A Bastion of the Mind

AN INTERLUDE TO:


Infiltration was successful. As the dead Chiss guard slipped from his grasp, Sylus looked out the window, past the control room and into the engineering bays. Rows of starfighters, the kind with long operating legs and hyperdrive-capable, were strewn about the repair bays, their armour pulled open while dozens of technicians ran to and fro to conduct emergency maintenance.

The tempo of operations here was unbelievable. A base scarcely big enough for a few squadrons appeared to be operating - extrapolating from Sylus’ team’s observation - dozens of strikes every day around the clock.

Sylus and his ISB team had infiltrated days ago, slowly gaining passage into the base. Today, they would penetrate into the base’s operational zones, come hell or high water. They needed the information before evac came. Signalling to his men, they continued on, rushing onward to the base's ops centre.

The group had managed to break into the heart of the base’s operational archives easily. Vermol and Celfew were scanning the digitised documents, trying to find anything useful. Yorick was flipping through the last of the physical files, while Hilfen awaited at the upper level on overwatch and Amsken took the rear hallway.

“Rama, we got something. East hallway,” Hilfen radioed.

The other ISB agents with Sylus pointed their guns in that direction. Sylus motioned for the group to retreat behind the inner partitions of the hanger. Surely they had not been detected? At least their bug-out route was secured.

“Sir, you’ll want to see this,” Yorick muttered over the comms. Sylus ducked and crept over. Yorick was holding a physical paper folder in his hands.

“What do you have?”

“Something big. I… I don’t understand the technicals, but-” Sylus took the file and read it. Horror dawned on him as he realised what it entailed, flipping through the pages more frantically. He checked the stamp, the chemical signature, even using his helmet’s radiological scanners to do a quick Carbon dating check. This was real.

“We need to get out of here. Team-”

“-won’t be going anywhere.”

Sylus whirled around, and from the shadows of the rear exit stepped out a dozen Chiss soldiers in heavy armour, weapons across their chests. At their head was Amsken. The traitor stepped forward, an apologetic look on his face, showing his empty palms.

“Sorry sir, but you must know I had to do this. W-” the traitor stopped as Sylus bare hands jabbed into his trachea, ripping his throat open. He died instantly. Too good a death for a traitor.

The room erupted into chaos as both sides went for their guns. Sylus dived into cover behind a bank of machinery, pulling out his pistols. He memorised the locations of the hostiles by the door, jumping out of cover to fire at them. Time seemed to slow as his guns roared, bolts ripping through the air to kill first one, then another, then a third soldier before he hit the ground again, sliding back into cover. Sylus threw a thermal, then an ion grenade. The Chiss scattered back into cover, but his main objective was complete: the explosions ripped apart the operational computer. He heard the Chiss yelling.

They could get out of this. First, suppress enemy entrance. The other agents were keeping up suppressive fire on the doorway. Good.

Next, cover alternate entrances. Sylus turned to the far wall, near the maintenance catwalk that led out to the hangar. Two Chiss were rushing towards them, and he shot them both off the walkway.

Next, cover from alternate angles. Vermol and Celfew moved forward, keeping to the left near the tables. Hilfen moved forward, repeater blasting away. Sylus followed up, reloading his pistol. Like clockwork.

Sylus signalled for Yorick, covering the upper entrance, to follow-up bringing the rear. They had gathered the intel. All they needed was-

Sylus’ senses flared up just as a solid wall of force smashed into the agents. Tumbling head over heels, Sylus just managed to see Celfew flung into a bank of machinery, skewring her. She did not scream even as her armour self-destructed, sensing her demise in a hostile area.

The agent rolled over onto his feet, his pistols gone but vibroknucklers out. He knew a Force User when he felt one, and striding down the hallway came a Chiss warrior. 7 feet tall, her left arm was extended, telekinetically lifting Hilfren off his feet, lightsaber in the other.

“You will tell me what you know.”

Hilfen spit at her, and almost immediately she thrust the lightsaber into his thigh, slowly cutting down, splitting bone and sinew and leaving his right leg a dangling mass of meat. Hilfen screamed and screamed. She dropped him just as Sylus charged. She was good, but he was better, and his knuckles made contact into her face. He felt her blue skin peel off and bone crack under the sudden attack shrouded by Force Suppression. She cursed as she stumbled back, and Sylus ran. He scooped up the file, dodging blaster fire as he, Vermol and Yorick dashed through the main entrance. Hilfen yelled something, tousling with the warrior even as his leg collapsed into a meat puddle.

