Governor Orzik sat in his office, a plush suite in 120 Austere Plaza, from which the rulers of the planet Lasoris Minor traditionally ruled.  In the days of the Republic, 120 Austere Plaza belonged to the planet’s elected President, but since the Galactic Empire and later Vast Empire took over, the place had belonged to the appointed governor.

Orzik had initially revelled in his post as Governor.  For a sparsely populated backwater, Lasoris Minor was a gorgeous planet, and its capital city, with Austere Plaza its heart, was a wonder to behold.  It was a gleaming district of high domed buildings, painted in all manner of glistening colours, interspersed with fountains and richly tiled walkways.  He found it breathtaking.

And now it was his prison.

The Governor turned to face a series of vidscreens that dominated the wall to his left, relaying images from the southern continent of Lasoris Minor.  There, far from the wealth and nobility of the northern continent and the capital, the ‘dregs’ dwelt.  All these lower-class scum were good for was working the mines and tending farms, and they were beneath Orzik’s attention.  Until now.

The images on-screen were of riots.  Savage, brutal riots that were more than mere political unrest (of which a career Imperial administrator tended to see a lot).  No, what Orzik stared at now was the result of a particularly virulent strain of Arkanian Hive Virus.  It had swept through the southern continent, infecting both alien and human alike, driving them into a self-destructive madness that was more appropriate to a horror-holomovie than real life.  Every image brought back from his probe droid observers showed hordes of beings cramming the major population centres, clawing at each other with bare hands, smashing property and eating the flesh of dead.  It was chaos.

Orzik’s quick thinking had cut off the northern lands from the south, saving himself and the rest of those living in and around the capital, but those fools back on Lotaith did not trust that his measures were successful.  He had been loyal to the Vast Empire, informing them of the crisis, and in response they had blockaded the whole of Lasoris Minor.  No ship was to enter or leave, and while the VE worked on some phantom cure that may never happen, the risk of the virus spreading to the north continued to climb.

That had been two weeks ago.  Since then, Orzik had been working on an escape plan.  He had not got so far in life by taking chances, and he knew how to seize the initiative to get out of tricky situations.  Originally he planned to slip off-world past the blockade alone, secretly, but those he had contacted to assist him had demanded more payment than the Governor could manage.  And so it was that he had brought a large number of the capital’s rich and powerful elite in on the plan too, and together they had financed the assistance of the Eleven Spears Mercenaries.

So where were they?

As if on cue, a well-polished droid sauntered into his office.  BD-3000 Luxury Droids were shaped like human women, with all the curves that Orzik liked, plus a submissive personality and voice to match.  “What is it, Lidia?” Demanded the Governor.

“Priority transmission, sir,” Said the droid, her synthetic voice sweet yet sultry.  “High power frequency, cutting through the jamming of the orbiting blockade fleet.  Shall I put it through?”

At last!  “Yes, go ahead!”

A moment later a quarter-sized hologram appeared to hover over Orzik’s desk.  The image was of a grizzled veteran of a Cathar with a thick mane of hair.  The most remarkable feature of the feline alien was his brilliant snow-white fur and red eyes, marking him as one of the exceedingly rare albinos of his race.  “We are here,” Said the figure with a voice that sounded born to command.

“Admiral Ralthra,” Greeted the Governor warmly.  “You have arrived just in time.  The VE continues to stall with promises of medical aid, but it does not arrive.  Instead my skies are filled with ever-more warships of the Navy, and my people grow restive at the starport.  Are you ready?”

“We are,” Said the Cathar.  “The Eleven Spears are poised at the edge of the system.  We will micro-jump into orbit in precisely one hour.  We will engage the outermost forces of the blockade fleet, and occupy them while you and any other civilian ships launch.  I stress again that my people are taking on a big risk by going up against the VEN.  We are not able to engage in a protracted battle.  We will give you a small window of opportunity, so I suggest you use it well!”

Orzik bit back a retort.  He was paying exorbitantly for the services of the mercenaries, and he was expecting more of a commitment than Ralthra seemed to be offering.  Instead the Governor swallowed his pride and said, “We will be ready.  Orzik out.”

And so it began.  Now the Governor just needed to inform everyone in the capital with their own private ship that the time to leave was nigh.  Not that he felt any loyalty to the people he governed, of course.  Orzik did not care if anyone save himself got away in the fiasco that was about to unfold.

He just needed the other civilian ships as distractions and cover...

-----

Standing in the cavernous room that the Imperial II-Class Star Destroyer Halcyon Warrior called a bridge, Captain Dracule ‘Drac’ Mihawk listened to the background noise of his dedicated crew, going through their routines with quiet competence.  Striding forward along the command walkway, the Mon Calamari came to a stop at the massive viewing port, and from there surveyed the fleet that was drifting lazily around Lasoris Minor.

Most of their ships were in geo-synchronous orbit above the planet’s capital, as it was from the starport there that any potential civilian ships would try to flee.  In the last two weeks, a handful had even tried, but the ion cannons of the fleet had put a stop to them quickly.  Drac had also stationed a few ships around the far side of the planet, but thus far no-one had tried to slip around the world and escape that way.

Also assisting in the blockade was the nearby space station Orehold One.  A major transportation hub for the refined metals from the planet’s southern continent, Orehold One was also under quarantine.  However, its people had yet to show signs of infection and had pledged the station’s formidable defensive weaponry to assisting Mihawk’s fleet.

The Captain felt sorry for those still on the planet below.  To succumb to a Hive Virus was a terrible way to go, and one that the Mon Calamari did not wish on anyone.  Still, the Captain had faith that the VEN’s science division would find a cure that would work across all races, and have enough of it made in time to save Lasoris Minor.

He was just musing on what it would feel like to help save an entire planet from madness and certain death, when the voice of one of his bridge officers spoke up to ruin his mood and indeed his entire day.

“Captain!  Hostiles incoming!” Declared the Navigation Officer Beckany Prakiri.

A moment later and Drac’s keen eyes picked up the flicker of ships exiting hyperspace, far from the Halcyon Warrior at the far edge of their formation.  At this distance it was hard to make out their markings, but the eclectic collection of vessels definitely indicated mercenaries.

Coming quickly to the Captain’s side, his First Officer, Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail, stared in confusion at the antiquated capital ships of the merc taskforce.  “Looks like a Separatist fleet, if I recall my history correctly.”

“Reading a half-dozen capital ships of various sizes,” Continued Prakiri.  “Their shields are being raised, weapons powered up, and they are moving into attack positions!  And they are launching fighters, a mix of NovaSword and Rogue-Class fighters!”

“Notify the fleet!” Ordered Drac, though he knew the competent array of captains under his command would already be reacting to this sudden event.  “All hands, battle stations!”

As Serpent relayed the order, the Navigation Officer spoke up yet again.  “Sir, now reading vessels launching from the surface of Lasoris Minor.  Civilian ships, yachts and traders, all from the commercial and private starports of the northern continent.”

The Captain took one glance at the swarms of craft now rising from the planet below, and knew at once that their unified departure was too quick to merely be them seizing opportunistically on this new foe’s arrival.  Someone had planned this.

“We have to stop the civilians fleeing at all costs!” Declared Drac.  “Com Officer!  Tell the fleet that I want fleeing ships within the blockade disabled and captured with minimal harm to the crews.  However, anyone slipping through the blockade is to be targeted with long-range missiles and destroyed!  Refusal to surrender is to forfeit their lives,” Warned the Captain darkly.

“Yes, sir,” Said the Com Officer grimly.

“Pherik!” Continued the Captain, turning to his XO, who was also the fleet liaison to Vast Empire Naval Intelligence.  “Contact VENI, see if they can find out who these Confederate-wannabes are!”

“Yes, sir,” Said Serpent, rushing off to his workstation.

Drac’s large eyes locked onto the forces now engaging his, and then flitted over to the multitude of possibly plagued ships fleeing the planet.  Quite a dilemma indeed...

