The Corellian League Back Story - Chapter One - Part 6

Tormax busies himself with seeking out both information and allies. In particular, he sends word to several Republic officers and troopers he had served with during the Great War. What they require now is both the firepower and tactical wherewithal that only disciplined Republic Troopers can offer. The notion of an aggressive military strategy to combat the Sith and the corruption rotting at Coronet City’s very heart was quite foreign to a Jedi. Never-the-less, the time for Jedi pacifism is at an end. Such doctrines had failed to anticipate and hold back the Sith and had relegated the Corellian Order to impotence. They would take the fight to the Sith.

Joined by “Warhead” Theydon, Dresage Connor, and the troopers’ unlikely ally, Jedi Colton, the rebels launch a covert operation to infiltrate Coronet City’s main municipal Center. Their mission: to follow the last known lead Noval Colton had uncovered and expose the corruption within.

''Dusk crept across the Coronet skyline, all too eager to bathe the city in neon-checkered darkness. Crimson light shimmered upon the glass and metal superstructures, and not far beyond the reach of the tallest buildings, a Corellian XS Light Freighter discretely plied a common trade lane. This freighter, euphemistically known as Fair Game, was from a common stock line of the CEC. As such, she attracted little attention, handled well in a pinch, and was easily illegally modified to suit the needs of someone who wanted to operate in that grey area; not quite outside the law, just on the edges of it.''

Captain Marq Tirnel, on the other hand, was anything but common stock. In his hands the Fair Game was the perfect marriage of enterprising anonymity and self-reliance. Modestly, he viewed himself much the same way. Ever alert, Marq watched the Coronet cityscape through the bridgeview as it quietly slipped under the blanket of night. His eyes shifted to the scanners, attempting to note any signs of irregular flight patterns in his vicinity.

Nothing yet.

His hand gripped the throttle and eased it back, the ion drive dimming but slightly, and the freighter trembled as the deceleration factor took hold.

“Problem?” Tormax asked, the Jedi Consular having sat with respectful silence up until then.

Marq shook his head, tapping his finger on the scanner. “No…but I wouldn’t have expected any. Not yet.” He groaned subtly, his smuggler’s sensibilities nagging at him. There was no profit to be had in this gambit, and he felt more and more foolish every time he acknowledged that fact.

“You do know that the Municipal Center is heavily guarded by the CDF?” The Captain shook his head. “Getting us down to the Landing Pad will be the easy part.”

Tormax raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “We are not aiming for a fight, Captain. If the government has remained loyal to Corellia there will be no complications.” Tormax tilted his head to the side.

“Merely…an unofficial query on behalf of the Jedi Council.”

“Then why involve me? Why not just walk through the front door,” Marq grumbled, doing little to cover the irritation that had taken over his tone.

“Because your unseemly informant’s information regarding Master Noval suggests otherwise,” Jaxon added, standing in the threshold to the bridge. The Jedi Knight had donned his combat armor beneath his robes, light weight plates of plastoid-alloy composite covering his torso and parts of his extremities.

Marq rolled his eyes. “My dear, noble Jedi Knight…unseemly information tends to come from only one source.”

“Which is why we asked you,” Jaxon replied, face hard as stone.

Having sat through too many of these verbal squabbles already, Tormax interjected. “Do you trust this Rattataki Bounty Hunter?”

“Of course not,” Marq answered incredulously.

Tormax’s eyes widened in surprise.

“But I do expect her to honor the deal we made and the credits paid. In my world, that’s about as close to trust as we get.” A chime sounded from the control pane before him. “Five minutes.”

Tormax glanced over his shoulder, flashing a discrete hand signal toward his friend. Jaxon hesitated for a moment, his disdainful gaze lingering on the smuggler. “I will gather the others,” he said at last, before disappearing from sight.

“Charming…to the last.” Marq said no longer bothering to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. Tormax tilted his head to the side. “He is simply a man of great spiritual devotion. He sees his path through the galaxy with great clarity.” There was a glint of levity in the corner of the Consular’s usually stern eyes.

