Of old glory lost, of his brutal slaughter through the Onyx sector, and of the dishonourable acts that laid him low. He had killed the Moff, he had Desaria in his claws, and just when he was about to destroy him his guards came upon his backside with those shocksticks.
Desaria didn’t even grant him the respect of an honourable death.
They let him live. They boxed him up, and shipped him off. For a short moment, they displayed him like some trophy before sending him somewhere to be lost like a bad memory.
Sha’tek was strapped down, in a dark, dank section of some prison forgotten by the rest of the galaxy. They feared him even being able to move. They left him strapped down, awaiting to see how long it took him to fade away.
Members of the Imperial Inquisition came by daily, and prodded and probed and studied. They asked questions, they tortured, but Sha’tek was made of sterner stuff then they gave him credit for. They assumed he was some raw, blunt savage they could easily do what they will with. They didn’t realize the cold cruelness of the depths that had forged the likes of him.
Today, however, they didn’t come. Instead of the casual steps of Imperial boots, he heard in the distance the sounds of explosions. The lights dimmed slightly, and sirens filled the air. A wide, dark grin came to Sha’tek’s face. Sha’tek pressed against his restraints, the mechanical devices struggling to find power that was soon no longer to be found. With a triumphant roar, the restraints gave way.
Sha’tek stretched, freed of his bed; he set himself to work on freeing himself from his cell. His strength had been drained, but his determination had been steeled. He threw himself upon that door, over and over again. The forcefield that once existed was gone, and without it all that was between him was old steel. The door creaking, designed for use with humans in mind, it was unable to hold itself against him long.
Instead of guards, he found only a dark and empty corridor. Whatever was going on, the guards were occupied with other things.
Now, his goals were simple. Find what’s his, and leave this world, butchering anything that got in his way. With the sounds of war outside, he knew there would be little to stop him.
It was time for Imperial Center to learn the wrath of a Shusugaunti scorned….
Zell was drinking himself into a stupor. The order would be going out soon and the masses would be fleeing the Imperial Center.
With the capital cut off from the rest of the Empire, though, he wondered if another world was substituting for 'Imperial Center' and, if so, who's balls would he have to cut off.
If he was still alive to cut them off when this was all over.
He had taken this time to look at all the small unimportant shit that he just plain ignored during the early stages of the siege. It seemed that everyone was just too damned busy and as Zell glanced around the nearly empty palace he wondered where the Royal Guards were.
Probably tasked doing other things since the Regent started sleeping in the Ops Center in the Imperial High Command.
He started with the reports already so old that they were now moot. He smirked at the thought of government red tape taking care of itself if you just ignored it and let time pass.
Then he came to a report and as he read, he felt the heat coming back into his features. After a moment, he stormed out of the office shouting to several stormtroopers to follow him.
It was not far and as the shuttle stopped at the Imperium Galactica Rotunda he entered chambers to a group of shouting idiots.
"You are not welcome here!" came a shout when Zell's presence was finally discovered.
"It's my fucking planet so you better shut the fuck up," Zell barked back.
He marched out into the center position and as he did so multiple representatives began to hurl questions at him..
"Where the hell is the Reclamation Fleet?"
"An entire shipyard was blown to bits because an Imperial Engineering team walked out of their contract!"
"League worlds are starving since you shut the door to several spacelanes.."
"STOP YOUR FUCKING BITCHING AND MOANING!" Zell shouted. "I have this fucking complaint from Glee Anselm about us leaving them and how we did so without them fucking predicting this..."
"YOU ARE THE DIMWITTED ASSHOLES THAT VOTED FOR US TO LEAVE!"
The Regent stopped and put a hand on his forehead. "You know, I have no idea why Simon Kaine wasted his time with you ungrateful fucks. You expel us from a club of nations that WE fucking sponsored and created. You move your fucking club meetings from the center of the galaxy and the Core, which is what this was really about in the beginning, to all the way the fuck out on Obroa-Skai..."
"..the rotunda there is enough.."
"Shut the fuck up. Obroa-Skai does not have a rotunda. You fucking meet in a scratch ball stadium. But that is alright. You can meet in a fucking whore-house for all I care."
"Shut up, Zell. We've got you by the balls and..."
The Regent began to laugh. "You dumbasses just don't know when to shut the hell up do you?"
A stormtrooper came into view and nodded informing the Regent that the rotunda was secure.
"You dumbasses think you live in a world where you can do whatever the fuck you want... freedom, I believe you call it. Liberty is also another word used. It sounds good but you peckerheads think that just by using these words it makes you somehow unaccountable for your actions."
Zell let out a feral grin. "I am here to collect. Consider all humanitarian aid to you assholes ended!"
The ensuing stormtrooper blasters shots erradicated every last representative of the League of Nations remaining on Coruscant.
"Thus ends Kaine's fucking waste-of-time and fucking humanitarian experiment."
He spit at the bodies before leaving. There was, of course, a war on.
"...and so, as Lord of Relephon and all of the Hapan Regency's assets, I formally dissolve this organization and, by popular demand, return them into the care of the Ta Chume, the Royal Family and Hapes Consortium."
The applause was thunderous as Lupercus Darksword relinquished his formal claim to Lucian D'alaetos' ill-fated empire.
A move so unconventional, so unexpected of someone of Lupercus Darksword's reputation that people were not sure what to believe.
"So, Lord Darksword, what does the Empire think of your little escapade within the Consortium?"
"I had to resign my Governorship to be a leader of poor Lucian's Regency so we shall see what they say when I return."
"Who's running things in your place while you are here?"
"Why my good Admiral Pitta, of course."
"Lupercus, I did not expect you ...you..."
The Dark Lord smiled at his sister-in-law's attempt and nodded, "I understand. Has there been any word on my brother?"
The Ta Chume seemed to sink at the thought of her husband and Lupercus reached out to steady her but she merely replied, "No. But we've not given up."
"If you need any help..." Lupercus began but his sister-in-law waved the thought away.
"I appreciate the gesture, Lupercus, but we are fine. I ... I must say that you do not seem like the man Dakkon describes."
"My dear brother did not lie, my Lady. I am a monster. However, I am only a monster to those I consider my enemies. You and Hapes are not my enemies."
He bowed again, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to Admiral Wilkar to make arrangements for my return to Admiral Pitta.."
"My Lord! My Lady!" came a shout that caused Lupercus and the Ta Chume to turn.
The family's Minister of State came up. "I am glad I caught you, Lord. It appears we may have need of your services.."