OOC:

    1580 words.  The new mission has begun!

    After Action Report:  The planet Lasoris Minor has been infected with a Hive Virus that is driving the inhabitants insane.  Thus far only the southern continent has been shown as infected, and those people in the north are worried.  The Vast Empire has quarantined the whole world, sending the Navy to blockade it.  The planet’s Governor, Orzik, is trapped on his world and, panicked, wants to get away.  In response he has contacted Admiral Ralthra of the Eleven Spears Mercenaries, who have shown up to engage the VEN and distract the blockading fleet.  As the mercs arrive, everyone on Lasoris Minor with their own ship has taken off and are now making a break for it.

    Orders:  I have not stated where ships are in the VE blockade, so that people can decide what they want to do themselves.  The main priority is to stop the potentially infected civilians escaping and carrying the Hive Virus elsewhere.  Use ion weapons or simply shoot to disable, if they are close.  Any ship slipping through and refusing an order to surrender is to be destroyed by whatever means available (such as long-range missiles).  There is also the Eleven Spears Mercenaries to worry about.  Their forces are as follows:

    1 Providence-Class Destroyer The Eleven Spears Flagship Ralthra’s Claw
    2 unnamed Ruscant-Class Light Destroyers
    1 unnamed Nebulon-B Frigate
    2 unnamed Marauder-Class Corvettes
    3 unnamed CR90 Corvettes
    Several Squadrons of Rogue-Class Fighters
    Several Squadrons of NovaSword Fighters

    To counter this, our forces are:
    Halcyon Warrior
    Brilliant
    Surprise
    Chrome Fox
    Hammer
    Dead Gun
    1 unnamed Strike-Class Cruiser
    1 unnamed CR-90 Corvette
    2 unnamed DP-20 Gunboats

It was early in the morning when Captain Declan O’Neal came up to the bridge intent on taking command of the Dublin for the day. He strode through the dual sliding doors with a sense of authority, but also taking his time with every step. His Second Officer, Connor, was on watch, and he saluted at sight of the captain. O’Neal nodded in return before making his way to the center of the bridge and stopping. Without saying anything, Connor quietly exited the bridge, leaving the captain alone to the silence.

Not nearly being the beginning of the Primary Watch, the rest of the bridge crew had not arrived, but O’Neal liked to be early. During the morning hours, the bridge was completely quiet, and the mass of activity that would ensue during the day was not present. He could quietly come in, sip at his coffee, and gaze out into the endless maze of stars. That was exactly what he was doing now. Of course, there were other bridge officers present in the room, but they soon learned that the captain liked his silence, and they weren’t to disturb him at all.

Not five minutes after he took over, he heard the doors whir open behind him. Instead of turning to look, O’Neal sipped at his coffee, allowing the warm caffeinated aroma to wake his body up. The new arrival was most likely Patrick, the Chief Engineer.

In the next few minutes, the bridge doors would open and close several more times, allowing the new bridge crew to enter, and the old one to leave. As always, everyone was to remain quiet so to not disturb the captain. O’Neal, still staring mindlessly out the viewport, was mentally counting each time the door slid open, and keeping track of who was in the room. When the last bridge officer came in, he turned around and faced his crew, sipping the last remnants of coffee out of his cup.

“Good mornin’ crew,” O’Neal said in his strange Corellian accent. “Today, as you probably guessed, we continue the blockade on the planet below. Our patrol routes are programmed into the Nav computer. Any questions? No? Great. Begin with your work.” As soon as he finished, the silence of the chamber vanished as each crewmember began their various roles aboard the Dublin.

One would think that pacing up and down the bridge for hours would get boring, especially with no orders to relay, but not for O’Neal. He enjoyed watching his crew work together in perfect, synchronized clockwork. Sure, he did regard times where it was perhaps a bit dull, but that was because they were going on simple patrols, but never outright boredom.

The Dublin, named after a city on Corellia, was a 6 gun-CR90 Corvette, two dual turbolasers and four single turbolasers. It had been in service for three years, and fought in a variety of battles, all of which were under its current captain. Though she had been damaged heavily at Coveway, Belgaroth, and Abrae, O’Neal still regarded her as one of the fastest, deadliest, and “best goddamn ship” in the entire Navy. To a certain extent, that was true. She was outfitted with some of the best crew in the fleet, most of which came from Corellia. Each crewmember was a veteran of at least a couple of years, and they knew the ship inside and out, and they knew how to put up a good fight.

The Captain’s thoughts were interrupted by the yell from a communications officer. “Sir!” he blared, “Incoming message from the Warrior.” Wondering what it could possibly be, O’Neal hurried over to the communications console where the message was already in progress.

“...First Fleet: Nine hostile ships in sector 5b-a2 and two squadrons of fighters. Sending details now. Engage at will...”

Jumping into action, the captain moved away from the console and yelled, “Prepare for batt-” but he was suddenly interrupted by his communications officer.

“Sir! The message didn’t end.” Hopping back over to the officer, O’Neal listened in on the rest of the transmission.

“...First Fleet: Several civilian ships exiting the northern hemisphere. Engage at will, but do minimal damage to the crew and passengers. Any escaping ships are to be stopped at all costs, use any means necessary...”

O’Neal now realized what was happening. In an attempt to flee the disease ridden planet, the civilians had hired the mercenaries for protection, and it was now up to the Vast Empire to stop them.

Back up on the command walkway, O’Neal explained the situation to the crew, ending with, “Prepare for battle!” In that moment, the once calm room exploded into a fury of activity. Weapons officers alerted their gun crews, defense officer booted up the shields, and helms officers began to move into attack position.

Somehow, through all of the noise, O’Neal managed to hear his Executive Officer Sean to his right.

“Good morning Captain,” he greeted with a nod.

“Mornin’ Sean. How was your night?”

“Well, you know, it was alright. Nothing abnormal.”

O’Neal hummed, watching his crew dart back and forth across the room. The bridge was at its busiest when it was preparing for battle, but he knew it would settle down as time went on.

“What do you think of the situation, Sean?” the captain asked respectfully.

“I’m sorry, I just got up when I heard the alarms, I hoped you would tell me what was happening.”

“Ah. Well, you see, we’ve got more civilian ships escaping.”

“Again? When will they give up?”

The captain frowned. “You didn’t let me finish. They’ve got armed forces this time. A group called the Eleven Spears Mercenaries. We’re to engage them and the civilian ships, but this time, if any civilian ships get through, we’re to use any means necessary to stop them. Including lethal ones.” At that moment, Sean’s face was drained of any color. O’Neal was surprised by the reaction. “Sean, what’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing,” he croaked, but he wasn’t too reassuring.

“Sean, you’re not from Corellia, are you? Your accent is different from everyone elses, where are you from?”

There was a brief silence between the two, then Sean muttered, “Lasoris Prime.”

OOC:

Word Count: 1,040. For this post, I tried a different method of writing. I’d love feedback on it. Also, I may or may not have made every one on the ship irish. When I think of Corellia, I think of Ireland, so, I kind of made it Ireland.

AAR: The Captain of the VE CR90 Corvette Dublin prepares his crew for battle while he finds out his XO is from Lasoris Prime. It should set up for some interesting interaction!

The streets were silent. Well, in this part of the once thriving city anyway. Near the spaceports, there were thousands upon thousands of civilians crowding, wanting to get off the planet despite the Imperial Blockade that was purportedly firing on civilian ships. "So much for medical aid.." Xory Vevut muttered bitterly to himself as he paused, back pressed against a wall, peering around a corner to see if it was clear. Those things.. Xory had seen a lot of horrible things in his time, but never had he seen something like this. A widespread disease that seemed to be indiscriminate as to who it infected and turned into one of 'them'. He'd heard rumours about a hive virus, but surely it wasn't real? He was just a simple Mandalorian smuggler here at the wrong time. This osik would blow over in no time. Or at least, that's what Xory thought. Confident that the alleyway was clear, he dashed forward, hurrying down the shadowy path. This place smelt of death.