Thundering down the side passages were more Chiss, and they were angry. The trio cut through corridors, smashed past barricades, and routed back toward the entrance. But it was not enough. The halted near the hangar, a literal tank blocking their path.

“Go, I’ll hold them off!” Vermol yelled. Sylus nodded as he dragged Yorick away, towards the maintenance tunnels. The pair slid into the ducting, their last sight of Vermol seeing him evaporating in the explosion of a plasma shell.

The pair continued on, their armour’s stealth mechanisms kicking into gear. They continued for several minutes until Sylus signalled for them to stop. He could see the contacts on his HUD. They weren’t making it out.

He signalled again and the pair broke through the grille below, falling into an empty storage room. Sylus signalled for Yorick to pull off his helmet as he began to read the file again.

“What are we doing here, sir? We can’t wait them out!” he was new to this, Sylus could tell. Fear in his voice. A new agent, newer than Sylus was when he joined ISB. But then, Sylus knew things Yorick did not.

“Take a deep breath, Yorick. I have a plan.” Yorick removed his helmet and breathed deep, his breath shuddering.

I’m sorry.

Sylus continued staring deep into the file, into the paper that held the last proof and fragment of the thing he had been so willing to sacrifice his agents over. Sylus’ eyes bored deep into the numbers and letters as he reached out with his other hand and tugged.

Yorick screamed as his life began to drain from him, lightning ripped from his soul that flowed deep into Sylus’ body. He could feel his mind and senses expand, exponentially increasing as he drank deep from poor Yorick’s soul. The numbers, the letters- they imprinted deep into his mind, deep into his memory.

Yorick fell, a smoking husk, a charred skull all that was left of his exposed head. The surge of intoxicating power overwhelmed Sylus, with one hand he expelled some of that energy, burning up the paper until not even ash was left.

Now only he had the codes. All of the. That brought some comfort as the storage door burst open and Sylus charged the Chiss- And was halted. His muscles tensed, and everything seemed to stop.

“We caught our runner.” Sylus could see the shadow of someone looming off to his side him, blotting out the light. He controlled his breathing, steady, just as the lights went out.


“Tell us or he gets it again.”

“Hazhar Al-Qen, serial number 023/590/1254-Senth-”

Vermol grunted as the baton struck him again, electricity burning deep veins along his skin.

“We’re running out of patience, Imp. Tell us-”

“Leave us.”

The sounds stopped. Sylus tried to open his bruised eyes, but could only make out a figure blocking the light.

“You won’t talk, will you?”

“Hazhar Al-Qen, serial number 023/590/1254-Senth-”

“Oh, do shut up.” A swift motion, and he heard Vermol yelp and gurgle. A dark sensation struck Sylus from his direction, as he felt the figure seem to grow in shadow.

“You know the art of Life-Mind. I, however-” and he forced open Sylus’ bruised eyes, the swelling bleeding pus and tears into Sylus’ eyeballs. The other hand went to Sylus’ forehead, digging into a wound.

“-am a Master.” The Chiss Force Corpsman grinned a feral grin and pulled.

“Okay, agents, here it comes. Check your grid maps. In and out. The southern plains ain’t named for their idyllic homesteads: it’s plain as in plain shit! Just a quick delivery job. Don’t get antsy, don’t get funny ideas.”

The other rookie agents nodded. The odd one out, scrawny and clad in an older mark of armour, did not react.

“Hey, chem-boy! You hear me?”

Sylus looked up at Senior Agent Aquila. The man gave him a disarming grin.

“Hey, focus. All that stuff, it’s in the past. We-” he stopped suddenly, face turning slack. For that matter, the whole transport seemed to lose the sensation of a gravity for a split second. Then everything was in focus again.

“We can talk about that stuff sometime, alright?” he smiled again and turned back to the others.

Wait, he did not say that.

“Okay check your grids again. Aw, shucks, mine desynced.”

“Accurate Aquila!” The pilot hollered from the front.