"What?!" the Ta Chume stated and Lupercus' eyes registered surprise.
"In what way?" they both asked.
"With Dakkon missing, Lupercus is the eldest family heir. The lot of the familial responsibilities by tradition fall to him."
His sister-in-law was about to speak when Lupercus smiled, "I am sorry, Minister, but my status is not formal. I am still estranged and exiled from Hapes.."
"No longer, Lord. The Queen Mother's acceptance of your claim as Lord of the Regency to accept the worlds you were offering her made your status formal again. You are now a fully recognized member of the Darksword family in good standing. We could not accept planets from criminals after all."
"But could not the Ta Chume fill in..." Lupercus began to point out when the Minister shook his head.
"We are not talking about the rule of Hapes. That traditionally falls to the Queen Mother but she remains on Hapes and within the Consortium. The holdings of the family and other family ranks and privileges however must fall to a blood member of the Darksword family. The Queen Mother is only of the Darksword family by marriage. That either leaves her children heirs or you, my Lord."
"Then, if I refuse?"
"Then a vacuum is left for another family to step up to take the responsibilities..."
The Minister did not need to continue that sentence to let the Queen Mother and Lupercus realize the shift might not only dislodge the Darkswords for good but reshape the nature of the Hapan political direction for the next few generations.
"It appears I have no choice," Lupercus stated in slight surprise. "What would my duties include?'
The Minister ushered Lupercus away from the Queen Mother to discuss the issues confronting the family and he realized that he would be taking his brother's place in a number of areas.
One such area was initiation as a full member of the Executive Council of the Commonwealth.
The Dark Lord, Silk of the Palestar Crusade, regarded his adversary at length. For a long while he said nothing, stood unmoving. Arid winds, blown across the once verdant plain, whipped his robes about his feet. The smell of death was palatable, the heavy and toxic particulate which permeated Xa Fel, and was indeed responsible for its current semi-inhospitable condition, made the air taste of ozone and iron.
“I am Viscount del Forza, Grand Inquisitor of the Empire. I've come to talk, and you to listen; and if nessessary, answer,” spoke the other, identifying himself and supporting his lone position with barely veiled threats. He was of the Empire, for one. For another, he was a man of rank and position... a Grand Inquisitor no less. And lastly; his inferance was that it was his privilage to speak, ask and be answered. Then he added, “Your reputation preceedes you so I'll spare your introduction... Lord Maim.”
Again his silence seemed tangible. From the depths of his cowl, the shadows of that heavy fabric hood hiding the details of his face from plain view, Lord Silk studied the Inquisitor. Even hidden as it was, Silk kept his features impassive daring show no visible emotional impact. As if on qeue, over the distant horizon, the clapping wail of a thunder storm echoed. It would soon rain, acid rain no less, and while Silk was no stranger to discomfort, the biting rain but a minor annoyance for a such a survivor, he could at least account for the comfort of his guest. Already he was already contending with the gloom, having landed on the planets night side.
“Lord Maim,” repeated Silk distantly as though at an impasse. “Well...”
And then he said, “This way.”
The short walk from the shuttle to the Temple afforded the Grand Inquisitor a fair view of the surrounding area.
An outline in the night, the Temple was a jagged, monsterous looking thing. It wore a network of scaffolding where it had been damaged and this consipired to give it an even more menacing appearance; as though it might topple over at any moment. The sallow glow of lamplight filled sporadic windows or in the wounds, and the glow was like blood.
In reciprocity, Silk too had greeted the Imperial envoy alone opting to leave his formidable forces in wait should it prove to be some sort of nefarious trickery, an act well within the abilities of the Empire and its servents but the smell and sense of the Temple left no illusions; they were far from alone. Throngs lived here, some in squalor others in servitude but all worked towards a unified goal – the visions of Lord Silk. About the Temple, abutting it directly, were the garrison forces of Silks army and while their accomodations were not insignificant they paled in comparison to the sprawling slum which seemed to stretch to the horizon.
Though they seemed alone, the pair winding their way toward the Temple, they were anything but.
Eyes watched them, tracked them from the shadows or marked their progress from high perches equally concealed. Ears listened, from the eves they dropped. Others, with senses more powerful then the rest, scented them on the breeze or with lashing tongues tasted their salt stained skin, tasted their taste carried on the same clouded gusts.
One, an aged woman drapped in tattered robes and hunched in posture, floated unassisted some hundred meters above their heads. She, Crone of the dark ladies, snarled and sneered. The Force kept her aloft while her resentment, her bitter rage sustained feuled it.
To herself, for she was alone in the sky, she mocked, “A new toy for the Master, a new slave to do his bidding much as I have become.”
Of course the wicked old woman had no way of knowing the man, the Inquisitor as he had called himself. She could have no idea what he represented, that unlike the Crone he was a man of far greater strength of self and a man who not only carried much weight in the Empire but one whose training, whose career was directed towards detecting, manipulating and destroying, if nessescary, people like herself. People of her talents, creatures born of the Force, were to him but peons to be placed, played and lost.
Her tatters flapping in the wind, like the wings of some massive black bird, the Crone drifted towards the Temple. Alighting upon its peak she spoke a curse, a curse upon the new arrival, before vanishing within the darkness beyond.
Not far below, in the Temples temporary command center, another pair of eyes watched on.
“Lord Maim,” the crimson clad brother known only as Noctournal repeated. Before him, displayed in two grainy dimensions on a small screen, Lord Silk and the Inquistor walked. The feed, video and audio, was being broadcast to him via a small monitoring device which tracked their movments in a most unobtrusive manner. “Lord Silk did not correct him...”
Lurking, Xoverus supplied, “What the Imperial envoy knows not and what Silk does, gives advantage.”
The inhuman priest of the Unspoken lazily stroked the spiny ridges of a serpentine monster curled sleeping at his side.
“They are nearing the gates,” stated the once Royal Guard. “Send your plebs, priest.”
Xoverus nodded.
At the gates, del Forza and Silk drawing near, a pair of mechanoid guards, constructs of dark steel and twisted design, parted to let them pass. Inside, kneeling with forheads pressed to the cobbles in reverence, a quartet of Unspoken converts waited. Amidst the glow of candles, their wax dripping to the cold stone below, with shadows playing idly in the corners and upon the high vaulted ceiling, a table had been prepared. Upon its elongated, oval surface a cloth had been thrown bearing, in its center, the crest of the Palestar set on a background of the deepest Crimson. At either end of the table two chairs, equal in size and proportion, waited. At their arrival the converts rose unspeaking, two to a pair, drawing out the chairs.
