Solid Thunder

[Cato Fett]

Reduced to passivity, Cato did his level best to keep his feet squared without catching Laira’s bootheels while they operated the floor pedal controls. There wasn’t time to readjust the crash-webbing; one arm latched round her waist and clenched her in against his stomach, the other crossed up and clutching her shoulder. One Fang interceptor dared her to hold course, lacing fire trace lines across their forward shielding, errant bolts poking into the prow armour as the shield-bubble stuttered. The Shadow shuddered, forward cannons stuttering and ripping back at the interceptor. The enemy tried to roll and yaw to their port. Laira followed, Cato feeling torque pull at his gut, the cockpit quaking as dampeners barely spared them the mechanic push and throw of the cannon-fire. They blitzed the interceptor to pieces. The cockpit caught fire from within before another punishing salve halved the fighter.

“That’s one,” Cato said. Targeting scopes were bright with heat spill and tracking cross-hairs. They pitched high before Laira angled them into a screaming dive. Cross-hairs spun before making a hard-lock on interceptor two. Paired concussion missiles launched from the ventral pods, corkscrewing round each other. The interceptor attempted evasive turns before a blast erupted across aft and their shields blinked dead, before going to shreds with the next bloom of brief heat and jet-ink smoke, shrapnel squealing off their viewfinder. “Two. …Rest are coming behind. What are those dreadnoughts up to…?”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

"We can't outrun these fighters, and we can't outpace those guns." She glanced at the sensor pad, and it appeared the Dreadnoughts were moving to sit on opposite sides of the debris field and wait, warding off the gunboats attempts to leave the field. The Fangs had a speed and maneuverability advantage of the aging XG-1 by a wide margin, and most of the remaining pilots had realized to give it a wider berth through the field, recognizing it was being slammed around pretty hard by its pilot who wasn't exactly concerned with safety.

The remaining four fighters pulled around behind the XG-1 from either side, Laira shifted around a little in Cato's lap, actually surprised at how comfortable it was for being in armor and all, and he was holding her rather nicely. She cut the engines, pressing the ship around a larger piece of rubble as it drifted, spinning the craft rather than trying to turn it. The maneuver allowed her to evade the interceptors first pass and bout time while they lined up to come at her again.

"Um," Her grey eyes darted around. She couldn't leave the field without opening herself up to flak from the dreadnoughts unless she was surrounded by the fighters, and she wasn't going to be able to manage keeping them in very close proximity long enough to jump to hyperspace without something happening. If she killed them all, she and Cato would not be able to escape the dreadnoughts and if she ran without dealing with them they would have little trouble with her in open space.

"I've got an idea, but you aren't gonna like it sweetie." She muttered, hoping her long red locks weren't getting in his face too badly. Even with a helmet he probably didn't want to stare at redhair and little else while she flew. Ducking the ship downwards, pulling into a wide loop to engage the Fangs for one more pass. This time they pulled off to her port side and began realigning their attack run as she made to use the largest piece of wreckage to use as cover, or at least that's what she wanted them to think.

They lined up, red energy blasts began strafing from behind the craft. As much as she zipped and zagged, the Solid Shadow's shields were rapidly fading away. "Perfect." Laira was grinning widely, excited to be in a difficult match of skills. One of the Fang fighters launched a pair of missiles in the hopes of taking out part of the ship.

It was all about timing.

As the missiles neared her, the second before they impacted and detonated against her particle shields she suddenly cut the ship upwards pointed directly at the massive wreckage, dropping an inactive missile of her own in her wake set to time detonate and take out the missiles. Her hope was that it would appear the missiles struck and knocked her into the debris, in turn annihilating the little gunship on impact while she cut a whole in the weakspot and slipped through back into open space.

"Hang on!" The explosion behind her occured just as a cascade of missiles detonated in front of them, punching a hole in the armor plating just barely big enough for them to slip through. Though not completely.

The starboard wing clipped the ragged hole and sent the Shadow spinning out of control, the redhead snapping the stealth system on and killing the engines, her legs clamped around Cato's own limbs, in an effort to keep herself in the seat as the ship careened off into open space. Quiet as a mouse.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Laira’s weight ground onto his hips. For a terrifying quarter of an hour, they watched, breathless, as star-fields swung with the yanking turn of the shuttle. Power had been diverted from primary weapons systems, fore and aft shields dimmed along with interior lights. It was a return to basic life-support; crystalline frost crept up the instrumentation and beaded a thin, diamond coat over Cato’s helm. He counted and, through will, timed his heart-beat with Laira’s pulse thudding back against armourweave. Her closeness on his lap bought them shared body warmth. The activated stealth hardware pulsated a sub-bass note through the deck plating.

“…That was good piloting,” He whispered. Anything louder than a mirror would cut the silence.