It was eerie, being in the place where so many people had hustled and bustled to get to and from work, where people had families and lives and all those commitments. It didn't faze Xory in that people had died.. What did faze him, though was the sheer emptiness that had replaced them. That and the fact that many of them were walking around somewhere and would be more than happy to munch on his flesh. He had seen it with his own two eyes, so he had. He was in the middle of a nice, greasy nerf steak when an ugly-looking - well, they were all ugly looking to him - Gran had marched in and promptly bitten the face off a friendly looking Bothan. That was when Xory had really believed that it was not a drill. But Xory Vevut was not a panicky man, so he had avoided doing the panicky thing - that is to say, go with the crowds to the spaceport -  and instead had holed up in a place with a heavy door and no windows until the crowds had all fled, which meant, according to his logic, that these 'zombies' would go with the crowd. Following the food and all that.

When the crowds had died down - no pun intended - Xory had slipped out of his bastion and into the streets, heading toward his stashed ship. It wasn't that far, but it was still dangerous. He felt the blood pumping through his veins, a result of his haste to get to his ship. He could just see the top of the building that housed it now, around 500 meters away. He kept running, eyes up, until he reached a corner. As with before, he paused to check if it was clear. A dragging sound caught his attention, coupled with a few inhuman moans. They reminded him of people in a retirement home. Xory leant around the corner slowly and almost immediately snapped himself back behind the wall. The moans and dragging sounds were getting louder. He breathed deeply, chancing another look.

He groaned in despair - inwardly of course, he didn't want these.. things to hear him. There were half a dozen or more of the things just shuffling around, not fifty meters up the street - directly between him and his ship. "Osik," he swore quietly, mind working rapidly. There were two ways to get to his ship from here. One of them was straight through that group of undead monsters, the other was the long way, which would take him upward of an hour to reach. It meant he would have to circle back and around until he got to the other side of the ship. More than an hour and that was without complications. You couldn't guess anything accurately, not after the alarm had been raised by some shabla doctor. If this was the hive virus, how long had it been here? How had it got here, and who was to say that it hadn't spread off-planet already? Xory shook his head slowly. He didn't care. He just wanted to get out of here.

"Psst!" A voice came from nearby, and Xory's gaze snapped toward the source. It was a little boy, no older than ten years of age, standing around ten meters from him, across the mouth of the alleyway. Xory's eyes widened as he realised what danger the kid was in. He gestured urgently that the kid should get down, but the child merely smiled and motioned for Xory to follow him. The smuggler looked around furtively. Glancing around the corner again, he saw a break.. Now! Xory saw the opportunity and ran for it, dashing across the mouth of the street as fast as he could, his muscular legs taking him across it quickly. He slid to a halt next to the kid and peered back around the corner. He exhaled an unconsciously bated breath. and smiled. The kid had been right - none of the walkers had spotted him. He turned back to the kid with a questioning gaze;

"What are you doing here?" He hissed quietly, glancing back over his shoulder yet again. He wasn't still alive, aged 25, for nothing. They teased him as 'Vatchful Vevut' because he was supposedly diagnosed with paranoia. They also teased him with that, claiming he was diagnosed with 'terminal paranoia'. But Xory didn't call it paranoia, no, he called it being careful. The kid regarded him with a level gaze that spoke maturity beyond his years, and a knowing smile played across his lips. He raised a finger to his smile, indicating silence, before turning and padding off on silent feet. Xory took that as a sign suggesting he should follow, and started after the boy.  It wasn't long until, after a few twists and turns, the kid brought him to a door. Looking around to make sure they had not been followed, the child proceeded to knock three times on the door and press a button by it once. An electronic hiss emanated from it as it slid open. The kid smiled and walked inside, trailed closely by the somewhat confused Mandalorian.

He found himself in quite a well furnished apartment which more surprisingly held around half a dozen people of mixed species, mostly human but with one or two humanoids. He could see a Gran, and was instantly reminded of the horrible pestilence that seemed to have struck outside. A large man with golden skin and strange looking eyes, with hair down to his shoulders approached Xory, arm extended in greeting.


"I'm Hethri Rirhe. Welcome to our little safehouse and our merry band." Xory clasped the man's arm. He was quite strong and his grip almost crushed the smuggler's hand. An animalistic growl and subsequent groan came from a closed door, and Rirhe raised an eyebrow. "Well, we're not all merry."

"I can see that," Xory murmured, catching a glare from a nearby humanoid - his skin made him seem Chiss, but Xory noted his eyes were not glowing red. He had never encountered a species like that before.

"Pantoran." Rirhe noted his gaze and answered for him, "don't mind Daxos, he hates humans. Nothing personal"

"I'll try to keep that in mind," He retorted as the Pantoran continued to glare at the newcomer. "Look, I've got a ship about fifty meters back down that road, if I could just get to it I could-"

"You could what? Take us all to safety? Please. You're a Mandalorian, and Mandalorians normally look out for who? Oh, that's right. Mandalorians." The Pantoran interrupted him, "Besides which, the Imperial blockade above is impenetrable. Only a flying prodigy could get through that unscathed."

"I'm fairly good with my ship," The Mandalorian said with a cocky smirk. All eyes turned on him and he felt as if he was an Ewok on Coruscant. "What?"

The chorus of 'save us' that came afterward made him wish he'd never mentioned his ship.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,341. Part 1 of The Zombie Smuggler arc!

AAR: Xory Vevut, a Mandalorian smuggler, is trapped on Lasoris Minor. He finds the route to his ship is blocked by a horde of flesh eating civilians, and meets up with a surprising menagerie of survivors in a safehouse. There is a lot of tension in the air, with an anti-human Pantoran, desperate civilians and strange sounds coming from a nearby room!

"I can't take you all on my ship! I don't have rooms for you all!" Vevut argued exasperatedly. Rirhe gazed at him impassively, not seeming to be fazed by the weak excuse. Those strange eyelids reminded him of something he'd seen before, but he couldn't quite remember what.

"We do not need rooms. We can share or find space in your cargo hold." Rirhe shrugged, his calm manner infuriating. "We do not need much. We have our own food and supplies. All we would need is-"

"-My time." He shot back. "Besides, my cargo hold is full. I have a shipment I need to deliver-"

"-to the hutts?" The Pantoran, Daxos, did him the favour that he had done Hethri. "We know what you are, smuggler. The Hutts are scum, and you're only just above them." At this, Vevut scowled. The Pantoran was really getting on his nerves. He let his hand drop, resting it on the butt of his Verpine. He knew he could take this impudent alien out with little to no effort.. but what would that cost him? Food? Shelter? His life, even? He didn't want to risk it. As people said, he was a cautious man. They didn't say that as a euphemism.

"I never work for the Hutts," He spat back. "They're too-"

"-Dangerous? Yeah, I thought so. Look how green his flesh is" The pantoran sneered, using a human expression of speech to infer he was a coward. That, to a Mandalorian - even a smuggler - was the line. A bump from the end room distracted him for a second, but no longer than that.

"Watch it, freezer-boy. You might just find your skin turns a little bluer in death." His words were as cold as Hoth and as serious as the Emperor's Red Guard. The Unsmiling Guard, he'd once heard them called. The room grew quiet and all eyes turned on him. The Pantoran lost most of his bluster right then. Being threatened by a Mandalorian was not something that anyone liked - after all, threats were equivalent to promises. Once the room had fallen into complete silence, he spoke up. "Alright, I'll take you. But I want payment, is that clear? And mr. Flower over here-" he jerked a thumb at the Pantoran "-sleeps in the cell block."

"This is-" Hethri cut him off with a gesture that said he commanded more respect and authority here than Vevut had been led to believe. Xory's eyes focused on the golden-skinned humanoid and he waited.