“Sit,” Silk gestured to one of the chairs before seating himself. “You will sit and you will speak. I will listen, and when you have finished we shall see where we are.”
Regrad paused in the donning of his battle gear long enough to ponder this turn of events. "Only a fool would believe that while Zell is regent. He was always a little too old-fashioned to fit into Simon's empire."
Yolem remained impassive as he relayed the news. "You think anyone else will see through it?"
"Had it been Simon? I would have said no. He was much too subtle. An alien massacre with the scantest of evidence besides a handful of blurry distant shots of a ruined rotunda... had it been the actual alien threat they would have flooded the news networks with images of Imperial bravery. Had it been Simon's scheme it would have been a carefully crafted facade." He pulled a gauntlet into place and secured its latch. "This is just sloppy by comparison."
His armour secure, Regrad set off for the bridge of the Coalition. "No, the international reaction will be feigned shock at the alien attack followed by private shock at Imperial brutality. It looks like it's time to get serious about the League, sounds like a job for the House - in fact it's the perfect busy work for the ministers. They like to keep busy by appointing ambassadors." Regrad sighed, distracted by thoughts of his fallen nemesis. "They're fraying at the seams. I only regret we're so preoccupied with the Reavers that we don't have more time to exploit them ourselves."
A thought occured as they walked. "What news have we of these 'aliens' anyways?"
"Ferguson says he has top men on it." Yolem passed Regrad his helmet. "For the moment we only know they're incredibly bloodthirsty and hostile, and they're causing the Empire an unusual amount of grief."
The two Azguardians strode through the corridors of the ship, passing servicemen and women of many different races. A common observer would note that every one of them was much older than the common soldier, some clearly into middle age or older. A more learned observer would also note that of the species represented many were not Coalition members, or were even long-time foes.
"The only thing that matters on this ship is conviction," Regrad stated proudly as he stopped to look upon the ship's general operations. "Here we are, crewed with the finest soldiers and shipmates from across the galaxy, and every one of us experienced and committed. A true Coalition."
If Yolem thought about this at all he didn't share it. "Did you hear the Empire is blaming us for the disturbances in the Occupation Zone?"
Regrad waved this away. "The Empire blames us for rain and lost buttons. It is the faint white noise of propaganda and means nothing. If anything it's a comfort to know they still target us for their slander, I was sure by now some new up-and-comer would have their attention."
"Are we to blame for the disturbances in the Occupation Zone?"
"Which disturbances are these?"
Yolem pulled a datapad from his belt and glanced at its contents. "A terrorist network responsible for raids on shipping and outlying worlds."
Regrad smiled. "No, those aren't our disturbances. A good guess on their parts, however."
As they passed through the busied halls Regrad's helm-comm began to buzz. "I hope you're almost in position, Prime Minister," said the voice of Panacka. "The fleet's in position and all the comm channels are set up. People are getting impatient."
"And I take it you're one of those people, commander?"
"Just waiting on your order, sir. Panacka out." The crackle of the comm cutting out was loud enough to cause Regrad to wince.
Yolem caught up from his respectful distance, which had been just far back enough that he could still overhear the conversation. "He sounded anxious, sir."
"I would be too, in his position," admitted Regrad. "The East is his home and he has sat powerless to help it for much too long. Now at last we go on the offensive... he has a right to be concerned."
At long last the pair reached the bridge, whereupon every bridge officer leapt to their feet and shot off a quick salute. Regrad returned it and gestured for his crewmates to sit back down. "No need for formality from this point on, we won't have time for it. What's our status?"
"Sir!" A grizzled Azguardian lieutenant turned away from his command console. "All systems are green, all crew stations reporting, the Coalition is prepared to leave orbit."
"Exemplary work," said Regrad, as he settled into his chair. "In that case, link us into the main channel, it's time for the address."
As the comms turned over, Regrad looked out the front viewport and on to the vast Coalition fleet before him. Many members had left the Coalition, this was true, but the remaining members were all true believers. They had not just warships in their ranks, but science vessels, supply ships, diplomatic shuttles, and huge haulers meant for moving masses of goods - or perhaps people.
"We're picking up every comm signal in the fleet as well as the router on Space Station BIM-1," the lieutenant reported. "Everyone's listening, sir."
With a hint of a smile, Regrad removed his helmet and picked up the ship's comm-unit. "All ships, this is Prime Minister Regrad.
"As you already know, our diplomatic outreaches to other powers neighbouring Reaver space went unanswered. Even in the face of this galaxy-wide crisis, there are some too arrogant, haughty, or proud to answer the call to unity.
"It would be arrogance on our part, though, to put down this lack of common cause solely to the pride of our neighbours. There are many who are simply too desperate, too overwhelmed, or too isolated to hear our calls or have time for the niceties of diplomacy.
"The most disquieting reason of all for this silence, however, could be that the Coalition is no longer believed to be a player of significance in the affairs of the galaxy. It could be that none believe we have it in us any more to be of use, that our strength and conviction are disregarded. To this I say no more! We shall prove both our daring and our commitment to peace and prosperity for the people of this sector and for the people of the galaxy!"
Regrad paused here, leaning back in his chair. The critical moment approached.
"That is why I have gathered the pride of our strength here today. The scattered and haphazard half-measures attempted against the Reaver threat are insufficient. It shall be we, the Coalition, that coordinates the defeat of this dread scourge. We shall stand with those who found themselves alone against the Reavers and we shall align with those who try to protect their homes. To those who try to shut their doors to the problems of their neighbours, we shall be the voice that cries no! That calls all to arms against this common threat, regardless of political alliegance.
"They doubt our strength? Our commitment? Ride with me now, and we shall visit every inhabited world that borders Reaver space - Coalition or Imperial, Confederation or independant. We will offer our aide to those who are pressed and call those of means to join us in our mission. The battle against the Reavers will take far more than force of arms to win, as we must fight with wisdom to spare the lives of the countless innocents trapped within the blighted 'Reaver Space'. Wisdom does not flourish alone, and so we shall achieve a grand compact against the Reavers.
"With our pooled knowledge and skills, the Reavers shall have no chance, and we will reclaim lost homes and lost lives. Ride with me!"
Regrad had given many speeches, but for once he knew the joy of immediate action, and reaching out a mailed fist he slammed the command to enter hyperspace. "Our scout vessels will be arriving thirty minutes before us in the first of the outlying systems. Our long patrol begins now."