“Yeah, yeah shut yer trap. Gonna need a re- Hey Sylus, right? Just a quick check: what’s the target coordinates on your mission computer?”

Sylus looked down at his wrist, at the embedded microcomputer. The grid map came up, and he saw the numbers, clear as day.

“One-seven-two north, four-”

No. North? 172 latitude?

“I think mine’s broke too, boss,” Sylus said.

Aquila frowned, and for a moment a shadow passed across the transport, the reflected suns tinting Aquila’s skin into a shade of-

Blue.

Sylus jumped out of his seat, hands clawing at Aquila. A gun appeared in his hand and he fired. The bolt smashed into his face, the adrenaline slowing down time as his skull splattered-

Then reformed in slow motion, the world around him warping, changing-

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-changing back into the interrogation room. The Chiss Corpsman loomed over Sylus, strapped into the bed. The Imperial agent struggled against his restraints, realising his bruise had reduced considerably. He could now see the Corpsman in full, and he looked a hell of a lot like ‘Aquila’.

“You are only prolonging your pain,” the Chiss said, walking out of Sylus’ sightline. The agent could see the bare walls and ceiling, and the glaring, strange light that shone on him.

“Verlom has expired- oh yes, we know his real name. Screamed it in pain as I took every last memory out of him. Hmm. I wonder. Would you really die for your hypocritical Empire?”

Sylus said nothing, partly because he felt his swollen tongue in his mouth.

“Well, I would not want you to- meat your maker-” The Corpsman returned to Sylus sight, holding up a slab of meat. Charred, split in the middle. No…

“Yes, your burly friend’s leg had to be amputated for his, hmm, safety. In an emergency manner, of course. Lightning always does the trick.” He walked out of sight again. The damned lamp shone unblinkingly. A dire, unknown colour. UV?

“As I was saying, I would not want you to meet your misbegotten makers just yet. Especially when you could help us help you.”

“Hn… Help?” Sylus choked out the spiteful retort.

“Yes. You are in sole possession of something important that belongs to us. My people. You will help us in this matter. I guarantee it.” The warrior leaned over Sylus again, red stare boring into his soul as he touched his mind-

“The Zeroth Axiom, assassin.”

“Our tools and gifts were bestowed to be used.”

The Master nodded gravely.

“And on this day, you shall, again. To lay a strike into the hearts of our inferiors such as they have never seen.”

The Master motioned with his arm and Sylus got off his knees onto his feet. He saw a great arsenal of arms, a baleful glare shining upon it. His other trainees stood at attention.

“Choose your tools- all tools- wisely. The terrorists on this world are cunning and ferocious. Do not let them win.”

Time moved forward, and Sylus blinked. He was in the rain, watching from the mountain. Lightning flashed. Through his binoculars, he saw friends scurrying across the platform built on a flattened piece of hill. Cran led the way, a shadow, while Duvad trailed behind, scanning with his arm-mounted sensors.

Lightning flashed again, this time a colourless sensation, and time moved. Sylus was providing covering fire. The situation was hot. Cran was down on the platform still, trying to lead the rebels into Sylus’ field of fire while Duvad limped along the open road, intel in hand.

Sylus aimed down the scope. Shot after shot rang out, slaying the rebels, but onward they rushed, mad with hatred at the Sith lackeys. Cran took cover behind some crates.

“59, do it.”

“What-”

“Make the shot.”

Sylus aimed again, wondering if he missed anything. And he saw it. The crates were high explosive coaxium pellets.

“Take the shot.”

“I-”

“Halin did not die for you to choke.”

Duvad was still struggling. Just a few metres more, damn it! A few metres until he reachd broadcast range! He saw a few rebels break off from Cran’s position to gun down Duvad.

“Next time, pick your tools better.”

Sylus squeezed the trigger. The blaster bolt flew true, impacting a weak conection between the pallet pumps, between the inert canister and the deposition nozzle. The area around Cran went up in a blaze of destruction, the white-hot nova- no, not white. Coaxium-

The white-hot nova burned itself into his eyes as the entire section of the platform vaporised. No rebels were left in sight, at least none close enough to kill Duvad. The other Gamma agent finally pulled his wounded legs- no, just the one. The right one. He could see the hole.