The Shadow had slowed, and was now faced with the distanced debris cloud. They tracked interceptors by engine flares amid vessel flotsam and thick refuse. Over the hour’s course, individual squadrons broke off their search patterns. A last flagging handful coasted by their presumed point of implosion, cursorily drifting and replaying the attack run. Cato felt fingernails dig into his knee. They eventually broke off and beat a circuit to the super-carrier, disappearing past the glow of a hanger shield. The flotilla reoriented from the battlefield after final salvos pummelled and broke up the remnants of the Destroyers. Cato’s grip finally unlatched from Laira’s frame. He still sat tense and rigid, laying the sword Oilseller across his lap expectantly, watching the gap between stars where the Death Watch had made the jump to lightspeed.

“…Let’s switch.” He pointed between their seats and rose. “After we’ve run diagnostics, we’ll see where we stand. Might have to beat a trail back to the Yedo." Cato glanced back through the empty viewscreen, seethed at the thought of the Watch.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

At his suggestion, Laira twisted around in his lap, the danger having passed and left them alone and the fear for their lives gone. Laira had gripped Cato fairly tight and been held by the big Mandalorian fairly well through the faux crash and the jerking of combat. She twisted herself around at the hip, wiggling her rump until her legs hung off the side of the chair, and planted a kiss on the cross of the T-visor, leaving an imprint of her lips in the deep red color of her lipstick. "Thank you sweetie. You were a great seatbelt," she grinned widely as she started to stand and move back to the co-pilot seat, "And a pretty comfortable seat if I do say so myself. The contours felt perfect, better than the chair."

Cato had of course been a perfect gentleman, and to suggest anything else would have been too far an insult in Laira's book. Instead she just teased him again and took her leave of his lap, flopping back into the co-pilot seat. She wiggled around, shifted and twisted in a mocking attempt to get comfortable before letting the joke go and checking through her diagnostics check.

For her part, despite the heavy clip to the ship's wing and having anything not tied or held down thrown around the rear hold, things were mostly intact. Engines weren't optimal and were out of alignment by enough that its handling was noticeably different, but still capable of flight. Life support worked but the heat system was broken, and wouldn't go above a cool eighteen degrees no matter how hot she clicked it. She had expended half of the gunboats missiles in their fight and taken some damage to the shield systems, leaving its forward shields unable to be optimally aligned.

The only real issues with the shuttle was that the stealth systems were going to be a crap shoot to cycle on whether or not they came back on when instructed. That was going to be risky for them, but Laira was still excited about going onward. "Think about it boobear, I'll keep you safe when it comes to flying."

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

“I’m unimaginably relieved, Miss Darkhold,” Cato put dryly, dapping at the smudge of wax and oil stuck under the central visor ridge.

The Torolis jump was calculated, then executed, and modest repairs were seen to while the Shadow broke through hyperspace. Stealth hardware was exotically blended into multiple sub-systems, requiring delicate tooling just to diagnose. Cato deferred to Laira’s ‘gearhead’ extinct, no rube himself around vessel repair, but understanding the power of a ‘knack’ when encountered. She wouldn’t take a turn waiting regardless, kicking at his shoulders to squirm over, arguing for the hydrospanner to trade out her solder-blaster. Nothing could be done for engine re-alignment until orbital drydock. Steerage and acceleration controls were retuned to Laira’s specifications to compensate. The shield generator showed partial heat fusion and scoring, depleted functional capacity and neither of them wanted to bank on it holding through another dogfight.

“…Reversion in fifteen,” Cato called from the navicomp interface. He was redressing on fatigues and cleaning grease from his prosthetic gauntlet. “You’ll take us in?”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira had trouble recognizing her own mortality, lending itself to her recklessness and willingness to put herself in danger. In her mind the possibly deadly maneuvers from earlier had paid off, only offering further proof of her infallibility and the increasingly unlikeliness that she might die. Only when her death defying feats require assistance from others did she ever contemplate the possibility she might not be immortal.

For now, the redhead had finished showing Cato the proper way to repair the shuttle when dealing with an impatient and egotistical princesses and moved back to smiling seductively at the copilot's chair, watching him try to degrease his arm with a bright red smudge across his T-visor. "Yes, I can take us in sweetie." Laira responded, showing just how pleased with herself she was in her tone, as well as a significant amount of sweetness.

The controls gripped tightly in her hands, the redhead hit the stealth system, breathing a deep sigh of relief as it worked. Smoke rose from the rear panels and she could hear the odd spark from behind her, but the field did flick on. Then the reverted to realspace in the Torolis system at long last. It felt like it had been days since they set out, but they had finally made it.

The little blue orb hung before the unlikely pair, looming as it took up most of their viewport. The middle-aged mandalorian and the teenage princess continued their journey, the shuttle listing in the direction the princess instructed it to, letting gravity do most of the work for them so that their engines would need to work as hard given how damaged they were.