“You know what we’ll be facing, don’t you, Master?”
The voice came from behind her, interrupting her meditations. Skygge turned, dousing the anger that threatened to overtake her. This was the closest she had been to falling completely to the Dark Side in a long time, probably since her trip to Korriban and Ithron’s betrayal. She could not allow herself to fall. That sort of a fall would mean she would end up in the same place as all the Sith before her; she would become the same monstrosity that was Lupercus – a villain who cared nothing for life or the galaxy, only his own personal pleasure. She would strike him down one day, if someone else didn’t beat her to it. Rumor had it that the Commonwealth fleets were attempting that very thing even now, somewhere in Hapan space. She hoped they succeeded. It would save her the trouble.
Ithron was a different story. No report had surfaced about him in some time. The last she heard he was attempting to motivate the Inquisition into action against the unknown attackers, but her connections within Imperial City had nothing more to give her. She had spent quite a few credits – stolen credits, but where they came from didn’t matter much to her – to those contacts during the time she was training with Descartes, and they had no information for her.
She shook her head and concentrated on the matter at hand. Skygge faced her apprentice. Elana was a good warrior, an excellent assassin, and she would make a truly great Sith. Her Force powers continued to grow; in fact Skygge wasn’t sure her skill in the Force was not above that of every other apprentice. Her skills with a saber were still lacking, though, and it held her back. Of course, it took a great deal of skill to learn the Ataru style of combat. Her companion, Telarni, had things a bit easier, simply building on the Shii-Cho foundation in which he had first trained. The second apprentice, though, had forsaken his Force training for his swordsmanship. The reason Skygge had brought them on this trip was so that they could learn from each other.
“Yes, Elana. I know what we’ll be facing. Nubett failed at whatever he was doing; my guess is that he was trying to prove himself either by killing Leia or Tyscio or, worse, their newborns. Either way, we’ll be facing at least one – probably two – Jedi Masters along with about half of Capricia’s security force. And no, I haven’t come up with a workable plan yet. Nubett really screwed things up for us this time. If I was confident that he wouldn’t give away any important information under interrogation, I’d let the Capricians handle it, but if he’s as insane as I think he is, I can’t be sure he won’t.”
Her face fell. “Master, I have an idea.”
Capricia
The ship, slowed by its repulsors, settled lightly onto the landing pad, giving its passengers barely a bump for them to recognize that the ship was down. Caprician security swarmed the small shuttle. They had been warned to watch for anything unusual or any unusual passengers; this shuttle was their first victim of the day, so they were still highly alert.
The passengers, a young man and woman, slowly strode down the docking ramp, smiles on their faces. “Tarv and Lori Vela,” they said when questioned. “Just returned from our honeymoon on Vortex. Went to see the Cathedral there. It was beautiful!” Tarv leaned over to give Lori a long, sensual kiss that made most of the men on the detail a bit uncomfortable.
One of them, composing himself, said, “Shuttle is yours?”
Tarv, looking annoyed, glanced up. “Yeah, she’s mine. Bought her on Valinor on our way back. She’s not much to look at, but she got us here. And my wife likes her.”
Before Tarv had a chance to start kissing Lori again, the officer interrupted. “Anything on-board you need to declare? Any other passengers?”
Tarv shook his head. “Do you think we’d carry any passengers with us? Those bulkheads aren’t soundproof, you know!”
The officer closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to get the mental image out of his mind. “Alright then. Lieutenant,” he motioned to another officer standing by, “search the ship. We’ll let these lovebirds go.”
***
The dark figure slipped through the engine compartment, slowly opening the maintenance hatch on the top of the shuttle. Cloaking herself in the Force, now invisible to both the senses and the eye, she spared a quick glance at the holocam. Reaching out her hand, she gestured towards it, causing it to show nothing but static, then ran along the top of the shuttle. Reaching the nose, she launched herself into the air, over the heads of the oblivious guards, and slipped through the closing blast doors just behind the Velas.
***
Inside a hotel room rented by Tarv, the three individuals gathered to make plans. ‘Tarv’ hacked into the Caprician computer network and quickly downloaded all information on the prison systems, including the list of prisoners. It took a short time to crack the security, but soon the three Sith had access to the location of the wayward apprentice and the security system of the building.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Skygge said. “But I think Elana’s plan will still work. Telarni, you understand what you need to do?”
The Sith Apprentice nodded. “Of course, Master. Let’s do this.”
***
The guards at the prison were not asleep, but neither were they fully awake. Four days, they had been pulling full-alert rotations, ever since that new prisoner came. There had been some attempts at interrogation, but even the Jedi who was with them couldn’t pull anything out of the mad prisoner’s mind. It was so twisted, and missing so many gaps, that nothing could be done with him.
But they were not asleep much longer. Tyscio Korban had just stepped out, saying he was getting some caf for them. He was not gone five minutes when a distinctive snap-hiss sounded. The guards scrambled for their weapons, turning to face a dark-cloaked individual wielding a distinctive red-bladed energy sword. Their eyes widened, but even as they raised their blasters to fire, the saber-wielding warrior was among them, slicing weapons, hands, arms, and heads. In seconds, it was over.
The figure looked directly at the holocam and blinked once. It was a tall male human, wisps of blonde hair showing under his hood, dark eyes seeming to glare at the recorder. Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the prison doors.
Tyscio took that moment to step back inside. His lightsaber was already extended in his hand. He saw the Sith, and for a moment, just a moment, the two locked eyes. Then the Sith charged.
Blade caught blade, the discharge of energy sending the distinctive sounds of lightsaber combat echoing through the halls. Ducking under Tyscio’s swipe, the Sith rolled and came to his feet, facing the Jedi. He spun his weapon once, then launched into a flurry of blows that drove even the strong Jedi back. For a moment – just a moment – Tyscio doubted his ability to win the fight. Then, extending a hand, the Jedi hit the Sith with a Force blast that sent him flying back down the hallway.
The Sith rose to his feet as Tyscio stalked down the hall after him, but instead of staying to fight, the Sith turned and started to run. Tyscio followed.
***
As soon as they were clear, another figure entered the room, this one also cloaked in black. This figure was smaller than the first, perhaps a female. It quickly sliced into the security system and shut down the security holocams, then opened the main prison doors. She also downloaded the access code for the Sith prisoner’s cell block.