"We will accept your terms. But there is one other we would have you take," Xory's eyes darted around the room. He counted seven in all - Hethri, Daxos, a Gran, two humans, a Falleen and a Stennes-Shifter. Weird.. he thought to himself. Such a wide variety of species on what was supposed to be naught but a mining world. Something was smelled fishy here, and he couldn't see any Mon Calamari or Aqualish..

"O.K," He said warily. "Bring 'im out."

"It, more like." Daxos muttered. Hethri nodded and motioned to the Gran who, Vevut noticed for the first time, was carrying a nasty looking sword. The plot thickens.. The Gran nodded in return and moved to a door at the far end of the clinically-lit room, drawing his blade.

"Woah, what the-" Hethri silenced Vevut with a gesture.

"It is best to be silent." He mumrued. Vevut was annoyed but did as Hethri said. The Gran pressed the door release and it slid open menacingly. Vevut waited in anticipation as he heard the hum of a container field, used in cells and such. A painful lesson to whoever wanted to get out. A moaning sound came from inside the room and Vevut sighed with a depressed noise. He knew what it was. And he could scarcely believe it. As a matter of fact, from this motley bunch, he could.

OOC:

Word count: 652. Part 2 of The Zombie Smuggler arc. However, it is a poor one. I wanted to get one in before I was forced offline, though! The next post will be short to follow, though, after someone else posts

AAR: Xory Vevut reaches an agreement with the members of the merry band, and finds out what is making the strange noises..

"NO!" Xory thundered, "I will not take that kriffing monster on my ship! No, no , no. The answer is and will remain to be no for the rest of eternity. Your monster can burn in the correllian hells for all I care. I will take you, but not the beast."

"He comes along or you go on your own." Hethri, their leader said calmly. Vevut was getting madder and madder by the moment. Hethri's calm manner was infuriating.

"Fine, I'd much rather go by my own than with you lot. Better chance of survival." Vevut was throwing insults at them left and right. He hadn't wanted to leave them, but if he had to.. His thoughts were interrupted by the moaning sound that he could now attribute to a human -- or what once had been a human -- locked in the cupboard, that these morons wanted him to take on his ship. It was bad enough that the Vast Empire had a blockade, but if he was caught smuggling a known victim of this virus, the consequences would be quarantine, if not death. Osik, Vevut swore inwardly. I should have known this was too good to be true. Paranoid, they say..not cautious enough, I say.

He turned away and made for the door without another word, but found it was locked. He hammered on it and turned back to them. "Open it." He said imperiously, a scowl on his features. None of the gathered mob moved. "Open it!" he repeated, more forcefully than the last. Still none of them budged; his only response was the bump that came from the closet. He rolled his eyes and turned, drawing his Verpine. He took aim easily and-

Thwack. Something big and solid, heavy, smacked into the back of his head. His whole world spun, and he saw stars. Funny, the Mandalorian thought in a daze, I'm not even in space and I can see the stars. He chuckled madly before he blacked out.


- - -


He awoke several hours later -- or at least it seemed that long -- to a steady jolting and hum that indicated he was next to an.. engine? Impossible!. He tried to sit up, but his head smacked against something and it was only then that he realised his eyes were open and he was still seeing darkness. He could also hear muffled voices. Bad. He scowled at himself. Paranioa? How did he not see this coming if the rumours were true. At least he would have some proof that he wasn't paranoid when he went back to his usual circle. His scowl deepened as he realised he didn't know when that would be.

The movement stopped, as did the humming with a gentle jolt. He could hear the voices, louder now. Suddenly he was blinded by light "What the.. let me.." He was silenced as they pulled him from the compartment of the luxury speeder. He was completely confused, blinded by the sudden light and yet he recognised this place as.. my hidden landing pad.. how the? He did not have time to answer the question his mind played to him, instead the one known as Daxos shoved him roughly. "We gave you the chance to fly us willingly, now you'll fly against your will." As his vision cleared up he could see the Pantoran was wearing.. armour? He was confused. Daxos could see it and he smirked. "What, virus got your tongue?"


Then he realised. They were mercenaires. Hired to get something or someone off this planet, undoubtedly by a high paying client. He hadn't even thought about the weapons he'd seen until now. Gods, he felt like such a fool. The laughing stock of all Mandalore, he would be.. There was hope yet, but little of it. All the friendly people he had met before were now stony faced and armed to the teeth,Damn..


He felt helpless. Rightfully, of course, and he groaned. "Could I get some water.. my head hurts." It was true, his head was thumping from that blow. Who had thrown it? Daxos, he presumed. Damn fridge boy.

OOC:

Wordcount: 690. Another poorish post before I'm forced offline. Part 3 of the Zombie Smuggler Arc

Xory finds out that they are actually mercenaries hired to extract a person or package from the planet, and willing to do anything to secure their passage. Including kill.

"Why?" He croaked, sipping on the water lightly. Daxos grinned; the rest of the merry band were somber and silent. Almost like a funeral procession, dressed all in black. A squawking from nearby made his unanswered question seem to be irrelevant. They had forced him to open his ship and, for lack of a better reason, he had obliged. They were now gathered around his spacious living room, some sitting some standing while others still searched his ship for the 'cargo'. While it was no big deal for them, the cargo was presumably valuable. Little did they know he had no cargo, he was using it as an excuse. He had been dropping off cargo when the blockade had been put in place. Damn those Imperials! He cursed inwardly. If it weren't for them, he would not be a prisoner on his own ship, held captive by a fridge boy, a man who placed too much value on a golden tan, stalk-eyed Gran, and a man called Reiys.

Reiys made for excellent conversation, too. Everything you said he moaned or groaned in assent; sometimes he even growled and let his mouth water when you were talking of an excessively juicy nerf steak. It was more akin to foam than water, but Xory liked to think the man was still alive. The leader of the motley crew, -- the Firrerreo with golden skin -- Hethri, tapped keys into his holo-terminal, trying to get an outgoing transmission. Vevut knew his communications was strong enough to break through the static generated by thousands of cries for help and encrypted well enough to resist hacking and prevent unwanted eyes. Sometimes he cursed himself for being so good; this was one of those times. A figure in a plain white lab coat appeared. With white hair and very pale eyes, Xory easily identified him as an Arkanian. The logo on his shoulder suggested even more. Is that-- he was cut off in his thoughts by Hethri speaking.

"We have the package aboard." Rirhe said in his unerringly calm tone, the one that was undeniably frustrating to Vevut.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The communications officer listened, warily at first. He was unsure of what he was hearing. "--package aboard--" Of course, he could just be listening to a merchantman with an innocent cargo. But the tone of voice and the usage of the term 'package' suggested something else. Merchantmen didn't deliver packages. A smuggler, perhaps, the Communications officer mused. But he didn't believe that either. "--get him--" Static blurred out a part of the transmission, and the comm. Officer refocused his signal tracker. "--Arkania. Is the subject live--" The communication officer felt blood drain from his face slightly. Someone is trying to smuggle one of the infected off the planet - live! While he was not high up the chain of command, he was the section leader for comms. And someone higher up needed to know. Lucky enough, the ship's XO was standing close to him/

"Sir!" He called urgently. Serpent's calculating gaze looked down from a tactical projection of the battle, annoyed at the interruption. He had bigger concerns on his mind than communications, he knew, but he thought it was important. Besides, he's supposed to be a VENI liaison. I'm sure Intel will love this.

"What is it?" Serpent asked. His tone was as calm as ever, but it was clear he did not need to be disturbed. Especially since they were bearing down on an enemy vessel. The section leader looked up to him.

"You might want to hear this." Serpent came closer and he began playing the transmission out loud. It was still going/ "--Adascorp will pay you handsomely if you succeed, but only if--" more static buzzed through the transmission and Serpent shifted his stance irritatedly. "--subject is alive. We do not pay for dead tissue. The disease will be weapon--" the transmission dissolved into static again and the comms. officer worked frantically to get it back, but Serpent had heard enough.