"Alright honeybear, we're on final approach. Assuming the stealth system holds through reentry I'll land her between some hills about ten klicks out from the facility." The hilly terrain and large numbe of topographical alterations would help shield the craft from groundside sensors to a point if she came in low enough, and Laira most certainly would.

The ship slipped through the atmosphere on its repulsors, letting it's falling speed do most of the work and just easing it back off the throttle little by little as she dropped and let the ship skirt the coastline beneath them. As they tore inland, she ducked the ship as low as she could without scrapping the belly of the Shadow on the grass, slowing the craft little by little until it was set down in a creek bed between two grassy knolls.

And the princess breathed out with a pleased shudder running up her spine. "Damn I'm so good," her voice breathy and low, the mutter barely audible. "Alright hun, you are up."

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The entry hatch behind the cockpit cycled open, a segmented ramp extended down into dust, the pair stepping down and out under overcast light to the sibilant whisper of limitless grass-fields rocking in the salty wind. Cato viewed it through filtered AR overlays; infrared and thermal, acoustics, electromagnetics. The Torolis shorelands swept along the lip of the peninsula, sparse and straw-golden. There was a smell like chaff and burnt wheat on the breeze. Cato gestured for Laira and they began hiking north.

At five clicks out, they made the polygonal dome of the Imperial installation and a few hard rectangle pre-fab blocks surrounding it in a maze. Cover was sparse. Naked, dead olive trees creaked with the wind. They took to navigating the low gulches between the shore knolls rather than cresting their ridges. Cato kept the lead, his sense of direction almost infallible, often taking off his helm to pause and measure Torolis with his own senses. Once, he had Laira wait behind an odd boulder set between a quartet of hill escarpments, then disappeared. Faintly, a little later, silenced slug-pistol reports coughed and Cato returned cleaning blood off a long, elegant tanto knife.

He still kept his blade, Oilseller, knotted and set over his hip. The sight made the Mandalorian a strange anachronism; sheathed sword in one hand, rifle secured over his back, wearing commando harnesses with his sole armour being that ‘bucket’ helm. That he lacked typical Mando’ade swagger, their hyper-aggressive keenness and lust for savagery that showed even in their posture, made him all the more odd. Didn’t Mandalorians fight better, therefore they knew better? Had they not bled and wounded, taking their pains, using it to stand atop an unassailable pedestal of cultural power? Did they not practice pragmatism and practicality, despite bending to one madman’s ridiculous edicts regarding genetic anomalies? Wasn’t their arrogance justified because they had suffered so?

They had to go belly down for the last hillside. They dug and climbed atop the crest ridge and kept cover through bending stalks of dry grass blades and half-burst cattails. Beyond the descent slope, sat in a depression just before the shoreland fell off a deep cliff face to rocky shores below, the installation appeared silent and woefully unguarded.

“Stay here,” Cato muttered, sitting up into a stooped crouch. He was gone down the hillside and hidden again amongst the grass, pistol and knife in hand.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

And so the princess followed her big strong mandalorian protector closely. She had changed into a ghostsuit with shadowsilk and a no show for stealth operation, though true to form it was a tight suit, purposely form-fitting around her chest, stomach, and hips. Not by design but by the redhead's personal alterations.

"Wait here?" She hissed in a low whisper, her displeasure at being left behind seeping through her tone. With a slight huff, the redhead crossed her arms and sat down, pouting while she waited on Cato to do whatever it was he had left her to go do. Probably run off to take all the glory for himself.

Laira didn't care if he took full responsibility himself, the credit didn't bother her in the least. It was the sitting bored and waiting on her companion to have all the fun for himself. The redhead liked getting into tight spots and fighting inperials as much as any old mandalorian. She wasn't some helpless housewife he got to go on dates with on Kothlis only to be left to sit out the actual mission. RESINT had not sent her to be his pretty little cover story. They had sent her to help him. How dare he leave her behind.

It didn't take too long before Laira had become rather bored with waiting and personally resolved to join Cato. Or better yet go do whatever he was trying to before he could.

She slithered on her stomach, snaking through the tall grass as she slid down the long slope of the grassy hill behind the Mandalorian, moving quickly in an effort to catch up to him, holding her pistol and a vibroknife in each hand.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The perimeter circumference was lousy with motion-sensor traps and implanted stun-mines. Cato had disarmed four of the former, six of the later, the fingers in his true hand almost taut and raw with ache. Each disabled measure cost them another iota of attention. Hopefully, they didn’t lead back to a central security monitor broadcasting the ever-widening hole he was digging through their counter-intrusion. He picked the plating for a sensor rod with his tanto, pried out several pieces of silicon, and crushed them with his prosthetic gauntlet. It was another twenty-meter crawl to the installation. Ten of those metres were cleared, sterilized lawn. Open ground. His tongue soured at the thought of thermal cameras.

