"If a natural disaster strikes your community, reach out to your friends, neighbors, and complete strangers. Lend a helping hand."
Marsha Blackburn
Location: Atrisia
Wearing: This
With:
Gianna Aegis
Tagging: Caedyn Arenais |
Kurenai Yumi
|
Yuroic Xeraic |
Vytal Noctura |
Kas Varad
|
Darth Miseria |
Xobos Yakieer |
Kirk Tektus |
Kyyrk
|
Credius Nargath
|
BX-72967 |
Junko Ike |
Alessandra Creed
|
Kirk Tektus |
Marlon Sularen
|
Ben Craig
|
Kaden Farr
|
Anakwor Farlorn
|
The Monster
|
Luna Terrik
|
Subject 73 Red
|
Ben Craig
|
Prennis Keeoli
|
Kyyrk
|
Kiff Brayde
|
Tobias Wrynn
It was the most unlikely thing that John had ever heard of, could ever think of. A war was a massive thing, a constant movement of soldiers and material across vast distances. It was full of the bark of guns, the roar of fighters screaming their lungs out in terror, in anger. It was the silent passage of ships through the cold empty void of space, the hum of their engines and the thrum of turbolasers as they unleashed a storm of energy that would crack durasteel and snuff out thousands of lives in an instant.
John had stood on the bridge of a starship, a behemoth of ceramic and metal designed to sweep all enemies from in front of him. Had felt the energy beneath his feet, the awesome power at his command as he raised finger, issued a command. Had stood in the planning room of a military facility watching reports coming in, lost amongst the hustle and bustle of soldiers moving back and forth, generals issuing orders.
That was where a war was meant to be prosecuted, in the correct place, with the correct gravitas needed to send countless soldiers into the face of death.
A war certainly wasn’t meant to be prosecuted from a comfortable seat, with a sleeping woman curling herself into you as you closed your eyes. It almost looked like both of them were asleep, not that the dark-haired man was actually prosecuting a campaign that ranged over the surface of the planet. Thousands of moving pieces, of soldiers shifting according to his orders, material and supplies flowing across the planet.
John imagined that this was what a Jedi, what a sith felt like. His eyes remained pressed shut, but through the communications network, he’d constructed the man was hyper-aware of everything happening right across the planet. He could grab the data from a single soldier, form the electronics tied into their armour or could zoom all the way out, turning every unit, every member of the CIS into a small mote of light that he could paint across the world with.
It felt…god-like. It felt like he could do anything.
The unhappy shifting of the sleeping Jedi by his side, the soft murmur brought the man’s attention crashing down the grandeur he’d been soaking in. As…powerful as the network made him feel, that wasn’t why he was here, that wasn’t why he was doing this. There was a pandemic to fight, and he was best positioned to do that.
A soft sigh, of breath escaping his lungs as the man let the data wash over him again.
This soon after John had alerted the CIS forces of the state of the planet, had authorised them to go weapons-free, issued them their missions he didn’t quite expect to have any urgent requests to deal with. What he did have piling up, what filled him with a pride in the Confederacy military machine was the constant stream of affirmations.
It didn’t matter what the mission, what the task had been assigned to them. They rose, they rose magnificently.
The first responder was Commander Jachovich, the mercenary just providing a small confirmation of the orders before turning to business. John watched the ship dropping into the atmosphere, a quick thought, a notification to the CIS ships in orbit guaranteeing it safe passage, clearing fighters and cargo vessels from its path. The team jumped, they landed they went dark It was out of his hands now. John had rolled the dice, and both the Exarch and Exarch Talon would have to hope that the man’s luck held, that he came up with a lucky roll.
Not every alert was as…positive as that though, not every byte of data lifted John’s spirits, led him to believe that they’d be ok, that they’d make it through this plague that had swept over the planet. The citizens o the confederacy who had ended up on the planet, through their own choice or through the vagaries of fate. The planet was like a lodestone, seeming to pull in more and more fighters, soldiers, force users, binding them into this moment in time. It was something you saw again and again in history, planets, fights, wars that drew in the great and good of the galaxy.
Atrisia seemed to be no exception if the latest arrivals seemed to be anything to go by. John could feel his hackles rising, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge as their identification resolved. The Directorate. The fledgeling imperials that they had already clashed with once in the skies over Atrisia, unlike the Eternal Empire the Directorate forces hadn’t opened fire on the CIS. Still, it was always better safe than sorry. A simple thought, the ships in orbit receiving orders to watch them, track them. He wouldn’t order them to open fire…not yet. But nor would he countenance any risk to the Confederate’s on the planet, nor any chance of the virus escaping off-world.
