(Don't Fear) The Highwayman

[Progflaw99]

Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade
Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade
The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five
But I am still alive
~ The Highwayman

The pitter patter of feet slapping across the pristine white floors echoed throughout the skyway system interconnecting some of the largest structures at the center of Muracie. The Capital City of Centares, Muracie had become something of a 'last stop' on the way from the Core into the Outer Rim - a final splash of civilization before often wild and dangerous space. Situated along the Perlemian Trade Route, Centares saw a fair amount of travel, raw materials and more exotic wares headed towards the Core, luxury items and equipment headed out towards the Outer Rim. As such, a wide variety of species called Centares and the other populated planet in system - Nizon.

This early in the morning the skyways were near empty, the echoing noises hardly causing a glance here or there as people moved about towards their place of employment - curious as to what would drive someone to run through the corridors but little more. The runner, a young man in his early twenties, hair swept back as a slick glean of perspiration formed on his forehead. As he traveled, his breaths became labored, but his speed refused to decrease - he was a man on a mission. As his footsteps brought him towards the Capitol Building, he slowed finally, jumping into a turbolift. With a scan of a badge the doors closed behind him and the courier was whisked to the uppermost floor. Upon exiting, he gave a simple nod at the receptionist behind the desk flashing his badge once more as he came to a brief halt in front of a pair of ornate, gilded doors and tried to catch his breath.

Just beyond, the Mara-Perlemian Trade Council - the Council. By all appearances he was about to interrupt a meeting, it couldn't be helped. Besides, the Council themselves had said they wanted to be notified immediately hadn't they? It didn't make the young man feel any better. A hushed whisper preceded a raised voice in his direction.

"The Council will see you now."

That was it, and a nod from the woman behind the desk. A quiet hum filled the man's ears as the doors slowly retracted into the wall, the view of the room widening enough to see every one of the Councilors present, the Chairman - Olivander Cardiff - seated squarely at the head of the large conference table. His breath almost caught in his throat, but the courier managed to take a deep breath before stepping inside. As he did so, his eyes traced the room from right to left, mentally checking off each member of the council and silently saying their names. As he confirmed they were indeed all present, he took one final step before bowing low. As he stood straight, he began speaking.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, please excuse my intrusion. You asked to be notified should any more vessels go missing along the Perlemian Trade Route - specifically in Trade Council space. It's happened again, this time to one of our shipments. It seems whomever is making the ships disappear have gotten bold enough to hit even government contracted shipping crews." He cleared his throat, stepping next to the open end of the table and reaching into the satchel. "Here.." he said, placing a small circular device down. "..You can see the projected flight plan of a bulk freighter named "The Pigeon's Prodigy" and a red blip where it seemed to have stopped transmitting."

As he spoke the device came to life, an almost ethereal glow emanating from it as a three dimensional display of the vessel's projected flight path flicked into view. "As you might know, that brings the total missing ship list to 43. The Commanders and Generals are getting antsy - They want to see action by this Council to secure the trade lane against what is assumed to be Pirates. The media hasn't yet got a hold of the story but I imagine they'll be right behind me - I only know because of a guy I met..." He looked around, catching himself. "It doesn't really matter - but what does matter is that we're rapidly approaching a precipice, and if we don't act soon... I fear we will lose confidence that was so hard fought to get to this point. Begging your pardon."

With another bow, the young man took a step back, waiting on what would be said. He knew he'd overstepped - in fact he'd probably just secured his termination along with a mandatory assignment to some other menial task within the Capitol building, but what happened next surprised him. Silence had gripped the representatives seated around the table, their eyes now boring a most uncomfortable spot on his forehead. A deep voice broke the silence, the aged man at the head of the table smiling gently.

"Dear boy, you needn't worry - you are correct, it was we who asked to be notified."

He trailed off momentarily, eyes looking around the table at the other members of the council. In particular, his eyes lingered on the form of Eris Volcata, Councilor from the planet New Holstice - her reaction to the intrusion he was curious to see. Resuming his line of thought, he continued.

"The boy is right you know. We can't rightly seek to proclaim ourselves the governors of the Trade Council worlds and neglect the very defense of the hyperlanes used to travel and trade between ours and others." A knowing gaze fell upon the boy then, his attention returning to his humbled figure once more however briefly. "Leave us - we will summon you should you be needed again. And thank you." In a moment, the young man turned on his heel, the device left humming quietly at the end of the table. As he exited the room the doors shut gently behind him, and then the deliberation began. The evidence was clear, the facts undeniable, and now all that was left was to decide exactly how they would respond.

"Executor Volcata..." Chairman Cardiff's voice boomed. "...What would you have us do?"


[member="Eris Volcata"]

OOC:

Spoiler

Hello! This is the first ever faction thread for the Mara-Perlemian Trade Council, a new minor faction created in the wake of the Silver Jedi Order withdrawal from the areas along and surrounding both the Perlemian Trade Route and the Mara Corridor - specifically Centares! There are a few planned scenes for this thread, and while the initial scene is somewhat limited, there are plenty of places you can hop in depending on who your character is and where you'd like to be involved!

By all means, if you would like to join but aren't quite sure what's going on or where you might fit in, feel free to either PM myself or [member="Eris Volcata"], or you can stop by our Faction Forums or Discord which I will link below!