“You mean he is a stubborn bore?”

“Did I say that?” Tormax flashed the Captain a quick grin, before his eyes fixed on the outline of a massive superstructure silhouetted against the deepening purples of the horizon. White and gold lights lined the complex lines and accents of the exquisitely architected government building, allowing it to stand out within the sea of neon and halogen. The Coronet Municipal Complex sprawled the equivalent of several city blocks, its main hub a truncated pyramid, the walls a latticework of steel beams and glass that snared the night stars and the refracted neon of the city. Framing the main hub were three cylindrical spires of similar metal and glass composition, each connected to the trapezoidal superstructure by glass enclosed observation bridges. Brilliant halogen running lights illuminated the flybridges, and much like a beacon, they drew the Fair Game closer.

“The landing pad is atop of the central spire,” Marq said, clutching the flight controls firmly, as he slowed the freighter and guided it in for a hopefully discrete landing.

“And the left tower houses the archives and datacenter…yes, I know.”

“As well as the generators and coolant systems for the entire facility…please try to be careful.” Marq keyed several buttons on the control panel, and a chime sounded, followed by the hiss of escaping gas and a mechanical grind as the landing gear descended.

“When am I not?” Tormax responded wryly.

Marq raised his eyebrows. “Well, we haven’t been shot down yet. I suppose that’s a start.”

“Best to stay with the pragmatic sense of dread, my friend. Your optimism is a tad disconcerting.”

The landing pad was a broad circular platform capable of supporting five light freighters and similar sized escort crafts. A security bunker guarded the entrance to the flybridge and several heavy laser cannons and a dozen medium blaster turrets ringed the pad. The Fair Game initiated a hover and slowly began to descend toward the platform.

Marq’s eyes were fixed to the bridgeview, as he assessed any and all activity upon the landing pad. Service droids scurried about, following their set routines, and while the blaster turrets tracked their approach, the smuggler had dealt with enough approaches such as this to know it was routine protocol.

There was only one other ship on the landing pad, a weathered and bruised Rendili Hyperworks BT-7 Thunderclap assault vessel.

“I certainly hope that belongs to your friend…Lieutenant Theydon.”

“As do I.” Tormax drew a heavy breath, as the freighter shuddered, the landing gear flexing as they touched down and absorbed the mass of the ship. The Jedi extended his hand. “I will see you after.”

Strangely reticent, Marq took up the Consular’s hand. “I’ll be ready and waiting. Good luck.”

Once the Jedi was gone, the door to the bridge sliding closed with a hiss and the whine of aged metal, Captain Marq Tirnel was left alone with his discordant thoughts. The prospect of regret weighed heavy upon him, and his gaze shifted warily to the side. He spied a flashing symbol on the communications panel and drew a deep breath.

The ramp to the cargo bay descended with excruciating slowness. The four Jedi stood side by side at the top of the ramp, green robes shimmering in the false light of the cargo hold. The metal support arms lowering the ramp groaned and shuddered as they completed their cycle and Jaxon exhaled a groan to match.

“I’m surprised this bucket of bolts did not come apart at the seams on the flight over,” the Jedi Knight spat in disdain.

“It has served its purpose,” Bel Drayson said, arms crossed and fingers tucked beneath his tabard.

“Don’t forget, my friend…being inconspicuous best serves our ends these days,” Perth Colton added with a smile. The Consular wore his Corellian green robes of Ottegan silk cinched at the waist by a black, leather utility belt fitted with several pouches and hooks to carry his lightsaber, datapad, and basic survival equipment.

Jaxon merely shrugged and drew his cloak close in about this body, concealing the Jedi battle armor. As the ramp completed its cycle, Tormax stepped forward, his fingers clutching his utility belt. He strode silently down the ramp, emerging from the Fair Game to a starlit night and the cold teeth of the heavy wind whipping across the top of the tower. The others followed behind him, hoods now drawn and cowls dangling low across their faces. He moved with a purposeful gait across the landing pad, cutting through the wind and past curious droids toward the guardhouse.