Duvas got into range and waved at Sylus frantically. 59 checked his broadcast repeater. The intel came through.

6-0-5-4-

No. No. There were no numbers. It was encoded in binary. Duvad did not crack the encryption yet.

Lightning flashed again, and Sylus saw a shape in the clouds looming past the glare.

Sylus drew his pistol and shot the broadcast repeater. As it exploded, he felt the bolt rebound off the surface, smacking him in the head, sending him tumbling off the perch, rain on his face, rain on his face-

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-and Sylus gasped as he was pulled out of the water.

“I really enjoy resorting to primitive methods, you know?”

The Corpsman threw Sylus sideways, sending him shoulder-first into the wall.

“But I do not enjoy being tested.” A cattle prod into his ribs. Sylus did not feel it.

“You know Suppression, are you not? I saw your past. I know you know. One of the Sith whelps. Not good enough to be Sith, but useful enough to become a tool. They chose… reasonably well.”

Sylus was hauled to his feet. His mind was empty. The deepest of his training, and the Chiss had not seen that memory. More than knowing Suppression, Gamma was drilled first and foremost to be invisible to the Force.

“You are, frankly, disgusting. I enjoy the writhing and pain. A beacon of Force.” The Chiss pushed his face close to Sylus, breathing into his wounds.

“But you… you do not shine. At all. Not even a droid, really. A meat puppet.”

“I… glow.”

“No, you do not. The Jedi would disagree, but then, they always were a little stupid.”

Time seemed to dissolve. He found himself sitting in a chair. At a table?

“-and you know, I just really think you could do with a listening ear.”

What?

“You’ve been staring at your food for a day. Unless you want the nose tube again…”

Sylus moved his arms. Free? One hand went for the plate. Soft rations, squished in his hand.

“I… I don’t know… Why do I see the numbers?”

The Corpsman sighed.

“The numbers… you must have really hurt your head. Look, the numbers are of no use to you, right? I just want the numbers. I don’t even need them in the right order!”

Sylus knew… he knew something. He knew he could not tell the man.

“No. They are my numbers.”

“Ungrateful." He felt the Chiss’ touch on his head again, and Sylus dreamed.

“Pfft. Ungrateful.”

Sylus looked up from the dough-toy. These other kids looked big. The tall one that talked washed his face in grimy water.

“Hey, you wanna talk about it?” an older girl. Like a sith. No, a sis. Sis…ter?

“No. nerf herder merchants cant appreciate when children grind for them. Keeping them safe. Hey, when are we moving to the Docks?”

Sylus raised his hand.

“I have gone there. I saw no one at the crossroads.”

The older boy smiled and patted his head. He passed Sylus a slip of plastic.

“Here you go, get yourself a treat okay? Bring your friends.” Sylus looked at the ration token, the symbol of the Sith Empire juxtaposed with ‘poverty relief’ words etched on it.

“Wow, a real token!”

“Tell your little gang, old buddy!” The boy called after Sylus as he dashed down the back alleys. Young Sylus moved past 33rd, cutting into 5th. He saw 2 men talking to 1 lady, and 3 of his friends just down the alley kicking head-ball. Skull, the older kids called it. It was a fun game. He scored 4-0 once.

Wasn’t it 5? Sylus forgot the memory for a while as he came up to his friends.

“Aeslin, Gegen, I have the token!”

Werlon scoffed as he kicked the skull-ball with 8 holes in it.

“It’s not even real! The older kids tricked you.”

Sylus shook his head.

“Nuh-uh. I told him what we saw, fair and square.”

He looked at the ration token, his friends following behind. A real meal! They were talking and laughing, and Sylus was suddenly struck with the import of the moment. The end of the road came up. And so did this part of his life.

Huh? Sylus shrugged and told Aeslin about the 1 bug he killed 2 days ago under block 715. He looked at the token, happy that his work paid off. The number: 7409- no.

Sylus knew what was going on by now. But he need not worry. He knew the real numbers. He knew his numbers.

335-21-40-12-714​

His last meal ticket.​

What’s done was done.​

Sylus smiled as they idled down the alleys, chatting, skipping over a Corpsman- whoops, a corpse of a man- before heading down down to the Lighthouse. It was a big house, with light. He gave one last look to his friends.