The general gist of this thread, is to secure a corridor along the Perlemian Trade Route, and track down a series of missing ships - presumably attacked and raided by pirates who have been emboldened by the lack of enforcement along the trade route! Whether it's freelance contract work, or you'd like to be involved in the faction as a member, please feel free to contact us or just swing by and take a look! Thanks!

Faction Advert: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/118295-mara-perlemian-trade-council-faction-advertisement/
Faction Page: http://starwarsrp.net/forum/4150-mara-perlemian-trade-council/
Faction Discord: https://discord.gg/rATaPpf

 

[Eris Volcata]

​

Eris remained silent as the Councilors received their briefing, her deep brown eyes inscrutable in her lined face as she watched the courier deliver his report and then leave. It was exactly the kind of thing the Council had to answer; if they couldn't -- or wouldn't -- respond, they had no right to assert themselves as a an authority in this area. The old woman inclined her head towards the President, her eyebrows lifting in response to his question as if to inquire whether he was really asking her the question.

In response, she stood. "If I may," she said -- a statement, more than a question -- as she brushed past the President to the central Council table control table. She activated it, and a map of the MPTC member systems and the surrounding space flickered to live above the table. "Forty three ships missing. The question isn't what I would have us do." She keyed in the data received from the courier, showing the new red blip. "The question is how many ships and men we're willing to devote to tracking these pirates down."

Eris spread her hands expansively. "The more ships we have investigating and hunting down the pirates, the fewer ships we have safeguarding the hyperlanes," she said, and let her hands grasp the edge of the council table, peering around at her colleagues. "Not to mention, there will be casualties. More than is necessary because of the state of our equipment," she said, casting a glance at [member="Olivander Cardiff"] again. "And if we lose enough ships and materiel and men, how can we hope to go on like this?" It was, Eris realized, slightly more complicated than let's go kill them.

"Mr. President," Eris said. "What kind of funding can we expect to enhance our military standing?"

 

[Progflaw99]

​

​

"You know, if you put a little hip swing into it, you might get a little farther."​

​

A muffled grunt was the only response the man standing there was returned, a broad shouldered figure throwing his weight against the large wrench once more. Atlas grinned. He was always the one to push buttons, even to the best of his friends. For another minute Lt. Viridian watched the hunched figure before stepping forward, arms outstretched.

"Here, let me get that for you princess." He winked.​

​

Reluctantly the hunched over figure rose, the wrench held out in defeat. That man looking back at Atlas was a bear of a man, a wonder as his uniform carried the insignia of a fighter pilot. The vessel behind him, a Z-95 Headhunter, lay in varios states of disrepair. An engine cowling lay below the raised fighter, several panels missing from the prow of the vessel, but what the other pilot had been attempting to wrench free was a large canister mounted just within the hull. Atlas grabbed the wrench, patting his fellow pilot on the shoulder as he passed. Lt. Behr was a good pilot, but he hadn't had the same training as Atlas as a child. Sometimes the work took a delicate touch.

"Ah kark off, the damn thing just won't come off!"​

​

A quiet chuckle escaped Atlas' lips, the wrench swinging slowly as he sauntered towards the small component. Making exaggerated motions, he cracked his knuckles and set the wrench in place before taking a deep breath.

"C'mon 'Bear', you just gotta give it some gentle lovin' "​

​

Turning back to the task at hand, Atlas' gaze locked onto the component in question. Narrowing his eyes, he set to, hands griping the haft the wrench tightly before he leaned into it. Set to task, he continued to apply pressure to the wrench, when suddenly it gave way. With a clang the wrench slammed into the frame of the vessel, a quiet curse echoing under his breath. He'd managed to get the component free, but at the cost of a pinched hand.

"Well..." he said, a grimace in Bear's direction. "...That ought to do it then. Looks like you owe me a drink."​

​

"Ah c'mon Atlas, I loosened it and you know it!"​

​

A slow chuckle was the only response Lt. Viridian gave the other pilot, the wrench passed off before wiping his hands on the coveralls he wore. An amused grin spread across Atlas' features as he turned back to 'Bear', leaning up against a large toolbox.

"Alright alright, I won't tell your mum - besides, I've got better things to do with her." Another wink. "What would you ever do without me, eh Bear?"​

[member="Morgan Fisher"] | [member="Icarus Volcata"]​

 

[Kirie]

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. ​

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. ​

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, ​

And the highwayman came riding—​

Riding—riding—​

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.​

​

Lieutenant Morgan Fisher pulled back on the controls and flared his Z-95, bringing it to a precise and careful hover a metre above the apron. Already dialed to the correct frequency, he pulled the trigger on the yoke, and transmitted. "This is Headhunter 1-3, request taxi to the hangar." He sat back, and a few seconds later came the usual reply. "Headhunter 1-3, you are clear for taxi." Routine made the world go round, nowhere was this truer than the Starfighter Corps.

Morgan had always been of the mindset that the regulations existed for a reason. As such, he'd paid careful attention when the trainers had told him that the flight rules had been written in the blood of reckless pilots. He'd put in countless hours of study, learned the rules, the codes, the tips and tricks. He knew every piloting handbook by the letter, and because of it, he was the best damn pilot in the whole corps, bar one crucial detail. He'd never been in combat. Unfortunately, that fact was true for many of the pilots here. Most of them were young, though there were some of the older, experienced pilots like himself. The few officers who had seen real combat in the Starfighter Corps were regarded with a sort of celebrity status, even though the "combat" merely consisted of a few minor clashes, across hilariously short and uneventful careers. Compared the the aces of the First Order, and the Galactic Alliance, these men were nothing.