"Record that transmission, get a lock on both ends if you can." Serpent's eyes blazed, and for a moment the lowly section leader felt important. Only for a moment. Serpent's eyes narrowed and he stared out into space "I want to know just who is trying to smuggle zombies." The XO muttered. Drac gave him the typically unreadable Mon Calamari glance -- well, it was unreadable to this comm. officer -- and Serpent strode away from the console. The section leader had his orders, and there were more pressing things on Serpent's mind. Namely the three ships they bore down upon like big gray behemoths, ready to spew energy on their opponents and turn them into molten slag.

"Aye sir," The section leader muttered in return. He had begun recording the transmission the moment he had picked it up. Nobody aside from the military was using encrypted transmissions and, although this was a poor encryption, it was encrypted all the same -- hence the recurring static. The transmission locked on somewhere far away. Adascorp was on Arkania, he knew, and the voice had been silky smooth like an Arkanian's would be. The other end, however, was much closer. Lasoris itself, in fact, one of the major towns. If you could call it that.

But it was not moving as yet, so it was no threat. Or was it? The holo-terminal could be anywhere. "Sir, I've got a lock." Serpent shot him another glance and nodded. He relayed the lock to the tactical display, and it popped up alongside a dozen other reports and movements.

"This only makes it more important that nobody gets through the blockade." The young yet talented XO narrowed his eyes again, focusing on the lock. It could be anywhere, he reiterated to himself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adascorp? Vevut thought, confused. What do they want with Lasoris minor? The Arkanian nodded silently as Hethri confirmed the package was alive and prepping for delivery.

"Adascorp will pay you handsomely if you succeed, but only if the subject is alive. We do not pay for dead tissue. The disease will be weaponised and for that, dead tissue does not work." The Arkanian's eyes were eerily pale. They were like the whites of an egg, with no other colour and if he did not know better, Vevut would have said he was blind. Sloppy, the Mandalorian smuggler thought with a smirk. Only a fool shows his hand, even to his allies. And these are no allies. Vevut had made the mistake of trusting them as allies, even with his legendary paranoia he had been taken unawares by their treachery. Mercenaries, he cursed them to himself, then realised more than half his people were mercenaries so saved any other slanderous accusations for such a time when he was in the afterlife.

"Understood. We'll be taking off shortly; we've got a pilot who says he can get us through." Rirhe told the Arkanian, simultaneously gesturing off-screen at Daxos. The Pantoran nodded and moved toward Vevut. The Mandalorian made to open his mouth, "I-" he was cut off by a blow that left his ears ringing and his world spinning. I never said I could get you through, he finished the sentence in his head. Damn, that Pantoran's got a hell of a backhand. Vevut had noted before that he filled his clothes, and now he had no doubt that there was no fat beneath that black armour.

"See that he's disposed of before you get here." The Arkanian responded, as if irritated by the very thought. Rirhe nodded sagely and ended the transmission. Xory paled as Rirhe turned around, but he lost none of his bluster.

"So what does your bunch of nobodies and nincompoops call themselves?" He asked through the daze that the blow had left him in.

"We don't need a name. We simply are, and that is enough for us." Rirhe responded, like some priest or other.

"You simply are a bunch of nincompoops, you mean." He corrected. Daxos backhanded him again, not as powerfully this time.

"Our organisation works for the highest bidder." The Firrerreo mercenary shrugged, "we are but limbs of the main body; a hand, if you will."

"Yeah, the hand that scratches the shebs." Xory grinned, "and no doubt dirtier things."

That earned him another backhand, and his vision began to blacken. "Daxos, enough!" Rirhe barked. "We need him as a pilot." The Pantoran looked suitably chastened and stepped back, regarding Vevut with a hateful stare. Well, as hateful as a stare from a fridge boy could be. Rirhe gestured toward the cockpit with his blaster. "Up." The command was simple, and Vevut looked from one black-clad mercenary to the next. It was evident that they weren't simple mercenaries like he was used to -- they were something else, a step above the rest. Xory sighed and stood up. A dark thought made him grin.

Being a step above the rest only means you have one step further to fall

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,512. Finally a long post! Part four of the Zombie Smuggler arc.

AAR: And so the title is revealed! Xory is unwillingly contracted into doing the dirty work for the mercenaries -- getting them off the planet -- and they reveal their intent and the intent of their employer. The section leader of Communications aboard Halcyon Warrior picks up the transmission and brings it to the attention of his superior, Serpent! The next post should be my last in this arc.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail had appraised Captain Mihawk of the capture of the Luxurious Leap, and both men were more convinced than ever that Governor Orzik was on board.  Serpent’s orders had been clear, to have the captured former-ruler of Lasoris Minor brought to the bridge, but Zail was not about to entrust such a duty to others.

Excusing himself from the bridge (and reminding himself that, however good an XO Serpent was, Drac was more than capable of operating without his shadow for ten minutes), he raced from the bridge.  Setting a swift yet dignified pace, he hurried down corridors and through turbolifts, arriving in the main bay just in time to see the highly modified Aavman Extravagance 11-S Space Yacht touch down on the polished deck.

Striding forward boldly, Zail gestured over a squad of Stormtroopers, and with a few practiced hand signals had them surround the captured vessel.

The yacht just sat on the deck, unmoving.  The lights inside were dimmed, the vessel powered down.  Whoever was inside seemed to have accepted that they were not going anywhere, but had yet to summon the courage to actually emerge and face their captors.

“Crew of the Luxurious Leap!” Bellowed Serpent, his words echoing around the cavernous bay and given extra strength by the anger in his voice.  “You have acted in defiance of the Blockade of Lasoris Minor, and committed several breaches of Vast Imperial law!  Come out with your hands up or we will come in after you, and deadly force will be authorised!”

He gave that a moment to sink in, yet still the luxury transport remained quiet.  Barely containing his rage at the continued audacity of the ship’s crew, Serpent whirled on the Stormtrooper officer at his side.  “Lieutenant!  Have your men blow the doors and commence assault!”

The white-armoured trooper said “Yes, sir” and was a split second from passing the order on to his subordinates when the Luxurious Leap responded.  The landing ramp lowered, the drawn-out moan of its hydraulics oddly loud in the quiet hangar.  Then three figures, hands locked atop their heads, slowly descended.

Serpent eyed the first two, who from their uniforms and age he judged to be simple pilots.  He paid them little more attention as his eyes locked on the third man, shuffling slowly behind with his eyes downcast.

He had never laid eyes on Governor Orzik in person, but Zail had been reviewing his file a mere ten minutes ago and had burned the man’s image into his mind.  Taking a few steps towards the man, Serpent glared at him, but managed to bring his anger under control enough to speak with a level voice.

“Governor,” Said the Alderaanian, permitting the other use of his title (no matter how much he had abused and disgraced it), “Welcome to the Halcyon Warrior.  I am the First Officer, Pherik Zail.  Captain Mihawk requests your presence on the bridge.”

The other glanced up, meeting Serpent’s brilliant blue eyes.  “What is to become of me?” He asked, and his voice, indeed his entire body language and demeanour, were tired, lifeless.

Zail knew right then that Orzik had no expectation of surviving the day.  He had gambled all and lost, and for a split second the Warrant Officer pitied him.  And then he recalled the havoc that this man had caused with his betrayal of his position, and the anger hardened him instantly.  “I will not speak for the Captain,” Said Serpent.  “Now, come with me,” He said, phrasing it like an order.

The walk to the bridge was direct and Serpent and the Stormtroopers moved at a brisk march, forcing Orzik to keep up.  Soon they were entering the command deck, and Captain Mihawk turned to regard them as they entered.  The Mon Cal Captain was framed by the battle raging in the viewport behind him, and something about his large alien eyes showed that, though he hid it well, Drac shared Zail’s contempt for the former Governor.