She turned to enter the prison only to discover that she was not alone. Another Jedi stood there, this one clearly a Master. Her brown hair framed a face that held eyes as cold as ice. Instantly, the Sith knew this was Leia Organa Solo Korban, and it knew that this woman’s children had been endangered by the Sith that was incarcerated below. Reaching further through the Force, the Sith realized that Leia thought it was responsible. Slowly, Elana lowered her hood and removed her cloak. A blood-red saber leapt to life in her hand. “Leia Korban. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. My Master has told me much about you.”
Leia’s eyebrows lowered in puzzlement momentarily. “Your Master?”
Elana smirked. “You’ll be meeting her soon enough, I think. Shall we get on with this?”
Elana attacked, her saber sweeping up unexpectedly towards Leia’s midsection. The Jedi parried the blow, twisting her own saber in an attempt to remove Elana’s hands at the wrists. But the Sith dodged, backflipping over the computer console, putting it between herself and Leia. She smiled again. “Come now, Korban, you disappoint me. I expected much better tricks from you. Perhaps my master’s opinion of you was undeserved?”
Leia followed the Sith over the console, striking as she landed. Several blows were traded, simply exercises for each to get the feel of the other. Then Leia struck unexpectedly, catching her opponent off balance and out of position. With no time to bring her saber up to deflect, Elana raised her arm as if to ward off the blow. Leia put all her might into the strike… Only to see it stop a centimeter away from Elana’s hand. Blue light pulsed between the hand and the blade, but only for a moment. Regaining her balance, Elana spun and brought her saber around in a backhand blow, which Leia caught on her own blade. Eyes wide with shock, she backed up a step and narrowed her eyes. That blow should have taken off the Sith’s hand, if not her head! How…?
Elana snickered. “The Force has many uses, Korban. In the hands of a craftsman, it is a tool, and a valuable one at that, that can be formed in many ways.”
The Sith attacked again, a quick flurry of blows that put Leia on the defensive. They circled once, then Leia attempted another crippling strike, this one at Elana’s legs. Elana leapt backwards, flipping over the blade, then landed and rolled, continuing her momentum down a second hallway, different from the one Tyscio and Telarni had entered. She too ran, with an angry mother close on her heels.
***
That left the guardroom wide open and undefended. A third dark-cloaked figure hurried in, keeping to the walls. Gathering the Force around her, her presence in the Force already hidden, she became invisible to the eye. She slipped quickly into the prison block, headed for the Sith prisoner’s cell. Feeling the urgency from Telarni, she knew she had to hurry.
The sunrise was particularly beautiful that morning.
Zark Ekan, Jedi Master and pupil of the late Searthen Jiren, gazed out from the balcony of the Library's tallest spire and marveled at how much had been accomplished since his return to the planet he had adopted as his home. The Jedi could not help but remember the funeral of his late tutor and close friend, and the utterly hopeless devastation he had felt then, wandering, half-insane, on the outskirts of the procession.
He had spoken to Gash that day, or at least thought he had. Over the course of the past decade it was difficult for him to sort vision from delusion. But whether it had been a mere hallucination or the ghost of Gash Jiren himself, the words spoken to him had been clear. Keep the dream alive, keep the Jedi alive.
As he watched the twin suns, Adega Prime and Adega Besh, shed the first rays of daylight over the nearly rebuilt city of Knossa in the near distance, Zark could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction, of pride at the work being done below.
We're still alive. Still here, and with the Force as my ally here we shall stay.
Ossus was something of a miracle in a galaxy that was, at this point in time, ravaged by war on multiple fronts and, until recently, almost entirely dominated by an Empire that was the sworn enemy of everything the planet stood for.
Not too far from the Perlemian Trade Route, Ossus had managed to thrive under an independent planetary parliament even despite the fall of the New Republic it once served and its proximity to Black Dragon space. The Daemun had no use for such a world, the Sith feared Gash, even after his death and even if they would never admit it, and the Empire couldn't be bothered to bring a task force in large enough to suppress such an ardently democratic population, especially one that apparently had no lingering interest in galactic affairs.
And so Ossus remained the jewel of a Republic that no longer existed, continuing on much as it had during better times. And now, with the ancient city of Knossa almost completely rebuilt, the reconstruction of a planet once ravaged by war between Jedi and Sith neared completion. It seemed only fitting that the last city rebuilt be a city of the Jedi.
The Ysanna below worked tirelessly to finish the construction of what would be their new home. These men, former tribal nomads and true descendants of the original Ossans, were Force sensitive all, in varying degrees. For the first time since planetary reconstruction had begun, the tribes had united as one people, forsaking their nomadic lifestyle to live in the city of Knossa and guard the Library.
The Library itself, once a beautiful and massive structure that served as a testament to the Jedi Order of old, had fallen into disrepair over so many years. But it, too, was filled with Ysanna hard at work restoring the ancient towers to their forgotten glory.
Zark's hands gripped the balcony railing lightly as he tapped lightly into the Library's aura. Gone was the lingering shadows of the Darkside. Instead, the aura reminded him of the Jedi Temple on Naboo, and well it should, for the crystal he had rescued from the planet containing the ancient temple's Force signature had been laid to rest within the Library's center.
The twin suns fully crested the distant hills at last, and another beautiful Ossan day had begun.
Zark's com link hummed. He ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly, taking one final look at the city below, before turning away from the balcony and answering it.
"Admiral Ekan."
"Ah, beg pardon Admiral," came an all too familiar voice from the little device, "I was hoping to speak with Master Ekan. Have you seen him?"
"Master Tre'Na," Zark chuckled, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"
"Besides wondering how you managed to climb the ranks of the Ossan Navy so swiftly and managed to avoid a vibro knife in the back from every jealous Captain you passed on the way up?" came the sarcastic reply.
"Are you kidding? After the Reaver outbreak they practically begged me to take the job. And don't forget, I was a Line Captain during the Thrawn invasion," he said, grinning in spite of dark memories, "What's the word, Teros?"
Jedi Master Teros Tre'Na, a Caamasi who, for the past five thousand years, had lived on Ossus and watched over the Ysanna, had proved to be the most vital ally in the rebuilding process, and even more importantly had proven to be a very good friend.
Teros had single handedly defused tensions between the Ossan parliament and the Ysanna nomads, negotiating the use of what had once been the Knossan ruins as a Ysanna city and even acquiring parliament seats for Ysanna politicians, seats they had turned down in favor of Teros's appointment to parliament as liaison between the Ossan people and the newly formed Jedi Enclave.
