The Corellian League Back Story - Chapter One - Part 12

Lieutenant Theydon and his squad were hard pressed. The Sith Trooper lines had advanced to the last of the ornamental gardens and pathways, and the Republic Trooper squad’s supply of power packs, sticky grenades and thermal detonators was running dangerously low.

Blaster fire pounded the façade at their backs and the short walls being used as cover. And while a placed grenade throw or accurately sustained volley from the heavy blaster would force the Sith lines to falter, any reprieves were momentary at best.

But without regard to the loss of life around them, the Sith would seal the breach and continue their advance.

“Lieutenant!” One of the troopers squawked desperately through the Comm-link. “We can’t hold!”

Theydon was about to chastise his trooper, when a familiar voiced sounded over the Comm-link. “Clear the channel,” Dre barked, the Corporal limping up beside the Lieutenant. His wounded arm was slung across his chest in a make-shift sling, and blood still ran from the gouged plastoid armor along his hip.

“You look terrible,” Theydon murmured, firing off a few quick shots to accentuate the statement.

“I look worse than I feel,” the young corporal grunted, heaving up a blaster rifle and positioning it on top of the covering wall. “One good trigger finger is enough.” He squeezed off a few charged plasma bolts.

“You know we can’t hold, right?” Dre asked.

A knowing silence hissed through Comm-link.

“Right.”

Within the Sith lines a decorative fountain lifted free of its foundations and came crashing down on several unsuspecting troopers, pulverizing them beneath a ton of shattered stone. Theydon and Dre jerked their heads to the side, begrudged smiles forming on their hidden faces as they beheld Wes manipulating the Force with both arms extended. If the Consular could hold out, maybe…just maybe, they could buy the Jedi in the spire the time they needed.

“Hold the line?” Dre restated the order as a question.

“Right.” And with that both troopers unleashed another torrent of blaster fire.

“Time is short, Quyn,” Kell pressed. The Jedi Knight, still paling somewhat from the loss of blood, hovered over the young smuggler. Quyn lay on her back, head and shoulders tucked under an access panel at the base of the mass driver reactor.

Quyn rolled her eyes. “Is patience not a virtue they teach Jedi?”

“I have never been one for slavish adherence to virtue.” Kell’s eyes darted toward the municipal complex, noting with no small degree of worry as the last of the Sith Trooper battalion filed through the breach.

Quyn snorted as she continued to fiddle with wires, attempting to bring the mass driver cannon back online. “It would have been helpful if you shared this little scheme of yours with me.” She pushed a few errant strands of red hair from her eyes. “I might not have rammed this old piece of scrap with the speeder bike.”

Kell smirked. “Improvisation is the true measure of tactical genius.”

And with that the low thrum of the mass driver reactor sounded, and the deck beneath Kell’s feet began to vibrate.

Quyn popped to her feet and winked at Kell in passing. “What would you do without me?” She hurried to the weapon officer’s seat and furiously stabbed at a rapid succession of buttons and touch displays. She snapped her head to the side, glancing over her shoulder at the cannon. No noticeable movement of servos that controlled the angle and pitch of the cannon. “Blast it.”

“Shall I give it a push?” Kell asked with deftly cloaked sarcasm.

Quyn scowled at him and returned to her feverish prodding of the control panel. Finally, the cannon let loose a low groan and the servos hissed as the barrel jerked to the side. The targeting display on the control panel fixed on the last of the Sith Troopers filing into the breach. She flicked a glance back at the cannon one last time, noting for good measure that the barrel’s orientation looked right.

“Hold tight,” the smuggler warned, and she tapped the fire button. The air around the weapons platform sizzled with electricity, the magnetic fields given off by the mass driver exciting every electron in its vicinity. There was a momentary flash of light, and the super-accelerated shell raced toward its target. The broad flight of stairs leading to the now smoldering entrance plaza disintegrated, Sith Troopers either vaporized or propelled dozens of paces away from the epicenter of the blast.

Quyn grinned and glanced toward Kell.

The Jedi Knight replied in kind, but a moment of worry flashed across his face. “We have drawn some well-earned attention.” The trailing elements of the Sith force had turned on the weapons platform, intent now to bring it down.

“I won’t be able to pinpoint a small, moving target like that…” Quyn glanced about. “Can you handle the platform’s defensive systems?”

Kell cocked an eyebrow.

Quyn swore under her breath. “Can you find it within your mystical Jedi notions to fire a damn blaster?”

“Of course, sir,” Kell snapped back, and he hopped into the pilot’s see beside his young companion. Reaching out with the Force, Kell triggered the platform’s defense lasers, guiding the targeting system with the aid of the Force. Blaster fire began to pummel the side of the platform, and Kell opened fire. A barrage of laser fire ignited the grassy expanse between the platform and complex, incinerating a dozen troopers as they desperately dove for cover that did not exist.

“Fire into the breach, Quyn…”

“Into it?” She yelped.

“We need to try and make a dent on the Sith inside the complex.” Kell paused for a moment of introspection, even as he keyed the lasers to fire again. “Just be careful not to bring down the entire complex.”

Quyn scowled back at him, before keying the new coordinates. The mass driver groaned again, its barrel elevating, coming to bear on its next target.

“Any signal from the Jedi?” Dre yelled over the Comm-link. “We’re running out of time.” Laying the blaster atop the makeshift rampart, the trooper quickly replaced the power pack with his one functional arm.

