The Corellian League Back Story - Chapter One - Part 9

“Covering fire!!” Theydon growled through the Comm-link. The Sith Trooper regiment had advanced across the reception plaza, the remaining Sentinel Droids hovering on the flanks. And as they entered firing range, the Lieutenant became instantly aware of the young Consular and his laborious retreat. Every plasma impact on the Force Shield staggered the Jedi, every step eliciting a grimace and growl of pain. The weight of Corporal Connor’s limp body taxed his connection with the Force, and yet he struggled on.

“Cover the Jedi’s withdrawal!” Theydon ordered, as he lined up a Sith Trooper in his sights and brought him down. Wes Colton was close now, but a mere dozen paces from the foot of the stairs leading to the service elevator. But that distance seemed interminable for the young Consular.

Wes stumbled yet again, and as the coordinated fire of a dozen troopers and two Sentinel droids barraged his Force Shield, he finally collapsed. Dre clattered beside him in a heap of scarred battle armor, and the shield dissipated with little more than a slight pop of air. He prepared for the end, attempting to draw his mind to his spiritual center one last time. But a shadow fell over him, as Theydon hurdled his two downed comrades, dropping to a crouch, and began to rain down plasma fire upon the advancing Sith. He freed an arm, continuing to spray plasma bolts haphazardly into the mass of enemies, quickly plucking fragmentation grenades from his utility belt. He primed and tossed three in rapid succession, continuing to fire the blaster rifle until the power pack had been spent. Explosions rocked the ranks of troopers, tearing down a dozen of the Sith and scattering their lines. Dropping the rifle, the Lieutenant waved down two more troopers from his squad.

“Give me the heavy,” he ordered to one of them as they approached, “And pull these two back to cover.”

“I do not require assistance,” Wes gasped between heaving breaths.

“Enough heroics for one day,” Theydon snapped back, taking up the heavy blaster rifle from his subordinate. “Fall back.” The veteran trooper began to unload a hailstorm of fire on the still buckling Sith lines.

Begrudgingly, Wes did as commanded, accepting a steadying arm from one the troopers and began to slowly move toward the service elevator.

Theydon continued to fire uninterrupted, until finally, a flash of movement from his periphery gave him a moment’s pause. Head jerking to the left, he found two Sentinels bearing down on him. The Lieutenant dove desperately for cover as they fired down on him from near point blank range. He dropped the heavy blaster and tucked into a roll, popping to his feet on one of the droid’s flanks. He leaped toward the repulsor-elevated droid, latching onto its midsection, and grappling his way up. The security droid beeped and chirped frantically, spinning and rocking to try and rid itself of the unwanted passenger. Holding tight and clambering atop the droid’s dome, Theydon drew his pistol. Peeling back a small blast shield with a groan, the trooper thrust the barrel of his pistol into the exposed compartment. He fired off several rounds, sparks and small tendrils of smoke leaping up at him. A terrible whine sounded from the droid, one that quickly became garbled before cutting out completely. The droid began to spin in place, bobbing as the repulsor drive began to sputter. Its twin blaster rifles began to fire unabated, every system within the droid going haywire amidst the electronic death throes.

As the Sentinel thudded against a polished stone walkway, Theydon leaped down and grabbed hold of one of the droid’s arm. With a strain he angled the rifle toward a second Sentinel that was closing upon him. A cascade of heavy plasma bolts tore through the droid’s shielded lower half, rupturing the repulsor drive. The Sentinel erupted into a fountain of blue fire, incinerating all those within a half dozen paces.

The Lieutenant broke into a full sprint, the Sith lines beginning to reform behind him and blaster fire nipping at his heels. As he reached the stairs, one of his trooper’s tossed him a second pistol.

“Retreat, Lieutenant?” The trooper queried through the communications channel.

Chest heaving, Theydon shook his head. “Not an option. If we give up this foothold the Jedi in the spire will be cutoff.”

Silence filled the Comm-link.

“Now…hold the line!” Taking cover, the Lieutenant opened fire once again.

The Fair Game whisked quietly through the pitch of night, traveling a lane high above Coronet City, where only a faint glow of the city reflected on the freighter’s weathered hull. Marq’s hands gripped the controls with unusual force, and they trembled quite uncharacteristically. The Captain pulled one hand free of the stick, drawing it up close to his face. He inspected the trembling extremity with a moment of disdain and then chuckled at it in an attempt at forced levity.