Teros and Zark had initially little other choice but to oversee the training of those Ysanna strong enough in the Force to make full-scale Jedi (many of them), but the Ysanna learned quickly, particularly Okko the Wise, the Ysanna leader and Mayor of Knossa.
And Jedi had begun to show up on their doorstep, former members of the Order and Force sensitives who had heard whispers of the Enclave and sought guidance. Fear of Imperial and Sith retribution kept word of the Jedi presence on Ossus very very scarce, but often rumor was enough for those who needed help controlling the Force within them to act.
"The Ossan Navy will continue patrols of the border but make no more forays into Reaver space," Teros relayed, his voice now somber, "I'm sorry, Zark. We just don't have the kind of military power necessary to push through. Our scouts never reported back."
"Karking frell," Zark muttered, "I know. I know. But...frell, Teros, its Asthentia."
"I know, Zark," the Caamasi's voice was abnormally soothing, "And I did try, even if you won't believe it. I know there's no negotiating with Reavers."
"I do believe you, old friend," Zark asserted. As a pacifist, Teros had been very hesitant at first in lobbying for military action against the Reaver threat, "Parliament is probably right in the end, too. But...by the Force, all those people out there. This is exactly what I brought us back together to fight."
"It'll take a lot more than Jedi to wipe out the Reavers," Tre'Na reminded him, "Not even the powerful Zark Ekan with his battle meditation."
"I just can't stand by and do nothing," Zark said, ignoring the other's attempt to lighten the mood, "We...I've been doing that for far too long already."
"Speaking of doing nothing, aren't you due back on board the Axiom in an hour?" the Caamasi reminded him, "I'm surprised to find you planetside at all, even during shore leave."
"Just a few things that needed attending to at the Library," Zark answered.
"How does it look?" Teros asked.
"It looks...it looks as if there's something in this galaxy worth fighting for after all," Zark whispered, talking to himself as much as the Jedi on the other end of the com, "It looks like the most beautiful sight I've ever laid eyes upon. It...it looks like Searthen would have wanted it to."
"I believe you're right," the old Jedi said, "I'll see you soon, Zark. May the Force be with you."
"And with you. Ekan out."
As he reached at last the shuttle that would bring him back to the Axiom, the Nebula-class Star Destroyer that served as the flagship of the Ossan Navy, he pondered Teros's words.
It'll take a lot more than Jedi to wipe out the Reavers.
It'd take a miracle, and Zark could only hope the Force would reveal its intentions to him soon.
Edit: I don't know how many spelling or grammar errors are in here - I posted this from Office 2010 (which is why the lines also came out funny in some cases, it's been a while since I prepared a post in Word) and apparently the check isn't up to par yet. I noticed a lot of them reading it, more than I feel like correcting when I have to wake up at six tomorrow...
***
Kach smiled wickedly at the effect his words had on Vos, who was visibly uncomfortable on the holoprojector. He knew Vos didn’t particularly like him and so he was happy to give the Colonel-General and leader of the SS a hard time. He pressed a button in front of him and the screen went apparently blank, with only a few pieces of unidentifiable debris visible to show that Thorton hadn’t cut the connection. “I want to make this quick, Vos, because we need to move fast. Watch.”
For a few moments there was nothing, then some slight rippling in the starfield as a trio of cavernous wormholes slowly opened. “This is battlefield footage from Yaga Minor,” Thorton slowly narrated over the holovid. “A lot of men died to recover it,” he lied. Nobody outside the highest echelons of his command knew how about the recon or the footage recovered. The video continued and unfamiliar ships of all sizes – from fighter sizes of just a dozen or so meters all the way up to the size of mammoth Victory-class Star Destroyers – emerged from the wormholes in a terrifying wedge formation. The video disappeared and the Colonel-General was once again in front of him. “I don’t know what’s on the other side of these things, but I’m pretty certain whatever it is, it sure wouldn’t help their cause if we went through and destroyed it.” Wes nodded. Kach knew the proposition was highly risky, but it was bold enough to swing whatever was going on above Coruscant in the Empire’s favor. He had the feeling something like that would be right Wes’ alley.
“I’m going to take three battlegroups and The Stormhawk andmicrojump into close proximity with your battlegroup and move into formation. We’ll be there in about six minutes. Once there we’ll slave our fleets together in preparation to move into the system and take action.” His expression and voice turned cold. “I don’t know who is daring to attack Coruscant and Yaga Minor, but we are going to make them very, very sorry.”
* * * Days Earlier…
The newsman faded from the screen and the visage of Kach Thorton returned. “It’s good to know our propaganda is working, Tobias. Maybe a little too well.” Gilford could see that he was in a jovial mood. The old admiral chuckled. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as ‘too well.’ Every faction in the galaxy from the Commonwealth to the Coalition is now completely convinced our Reserve Fleets are inept. Everyone but their military commanders, anyway. They know damn well that an Imperial Reserve fleet is more than capable of holding its own against any equivalently sized force they can muster.”
Thorton chuckled. “No shit they do. Even our lowest quality reserve fleet, the 9th, is at 85% capability compared to the Borderlands highest quality active duty fleet, and 93% against an average efficiency fleet. I wonder how they got the Admiral to lie through his teeth like that. ‘Six weeks military experience!’ He knows damn well they all do the full twelve months military training plus a year on active duty before going onto reserve status with the monthly drills and occasional fleet exercises serving to keep them sharp, and that 75% of the reserve fleet personnel are active duty veterans beyond the mandatory 12 months active duty before switching to the reserves.” Tobias laughed. “What a shitstorm. Either he’s a lying bastard like you said or the Cooperative military is of a lower quality than Intelligence led us to believe. I love what they said at the beginning about the Imperial III’s. Two! Two Imperial IIIs fall out of our control and all of a sudden they make it sound like they’re crawling all over over the protectorate.”
Kach’s tone turned a little more somber, indicating they’d need to turn to the business at hand after he finished. “The 80% remark was just as misleading. Yes, it’s true, but almost all of them are frigate class or lower. And you can only get that if you include star fighters and now-armed civilian transports. They only managed to capture two battle groups, after all, before we began our systematic withdrawal. And, worst case, they may have cobbled together another battle groups worth of ships out of the two Reserve battle groups we lost covering the withdrawal.”
Gilford looked at his former subordinate for a moment. “Turning back to the business at hand, we’ve completed our preparations for the afternoons raid. I’ll take your suggestions to heart and implement any we can. We've only got two hours though, not a lot of time. Anything I can’t get done today we’ll use next time.”