Still, Morgan found himself wanting to become one of them. He had studied enough, he had trained enough, he was ready to defend his planet, ready for a real fight.

Taxiing to the hangar, Morgan deployed the landing pads, and lowered the Headhunter softly to the ground, making sure to land each pad at the same time, a manoeuvre he'd practiced time and again. Popping open the hatch, Morgan got to his feet, waving to [member="Atlas Viridian"] as he jumped to the concrete floor. He nodded the the maintenance crew, already moving to give the spacecraft a post-flight inspection. He sauntered over to Atlas, producing a pair of sunglasses seemingly from thin air. Grinning, he turned to Lieutenant Behr, patting the broad man on the back. "Hey Bear, if you wanted to teach him a lesson I'm sure the rest of the squad would turn a blind eye." He chuckled, "I kid of course."

[member="Atlas Viridian"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Ah. The ever present problem of funding. As valid a point it was, it caused him to wrinkle his brow - he had suspected such a question from someone though coming from Eris it caught him off guard. Olivander's frown lingered for a moment, fingers gently tapping the handle of an ornate cane resting against the large table. Quietly he appraised the woman, though the two had attended numerous meetings during the initial formation of the council, he couldn't say he truly knew much about her. With time that would change. It was a personal goal of his to know each and every council member as not only a peer, but as a friend if possible. Tight knit friendships and a unified purpose would be their strength, a strength that would see them through the times ahead. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice in answer.

"You bring up a good point - the funding of the Trade Council Armed Forces has been a subject of discussion since its inception." He cleared his throat. "As a matter of principal, the TCAF is comprised of each planet's defense forces - though funded by the Trade Council, much of the manpower is supplied by each individual member planet or system. As can be evidenced by our budget reports, the purchase of surplus weaponry and vessels has left us with a fairly large hole in our finances. Already our forces have felt the sting of understrength rosters." He paused, eyes passing from each council member to the next. "Each one of you can attest to the financial burdens of protecting each of our worlds, not to mention the trade lanes which connect us to much needed supplies. Perhaps it is time we ask those Jedi who remained behind after the Silver Jedi withdrew for their assistance? Forty Three vessels is no small number."​

​

A thoughtful frown crossed his features as he finished his sentence. He knew it was a touchy subject - at least with some of the other council members. The inability of the previous sect of Force users to fully protect and regulate the space lanes had done little to establish any faith between the government and the Jedi who now formed the Trade Council Order. While the two shared a name, and shared living space, the two were wholly independent. It was this concession that had saved the Jedi from being forcibly removed by the more zealous of the government, those who wished to expel all Force Users upon the member worlds. While Olivander found the majority of them trustworthy, the same could not be said for some of his colleagues. How such a suggestion might be received had yet to be seen. What was more important? Ego, or the safety of the Trade Council worlds and hyperlanes? Could they put aside their differences and strive unified towards the same goal?

[member="Eris Volcata"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Atlas' talkative mood was met with vaulted stoicism, or maybe it was irritation - he couldn't tell. Either way, the look he received told him he'd better quit while he was ahead. Giving Lt. Behr a nod of his head and a playful smirk, Atlas watched as another starfighter entered the hangar - another Z-95, nearly identical to the rest. *Looks like another training flight, back in from the void - I wonder who it is this time?* he thought to himself. As the fighter drew nearer taxiing down the length of the bay, Atlas began to make out the pilot's features. *What's his name again.. Fisk, Frusk, Flask? no that's not it.* He wracked his brain, trying to remember, but it wasn't until the pilot had disembarked and begun stepping over that the younger pilot grinned, greeting him.

"Lieutenant Fisher, good to see you didn't burn up on re-entry, heard you got a little toasty last time!"​

​

Always the joker, Atlas extended his arm in greeting. Intent on shaking the man's hand, he turned his gaze to 'Bear' with a look of feigned fear.

"Ah, Behr knows I'm just playing around. So did you hear the news? Sounds like there's a budget crises on the horizon - all these tugs.." He pointed out at the rest of the hangar, Z-95's, A Wings, and a myriad of other fighter and bomber craft filling the maintenance bays. "..cost us a pretty good amount, and we all know that these aren't anywhere near the top of the line. Next thing you know, they'll be making us bring toilet paper from home." Atlas rolled his eyes.​

​

The Council Starfighter Corps was a blessing, and he really did enjoy his job - to him it was more of a dream than a job. Even so, there were days where he wondered if he would wake up the next day and even have a job. It was no secret, the Trade Council was in its infancy and there was much yet to cement in place. Even though Everyone called it the Trade Council, in truth it was still provisional. Lacking the funding of other major galactic powers it was all they could do to scramble up enough concerned citizens and their pocketbooks to pay for the aged fleet they were fielding. Some of this stuff Atlas sword had seen action in the wars just after the Great Dark, or even during.