The attempt failed.

Reaching inside his vest he pulled out a small cloth pouch and shook it once for good measure. The plastic credit chips inside rattled, and while the sound might not have been satisfying, the credits paid by the Bounty Hunter was no small sum. His lips twitched, and he tossed the pouch atop the console to his left.

The smuggler wanted to say, “Easy money,” and enjoy the earnings paid for so little effort. That was, after all, the true measure of a smuggler’s job acuity.

But the truth was he hadn’t the stomach to utter them. Marq’s eyelids fluttered, regret taking ahold of his gut like a foul brew served in the Unknown Odds.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a smuggler…and this is the name of the game.”

A long, tenuous silence answered him in kind.

“Everyone you’ve ever known who had delusions of grandeur has ended up in only one place.” He paused for a moment to consider the counter argument. “Ridiculous!” He howled. “There’s not an ounce of profit in it either.”

The distant thrum of the engines and quiet hum filling the cockpit begged to differ.

The smuggler’s lips twitched more severely then, and he rolled his eyes. “You are a fool Marq Tirnel!”

And with that he returned his free hand to the flight controls. With a sharp yank, the Fair Game banked hard across the night sky of Corellia, its vector fixed once again on the Coronet Municipal Center.

Kell had to admit that the marksmanship of the Imperial Agent was impressive, and he found himself rooted in place atop the mass driver generator. His energy and focus was consumed in deflecting the plasma bolts of two blaster pistols. The Chiss appeared calm and collected, even in the presence of a highly skilled Jedi, and she slowly sidestepped toward the edge of the weapon’s platform.

Kell Malo could no longer suffer the delay, knowing full well the force being brought to bear on Tormax and his companions within the complex. Leaping over the barrage of blaster fire, he landed behind the pilot’s seat, where the Sith officer fought desperately with the controls to bring the platform back online. The dark—hued lightsaber skewered the back of the seat, killing the officer in a painless instant. The weapon’s officer at his side shrieked in panic and tried to raise his blaster to fire on the Jedi. With a quick flick of his wrist, Kell sliced the barrel clean off the pistol. The Jedi Knight lifted the officer from his seat with the Force, and with a disdainful glower pushed him away and over the edge of the weapon platform’s cockpit. With a scream of terror, the Sith tumbled from sight.

But Kell had known the risk of the maneuver, knew that he was presently exposed. The Force sounded a warning in his head, and as he spun, a vibro-blade slashed across his hip, cutting through his robes and rending flesh. Hobbled, Kell fell into a desperate spin, managing to get clear of a plasma bolt that had been aimed at his chest. It zipped by harmlessly, but immediately in its wake the Chiss Agent’s foot wheeled towards him at the end of a viscous roundhouse kick. The stiff sole of her boot struck his arm and sent his lightsaber skittering away across the floor of the weapon’s platform.

A second kick swiped toward his head, but with a flash of movement, Kell’s hand darted up and snatched the Chiss by the ankle. With a growl and firm yank, he spun her violently to the ground before shuffling backwards. Deftly, the Agent landed in a ready crouch and fired her pistol. Kell twisted away from the plasma bolt and reached out with the Force. He plucked the pistol from her grip and sent it spinning away into the darkness.

Snarling, the Imperial Agent leaped across the platform, hurdling a console, intent upon reaching the lightsaber. Despite the flaring pain in his hip, Kell noted her direction and understood her intent. The Chiss leaped toward the Jedi weapon, arms outstretched. But just as her fingers would have grasped the hilt of the lightsaber it was whisked away. The Agent flicked her gaze toward the Jedi Knight, as the lightsaber floated effortlessly into his open palm. Kell advanced on her slowly, severely favoring his wounded side, hand cupped over the wound, as blood spilled between his fingers.

The silvery sheen of the lightsaber washed over the pale blue skin of the Chiss as it flared to life. Kell leveled the blade upon the Agent, thinking for a moment to spare her life.

But the hatred and resolve within her dark eyes bespoke an inevitable truth. She would not relent, would never surrender to a Jedi or any facet of the Republic. Kell drew a deep breath, steeled his gaze, and cut her down.

The saga continues... Chapter One - Part 10