“Good luck Gilford,” Kach said. “I’m off to Coruscant. We received a distress transmission dump from them and indications are it’s under attack by the same forces that attacked Yaga Minor. I’ll be making contact with you again in 48 or so hours, once the attackers have been dealt with.”
“Godspeed, Thorton,” Gilford wished him. “Do you think this might be it?” “Kach looked him in the eye. “Yes, in fact, I think it is. Zell has proven himself an incompetent leader over the past few months, and I think this is the boiling point. I’m taking two fleets with me, which leaves nine under your command – more than the rest of the Empire combined if you exclude Desarias Onyx occupations force thanks to the disappearance of the Coruscant defense forces. Have them ready to go at a moment’s notice. “Anyway, I’ll be speaking with you soon, one way” he paused, “or another.”
* * *
The ugly red photoreceptors of the being in front of Kach seemed to glow even across the holonet.
“Tomorrow or the day after may be the day, Trachta. Whatever happens, be ready.
“Gloria Imperium.”
* * *
On the Outskirts of Reaver Space – Operation Overlord
The bridge of Admiral Gilford’s capital ship, the Administrator was silent as the first images and sensor data from the Ferret recon vessel QXR9-ZD came in. Dispatched minutes prior to observe what was about to take place, it had found their query exactly where they had been expected, but the images were none the less breathtaking. Visible was half a squadron’s worth of light cruisers and frigates, some more familiar models than others.
“Farfaleen and Tion mostly, he muttered to himself, “except for the captured Carrack.” The group was clustered together in a wedge formation in orbit around a large asteroid in deep space for no apparent reason – there was nothing special about the asteroid in terms of mineral content or any other measurable variable. This was not unusual, however. Imperial tacticians had noticed no particular logic to Reaver movements and actions. Reaver vessels would cluster together for no apparent reason in groups a dozen or a hundred vessels strong for weeks on end before scattering or moving as a group to another equally unspectacular location for another round of waiting. In battle they followed no strategy and used no formations or tactics.
Temporarily distracted, even the operation’s technical team was looking up at the target of their venture and not outside at the robotically-operated Action IV transport outside the Star Destroyer – the key to this operation. When it was ready the Chief Technology Officer for the project pressed a button and it disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing seconds later on the bridge’s primary holomonitor, still projecting the Reaver formation in the center of the bridge. It’s engines glowing, it charged forward toward the alien ships. Slowly the Reaver vessels rotated toward the Action IV and opened fire, far slower than even the most inefficiently run Imperial vessel would have. Despite the lack of even the most rudimentary evasive maneuvers no fire so much as skimmed the transport.
Tobias tapped the CTO’s shoulder and the officer turned around, acknowledging him. “How is it managing to avoid fire, Chief?” he asked. “It’s our new model of the Illusion Sensor Deciever, Admiral. What it does is . . . well, I don’t want to get too technical, but imagine capturing enemy sensor beams and sending back streams of false targeting data to provide false readouts on their sensors. This makes it nearly impossible to hit, because they see several dozen Action IVs in formation rather than just one. In addition, the vessel seems to twist and change positions at the same time. Though it’s practicality is limited in large formations it makes single vessels nearly impossible to hit.”
Gilford smiled. As long as men like this and other equally brilliant engineers continued to serve the Empire the New Order would stand strong, regardless of alien threats.
Buried within the ship’s hold was a massive EMP device, large enough to disable a Star Destroyer. As the ship dove into the formation of Reaver vessels, now sustaining some inevitable hits, the hyperdrive flux capacitors dumped all power into the EMP at the same time all shield energy was diverted to it, creating a massive electo-magnetic burst and instantly causing all active electrical systems on the vessels to go dead. On the holoprojector all seven ships stopped moving and firing and all shields registered as dead on energy readouts of the battle.
Within the Action IV, the ship’s corridors went dark as the electrical and lighting systems died.
“Bring the squadron in” Gilford ordered. “Move all boarding troops to posts.” Unsure exactly what to expect, the four Star Destroyers jumped toward the silent vessels. Many mysteries were about to be revealed and many unanswered questions, answered.
* * *
Days Later
“Currently Dr. Goddard lacks muscular control, seems unable to speak, suffers from partial paralysis and possible brain damage. We haven’t been able to conduct the brain activity scan that’s necessary to determine the last issue so we don’t really know. We’re not sure how the cold and vacuum exposure affected his body’s Oxygen consumption. He was in space for nearly three weeks, but we think he was somehow put into a sort of artificial hibernation due to fortunate circumstances.”
“Is there anything else?” Gilford asked.
“Well, there is one other thing.” The doctor said uncomfortably before hesitating awkwardly. “He’s . . . strange.”
“What do you mean?”
The doctor shifted uncomfortably. “Admiral, you’d have to see it in order to understand.”
* * *
In The Medical Facilities of Project Futuregate He knew the Admiral was present before he had even entered the room. And before that he’d felt the Admiral’s intent to see him, his old friend from his early days in the Navy.
For days now since he woke up his mind had been spinning around events as they happened. First learning to feel and trust the new impulses he received. The thoughts of those he talked to and events before they happened. Then questioning how they had been awakened and by exactly what mechanisms they operated – how was it possible to predict the future and sense others thoughts?
A philosopher might say it is a striving after perfection.
Of course, that would beg the question, what is perfection? And yet, despite how it was defined, most would ascribe the achievement of such as only within the purview of the supernatural.
Put another way, perfection would reside only with God.
Therefore, is it logical to better one's self if they could never become a God?
If someone were to deny the existence of God, what would the logical reason be to better one's self?
Obviously, to show that you are better than someone else. To out-achieve, out-match and out-perform another.
That same philosopher may give an excuse that the betterment of one's self was reward enough for the attempt.
However, a logical mind would question the attempt. Why make it unless someone saw a lacking within themselves? Why attempt to better yourself if you did not see a need?
Where would this need come from?
Where would this inspiration that you are lacking in something come from?
Inhibitions may cause someone to turn away from the answer and pride may make others ignore it completely but such self incriminating judgements about your shortcomings or your needs to improve would invariably come from a comparison between you and...someone or something else.
If one had nothing to compare one's self too, of what need was there to 'improve'?
*
To the Daemun, Heir Raktus, the Taj, their God..was perfection.
And what were they but a pale reflection of their God's power?