"Anyway, how you liking these things? A step up from the training models at the academy, huh?" he said, pointing at Lt. Fisher's Z-95.​

​

​

[member="Morgan Fisher"] | [member="Icarus Volcata"]​

 

[Eris Volcata]

Eris felt her nose wrinkle before she could stop it, and hastily forced her features into something approaching neutrality. "Mr. President, with all due respect, is this really a job for the Jedi?" she asked. "And if it is, and it requires naval forces to hunt and track these pirates, we are no closer to a solution to the original problem -- we would still need to put the Jedi in our ships. What fighters and other equipment we have may be just about an even match against these pirates, but no more." Her voice was grave, gravelly, and small as she contemplated the task ahead of them. She knitted her hands together, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"And if we lose them..." her voice dropped off as she looked sidelong at [member="Olivander Cardiff"]. The implication was clear; they had leveraged all they could from the planetary forces, who were already at or near the breaking point in terms of what they could contribute. If they lost a significant portion of their forces, they would be open season for the pirates plaguing their lanes.

"But," she said, lifting her hands to show her palms, as if to say she surrendered the point. "If you think the Jedi may weigh in our favor, I'm willing to try anything. But this opens the door to questions that, in this room may seem petty, but I can assure you that out there, in the cold void and the hot gunfights, is paramount. To whom will these Jedi answer during this endeavor -- you, me, their code? Will they be fish, flesh, foul or good red herring?"

 

[Kirie]

Morgan's features settled into a comfortable smile. "She's a good bird, this one. Much better than anything I've ever flown before." He paused for a moment, giving Atlas a conspiratorial look. "I've been wondering how the MPTC affords to maintain these puppies. Rumour has it their coffers are running low. Best enjoy these while we can, that's all I'm saying." He pulled a document out from under his arm, writing in the hours of his last sortie into his logbook.

As he wrote, he looked back at Atlas. "Lieutenant Viridian, have you finished your documents for tomorrow's flight? Mission brief is 0530 and wheels up at 0700. There are a few copies of the flight plan in the office if you need one. So far, their training had been limited mostly to flights with the instructors. For many of the pilots, including Morgan, they had only recently been allowed to fly their birds without an instructor watching them hawkishly. Finally, after months of training, a squadron of 10 Z-95s would be deployed on a standard patrol around the local space of the Centares System, and eventually into the depth of the Perlemian Trade Route.

His voice changed its tone, and he looked seriously back at [member="Atlas Viridian"]. "Honestly though, I don't know why they're still giving us normal duties when there are people dying left an right." He sighed deeply. "I believe in what the Council stands for, but I'm yet to see any evidence of real action from them. Maybe they're too scared, I don't know. All I'm sure of is that I want to get out there and defend my planet. I'm sick of short hops with no purpose. We've done the training, give us something to shoot at!"

[member="Atlas Viridian"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

A deep intake of breath was met with momentary pause before Olivander let loose a quiet sigh. Eyes narrowing, he listened carefully until her discourse had run to its apparent end. As her words came to a close, he posed the question to the rest of the council, a raised eyebrow prompting his speech as he responded.

"Councilor Volcata raises question as to our need, and I know many of you are yet skeptical of those among the Jedi - and with good reason. However, even now they do what they can to patrol our hyperlanes and assisting those in need. Can we continue to show them such a cold shoulder when they have done nothing but try to assist where we let them?" He paused momentarily. "But I digress. The facts of the matter are such that I see no other course than to request assistance from their order. Should any of you have a viable alternative, I'll happily concede there may be another way but at present..." He trailed off.​

​

As much as he hated to admit it, the woman was right. They couldn't afford to lose any assets at present. Contracts had begun to form with several local production centers within the Trade Council worlds but those had yet to see ships or weapons actually roll off the production lines, and even then they were untested. It was a tight spot to be sure, but Olivander was adamant that they make decisions as a council, not unilaterally. That would lead to nothing but exactly what they were trying to avoid. Sure, there was plenty of room for corruption. Each planet or system looking out for itself, but here in a council they could mitigate some of the posturing and instead focus on the good of all members. Including the Jedi, requesting their assistance in searching for and if possible rescue of the latest missing ship, would be a step forward and away from the strong distrust between the Council and the Trade Council Order.

"As far as reporting goes - the Trade Council Order falls outside of our command structure. As they have no say in the affairs of the Trade Council, so also we have no right to interfere with their Order, however in times of conflict I can understand how a clear cut chain of command could be essential to the success of the operation - as Ms. Volcata has made note of. I believe should the Order agree, it would be pertinent that our military commanders hold all official command power - the Trade Council Order in this case would be little more than supplemental support. As advisors, they would hold no command presence. Would that satisfy your concerns?"​

​

Almost before the final word had left his mouth, a shrill chirp sounded at the door once more and the young courier poked his head in. A nervous expression creased his features.

"E-Excuse me - there's been another... We're getting an active distress signal now. It's in binary..."​

​

With a press of a button, the transmission began to play over the speakers in the conference room. Initially it played through in a series of beeps and clicks, but as the message began to progress the translation was complete.

:: YT-2400, Callsign Fenix. Under Attack by Pirates. Damaged Engines. Request Assistance. ::​

​

It was a short message, and as it began to loop Olivander's eyes narrowed, his fists tightening.

"We cannot continue to do nothing, we must act now - and the Jedi must be contacted!"​

​

​

[member="Eris Volcata"] | [member="Mirax Eygan"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] (Pergamon Stratus)​

 

[Progflaw99]

With a sigh and a smirk, Atlas nodded. He'd seen the flight plans and already prepped his bird. The Z-95's weren't bad, but they definitely needed an update. Some of them still had the original paneling on the interior. Anything that old had to be questionable. But Lt. Fisher was right, they were still nice birds though Atlas had heard something different than his fellow pilot. Sure, finances were tight, but only partially due to maintaining the outdated and refitted equipment used by the TCAF.

