falling forward, a second shot killing him.

Behind her, the others of Team Three were staring, half of them without their weapons up and ready, Syko out of sight, but she could be heard yelling at the others to, “Keep going! We can’t stop!”

Lifting a hand, Jorel waved the rest of his ‘team’ over as he stood, moving to stand next to Hisku, the woman noting, “You shouldn’t charge in.”

The Jedi, adrenaline in his veins, as he tried to keep the feelings of Dark from the death he’d just inflicted from affecting him, just smiled. “But Hisku,” he shot back guilelessly, “aren’t we in a hurry?”

The Chiss took her eyes off the end of the hall long enough to give him an annoyed look, before refocusing, murmuring, “Not our job. Remember?”

He winced, as she did have a point, but they’d already been ‘spotted’ as ‘veterans’, so he was just leaning into it. However, he knew that was just an excuse. They weren’t here to win the war, as much as any one person could, only observe, and they could’ve done that from the back, where Syko was.

All it would take is letting the others die.

Which. . . Jorel wasn’t comfortable with. Maybe it made him a bad spy, but, while some, like Slevath, were scum, he didn’t know most of these people, and couldn’t make that call for them. The people he was killing, on the other hand, were running a secret prison which held political prisoners whose only crime was speaking out against the current government, which made the ethics of killing them far easier, and, if they just hid, staying out of his way, they’d survive.

But that was something to worry about when they were out of combat.

Continuing their path, the level they were on was entirely meant for guard use, so it was all standard hallways, though ones that were a little dirty and worn. Team One would be taking the stairs, Two the internal elevator up the comm tower, but, as their team was going down, they had to use the prisoner elevator instead, which was deliberately placed on the other side of the structure, to prevent easy escapes. They met some more resistance, but it was light, the prison guards more used to fighting opponents who were armed with improvised weapons at the most, reaching the lift in a few minutes, and their next problem.

That being that it had no controls.

Which, in retrospect, made a certain degree of sense. If it was remotely controlled, any prisoners who made it to the elevator couldn’t use it to get out.

“Blon, we need someone to move the lift,” Syko commed the leader of their battle group, all seven members of Team Three fitting into the freight elevator easily.

A moment later, the man responded, his words faint as they only came through her comlink, but Jorel heard them all the same. “Got some people on it, but the bottom level isn’t listed. Warden’s still holed up. Give us a few, and he might know how to get you there.”

Hisku didn’t look happy about this, but held her tongue, prompting Jorel to state, “If we give them time in the armory, they’ll be waiting for us with a lot of guns.”

Syko wasn’t happy about it either, but just shrugged, offering, “If its that hard to get in, maybe they’ll think we’re the guards?”

Which wasn’t impossible, but Jorel didn’t like it. Reaching out in the Force, the fog of the Dark Side obscured things, but, trying to concentrate without forcing it, something he was still having trouble with, the Jedi found his attention directed to a panel in the side of the elevator, looking just the same as the others. Motioning for the members of his team to move, they did so quickly, and he ran his hands over it, finding one section that clicked, sliding aside to reveal a keyhole.

“What’s that?” a green skinned Duros man asked, peering over Jorel’s shoulder.

“Emergency access,” Hisku noted neutrally, giving the Padawan a mildly annoyed look, the girl having probably expected that it existed, but hadn’t wanted the Jedi to appear even more competent.

Giving a shrug of ‘Sorry’ back, not having expected this, only following the hints given to him by the Force itself, he pulled out a pair of lockpicks from his belt, sliding them in to get a feel for the inside of the lock, building a mental picture of it.

Poking and prodding, once he understood the mechanism, he pretended to work it, in reality just applying little bits of Telekinesis, and, with a turn, unlocked the entire thing, the larger panel sliding aside to reveal a set of labelled buttons for the different floors.

Except for the one for the armory.

Once more reaching out, he felt a slight prod from the Force, and thought, It can’t be that easy, can it? There was a blank space at the bottom of the set of buttons, so he prodded it, which, too, clicked and slid aside, revealing one last unmarked button.

Standing aside and pointing to it, Syko shook her head, laughing, toggling her comlink. “Blon, one of my people figured out a work around heading down now.”

“Understood. Stay safe,” was the Resistance Lieutenant’s reply as the woman walked over and hit the button, the door outside closing and the lift starting to descend.

The others got ready, Jorel and Hisku taking positions on either side of the door, preparing.

Reaching out into the Force, the Padawan flinched, as the faint sense of Darkness that’d been in the air slowly grew the further down they went, giving the Jedi the sense the oddest feeling that they were dropping into a gaping maw, full of sharp teeth and salivating for its next meal. Which made no sense.

“Jorel?” Hisku asked, concerned, brow furrowed, likely catching the edges of what he was feeling, as the oily feeling of phantom tendrils of darkness wrapping around him was dispersed with his own Mental Shields, a bastion of will that told the Dark Side that it Was Not Welcome Here.

“Be prepared,” he replied, hand shaking a little, wishing he could hold his saber, currently tucked safely away in a compartment on his back. But he didn’t, as doing so would mean their mission was over, with their being no explaining how he had that.

Finally, the doors opened, but not onto what he expected.

There was no room full of guards waiting to blast them to bits.

There was no room full of guards waiting to outfit their compatriots to fight the attackers.

Instead, there was a hallway, seemingly pristine, which curved off to the side, the faint yet still harsh smell of chemical cleaners in the air, but, in the Force, it was murky with the Dark, in a way that sent a chill up the Jedi’s spine, despite his Mental Shields holding strong.

It was also completely empty.

He’d seen the plans they’d had, and this was not what had been on them.

“I. . . I don’t think this is an armory,” he found himself saying, a slight shake in his voice, having to tear his eyes away from the space in front of him, trusting Hisku to have his back, as he looked to Syko.

The woman wasn’t disturbed, shaken, or giving any indication that she felt the clear and present danger in front of them. Instead she just looked confused, unsure, and, worst of all, interested. The woman was deaf to the Force’s warnings and was just as the Temple had warned of Non-Sensitives, all too eager to step into danger, blind to it. “It might still be the armory,” she declared, “They’ve just remodeled. Let’s go check it out, to be sure.”

Jorel had been afraid she would say that.