As he drew within a dozen or so meters, he slowed at the sight of several CDF security personnel toppled over near their posts. Five Republic Troopers had taken up defensive positions around the blast door. Two of the troopers approached the Jedi, joined by another similarly shrouded beneath a dark brown cloak and familiar green robes.

Tormax held out his arms with an incredulous look and then motioned to the fallen CDF guards.

“Theydon? I thought we agreed…”

The Lieutenant raised his hand, blaster rifle slung over his shoulder. “Merely incapacitated. Quite a bit of spit and vinegar in this lot. You’d think a little humility would be in order these days…the state of the Republic and all.”

“Good to see you, Warhead,” Jaxon said. “It has been a long time since that trouncing we took on Coruscant.

“Too true, my friend. You remember Corporal Conner?”

“Of course,” Jaxon answered, beaming a rare smile. “Glad to see you are still alive, Dre.”

“Likewise, Master Jedi.”

Bel purposefully stepped forward and with a quick, curt wave of his hand thrust the pleasantries aside. “The banter can wait. We have delicate matters to attend to.” His gaze shifted to the silent, robed figure, and he reached out with the force. He sensed no malice or ill-intent. “And who is this, Lieutenant? Picking up stray Jedi along the way?”

“You could say that. He’s a Consular…Wes Colton.”

“Colton?” Jaxon asked in a surprised tone and glanced toward Perth. “How many of them are you?”

Wes threw back his hood. “It is a common surname, brother; but a noble and proud one to be sure. Master Drayson…I serve the Jedi and have been a member of the Corellian Order since I was a boy.” Bel eyed him suspiciously.

“Noval did not take fondly to the order’s apathy, Uncle.” Tormax added. “We best be cautious…they could have sent him to keep a watchful eye on us.”

“Doubt that,” Dresage interjected. “We stumbled upon him picking fights with a local gang.”

“I like him already,” Jaxon said with a vote of confidence.

Bel stepped toward the young green robe. “Listen to me carefully, young one. By aiding us you will not be able to return to the conclave. By aiding us you may become a subversive element in the eyes of the By aiding us you most likely will become a subversive troublemaker and an outcast in the eyes of the CDF.”

“I understand.”

“And you swear to do as commanded?”

“I do.” Wes straightened his back. “My loyalties lie with the Jedi and planet of my birth.”

Another moment, long and filled with anticipation, passed. A particularly violent gust of wind charged across the landing pad, billowing the Jedi’s robes and tossing their hoods askew. Bel extended his hand. “For Corellia…”

Wes smiled eagerly and took up the elder Jedi’s hand with a curt bow of his head.

“Lieutenant!” One of the troopers standing beside the blast door called out to his squad leader. “Security protocols hacked.”

Theydon noted the time on his HUD and motioned toward Tormax. “Time to go,” he said bluntly. As the blast door slid up with a sharp hiss, the squad of troopers led the Jedi contingent into the security station. A short while later they emerged upon the observation bridge, pace quickening as they traversed the 100-meter expanse, naught but transparent, plastoid alloy separating them from the streets several hundred meters below.

Across the flybridge the party passed through a reception forum and approached a service elevator. Flanking the broad elevator doors were two CDF sentries who bristled as the heavily armed troopers and Jedi approached, blaster rifles slipping from shoulder harnesses to a ready state cradled across their chests.

“Halt!” One of them called out. “Access is restricted at this hour.”

Bel stepped forward, enveloping himself in as calm an aura as possible. “Greetings. I am Bel Drayson of the Jedi Order. We are here on official mandate from the Jedi Council.”

The sentry twitched slightly. “The Jedi Council has no jurisdiction here…this facility is the property of the Coronet government.”

The aura about Bel hardened. “I was not aware the Jedi were bound by jurisdictional boundaries.” The sentry did not like the sound of that, his finger slowing sliding across the handgrip and wrapping about the trigger. “Things change,” the sentry said, a hard edge forming around his words. “We have our orders where Jedi are concerned.”