"Yeah, that may be part of the financial bit but I've got some more word on that." He winked. "I was talking to Lt. Kinsey from supply, she says they've just signed a production contract with a few smaller companies to produce us new ships. I tried to sneak a peak at the specs, but she was too quick - mentioned I'd end up in the brig right along side her should I manage to get a look."​

​

An almost dejected expression flashed across his features before a grin plastered itself all over. Taking a step inward he motioned for the others to come in close.

"I didn't get a good peek at them, but I did see this." Atlas whispered, giddily.​

​

Withdrawing a small, carelessly folded piece of paper from his coveralls, he unfolded it gently. Upon the white page there were what looked to be pencil markings and a rough outline of a ship. By all accounts, it was a terrible drawing, but it was the words written upon it that were most interesting. By estimation, one might have been able to see that it was a loose sketch of the Z-95's, but new and upgraded systems were outlined by small circles with a single word explaining roughly what component was either upgraded or added.

"I'll bet we see these inside the better part of a month - and hoo weee do I hope I get to fly one of them. You should have seen it. A right beaut."​

​

As he passed the hand scribbled page between them, he watched their faces for their reaction. ​

​

​

[member="Morgan Fisher"] | [member="Icarus Volcata"]​

 

[Mirax Eygan]

​

"Emperor's black teeth -- we're getting cooked in here! Vee-One, the navicomputer is on fire - would you kindly do something about it!?"

The automaton responded by activating its extinguisher attachment, rolling back and forth as the flames that threatened to engulf the ship's navicomputer and whatever systems nearest to it - finally died down, leaving behind a familiar odor of burned plasteel and singed metal alloy circuits. This wasn't good - and by all signs and portents of what was going on outside, it was not about to get any better. Luckily, the YT-2550's last known location was still blinking across the partially melted computer screen.

"Got it - we are near Ringo Vinda!"

Vee-One was too busy putting out micro fires from the earlier blaze, to respond with any modicum of decorum - and merely bleeped a series of frantic, high pitched sounds that could only be interpreted as some form of droid-speak expletive. Mirax was about to engage in re-routing power to a backup navicomputer when she spotted two glowing energy warheads heading port-side, causing her to veer away in a sudden, knee-jerking motion - forward thrusters protesting as they struggled to execute the desired maneuver.

"What in the blue blazes??"

And then she knew. Concussion missiles.

Luckily for the 'Fenix', the ship's speed and agility worked in her favor, this time. Mirax blinked the sweat away, watching twin release clouds of high-velocity proton particles finally find their target upon impact - resulting in a brilliant discharge of amber and gold. The proximity alarm went off as the nearest raider's vessel exploded, the shockwave (although comparatively minor) still rocked her ship, nearly knocking the Lorrdian out of her seat (had it not been for the safety belts that held her firmly in place).

No matter her luck so far, Mirax knew the freighter would not hold together for much longer. Her voice rose far above its natural alto pitch, indicating that the young woman's anxiety levels were well past bearing.

"Vee-One, get the emergency signal ready on all available frequencies - send it NOW!"

The pilot droid moved swiftly, obeying in silence. A first one for One-Vee, to be sure - Mirax thought grimly, wiping streaks of blackened sweat off her brow. Another moment - another series of blasts, followed by expert maneuvering by the captain whose nerves were beyond frayed at this point. Surprisingly enough, just when things seemed to get more menacing (bordering on impossible), the young woman's cold blood kicked in. Green eyes sparkled with strange focus, hands slid across the controls with lethal efficacy of movement. Whoever these marauders were, they would not get the best of her - not yet.

Amidst the chaos that continued to ensue, a resolute astromech droid continued to send out a frantic SOS alert, while the hapless freighter continued to evade, wait and hope . . . a lone, pitiful target in the vast reaches of space.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Olivander Cardiff"] | [member="Eris Volcata"]

Pergamon Stratus, the right honorable Councilor from Jabiim, looked as though he had been sweating profusely shortly before the Council had convened. Now instead of sweaty he just looked disheveled. Uncomfortable. Yes, very stressed out indeed. It was fortunate these sessions were not publicly broadcast, it might have cost him the job. And if it cost him the job, there was no telling what those Syndicate stooges would do to him. Just as well, thoughts like that were the reason for his sweating problem anyway. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. The people Jabiim did not like Jedi and never would. Their history routinely included being abandoned, persecuted, or destroyed by, for, or because of Jedi. Nobody wanted them around.

So he was, of course, bound by his duty to represent his constituents, to provide alternative solutions to the pirate problem. That and it was what the powers-that-be would probably want him to do. Such was his life now, balancing the needs of the Council, of Jabiim, and of Ardik. Gruesome stuff. Pergamon coughed and sniffed, his preferred method of attracting attention. "The Congress of Jabiim is wholly unconvinced, ahem, of the need for the intervention of Jedi of any stripe." Ugh, his face felt oily. Pergamon felt his glasses slide a little bit down his nose. He pushed them back up quite indignantly as he continued. "As the honorable Executor has already pointed out, our forces are stretched thin as it is - to say nothing of the casualties we will incur, Jedi presence or not."