But you’re Mandalorian and this skulking is unbefitting, is it not? He thought to himself. I am Mandalorian, I mastered my verd’goten, and have fought and soldiered across such forsaken places that I’ve earned some respite from expectation! But the question of bravado versus pragmatism always haunted him. Cato edged along on forearms, knees, and toes. He’d caught something on his reconnaissance; wanted to close the distance and attack, at extreme close-range, where he felt his chances of obliterating the danger were best.

Isn’t ambush tactics the mark of cowards? It won’t be ‘surprising’ for very long, Cato felt assured.

A dozen bodies shielded by personal-cloaking belts were tending the guard. They shimmered just faintly, in the breeze and casts of sooty grey light, perfectly immobile. Droids of biologicals, Cato wondered? Their patience was impeccable, their bodily control. They bent and leaned with the shade, using the shifting light levels to further camouflage. Then something shifted up through the grass stalks behind him and was unwisely trying to mask footfalls on broken stalks with beats of the wind. Cato gently turned his head round; Laira grinned back. One of the Cloaked started suddenly and began marching their direction. A half-lit boot stepped beside Cato’s helm.

His knife flashed. It jabbed up between the groin and thigh-plates. Cato’s hands were then grasping the trooper by belt and torso plates, neatly flipping them off their feet. He jerked the tanto across their throat and locked the corpse against the earth, stifling death throes. The Mandalorian was up now in a fighting crouch. He steadied an arm and shot twice, turning and pivoting on heel and hip, putting hard rounds through another pair of standing shadows. There was indication of movement, whill-of-the-whisp lights shining in and out of focus. Cato slinked away; his prosthetic wrist clicked every so oft, drawing another guard into the high grass. A sound of steel on casement, or the spit of the pistol firing, and another was toppled. Blood was rushing hot through his limbs and up his spine.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira slithered through the tall grass, grinning at Cato when he turned to face her. She had to stifle a yelp of surprise when he was suddenly up and stabbing an invisible being repeatedly with a vicious slash across the throat. The realization that there were cloaked things guarding the perimeter that had escaped her senses was startling enough, but to see Cato decimate the poor sod and the blood had almost caused her to squeak in surprise.

A second passed and her brain started putting things together. She hissed at Cato, who was now in a crouch and taking shots at things she couldn't see. She mouthed the words 'FORCE-DEAD' which was shocking to say the least. The redhead had dealt with Force Dead things before, Alderaan still had Yuuzhan Vong on the surface and a number of their biots roamed the wilds, many citizens had been vongformed during the One Sith Occupation and there was a small sect of Force-Dead human warriors on the planet that served the crown. One of which had been her companion for months during her adventures.

But to find them in the Empire? That was truly a shock and suddenly this little facility was starting to make a lot more sense. She crawled up on top of the trooper, still gasping quietly as he bled out. She slid across his body until she lay straddling him so she could inspect the being properly and pulled his helmet off so she could look at his face. It wasn't exactly as she had expected, but there were surgical scars along the sides of the man's neck and heavy cybernetics clung to his spine and eyes which went cold as she looked him over.

He was most certainly a heavily biologically altered being, which must have been why the Empire was hiding it out on the far reaches of their space. If she had been more aware of her Father's time with the CIS she might have heard the word Dreadguard get thrown around in conversation, which were a project the CIS had developed to produce a series of Force Dead cybernetically enhanced warriors the Dominion and Galactic Alliance had attempted later on.

Regardless of how similar they might have been, Laira wasn't totally aware of that variant of the Dark Trooper Project. But she did know they were wearing cloaking devices, so her expectation was they would be wearing sensor reducing chromium to deflect blasters. Not good.

Laira would have trouble combating them given their status, but she was here and she was all the backup Cato was going to get. She patted the deceased being's face, and slithered over him to catch up with Cato.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Cato ejected his tanto free and the final ‘Cloaked’ died soundlessly. Power decoupled from a waist mounted pack, photons ‘shedding’ off its plating and underweave. The guard reminded him of nothing in the Imperial army. The face-plate was narrow, far more skull-like, the trooper’s musculature slender, height more pronounced. They were coloured jet-dark save for faint evergreen tints across narrow goggle apertures, and armed heavily. Cato pried a long-las carbine out dead hands, surprised by the weight and heft. Like Laira, he knelt down to wedge off a helmet and stare at the enemy’s bare features. Human, male, slab-jawed, skin discoloured with odd mottling, almost necrotic where induction ports and subcutaneous hardware had been cut and installed under the skin.