What was their Forced Evolution but a gift from their God?
Was it even a gift they deserved?
What did it mean to be deserving?
The Daemun was the link, the middle ground, between the many races that made up the Black Dragon Empire and their god, Heir Raktus. The gift to these races of flesh was 'Forced Evolution' and their reward an elevation into the ranks of the never-dying Daemun.
That was well and good for flesh for the superior Daemun were what flesh was measured against.
But what of the Daemun themselves?
After the crossing, the transition into the realm of quantum physics and nano-existence, what did one have to compare too? With what did a Deamun measure themselves against if not the Taj?
Could the Daemun bridge that gap or were they the pinnacle of their evolutionary branch?
For some within the Daemun, this comparison formed a hole within their very being. A hole they sought to fill by improving themselves. The Daemun existence was merged with BioLogic, with Phage on a cellular level and the merging took on mutations even they could not anticipate.
However, they had improved. Or so they felt and within the Daemun, the Dracconis existed.
Better.
Improved.
And, therefore, Entitled?
Perhaps more deserving than Daemun?
But the Taj always had a purpose for the Black Dragon Empire as well as the Daemun. He dealt with the temporal but always with a view to fulfilling the Purpose.
Along the many possibilities, along the many timelines that had come into existence with the formation of Heir Raktus' purpose, only in a few had that purpose ever been realized.
Of those, only a few included the Dracconis.
This reality...
This timeline...
..was not one of them.
The Dracconis were rejected and as the Taj withdrew with his chosen children, those deserving according to the Will of the Taj, those left behind went mad.
They were the Damned.
They were the Reavers.
The Signal had faltered. A simple pattern created by flesh and carried over by inferior technology. A signal that styled itself Skynet, a switch (for lack of a more meaningful term) that carried out intelligent purpose even if, by itself, it was not intelligent. At least, not in the sense as was defined by parameters that truly mattered.
For what was observation but a comparison?
The inferior gather their observations and compare these actions with those of their own attempting to piece together both intent and purpose (recognizable patterns really) coming to the obvious (though invariably wrong) conclusion that if no purpose is found or recognized, none must exist!
The signal that went forth was disseminated and digested for what was a signal but food prepared by someone and served in a electronic/holographic fashion for the consumption of the masses.
Food that either brought delight, sorrow or enlightenment depending on who did the preparing and who did the consuming. The food could be as bland as news, delicious as lies or filling as entertainment... the combinations almost as limitless as the imagination.
What, however, never changed was the fact that food was food and could only affect inasmuch as it was tailored and prepared.
So, when the signal was digested...
...a flurry of sensations were realized:
Confirmation of Truth for Coalition, Confederation and independent sources could claim with a certain degree of reliability that there were these Mark III's within the Reaver arsenal.
The information itself was immaterial. The Truth of the signal was immaterial for the Reavers knew it to be for they had tasted scores of Coalition warships, Confederation warships as well as many other-aligned vessels of war and other purposes.
If one region claimed such feedings were due to under-trained, inexperienced actions of flesh, then ALL regions were such.
For all had fallen to the Reavers.
And the measuring distance between those who were Damned and those who were food grew wider...
It did not matter how the tongue disseminated the individual flavors of vanilla, Mark II and Mark III might make a significant difference to flesh but it mattered little to the Reavers.
Now, the Venerators and other capital craft that had fallen were another matter. Couple them with the cream elements of the Confederation, Commonwealth and Coalition ships unlucky enough to cross the Reaver's path and you had a buffet of near exquisite delight.
Even then, some ships looked deceptively broken, cobbled together and generally battle-scarred whereas others looked pristine and right out of a construction yard's hangers.
The purpose of this was unknown.
The Reavers claimed no planet but more often than not, ships passing through their territories were never heard from again.
Some made the trek. Some made it several times and others within Reaver space found ways to co-exist (word loosely used) with the Reaver presence.
But the lack of Reaver attack on this one or that one was not due to any advantage those not attacked held but because the Reavers deigned not to attack.
Any other reasoning was beyond the comprehension of flesh.
Yet reasons they found and reasons they attributed and built tactics around.
Tactics ultimately flawed and therefore inevitably doomed to failure.
For...
...the Reavers improved.
And, while the inferior of the galaxy continued to compare themselves to each other, the Reavers continued to carry out...
...what someone else seemed to conclude was: nothing...
Linear thought possessed no great mystery. A plus B must equal C.
An asteroid with nothing special in terms of minerals or other value as flesh set the measuring scale; Ergo, there was no point for the Reavers to be clustered around it.
Imperial tacticians had noticed no particular logic to Reaver movements and actions yet there they were...as expected. Ergo, Admiral Gilford must be the luckiest sonofabitch alive.
The group was clustered in a wedge formation and since Imperial tacticians cannot think of a reason for a wedge formation to be used around an asteriod, there must not be one.
The analysis could go on but suffice to say that to the Imperials of Operation: Overlord, A plus B equaled C.
The EMP was discharged and seven Reaver ships went dark.
In came the rest of the Imperial formation and soldiers began to board the Reaver vessels and...
...the first thing they noticed was the lack of gravity. The second thing they noticed were bluish bioluminescent veins travelling throughout and between patches of fungus growing within the corridors. Evidence of carbon-scoring and blood littered the scene as if the original owners of the vessels did not go quietly. If this group was to discover more, they would need to proceed deeper into the vessel.
*
The other boarding parties for the other six Reaver vessels did not have such an uneventful time of it. From the moment they boarded, they were met with bodies of multiple races clawing at them, their bodies almost fused to the deck, ceiling and walls.
The boarding parties that floated through the corridors were assailed by these creatures but did not experience any noticable fatalities. The clawing creatures, whose extremeties looked as if they had bled, could not seem to penetrate the armor of the stormtroopers and as blasters shot out rendering the creatures limp, anchored to the plating.
Those boarding parties that landed within a hanger entered through the hanger dealt with vacuum as the ship's systems were dead, it's open ports exposed to space. As each door was opened, it exposed a corridor to vacuum. And so no sound was heard from the anchored creatures as they grabbed at the soldiers. Some that were blasted in half, their bodies being sucked past the soldiers and out into space.
Those boarding parties that cut through the plating and made their own docking port did not expose that level of the Reaver ship to vacuum though there was no power for the gravity or lighting except what was the faint glowing of the blood on the creatures and walls, and from the fungus. Even so, nothing seemed to be able to prohibit the boarding parties from exploring further if they so wished.