Yes, let's attach monks to the navy. What were they going to do? Send those hooded zealots spinning through the void, lightsaber brandished, to lop off the bridge of a pirate cruiser in one clean stroke? Were they going to negotiate the pirates down? This was quack talk. Even if they got the Jedi to send warriors, the act of getting them on to the pirate ships would more than likely just get them killed. No, they needed to fight fire with fire. Scum with scum.

"I recommend this Council to seek the services of mercenaries to deal with the problem. And initiate a bounty program." A nice free market solution. That was the Jabiimi way. "The pirates will turn on each other in a matter of days. Once the mercenaries thin the rest of them out, our forces can handle the paltry remains. It will only have cost us some money - no favors need be owed to mystics, none of the valued lives of our servicemen needlessly expended. And we will have dealt with the problem ourselves, not by relying on the charity of some conclave of cultists."

Conclave of cultists. Oh, that was good one. Very nice. Even in this stage of his career, he could impress himself. Maybe they should be broadcasting these meetings after all. After finishing his remarks, Pergamon retrieved a stylus and wrote the phrase in the margin of his notebook, right next to a thickly outlined triangle he inscribed earlier.

 

[Eris Volcata]

As the next distress call came pouring in, Eris began to gather her things -- portfolio, pens, datapad, the assorted folderol that came with being a Councilor -- and began to pack them away. By the time the President had issued his command, the Councilor was gone and in her place stood the Executor -- all five feet, two inches of cold fury and hard determination. By the time President Cardiff made his declaration, Eris had inclined her head. "Very well, President Cardiff." She turned to an aide. "Get [member="Mathias Zaren"] on the line and alert my ship that I'll be along presently."

The Executor turned her attention back towards the Council. "I move the Council authorizes the deployment of an expeditionary force to combat the pirate thread along the trade routes."

This was, after all, a provisional democracy. She wasn't about to assume control of the planetary military forces without the blessing of the council. She entered the motion into the system, which would cause the voting interface to appear on the displays in front of the rest of the councilors. The Executor disappeared again, replaced briefly by the Councilor casting her vote, before Eris stood, tapping her fingers as she waited for the vote to conclude.

[member="Olivander Cardiff"]

 

[Progflaw99]

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Centares \\ Outskirts of Muracie \\ Jedi Temple Complex​

Residential Section \\ Personal Quarters​

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The strategic location of a myriad of skylights permitted daylight to reach even some of the deeper levels of the complex, but supplemented by artificial light it almost felt as if he was on the surface. Mathias took a few gentle steps towards the small shelves located against one wall. Aside from the shelf, his personal quarters were spartan, only containing what seemed necessary - anything extra was either well hidden or failed to exist in the first place. There upon the shelf rest a small collection of items, what appeared to be books or manuals, and several lightsaber components but beyond that remained near empty. It was still strange to him, living in such a large community in comparison to the one he'd come from. He found it equal parts exciting and intimidating. Eyeing one of the tomes upon the shelf he ran his finger along its spine, the soft leather binding generating a twitch at the corner of his lips. He liked books. Old books. While he could easily find knowledge at his fingertips at the archive there was something distinctly satisfying about turning the pages of a bound book, the smell of the parchment as he read. It sent a chuckle escaping from his lips. If any of the others could see him, hear his thoughts - he imagined they'd find him strange.

His eyes tracked downward to the wide leather belt around his midsection, the subtle weight of his lightsaber hilt resting against his thigh reminding him of the time. He'd nearly forgotten, the morning exercises! It had been strange enough, moving here to live among other Jedi but to join them in their structured schedule was taking even more getting used to than he'd anticipated. Taking a deep breath he stepped away from the shelf, turning towards the door that would lead into the passageway.

It was at that precise moment he felt a presence upon his mind, like a shroud descending upon him where he stood. The familiar voice of Jedi Master Soren echoing in his ears.

<< Mathias - Take two Knights with you. Get to the hangars immediately, more will be made clear to you when you arrive. >>​

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The Jedi Master's tone was significantly more serious than usual, the man's words sending a pulse of anxiety through the Knight's body. He could feel his heartrate begin to rise as he heeded Master Soren's instructions, footsteps rapidly beating along the pristine white of the floor. Through the corridors he ran, jogging at first but as he realized the urgency of the situation he picked up speed. Even now he was being passed information telepathically he began to put out his own feelers. Two Knights. As he cut through a small side hall he felt a familiar presence at the edge of his perception - a Knight by the name of Toren. Relaying the information to the other Knight, he did the same with another, Jayla - one of the Knights who often attended the same meditation sessions Mathias did.

It only took them a few minutes before they arrived in the hangar. By now, they each knew their purpose, and with little more than a silent nod to each other they began heading for the starfighters at the end of the bay. A distress signal had been received, and in turn the Trade Council had requested their assistance. It may not have seemed like much, to send three starfighters - but those who knew what the Jedi were and they were capable of should have appreciated it. As they hopped into the cockpits of their vessels a trio of R2 Astromech droids chirped, they too preparing themselves. From here they would head out into the central core, ornate arches and decoration lining the interior shaft leading to the hangar bays - and then out into orbit. There they would dock with their hyperdrive rings. Their destination? The Perlemian Trade Route, specifically near Ringo Vinda for that was where the signal had been received. If all went according to plan, they along with the Trade Council Naval forces would depart in one formation. Mathias only hoped they wouldn't be too late.