Many queued there, and some soldier boys in uniform scanned each one, touching their foreheads. With a scanny, no, a scanner, yes.

“You. Halt.”

For once, they could not bolt. They were here for the rations, fair and square. The soldier scanned fair Aeslin and big Gegen and loud Werlon before coming to smart little Sylus. He raised the scanner, and Sylus heard it make a noise. A weird noise. Like a siren.

“You’re coming with me.”

“No! I got the token fair and square!”

They grabbed him by the arm and he pulled away. He looked at the token again, sirens in the background.

335-21-40-12-714​

“That’s not a real token,” a large soldier came up. His blue skin peeked through his broken uniform.

“Hmm… just what I thought. You’re wanted by the Sith.”

The other solider nodded, looking at the scanner. The sirens were loud now, but Sylus knew this was not diagetic.

Sylus yelled and struggled, but he felt like he was looking at himself from afar. He remembered this day. This last day. He knew how it ended, where it led. He knew why the Sith were looking for him, what they intended.

G A M M A​

And still he fought, biting and clawing the soldier. The soldier laid a solid blow to his head-

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-and Sylus fell off the operating table.

“ENOUGH!”

The Chiss Corpsman hauled Sylus up by the neck. His eyes, red as ever, but Sylus recognised fatigue in those eyes. His clothes were tattered, his boots bloodied. The sirens were sounding.

“Hilfen fought back?” he grinned through the pain.

“Wh- HILFEN IS DEAD! He died in pain a week ago! Begging for his mother! Or father! I... I can’t REMEMBER!” Sylus went flying again, but this time his arms moved to cushion the fall. He felt the manacle snap, bend slightly.

“You will tell me now.” The Chiss grabbed Sylus by skull with both hands, cradling it, gripping it. Their memories intermixed as Sylus fought back, mentally pushing through. In the world of their minds, Sylus reached out, his hands free, clawing and biting through the pain and the large shadow that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Amateur.”

Sylus broke through the shadow, and all at once in a single instant he saw the entirety of this Chiss’ life. All in a single, sweeping four-dimensional vista.

It was unimpressive.

The Chiss physically fell back, clutching his head. Sylus remained on his feet, staggered by upright.

“You… you bastard.”

“No, you’re the bastard, literally. I saw it.”

The Chiss roared as he lunged for Sylus. He brought up his manacles and they shattered on impact, Sylus channeling the Force to send metal flying away from himself. The Chiss screamed as shard cut into his eyes. He lunged blindly, using his size and strength to try to overpower Sylus, but still he fought, biting and clawing. The Chiss did not land a single solid blow, whiffing and falling on his face onto the ground.

Sylus leaned against the wall, catching his breath while the Chiss writhed on the ground.

After a few minutes of wailing on the Chiss’ part and laboured breathing on Sylus’, the Imperial agent staggered forward, pulling the electrodes off his body. Now he loomed over the Chiss.

“I… I -argh- I won, you know. We got enough of the seed number. Enough to arm enough of the warheads. And I saw the- crckk- the final numbers. The disarm codes. All of it,” he snarled blindly on the ground. He sounded like he was lecturing.

“335-21-40-12-714-”

“I’m gonna stop you there.” Sylus leaned forward, leaning against the table.

“That’s not the real number. Those were my numbers,” he peeled the Chiss’ eyelids open. The Chiss saw, no, felt, the truth of this words, and screamed.

Sylus placed his hands on the alien’s head and pulled. To his credit, the Corpsman roared and fought.

“YOU WILL NOT ERASE ME. I AM A MASTER OF THE CORPS! I AM-”

The Chiss stopped, whimpering. Sylus leaned back, lifting his hands off his head.

“I… Who am I? There’s so much pain…”

Sylus tried to say his name, but he did not matter. This guy did not matter one iota.

“I honestly could not tell you,” and he crushed his skull.

Gingerly picking up the warrior's sidearm, Sylus limped out of the room, towards the sound of gunfire down the hall...

The sirens continued to ring, he carefully picked up the warrior's sidearm. He limped out of the room, catching sight of the interrogation chamber's computer, connected to the base's emergency warning system. So, there had been a break-in.

He memorised the location of the nearest hostile contact and continued on, towards the sound of gunfire down the corridor...