When Laira approached, he hushed further greeting and kept them nestled in cover beside the installation. Tanto and pistol were traded for the Type-03; an ugly, sheet-stamped rifle that belied elegance for sheer, robust function. It complemented his prosthetic and appeared like a natural extension. He just begrudged the weapon, begrudged most firearms, for their effectiveness was undeniable and the sole means to level any fighting field. But it was undignified, cheapened life immeasurably, and denied the dignity of challenge. Cato denied his want for a good fighting spear, panning round with the iron-sights.

But… Nothing. The grass stalks hissed with the wind, fat cattails snapping off their stalks, pulping against the hard earth. He caught a brief, dry and cloy scent through his helmet scrubbers; sibilant taste of death lingering. Cato let out a breath and turned to young Laira. “What was that about staying put?”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira had crawled behind Cato, looking for the cloaked beings as he took them out one by one. Without a helmet she didn't have a way to see them as easily and had to strain in order to make out faded outlines of the cybernetic warriors. Cato was having a much easier time it seemed, even though he was still moving incredibly slowly. So much so that several times the redhead had sighed in exasperation as he inched around through tall grass and weeds, which had likely caused some of the 'Cloaked' to come to investigate leading them into Cato's waiting grasp. It wasn't her intention, but that seemed to be how it worked out.

"I decided I didn't have to listen to you," The redhead grinned up at Cato, making a heart symbol with her hands over her chest in apology. She had pretty much unilaterally decided she was going to help him without so much as a warning or offering to the Mandalorian, but so far everything had gone as hoped, except she hadn't been as useful as she had wanted. And that she had probably been in serious danger a few times without realizing it.

"These guys are Force-Dead. This facility, I can't sense but a handful of life forms, so I'm guessing they are doing some kind of experiments inside." She waved around her hand, at the facility. Inside she got the hazy recognition of a few beings through her force senses. Some dim and fuzzy like they were partially disrupted in the Force, others full and bright like she would expect. But there was no telling from here how many more 'Cloaked' there were within the facility. "We need to get inside. I'll see if I can jimmie the lock on a ventilation shaft."

It didn't take the pair long to find a small vent exit set in the wall of the main building, the domed structure the only one where she could actually sense anything living. From the looks of it the hard rectangular prefabricated structures were armories or barracks that were for the time being empty. Her laser lock pick and security blade took a moment getting through the electronic security systems, but after a few minutes she was able to open the vent into the shaft without setting of an alarm as far as she could tell. A quick survey of the shaft told her that there weren't any obvious security measures outside the fairly complex locking mechanism and electromagnetic seal which would reactivate as soon as her blade was removed.

"Enjoy the view sweetie," She whispered to Cato, hefting herself into the shaft to being crawling on all fours.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

“Hmph…”

Her pace altered unpredictably. Laira would suddenly scoot to gain headway along the ventilation shaft before just as quickly slowly or halting entirely. More than once, Cato had to skid on the heels of his palms, the bowl of his helmet patting against her rump. That it was a vastly firm apple-bottom did little alleviating Cato’s embarrassment and growing frustrations, Laira simply giggling and passing on a few whispered teases. ‘Oh, is something stuck back there~?’ He worked to keep his prosthetic from clanging off the duraluminium. The air was close, with must and recycled heat. Acoustic returns on his HUD was gradually building a faint floor plan. After entering, the shaft had taken several sharp downturns, levelling off at unexpected intervals. Twice, they had to edge over pitfall shafts installed in their way.

The must and dryness were soon replaced by a chemical edge in the air. Like pine and aniseed, Cato thought, stinks like powerful antiseptics. Slit vent grates gave them achingly brief glimpses into chambers below. Personnel was sparse; he had seen three, perhaps four suited technicians in full hazmat garb. Had they come upon a biological facility? Was the Empire investing in microbial weapons? It was awful, spiteful warfare, and didn’t guarantee seamless asset or infrastructure seizure. Given the guardians posted outside, all ‘Force-Dead’, all cybernetically altered, were the Imperials experimenting with drastic shock trooper technology?

“Ooff!” Cato nearly bit through his tongue, knocking again into Laria’s rump. He whispered, “Why’d you stop now…?”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira snickered a few times, enjoying the embarrassment in Cato's aura far more than the handful of bumps she took to the rear, not exactly her favorite. "At least you had a nice cushion to stop you," she would say with a grin, or some other quip with an expression that was quite pleased with herself and her successful teasing of the Mandalorian. If he hadn't broken to her charms yet, his resolve would likely hold throughout their mission. The redhead supposed that wasn't such a bad thing, better to tease him into friendship than anything else.

They slid through the vents, having to go hand over hand, crawling on all fours as they went until she stopped and he bumped into her rear once more. "Hey, buy me dinner first sweetie." She smirked with a hushed whisper. She had stopped overlooking a grate looking down into a room lined on each side with four transparent, liquid-filled tubes about the size of a bacta tank. On the front, the tubes had slowly beeping life-sign monitors and terminals with readouts. Each one had a dark figure within them, floating in suspended animation. Nothing else of note was in the room.