[member="Mirax Egan"] | [member="Eris Volcata"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

With a quiet frown, Olivander adjusted himself in his chair, dark eyes musing over the others. He knew a few of the representatives would undoubtedly vote no - a choice he understood, but wholly disagreed with. In a state of such fluctuation and the newly established government in its infancy, he had doubts that it would even make it off the ground. There had been several issues already that had threatened to overturn the small council but they'd held on - but sometimes holding on still wasn't enough. If they couldn't see past their own interests this was a doomed venture from the start. Firmly gripping the handle of his cane he reached down to the pad before him and firmly pressed the button to which his vote would be cast.

His vote confirmed, he had little more to do than watch and wait. With some apprehension he watched the readouts, votes being entered in by those others seated around the table. What decision they came to might well determine the fate of the Trade Council. Though there was doubt in his mind, Olivander had faith in humanity - faith in those of the Trade Council worlds that they would see through their mistrust and fear to do what needed to be done. It was in that selfless spirit that the Council would thrive and maybe even one day become something larger, greater even.

The die had been cast, or so it seemed - what awaited those forces deployed in response, only they would know. It was a hard choice, but one Councilor Cardiff saw as necessary for the security of not only the economic sector, but what would happen once these Pirates got comfortable in the trade lanes? Would they resort to attacking planets? He couldn't take that risk.

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Eris Volcata"]​

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Olivander Cardiff"] | [member="Eris Volcata"]

Pergamon did not look inherently pleased with being ignored, but such was life. He rolled his eyes petulantly and keyed in a yes vote. Yes, let us all go crawling, mewling for the help of some mystics rather than spend money - our backwater fleet will crush the pirates without issue now that we have monks on deck. Pergamon felt it would be damaging, to say the least, if he voted no simply over the involvement of the Jedi. Those pirates were as much a threat to Jabiim as the rest of them whether he liked or it not. You had to pick your battles with these sorts of issues, and this was not a good hill to die on. Not in the least bit.

Maybe once the fleet was reduced to debris... Well, who was Pergamon to make such projections? He was no tactician. Maybe the admiral would derive some sort of comfort from the Jedi and this would somehow lead him to a clear victory. But he doubted it. Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, or so the saying goes.

There would be other opportunities to discuss this issue, and hopefully stop any further encroachment by the Jedi on this fledgling council. Until then, Pergamon would bide his time and err on the side of Jabiim's best interests.

 

[Mirax Eygan]

A sharp squawk from Vee-One alerted Mirax to another ship's arrival. "Great, twenty klicks aft." Pulling the flight control stick around to the left, the Lorrdian brought the freighter into a wide turn. At the end of it, she punched the throttle up to full power. Hitting another switch up to the left, she brought what was left of her aft shields, online. "Take the helm, I'm going to man the guns."

The astromech protested with a series of high-pitched whirrs and warbles but Mirax was already gone. The human must have been out of her mind, thinking she stood a chance against such overwhelming numbers. All Vee-One could do, was re-calibrate the shields and divert all the possible power from non-essential systems to buy the Fenix more time.

All the good that would do, since they were pretty much a sitting duck, unable to break through the blockade of surrounding raider ships that continued to play a game of cat and mouse with the freighter as she continued to duck the persistent barrage of enemy laser fire.

Mirax strapped herself into the gunner's seat and brought the laser cannons online. By the time Vee-One had pushed shield power to full, she was already tagging the nearest two marauder vessels for some target practice. The laser targeting program was up and running on the main monitor. With her right hand, Mirax adjusted the sighting calibration knob on the stick and got the two ships marked - only four kilometers away and closing.

They are not getting me without a fight. If I am to go down, let it be like this.

Her left hand brushed a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead and between her eyes. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly - then settled her hand on the stick and let her thumb hover over the crimson firing button. At two kilometers the heads-up display painted an orange warning box around the closest raider ship. The box then turned green as the fighter's image locked into the HUD's targeting cross and a shrill alert bleat filled the gunner's station. Mirax's thumb hit the button, sending four bursts of laser bolts at the first enemy vessel.

The first set missed but the second and third blasted through the cockpit as the fighter's wing snapped off and spun forward through space while the ion engines exploded into an expanding ball of incandescent gas.

Vee-One kicked the Fenix up in a ninety-degree snap-roll, slicing through the center of the explosion. Laser fire from the second enemy vessel lit up the freighter's forward shields, making it impossible for Mirax to get a good visual on the target. The astromech bleeped excitedly, likely encouraging Mirax to take the shot - but she rushed it, and even though it hit - the enemy craft flashed past and continued onward, seemingly unscathed.

One down ... too many to go.

One small victory would not win the war, but it certainly was a good start - Mirax thought, smiling - as the Fenix came about, allowing her captain to zero-in on the next target . . .

 

[Progflaw99]

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Arriving near Ringo Vinda \ Perlemian Trade Route​

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As the reversion to real-space had occurred, Mathias' eyes immediately reacted to the flashing of blaster cannons. The two fighters on his wing reacted similarly, their quick reactions sending them diving below the crimson laser arc's they'd almost run head on into. Mathias gasped as he felt the pit of his stomach drop, the Delta 7b responding to his rapid manipulation of the controls with limited complaint. He needed to ditch the hyperdrive ring, if he didn't he risked not only damaging it but it also painted him a larger target. Already the R2 Unit embedded in front of the cockpit could be heard squealing what Mathias assumed to be profanities.