“As you requested, sir,” Said Serpent, presenting Orzik for the Captain’s inspection like he was some sort of present.

The Mon Cal stepped close to the Governor, looming over him.  “I have only one question for you,” Began Drac, his voice full of quiet menace.  “Is this,” He said, gesturing to the battle, “Worth your life?  Hundreds fighting and dying so that you can run and hide from your duty?”

“I do not have to justify myself to you,” Said Orzik, voice dripping with contempt.  “And don’t drag out this farce any longer.  If you want me dead, just do it already.”

“As you wish,” Said the Captain.  “Mr Zail!  Deal with this.”

The Alderaanian’s face twitched in confusion.  “Sir?”

“Part of being a commander is knowing how to make an example and send a message,” Said Drac.  “As the ranking officer here, having weighed all the evidence, I hereby sentence Governor Orzik to death!  Sentence to be carried out immediately.”

The condemned man barely reacted to the news, and oddly it was Serpent who took it worse.  Crossing swiftly to his superior’s side, he whispered, “Sir, I really don’t know...”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Pherik,” Snapped Drac, eager to get this over with and get back to the directing the battle.  “You have done far worse than this with VENI, I am sure.”

Zail swallowed further protests.  So, Captain, you haven’t entirely gotten over my somewhat split allegiance?  Very well.  If it’s a test you are giving me, then I shall pass!

“Lieutenant!” Said the XO, turning to one of the Stormtrooper escorts.  “Your sidearm please!”

The warrior handed over his blaster pistol without protest, barrel first.  Serpent took the weapon by the handle, tested the weight of it, and checked the charge.  “Mr Warnock!” Zail ordered next, addressing the nearby Communication Chief.  “I want this broadcast to all vessels, civilian and mercenary alike!”

Warnock typed in a few commands, and then said, “Live feed now, sir.”

Serpent took a deep breath, and then began.  “Gentlebeings attempting to violate the blockade of Lasoris Minor!  I am Warrant Officer Zail of the Vast Empire Navy.  The man before me is the former administrator of this world.  Governor Orzik is responsible for this incident, from the hiring of the Eleven Spear Mercenaries to the current flight of civilians.  He has been found guilty of these crimes, and I have been charged with carrying out the sentence of death.”

He paused, staring long and hard at the man before him.  Orzik stared back, silently defiant.  Slowly he raised the blaster pistol.  “Anyone seeking to surrender can avoid this fate.  However, continued defiance of the blockade will cost you your lives.”

He pulled the trigger, and a single red shot tore through Orzik’s head, killing him instantly and dropping his lifeless body to the deck.  “As it cost him his,” Finished Zail.  “End transmission.”

Warnock nodded a moment later, noting the end of the show, and Serpent relaxed instantly.  He let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and handed the blaster pistol back to its owner.  “Clean that up,” he said to a nearby Junior Bridge Officer, pointing to the corpse.

When Zail glanced over at Drac, the Captain nodded in silent approval, and then resumed his duties as if nothing had happened.

Serpent wondered if he could put this incident behind him as quickly.

OOC:

1233 words.  That’s the Orzik subplot tied up!  Coming up next some mercenary NPC posts!

After Action Report:  Zail escorts the recently captured Governor Orzik to the bridge of the Halcyon Warrior, where Drac charges him with executing the renegade administrator.  This Serpent does, broadcasting the act to the forces present at the blockade.

Admiral Ralthra stalked the bridge of his flagship, the Providence-Class Destroyer Ralthra’s Claw, unable to hold still.  He knew that some men of his rank opted for chairs, but not he.  The albino Cathar could never sit still during a battle, he had to be all over the command deck, and oversee everything himself.

The engagement had not been going well, but then it was not intended to.  The Vast Empire Navy was all over his force, trying to defeat the Eleven Spear Mercenaries in a pitched battle.  No doubt they assumed that Ralthra and his people were battling with the same goal.  Ralthra was not.  His force was here to surprise, distract, and then get out.  This whole engagement was about buying time for their client to escape.

And the fool had failed, getting himself first captured, and now killed.

The Admiral had watched the transmission from the Halcyon Warrior showing Governor Orzik’s death, and had not shed a tear for the human’s demise.  Most of our payment was in advance anyway, Ralthra mused, We will still come out of this endeavour with a profit.

After a moment’s internal debate, the veteran mercenary made his decision.  “People,” He announced to his bridge crew, “We are leaving.”

His bridge crew, consisting of several dozen living beings (old C.I.S. droids only being used elsewhere in the ship) nodded in acceptance.  None of them wanted to pursue the fight, not for glory or honour or to avenge the fallen or any other nonsense that normal militaries believed in.  Ralthra’s people believed in money, and they understood that their Admiral was as much about business as war, and they followed him in both.

“Sir,” Said his Com Chief, an overweight Bothan with a ragged right ear, “We are receiving a transmission from the Long Claws.  They have engaged an Imperial VSD that is trying to flank us.  They cannot easily withdraw.”

Ralthra frowned, and turned to the nearby tactical hologram to get a firmer idea of exact positions.  His blood-red eyes took in the scene before him, years of combat experience giving the ability to instantly get a feel for the ebb and flow of battle.

His fleet was currently fully engaged with the VEN force and performing a decent holding action.  Their Rogue-Class and NovaSword Fighters were doing well against the TIE Interceptors, but losses were slowly beginning to mount.  Meanwhile corvettes of both sides were slugging it out on the left flank.  Ralthra’s flagship and its two destroyer escorts were holding the right, and it was one of these that a Victory-Class Star Destroyer called the Brilliant was engaging.

It’s not a mess just yet, Mused the Cathar, But it soon will be.  We need to start untangling ourselves from these engagements, recall the fighters, and get out of here in a painless fashion.

The problem, mused Ralthra, was the destroyer being pinned down by the VSD.  Were it any other of his ships, the Admiral would have been inclined to abandon both the vessel and its crew and leave without them.  However, old as it was, the Long Claws was a powerful asset to his fleet, one of the three key ships around which the Eleven Spears armada had coalesced.  Were it to be lost it would definitely need replaced for them to keep up their fighting strength, and the cost of that would push this whole mission from the black into the red.

In other words, Ralthra had to deal with this aggressor quickly before they could all withdraw.

“Signal the Steeljaw,” He ordered, referring to the Nebulon-B Frigate on their left flank.  “Have them come around and hit Brilliant with everything they have!  No fancy moves, no clever positions, we just need to distract the VSD momentarily while the Long Claws withdraws.”

“Yes, sir,” Said the Bothan Com Chief, relaying the message.

Turning to his astrogation officer, the Admiral then ordered, “Begin making the calculations for the jump to hyperspace.  Arrange a series of jumps, three stops long, before actually returning us to our base.  I doubt that the VEN will follow us, but I want to be safe.”  Then to his helmsman Ralthra said, “Realign the ship 75 degrees away from the planet in preparation for our escape, and have the Gold Claws do likewise,” He added, referring to the second of their destroyer escorts.

“Sir!” Came another voice from elsewhere in the bridge, this time the high-pitched voice of his Sullustan Sensor Chief.  “The enemy flagship, Halcyon Warrior, has moved in near the Brilliant.  It appears to be altering course to intercept us.”

The Admiral glanced at the tactical hologram and concurred with the Sullustan’s prediction.  The ISD was indeed coming for them.  For a few moments, Ralthra savoured the sight.  The sleek angular vessel, an incarnation of the power and grace that all naval men craved to command, was deeply impressive to the Admiral, and for a few moments he wondered what it would be like to fight such a worthy foe.

The feeling was instantly squashed.  Ralthra was in this for money, not glory.

You’ll have to be fast, He thought at the Star Destroyer’s commander.  As soon as the Steeljaw gets into range and completes its distraction, we are out of here.

Catch us if you can!