"Let's go check it out." She didn't really wait around to see if Cato was okay with that, she just opened up the grate and dropped down to the floor with as little noise as possible.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Cato followed, tucking over the lip of the grate, slowly bending at the waist and sliding his legs out before dropping behind Laira. Boots made a gentle scuffle on almost peerlessly set surgical laminate. The floor was set and segmented in three-by-three square patterns throughout the chamber, inset with running cabling, the tiling almost velveteen to the touch. Glowlamps were recessed in the walling and rafters, all set to low power. Cato caught a faint amniotic whiff. He stared at the listless shadows floating weightless in their glasteel vats. Each body was a mountain; thick musculature padded by gene-grafts, boxy in places from cybernetic attachments, the peak of augmented human physicality. The chamber was like a perverted nursery, Cato thought, approaching a console readout.

Life-signs nominal, it reported. Further diagnostic routines were locked by biometrics and digital ident gates. Cato was picking through his harness belts for a security kit when he looked aside and noticed the black shape. A set of darkened casement posed on a support trestle. Wordlessly, he snapped the safety free on the Type-03 and crept up along the ‘nursery’s’ observation floor. The object was displayed in a kind of auxiliary apse and connected to a dozen cable-feeds charging power into battery induction ports. Cato reached, thumbed a set of inspection lamps on.

“Oritsir.” Bleak, scowling, almost tusked with heavy cooling intake grills, the empty, heavy skull-helm glared back at the Mandalorian.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira wasn't so discrete in her investigation. She instead went to one of the glasteel vats and tapped on it, "Anybody awake in there?" She whispered with her two fingers tapping the transparent metal. Inside there was a slight stir from the being, but it appeared to be restrained to keep it from moving around. Its heart-rate monitor beeped a little more rapidly. The soft sound of muffled screams or howls vibrated from within the tank. "Yup, he's awake alright." She turned, grinning to herself when she saw Cato inspecting a darkened steel skull-faced helmet upon a display rack.

"All these guys don't have a presence in the Force anymore, babe." She said as she walked up behind him, saddling up awfully close to the Mandalorian. Just as she was about to start messing with him a loud thunk erupted from the tank she had just left. Its life sign monitor showed vitals spiking and collapsing as the being within struggled against his restraints. If Laira had paid attention or done a little investigating she would have noticed they were sedated due the enormous amount of pain they would be in during their gestation. Roughly seventy percent of their organs had been replaced with cybernetics, they'd been given some form of skeletal modifications, and the Galactic Empire had discovered some way to sever the beings from the Force completely, likely similar to the implantation of Yuuzhan Vong slave seeds.

Instead, she was now pressing against Cato for comfort, "What's wrong with him?" She asked in a surprised whisper. Footsteps could be heard outside the chamber as three men in hazmat suits rushed to see to what they believed was a suddenly flat-lining trooper.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Cato drew them round the armour stand, letting the mass of heavy plates temporarily shield them. They avoided scrutiny as the trio of technicians raced to the diagnostic console and called up biometric reports. The candidate was dying; pain had overcome the sedative cocktails and the man was railing from within the vat, bending and warping the glasteel under his blows, a pale thrash of swollen limbs battering to get free of the brine and breathe. Their chatter was muted; one disengaged suspension protocols, fluid vacuuming out of the vat, a separate resuscitation team bustling in with a stretcher and wheeled cabinets dangling with emergency medical attachments. One technician undid the bib clasping his helmet in place and swung it off.

He was balding, with heavy jowls, hard eyes over a flat nose. Sensoria augments lined a piece of cheekbone. His throat clicked before he talked, watching the cyborg strangle itself in the vat with overhead wiring. “I was assured this batch of volunteers were upheld against utmost scrutiny. This is a second failure in as many months. That’s half-a-million in spent credits now wasted.”

“Sir,” A technician said through a suit mic. “Just in gene therapy. The augmentations can be perfectly recovered. The procedure itself is – “

“Inadequate. Woefully inadequate,” Said the Bald Man. The candidate was dead on the padded tile. Resuscitation gear was hooking into body-ports, attempting to flush his system, defibrillation pads now being charged. “I’m wondering, now, if our initial successes were solely a fluke. Speaking of, what’s the status on contact? Why have we lost them on commlink?”

“The facility is locked down regardless. A relief team is underway,” Said the technician. He was colourless from stress. “…We’ll revise our candidate selection process. Obviously, some deficiency went undetected – “

“Obviously,” The Bald Man cut in archly. He slipped off a glove and ran fingers over his bare scalp. “…The Moff Council is investing in our work on the hope of a sustainable trooper program. The Grand Moff wants a blade to shove through the heart of the Alliance. We are to be its edge. If we fail, the repercussions…”

“Tanomas Graf wouldn’t dare…” One technician jeered. “Where is he going to find researchers? With our pedigrees? And our willingness for the Imperial Truth? The Empire hangs by threads while he fiddles with scissors! We’re untouchable and the ‘Good Admiral’ understands that…”

“…Is someone there?” Another techie paused, looking up from the fluid-swollen corpse at his knees.