Tormax flicked a sideward glance at Perth, the Consulars’ suspicions beginning to coalesce into an unfortunate reality. Bel sensed it too, and without hesitation he drew his hand in a subtle sweeping motion across his midsection. “You will allow us to pass.”

There was a slight moment of reticence, before the sentry’s eyes glazed over, and his grip on the blaster rifle slackened. “You may pass,” the Corellian intoned vacantly.

“You will report all clear to your watch commander and you will defend this position against all who might attempt to follow us.” Bel narrowed his eyes, focusing on the tendrils of the force that wrapped about the sentry’s subconscious mind.

“It will be done,” the sentry said at last, and he stepped clear of the service elevator doors. Dresage stepped toward the control panel and keyed their route to the Municipal Reception Plaza. Once inside, Theydon cocked his head toward Tormax.

“Nasty business…playing with a man’s head like that.” As the pull of gravity rooted their feet, he readied his weapon. “I sure hope you never try that with me.”

Tormax grinned subtly. “Not to worry…it never works on bull-headed gun hands like you.” He sensed Theydon’s answer of a smile beneath his trooper’s helmet.

The speeder bike careened through the halogen and neon infused Coronet night. Designed by Aratech Corporation, the Urban Navigator was a common enough street bike on most industrialized worlds, and at the moment its speed and anonymity suited its passengers well.

Quyn weaved and bobbed through the heavy city traffic, utilizing her optical amplifiers to assess the ideal routes and safe distances for truly unsafe maneuvers. Seated in the sidecar, Kell Malo felt anything but safe, and he cast his young, rogue companion the occasional dour look.

“If you had done as I asked, this ridiculous speeder and your questionable piloting would not have been necessary.”

Quyn Vigil glared down at her companion. His knack for offering advice and tendency to correct many of her grandiose notions was fast becoming irritating. “Forgive me, Master Jedi,” she said with feigned deference. “But not everything in this galaxy can be solved by swinging a lightsaber. It took me time to track down that Rattataki Bounty Hunter.”

“And what if we’re too late?” Kell asked, hopes quite the contrary.

Quyn’s face hardened, and she accelerated the speeder bike even faster.

They would not be too late...

Stepping off the service elevator, the Jedi and their trooper escort entered a sprawling plaza hundreds of meters across. It was a gathering hall of sorts, designed more for aesthetics and municipal functions. Glass ceilings hung a hundred or so meters overhead, false light bathing the plaza in perpetual daylight. Exquisitely manicured gardens and ornamental blossoming trees filled the space amongst walkways, fountains and raised dais.

And strangely, there was not a guard in sight.

Taken with the strange behavior of the service elevator sentries, Bel knew something was wrong. Reaching out with the force, the Consular’s mind touched a dark reverberation nearby. “We have trouble,” he whispered to Perth and Tormax. “Lieutenant, I need your squad to hold this position.”

“Problem, Master Drayson?” Theydon asked, even as his hand busily motioned the troopers to tactical positions about the elevator.

“The Sith are here,” the old master stated bluntly.

A long moment of pensive silence passed between them. None of them had actually encountered a Sith since the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant. The notion of them infiltrating this deep into the heart of Coronet, a blatant violation of the treaty, was a gut-wrenching prospect.

Dre cocked his head toward Theydon and nodded. “Told you it was the Sith.”

Perth leaned in close to Tormax and Bel. “We need to reach the archives and datacenter quickly then…we must find the information Master Noval was searching for before the Sith do.”

Tormax recalled the building’s layout from memory. “The security elevator to the archive spire should be over there.” Facing the service elevator, he pointed some distance off to the left.

“Wes, stay and aid Theydon’s squad,” Bel ordered. “You must hold this position, else we will be unable to return to the landing pad.”

“Yes, Master,” Wes said, as he shrugged off his cloak and took up position beside Theydon.

“You three…” He motioned to Tormax, Perth and Jaxon. “With me.”

The saga continues... Chapter One - Part 7