OOC:

884 words.  This post is NOT intended to be a prelude to wrapping up this story.  It is just a reflection of that fact that, with Orzik dead, the Eleven Spears are changing gears towards leaving.  There is still plenty of fight left in this one!

After Action Report:  Admiral Ralthra of the Eleven Spears mercenaries decides that it is time that his people were departing.  However, like any businessman protecting his assets, he wants to save as many of his ships as possible, and so needs to work out a way to cleanly disengage from the VEN fleet.  To this end he sends the Nebulon-B Frigate Steeljaw to assist the destroyer Long Claws in engaging Trykon’s Brilliant.  Meanwhile the flagship re-aligns for escape, while bracing itself for a possible confrontation with the Halcyon Warrior.

As Admiral Ralthra stared out of the forward viewport of the Providence-Class Destroyer Ralthra’s Claw, he could not suppress a smile.  From behind, his Sensor Chief added commentary to what he was seeing.

“Admiral!” Said the bridge officer.  “The VSD Brilliant took heavy damage from our spread of torpedoes!  Their dorsal shields are gone, and the Vast Imperial ship appears to be withdrawing!”

That it is, thought Ralthra.  And now, so are we!

The departure of the nuisance warship gave Ralthra’s core force a chance to escape, and he was going to take it.  “Order the Long Claws and the Gold Claws to form up and escort us out.  All other ships to follow to the jump point.  Only send our hyperspace co-ordinates once we are clear of Lasoris Minor.  I don’t want the Vast Empire to intercept the transmission and know where we are heading.”

Ralthra then turned his eyes to the tactical hologram, checking the position of the rest of his fleet.  Most of the fighters had been recalled and his smaller capital ships were disengaging.  All was good, but there was something out of place.  Where was the Steeljaw?

Suddenly his eyes fell on the Nebulon-B Frigate.  He had ordered it to assist in the attack on the Brilliant, but had not needed it in the end.  Still, the ship had dutifully altered course to intercept, and with its target gone, the Steeljaw was woefully out of position.

The Admiral cursed.  The Frigate was right in the path of the approaching VE fleet’s flagship, the Halcyon Warrior!

-----

The sleek and deadly behemoth glided implacably forward.  The arrow-shaped Star Destroyer looked all but unstoppable as it hurtled towards its foes, and from the side of Captain Drac, Serpent could not help but feel invincible.  The Clone Wars-era ships of the Eleven Spears mercenaries once menaced the finest ships of the Republic, but now they ran scared from the Halcyon Warrior, the ultimate expression of Imperial might.

Zail frowned as he saw the Nebulon-B emerge before them, currently located between the Warrior and its prey, the enemy flagship Ralthra’s Claw.  “Do they mean for that to slow us down?” Exclaimed the confused XO.

Captain Mihawk waved a webbed Mon Calamari hand dismissively.  “I don’t care what they intend for that vessel, it’s not my target,” He said, massive eyes locked firmly on the retreating Providence-Class Destroyer.  “Pass it on its port side, Mr Zail, and let our gunners make sport of it as we do.”

“Yes, sir,” Said Serpent, and turned to the address the bridge officers.  “Adjust heading two degrees to starboard but do not reduce speed!  Increase power to port shields!  All gunners, prepare to fire at will as we pass!”

The Nebulon-B was turning, evidently try to come about and rejoin the rest of its fleeing compatriots, but it was not oblivious to the monster rushing up on it.  The vessel fired back with its laser and turbolaser canons, but they could only bring a dozen of these to bear on the passing Halcyon Warrior.

The brilliant emerald beams splashed against the Star Destroyer as it came closer, but none of the impacts seemed to have any effect.  Shields blazed brightly as the energy was absorbed and dissipated, and none of the laser fire got through.

On the bridge, Captain Mihawk gave the order.  “Fire everything.”

Turbolaser batteries and canons erupted into life, and to add to the carnage the Warrior brought some of its ion canons to bear too.  It was a devastating broadside, like an ancient galleon passing in a sea battle.  Serpent guessed that they had responded with three or four times the firepower that the Nebulon-B was using, and while the formidable shields of their Star Destroyer was up to challenge, the shields of their foe were not.

“Their port shields are collapsing!” Called a junior bridge officer at the sensor station.  “They have taken damage to three decks!”

“Keep firing until we are clear,” Ordered Zail, watching the pounding with fascination.  Part of him longed to bring the Halcyon Warrior around and finish the job, but they had much bigger fish to fry.

A few moments later and the pass was complete.  The Nebulon-B continued to function, but it was wounded badly and had little chance of escaping the Lasoris System.  “Order one of our capital ships to intercept that Nebulon-B,” Said Captain Mihawk.  “Give the crew a chance to surrender, and if they refuse, finish them.”

“Yes, sir,” Said Zail, and relayed the order to the Com Chief.  When he returned to the Captain’s side, he saw that the Mon Calamari was still fixated on the fleeing mercenary flagship.  There was a hungry look in the CO’s eyes.

“More speed, Mr Zail,” Said Drac, “I want that mercenary Admiral!”

-----

Admiral Ralthra watched the scene play out on the tactical hologram.  The Steeljaw was lost.  Even if it was functional, there was no way it could escape now.

He felt a twinge of regret at that.  The Captain of the Nebulon-B, a grizzled human spacer by the name of ‘Twaris’, was among the few people that Ralthra counted as a friend.  And now either death or imprisonment awaited the old merc, and the Admiral was responsible.

He pushed the feeling aside, as any true officer should.  His responsibility now was to the crews and ships left under his command.  “Time to jump point?”  He asked his Chief Helmsman.

“Three minutes, sir!”

This, he thought, will be close...

OOC:

912 words.  The battle is winding down, but there is still story left if people want to post.  The Eleven Spears mercs are in full retreat.  Can we catch them before they jump to hyperspace?

After Action Report:  Admiral Ralthra’s core force of his three largest capital ships (the Ralthra’s Claw, the Long Claws, and the Gold Claws) are free from combat and are now heading out of the Lasoris System.  However, his Nebulon-B Frigate, the Steeljaw, is out of position, and swiftly attacked by the Halcyon Warrior. Drac and Serpent perceive this as a stalling tactic, and blitz the Frigate aside quickly as they press on for Ralthra’s flagship.

Around the planet Lasoris Minor, chaos reigned, but it was a chaos now being brought under control.  The rag-tag fleet of civilian ships that had seized on Governor Orzik’s attempt to run the blockade were now turning back to their diseased planet.  Some were intimidated by the former administrator’s execution, and others were simply guided back by the warning shots of Vast Imperial TIE Interceptors and capital ships.

A small minority of the civilians were not deterred, however, and pressed on in a bid for freedom.  They ignored hails, they ignored warning shots, and it fell to the men and women of the First Fleet’s Taskforce Besh to deal with them.  Did some officers flinch, did some hesitate before doing their duty?  Yes, but in the end they knew what had to be done.  If the Hive Virus sweeping across the planet below got to a major centre of the VE (like Belgaroth, or, even worse, Lotaith) then the death toll would escalate into the millions, even tens of millions.

That could not be allowed.  And so the officers of Taskforce Besh used deadly force, obliterating any civilian vessel in danger of slipping through their blockade’s capture net.

Many lives were lost this day, and many more, both civilian and military, would be scarred by the deaths they had witnessed or caused.

The blockade had held, but this was no victory.

-----

From the side of Captain Mihawk, Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail looked out the viewport of the bridge of the Halcyon Warrior.  Just ahead of the massive vessel, achingly close yet still out of weapons range, lay the ones who had allowed this chaos at Lasoris Minor to begin.  The Eleven Spears Mercenaries had struck fast, distracted Taskforce Besh, and were now trying to escape.

The Vast Imperials were determined to stop them.

“Cut shield power another five percent!” Ordered Zail, “And channel the power to the engines!  They are almost at the jump point!”