Only, that didn’t seem to be their intent, at least not right now. John could see the directorate troops in the background of a video sent by
Credius Nargath
, a video of…a guard succumbing to the disease. Without being touched, without any visible carriers nearby. It was the first time John had actually seen the disease in effect, and the sight was horrifying, to say the least. The convulsions, the shudder of pain, those sounds like he was drowning, dying right in front of him. It shook the man to see it, so coldly rendered in the video, without a trace of emotion this was what they were facing. This was the slow death that was promised to all of them, that waited for them on the planet. This was the video that everyone needed to see, that he sent out to the network with a thought.
For a moment, that single moment John considered taking advantage of his ship…it was tempting, so tempting to head to space. To turn the ship around, to head to the coolness of space, the peace of the vacuum. The ship was airtight…chances are none of them had been infected that they were safe He could turn around, control the battle as easily from orbit as he could from the surface. What would be lost? What could he add?
A moment of fear, the icy claws grasping for his soul, tearing into him. Just for a moment before he opened his eyes, staring at the slumbering redhead in his arms. He wanted to protect her but she wouldn’t take that, she wouldn’t run. Gia would go where people needed her, no matter the cost, the danger. A moment of fear, passing in a breath. People needed him too, he could do the most good at Jar’Kai, finding a cure to the virus. The ship shuddered, engines ramping up as the nose swung around. Jar’kai it was. For better or worse, John was committed now, he’d live and die with his colleagues and friends.
The thoughts, the emotion had run through the man’s head in the barest second, a small break in his concentration but, it was enough. Enough for that small slip in the network, for his concentration to break, for a whole to appear in the coverage. Not much slipped through, a routing request from
Kaden Farr
, but even as John reached out, trying to wrap the web back together another voice appeared. A hand catching it as General
Luna Terrik
answered, sending directions down the line to the Mandalorian, buying John the time he needed to settle back into his position at the centre of the web.
Just in time to receive Commander
Kirk Tektus coming back his conformation, seeing the movement orders given to his troops before his attention was pulled away. A welcome voice, a voice he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again.
“Alessandra…”
Her voice cut through his reply, the words cutting him short, sending a cold shiver down his spine. This…was worse than he thought, worse than he could ever have imagined. Dry mouth opened and closed before he could gather himself, before he could reply.
“We hadn’t identified it yet, we’re looking to obtain a live specimen to test…well to confirm now.”
A soft breath, shoulders hunching in slightly.
“Alessandra…if it’s The Sickness and you’re infected…I’ve…I’ve got a team of Dauntless closing on your position. We’re setting up quarantine camps…as many medical supplies as we have. Just hang in there, we’ll figure out a cure…we’re all going to need it.”
Committed, for better or worse.
“All Confederacy Assets… this is Minister Locke, currently in command of the Confederacy Forces In this area. We have an initial suggestion that the sickness on Atrisia is the Blackwing Virus. The galaxy has faced this threat before, has survived. We will find a cure, but treat all enemies as hostile, engage them from maximum range. If you start to feel sick or are wounded immediately report to the medical camps. Good luck to us all.”
As his voice fell silent a quick thought redirected droid forces to the medical camps…less places of healing now than quarantine. If the virus spread, if the patients were infected, they needed forces at hand to be able to deal with the situation. Forces who wouldn’t succumb to the virus themselves.
General Terrik’s voice cut through the dark turn of the man’s thoughts, leaving him nodding, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips.
“General, if we are dealing with the Blackwing…have your men be extremely careful we know there are infected forces in the area.”
Then a friendly voice, one of the few he’d heard, lifting him and crashing him down at the same time.
“Voph…I really wish you hadn’t. Is a virus…it’s the Virus. We’re…we’re working on it but…I’ll find a cure. Don’t get…”
He couldn’t say it not without giving the thought shape.
“Be careful in there.”
He needed to get his thoughts away, needed to be able to focus on something else, not thinking about his friend surrounded by a fog of the virus, just waiting, inching closer to…new arrival. The ships in orbit broadcasted the information as a new fleet materialised, a force of ships containing…a lucrehulk, more than one. There could only be one fleet, on faction it could be.
That small sigh of relief, something else that’s going right.
“High Marshall Brayde, am I glad to see your ships. We believe someone has released the Blackwing Virus on the planet, I need your ships to enact a blockade. At this time the planet is quarantined, I don’t care if the Vicelord himself is demanding you let him through. Until we know what’s going on, until we know for a face there’s a cure and we’re safe no one gets off the planet. You’re authorised to destroy any ship that tries to escape.”
No ship.
John might have just signed the death warrant for everyone on the planet…but maybe, just maybe they could save the galaxy. Only history could judge him…as long as there was a history to judge him.