Cato lead around the armour stand with his rifle and drew a group-bead on the low crowd of half-kneeling scientists. The safety was well off, a cautionary finger wrapped slackly behind the trigger guard.

“Who are you?” The Bald Man stood. The lightless visor cocked his way just slightly. “What are you doing here…?”

“…Resisting.” Cato heard a snicker from behind. “Shut up.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira followed Cato around behind the armor hanging in the corner, sticking her fingers into his commando harness and hiding behind the big Mandalorian, trying to keep her bright red hair out of plain view. She took hold of his commando harness, gripping to him tightly while she peered over the man's shoulder to watch what was happening.

At first she felt a little responsible for the man's, if he could still be called that, pain and suffering. After a moment the scientists let the being die on the tile floor, with little more than a shrug. They were more concerned with costs and salvaging money than they were with a person's life. Laira felt her anger bubbling up inside her, rage and hatred burning deep in her chest like a dying star.

They were noticed and Cato was suddenly on the move, and having her hands tucked into his belt, Laira was jerked along with him until she was able to get free. For the time being no one was moving, the scientists and doctors frozen and dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of a Mandalorian warrior and a young redheaded infiltrator. Laira stared daggers into the balding man, stepping around them to close the door so that Cato could interrogate them and they would have to fight through her to escape.

The balding man, jowls flapping, began to retort to suddenly being taken hostage. "You two are going to be sorry, the Empire will not stand for this sort of intrusion." She could swear he looked at her like every other sadistic old man, her heart bubbling up into her throat a scowl on her face. He continued babbling, "Once you are arrested you are going to have to beg me not to hand you over to the Dark-" He never finished. All her anger was at a tipping point, the young girl hated the old man. Truly hated a being for the first time in her young life and she was acting on it. The Force funneled through her muscles, winding them up, forcing them to move.

In a sudden flash her vibroknife was in his stomach. Once, Twice. Five times in an instant she pulled the blade out only to jab it back into his guts. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Something about people being treated as cattle flipped a switch in the young princess, driving her to absolute rage. The balding man looked up at her in shock, gurgling as he slid down against one of the vats, the other scientists hushed into a terrified silence.

Panting the princess kicked the dying man, "I hope that was worth half-a-million-credits you fat pig."

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

“Stand down!”

His helmet’s audio gain was set to full and his voice grated harshly, tumbling sound like an avalanche roar, arresting attention back to him, the dark of his bleak visor, the stamped gunmetal of his rifle and its still unerring iron-sights bearing down on the abject technicians. The words were enough to break through Laira’s mood and Cato watched her whirl round in possessed rage.

“Not repeating myself,” He said. “The knife goes away. You come back here. And you don’t do a damn thing until I say so.”

She made an argument ready. His voice jarred again, amplified through his helmet, mechanically roaring. “Not a damn thing. You’ve lost privileges.”

Something had switched. His bearing was glacially frigid, unwelcoming, dominating, and coldly furious. Their wills were locked in a brief iron-on-iron clinch until she seemed to allow concession. The knife was stowed back in its little scabbard, and he waited for Laira to return behind his shoulder and rear flank. He was meanwhile certain he hadn’t won a god-cursed thing from her save a momentary reprieve while she collected her wits and devised some means either to charm, emasculate, or otherwise override his temporary authorities. Cato only wanted time. The one half-dressed technician came forward on his hands and knees.

“Th-Thank – “

“Be quiet.” Cato said. And he was. Now, to leverage that taut fusion of hope and terror. “Listen very carefully. What is this place?”

“…Wh-Where are you…?”

He discharged a round through the technician’s shoulder, nearly separating the arm. The man’s pain came out in hoarse cries. Cato let the empty cartridge shell spin and ring on the floor. “Just answer me. That’s all.”

“G-Gah-haads…!”

“What is this place, what’s it’s function?”

“Wh-What!? Wait, wait!” The technician pawed at the air between them. “I-It’s an experimental design b-bur-bureau! EXO-Nine! We… We pursue… Pursue augmentation technologies, f-for special forces app-application. This… This is just-just our work!”

“Define ‘augmentation.’”

“G-Genetic as well as t-teh-technological…” The man gasped. His face was wan and ashen. “We’re p-p-p-pursuing specific therapies and tr-tr-treatments against special detection and precognition. We-We want to craft s-sol-soldiers capable of eluding enemies with ‘foresight’. Enemies that affect cognitive function. These c-can-candidates are the next g-generation of super w-weh-weapons. The-They can walk unseen by Jedi, or Sith, or whomever. Untouchable by their mind-p-powers. A-A-And with specific gene enhancements and technological additions, they can s-s-survive punishment. F-F-Fight harder, better, l-longer than s-stan-standard infantry.”