Chief Engineer, Tlig Marril, promptly replied, “Yes, sir!” As the Quarren made the command a reality, Serpent turned and spoke to his CO in a low voice.

“We can’t stop all three of those capital ships, Captain,” Said the Alderaanian.  “What are your orders for when we catch up to them?”

“Hit the flagship,” The Mon Calamari answered firmly.  “We will disable Admiral Ralthra’s vessel.  The others will run – they are mercs after all, Pherik, and unlikely to show any loyalty to their leader – but Ralthra must answer for his crimes this day.”

Zail nodded in agreement, and could not help but wonder what ‘answer for his crimes’ meant.  Drac had already had his First Officer execute Governor Orzik.  Would Serpent be carrying out a second act of capital punishment this day?

There was no point in idle speculation, so he focused instead on the chase.  On the tactical hologram nearby, the range to target kept counting down.

Closer.

Closer...

-----

Admiral Ralthra’s stark white fur was ruffled and standing on end, a primal reflex of the Cathar species that betrayed his nerves but that he could not consciously suppress.  The monster warship pursuing his force was gaining in speed, and the tactical hologram was now anticipating that the Halcyon Warrior would be within range in just fifty five seconds, and it was still twice that long until they could jump.

“Get me Captain Minphar of the Gold Claws!” Snapped the mercenary leader to his Com Officer.  A moment later and a second hologram appeared beside the image of the battle, this one of a vibrant Duros male in the prime of his life.  Minphar was an up-and-coming star of the Eleven Spears Mercenaries, and the youngest Captain in their ranks.

“Yes, Admiral?” Asked the CO of the Gold Claws.

“We need to do something about that ISD,” Said Ralthra quickly.  “It’s almost on top of us!”

“Agreed,” Said Minphar, “But what?”

“We attack!” Declared Ralthra boldly.  “Their chase has taken them far from the rest of their fleet.  We turn and strike, hard and fast.  They are so sickeningly over-confident, they won’t be ready.  We can drive them off, maybe even disable them, and then we’ll be clear to jump.”

“We don’t have the firepower to handle an ISD...” Began the Duros, but the Admiral cut him off.

“There’s no time for debate!” He snapped.  “Don’t worry, Minphar, we aren’t alone,” Soothed the Cathar with an evil grin.  “I have secretly had our secondary force waiting in reserve at the edge of the system!  I’ll bring them in now, we hammer the Halcyon Warrior, and then we are all gone!”

Captain Minphar’s face split into a big smile.  “You always have a backup plan, don’t you Admiral?  Okay, let’s do it!”

-----

“Time to weapons range...” Called the Halcyon Warrior’s Weapons Chief.  “In three... two... one... now!”

A smile crept across Captain Drac’s face as the mercenary ships loomed large and close before his warship’s pointed bow.  “Fire,” He ordered with glee.

“You heard the Captain!” Barked Zail.  “All turbolaser and ion cannons, fire!  Focus on the flagship, the Ralthra’s Claw!”

A deadly hail of fire erupted from the Imperial-Class Star Destroyer, lancing out towards the old Clone Wars-era Providence-Class Destroyer.  The shields of the antique, yet still formidable, vessel weathered the hail, but could only bring a few of its own guns to bear in retaliation.

“Can we break through their shields to their engines in time?” Asked Zail aloud as he and Drac watched the show.

The Mon Calamari Captain nodded.  “Have faith, Pherik, we can do this.”

And no sooner had he spoken than something totally unexpected happened.  One of the Ralthra’s Claw’s escorts, a powerful Ruscant-Class Light Destroyer, suddenly broke formation from the fleeting merc armada.  It began angling towards the Halcyon Warrior, opening fire with all its weapons as if it meant to challenge the ISD all on its own!

“They are blocking off our field of fire on the Ralthra’s Claw!” Cried Serpent, stunned by the turn of events.  “These mercs are actually sacrificing themselves for their Admiral!”

“I’m as surprised as you are!” Confessed Drac as the bridge erupted in shouts.  The Defence Officer, Ulyssa Vicaro, began reporting about the shields suddenly weakening under the barrage, and the Weapons Officer, Maroo Feldunarra, demanded clarification of target.  “Switch priority!” Shouted the Captain.  “Target that suicidal Light Destroyer instead!”

Serpent watched as the Halcyon Warrior’s gunners adjusted and instead began assaulting the Ruscant-Class warship, the transponder of which indentified it as the Gold Claws.  There was no way it would last long under that sort of offensive.

And in the distance, he saw the rest of the Eleven Spears force continue on towards the jump point.

-----

Admiral Ralthra was ready for the hail from the Gold Claws, as once again the image of Captain Minphar coalesced in hologram form before him.

“Admiral!  Why are you continuing towards the jump point?” Demanded the angered Duros officer.  “And where are our reinforcements?”

“Somewhere in Hutt Space, doing an anti-piracy job for the Cartels, I believe,” Replied the Eleven Spears commander nonchalantly.  “And as for the jump point... well, you didn’t really think we’d tangle with an ISD, did you?”

The look on Minphar’s face said a thousand things at once.  He had been duped, tricked into sacrificing himself, his crew, and his ship.  The Duros Captain knew despair at his own foolishness, knew hatred for his manipulative Admiral, and he knew them and so much else with such sudden and all-consuming intensity that it made his head spin.

He did not even respond to the Cathar.  He just ended the transmission.

“Die well, Captain,” Said Admiral Ralthra softly.  He projected indifference to his crew, for they expected a merc to be hard and uncaring.  Inside, though, he felt somewhat less than indifferent to his actions.  “Time to jump point?” He asked, wanting to dwell on something else.

“Thirty seconds!” Came the reply from his Helmsman.

There was no way that the Vast Imperials could catch them now.  However, the price had been steep.  First a Nebulon-B Frigate, and now a Ruscant-Class Light Destroyer, but he and the Eleven Spears Mercenaries had prevailed.

He should have felt better than he did.

“Jump,” He ordered when the time came, and the merc armada vanished into hyperspace.

-----

Explosions rippled along the length of the Gold Claws, as the Halcyon Warrior pounded it relentlessly for daring to get in its way.  Serpent watched the aged warship wither under the hail of fire, wondering what had gotten into the captain of the merc vessel.  Was he tricked?  Coerced?  Threatened?  Or was it a genuine sacrifice born of loyalty?

That last one Zail could understand, and would have expected from an Imperial foe, maybe even from a Republic foe.  But mercs?

He would never know.  What he did know, however, was that the suicidal gambit had worked.  In the distance, beyond the dying wreckage of the Gold Claws (which was now spewing escape pods), the remaining ships of the Eleven Spears Mercenaries were leaping to hyperspace.

“Track them,” Serpent ordered the Navigation Officer, for all the good it would do.  She could reasonably tell, from their angle and probable destinations along their route, where they were going.  However, Zail knew full well that any half-competent foe would make multiple stops and course adjustments to throw such predictions off.

He then turned to his Captain.  Drac was staring into the distance, at the patch of space where the enemy had been mere moments before.

“Capture the escape pods, then return to the fleet to continue the containment operation, Pherik,” Said the Mon Cal eventually.  “I will go and inform High Command of our victory,” He added, then turned and walked towards his office.

Serpent watched him leave the bridge, and mused over his superior’s words.  Yes, this was a victory, just far from an ideal one.

The Vast Empire would settle up with Admiral Ralthra another day...

OOC:

1661 words.  And that’s a wrap, people!  The story will remain open for a few days for any last codas people want to do, but the focus will be on the next big story about to launch.  Check the Discussion thread for stats!

After Action Report:  The Halcyon Warrior bears down on Admiral Ralthra’s core force, and the wily Cathar knows that he can’t escape.  He lies to the Captain of the Gold Claws to distract the ISD.  Sacrificing the ship, Ralthra and the bulk of the Eleven Spears Mercenaries escape.  Lasoris Minor’s blockade is secure, but those involved escape punishment.