"I know, I know!" He replied, edgily.​

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His heart racing, the Jedi Knight input a rapid series of commands, spiraling away from the handful of ships. Eyes flicking towards his display, he counted a handful of fighter sized vessels, all preying upon a slightly larger vessel. At least they weren't dealing with any Frigates - they would be far outmatched had that been the case. According to the sensors though, they'd been the first to arrive. Trade Council Armed Forces were nowhere in sight - granted, the Jedi could move much faster and without as much organization, so it made sense to the Knight. It didn't make him any less anxious though.

After his initial dive, he'd quickly spiraled away, rapidly bringing his fighter into reverse as he disengaged the maglocks. In a moment the ring released, slowing to a stop due to its automatic thruster control system. Mathias on the other hand was already turning about, locking on to the nearest fighter. *Uglies?* he thought to himself as he identified the ships swarming around the larger vessel. Increasing his speed he saw his wingmen had come about, their psychic link guiding them together as a team towards the hostile fighters. As they rapidly closed the distance, Mathias keyed up his comms and prepared to fire on the uglies.

:: "Unidentified Vessel, this is Mathias Zaren of the Trade Council Order - we're here to help. Hold on tight!" ::​

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[member="Mirax Eygan"] | [member="Eris Volcata"]
[member="Atlas Viridian"] | [member="Morgan Fisher"]
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[Kirie]

Morgan was about halfway to the percolator when the alarm sounded. He'd just submitted his report on his sortie; nothing to report as usual. It was a warm day, and a small patch of perspiration stuck coolly against his back as he walked through the air conditioned corridors that attached to the base's main hangar. He stretched his arms as he walked, shaking the taut discomfort from sitting in the small cockpit of a Z-95 for hours at a time. As he rounded the corner to the break room, a klaxon sounded, one he'd only heard in drills back at the academy. A general alert.

Almost as soon as the alarm sounded, Morgan was sprinting down the corridor, brushing past the bewildered people as he slipped into the briefing room. He skidded to a halt, stopping by a holo-communicator. The projection blinked with a flashing exclamation point. Almost reverently, Morgan held out his hand, waiting a moment until text appeared on the screen. "Access Granted." His heart beat a mile a minute. Finally something real was happening. There would be no more talk of budgets, no more endless training. Whatever this was, it was a call to action, he was sure of it.

The message opened, and a played, read by the voice of a protocol droid. "Attention, there's been a distress call from a freighter near Ringo Vinda. The hyperspace coordinates have been attached with this message. You are to deploy a half-squadron of 5 Z-95s to investigate and assist ASAP. 3 representatives from the Trade Council Order have also been deployed and are currently en-route. Good luck, and good hunting."

Morgan had committed the orders to memory, but just in-case he ripped the compact holotape recorder from the communicator. Spinning on his heel, he tore out the room and into the main hangar, where pilots and main crew who'd also received the order busily prepped their starfighters. He rushed over to his ship, TCAF-024, and hopped in. Already punching on the numbers into his nav-computer. One of the biggest downsides to the Z-95 was the lack of an astromech. Most starfighters outfitted with hyperdrivescame with astromechs for hyperspace calculations, but the Z-95s had to be done manually.

As the maintenance crew worked on turning around his aircraft to be ready for take-off, Morgan began his pre-flight checks, testing the control surfaces, and checking oil, fuel and instruments. Mere minutes later he sat on the tarmac outside, the second in line of the 5 Z-95s, ready for his first battle.

[member="Mathias Zaren"] | [member="Mirax Eygan"] | [member="Atlas Viridian"]​

 

[Mirax Eygan]

There was no mistake, Vee-One bleeped in protest. There were more ships coming in, starfighter-class - but they were coming with the offer of assistance. Mirax blinked, pulling away from the gun targeting screen for a brief moment. "Interesting," she shot back toward the cockpit. Who was this Trade Council Order? And then, "Tell them that we appreciate the help!"

Perfect timing. Another thirty seconds or so, and the Fenix would be unsightly space debris. As the raider uglies swarmed around, giving chase, there was only so long Mirax could evade their pursuit - and there was no way in hell that she could take them all down and keep her skin, intact. Still, with the new arrivals on the scene, the enemy would now have more targets to shoot at. Their attention would be divided, buying the Lorrdian more time - and perhaps just enough time - to live. To survive.

Gripping the gun controls tightly, the young woman scanned the location of her previous mark. The computer showed her to be coming in at a forty-five-degree angle to the flight path of the enemy fighter, which meant she was way off target. Just then, Vee-One quickly pulled even more energy from both Girodyne sublight engines and shunted it into recharging the vessel's weapons and shields.

The sudden resource redirection brought her speed down. The Fenix eased herself into a turn that brought her head-on into the incoming target. Tapping the stick to the left, Mirax centered the targeting box on the enemy fighter closing in.

The HUD glowed amber, then quickly went red. Without blinking an eye, Mirax fired the laser cannon once... twice... The firing continued as Vee-One's high-pitched, keen warbles echoed through the cockpit.

"Acquiring next target," Mirax murmured, thanking her lucky stars that she was no longer the marauders' sole objective. Perhaps - thanks to this newest development - she would last long enough to thank her rescuers in person, after all...

[member="Mathias Zaren"] | [member="Morgan Fisher"] ​