“Force-dead commandos, you mean.”

“Yes. P-Putting i-it-it simply. Yes. But I’m afraid…”

Cato gripped the rifle stock more tightly. “Of?”

“Afraid that, with yourselves here, we-we’re left t-to defend o-ou-our work…” The technician managed a pained, bubbly snort.

Cato noted one technician trying to gently ease his hand from a wrist-pad, before shooting him twice through his throat. Beyond the vat module, came weighted steps plodding thickly through the facilities intricate corridors. The still-wounded technician cracked a thin chuckle. He braced his rifle-stock, sporadically clenching on the trigger, lacing the man, his compatriots, in hot slug-round fire. The dead gurgled and expired. Blood pooled rapidly into a soggy marsh across the tiling. Tastes like bile surged up Cato’s throat and reminded him of his hate for firearms. Knowing he was responsible for their undignified fates, had performed it without bravery or honour, that his rifle was nothing and he was nothing for it. A sigh escaped him.

“…Let’s move, before whatever that,” He nodded at the rhythmic whumps stomping through the facilities structure. “Comes here. Gotta find a spot to lay the charges still. …Well, come on.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira almost retorted, almost lashed out at the new threat that had raised its voice to her. Primal rage almost tore itself from her and directed the redhead into Cato. Muscles tensed, ready to flash across the room in a burst of preternatural speed and plunge the blade for the being's throat. Sensibility won out in the end, and sudden realizations started to flood the Princess's mind. Panting rage was soon replaced with cold, expressionless stare.

But she complied and retreated behind the Mandalorian, staring at her hands spattered in the life blood of another human being. She felt the man die in the Force and his spirit leave him. His blood was still warm on her hands, still dripping to the floor from her vibro-blade. Something about the aging, bald man had enraged her beyond her ability to control. It was his cold sadistic attitude about the loss of a living person who had trusted him. Laira had seen it only a few times.

Her memory of Duke Aris flooded forward. The man had once been betrothed to her mother before she and her father had been married. Laira had met him after he was released on parole, the cold sadistic smile of a man that had taken lives for little more than the calculated attempt to gain territory and money. She had been fourteen, and she watch him with a chill having gone up her spine at the look he had given her and her mother. Laira's father had sat beside them, not even a tremor in the Force. The Princess remembered wondering how her father could have been so calm, she remembered how her mother had sat quietly at the Mountain Palace looking at pictures of the people Duke Aris had assassinated in an attempt to seal his marriage to Faith.

Nightfall had come and Draco, ever the nonchalant Prince had smiled and declared he was going to the Mandalorian Enclave in the mountains and taken his leave. A few minutes later, the bored princess had followed her father hoping to convince him to take her hunting with him or let her watch him help the Enclaves with a few Beskads. But he hadn't gone that way, he went into the city first. She followed him through the twists and turns until he was gone and she was lost.

The gurgling sound, the very same one the bald man had made. That had been what attracted the redhead to a back ally behind a motel. Grey eyes turned upon her, and she remembered seeing her father kill a man for the first time. Draco had his hand over the man's mouth and stabbed him. 'Laira, you should be home.' She remembered how calm he had sounded, how at ease he was. Her father rifled through Duke Aris's pockets and took his wallet, every faux-jewel he wore, and then grabbed her by the arm. 'You weren't supposed to see this, but since you did you might as well know why. Aris is a scumbag. He tried to kill me, your mother. He did kill others, and I promised him he'd never sleep as a free-man again for that.' His smile, even though he had blood on his hands and shirt had worried her. Even though he had trained with him and seen him fight and be angry, it was his calm that bothered her. 'When you get older, you are gonna have to decide for yourself if someone has to live or die. It's gonna be on you and only you, and all you can do is make the decision with logic and reason. Keep your wits and do what needs to be done. Don't let your emotions decide for you.' And then he had wiped his knife clean on the Duke, smiled at her and taken her for ice cream after changing shirts like nothing had ever happened.

Back in the room, Cato executed the other scientists. Some of them could have been innocent men and women, only here because they had been pressed into service by the Empire. And yet here the princess stood in a room of their bodies. Tears welled in her storm grey eyes, Cato said something but she just never even registered it still staring at her hands blankly.

The first tears fell from her face to the floor and the Princess sunk to cradle herself, gently sobbing. "I, I didn't mean to." Laira buried her face in her hands, her heat beating in time with the steady Whump, whump of something large and heavy walking towards them from the level above. "Can we just get ice cream and forget about all this?" was all she was able to utter loud enough for Cato to hear between soft sobs.

[member="Cato Fett"]