“Nothing,” Theydon replied grimly, his eyes surveying the scene before him. His tactical assessment was that they were through. They simply didn’t have enough guns. And just as his lips began to part and give the order to retreat up the Service Elevator a deafening roar thundered through the entrance plaza. The unmistakable impact of a mass cannon round scattered the Sith ranks, carving a crater 10 feet deep in the ornate gardens and walkways of the plaza. Several more explosive shots followed in the wake of the first, decimating the Sith lines and causing them to fall back in disarray. Dre jerked his head toward Theydon. “Back-up?”

“But who?” Theydon responded vacantly, his mind still taking in the rampant carnage unfolding before them and the sudden turn of their tactical fortunes. “And to what purpose?” But that question would have to wait for another time. They still had an imperative to hold this position…a mandate the Lieutenant was bound and determined to see done.

But as he saw Wes darting toward his position, he knew there was a problem. “Yes, Master Jedi?”

“Either the sustained Sith attacks or something from the mass driver impacts has irreparably damaged the elevator controls.“ The Consular motioned to the trooper who was busily attempting to patch the system. “I fear your man will not be successful.”

“And the pendulum swings again,” Theydon murmured grimly.

“Sir, there may be enough clearance on the roof of the archive spire to land the Thunderclap.” Dre suggested. “We can signal the pilot when we reach it.”

Theydon considered the prospect. And while there were risks in the Corporal’s plan, the Lieutenant simply saw no other option, short of attempting to gun through the remnants of the Sith.

“Let’s try it,” he said at last. “Squad to the spire Security Elevator…on the double.”

Colorful flashes from impacting lightsabers lit up the reactor shaft, as Tormax and Darth Xisix exchanged blow upon blow, deft parries and perfectly timed counters. Their duel spanned the length of the access bridge, amidst and atop the still sparking wreckage of the security consoles. Tormax launched himself into a reverse summersault, clearing the last of the wreckage and putting some space between the combatants. With a slight grimace he took hold of a large chunk of debris with the Force and hurled it at the Sith Inquisitor.

Xisix thrust up his hand, stopping the jagged piece of metal midflight. With a look of casual indifference, he tossed the projectile aside and sneered at the Jedi.

“Your attacks are weak…your defenses futile. But I sense in you great potential, a strength Noval Colton failed to recognize.”

Sweat streamed down Tormax’s face, and the oppressive heat seemed to draw the very breath out of his lungs.

“Do not throw your life away as Noval did.” Darth Xisix extended his open palm. “Join me…and we will propel Corellia to heights of glory it has yet to experience.”

Tormax rolled back his head, his vision losing focus in the near interminable lofts of the reactor shaft. “Please Master…I need you now.”

There exists within the Jedi…within the heart of the Republic…a truth that will forever guide us to victory over the darkness and lies of the Sith.

Tormax’s eyes sprang open, as Noval’s voice suddenly filled his mind. “But their strength…it is too much.”

“Praying?” Xisix asked mockingly. “Perhaps it is for the best.” An explosion boomed from the distant shadows at the base of the spire, and the access bridge groaned, its supports shuddering. “Time runs short for you, my young Jedi.”

''Strength is no match for the bond of kinship and the binding will of loyalty. They are truths the Sith will never possess. Your trust in them now will grant you victory.''

“I don’t understand, Master.”

Bring down the bridge.

Tormax’s eyes grew wide, and he jerked his head back down, his gaze fixing on the access bridge. Xisix drew close; slow, menacing steps carrying him through the console wreckage as he approached the Jedi.

“Decide, young Tormax. I will not ask again.”

The Jedi’s face steeled over. “I choose trust and friendship.” His eyes narrowed to knifing slits. “I choose the light.”

“So unwise,” Xisix responded, the Sith’s voice taking on a truly menacing lilt. He stepped forward, prepared to strike with both blades and the dark side of the force.

Tormax launched himself forward, his leap arcing high over the Sith, his blade sweeping across the surface of the bridge as he landed. The lightsaber cut through the thick metal, sheering the bridge cleanly apart. His feet shuffled backwards, and he reached out with the Force, wrenching apart the fragments.

“Fool! You will kill us both.”

But Tormax did not relent. Guiding his lightsaber to the latch on his utility belt, the Consular thrust out with both hands, peeling back the metal and rending the support struts beneath the access bridge. Darth Xisix leveled a frown of pure hatred upon the Jedi, as he slowly worked an intricate motion with his hands. A cloud of incorporeal darkness burst around him, and suddenly, he was gone.

The Sith may have been gone, but the bridge began to disintegrate around him. He had no time, no chance to beseech the Force for one last physical impossibility. Then the Consular was falling, nothing but thousands of feet of smoldering reactor shaft below him. But then he felt the Force, felt it pulling against every cell of his body and his descent ended. Slowly, his momentum reversed and he was being propelled upwards. He found a waiting hand outstretched, as he reached the circular walkway.

“Perth!” Tormax said amidst an exhalation of pent up breath. Perth took him by the wrist, the strain on his face easing, as he released the hold of the Force. With a tug he pulled Tormax onto the walkway, and both Consular’s dropped to their knees, fatigue finally taking hold.

“Found you,” Perth breathed.

“I knew you would,” Tormax responded knowingly. “Darth Xisix?”

“Gone for now,” Tormax answered, his gaze returning to the jutting fragments that remained of the bridge. “For now.”

“Pity,” Perth grumbled. “But the Sith will have to wait for another day…this place is coming down around us. Time to go.” The two Consular’s, loyal companions and kin, struggled back up the corridor, bound for the archival chamber.

The saga continues... Chapter One - Part 13