We were conquers.
The massive titian world stood at the cusp of the unknown. There was a loose path they were chasing through the stars that dragged them this far, past the Imperial Lines into nigh wild space. She was without teeth to gnash, they were on the run once more-she was running again. The rotting mass that crept down her lower leg, marred pale flesh..the one the medic slaved over on the table was a testament to the failures amidst the world siege. Gauntlets had long pried away blast plates and the pinch of a needle had followed. It was the deep rooted pull in her chest that settled on the last stop on this side of the galaxy, pushing through the political upheaval.
Koboth was so far detached from the concerns of the Galaxy, caught in a standstill where survival was at the forefront of the mind. It seemed home more than anywhere to the woman though she had never placed a boot down on it’s surface. Across the dark spance of rock, the few short hours of dim light the region hummed with foreign insects. Camp was minimal, the air carried a pungent scent-the red mineral in the soil here caked the boots of the troopers as patrols were organized.
There was no use in sticking behind to face the Imperial firing squad, or the impasse of the Imperator himself-to face the consequences of another woman. That amusement had dried up worse than her cracking lips.
Fuel reserves had hit the single digits thirty six hours prior to their landfall and with out a ping confirmation on the flag ship, they were without destination. It had become a waiting game out here in the deserts. How long had she had to listen to the medic dig through packets and curse under his breath for relief, until the forward observations returned well past zero two hundred. Sybila waited on the drop ramp, pieced down to the remnants of the body suit ahd sparse plate. Her hands clutched both legs-watching, waiting..for there was little else to do. The last syringe of bacta was emptied and resting at her feet. Supplies were running short and each and every trooper felt the strain, rationing had seen them this far. The men’s distant murmur surrounded her now-where silence often reigned.
The growing dissidence was there underneath each and every man’s skin, a secondary thought in truth. Discipline, and the finicky nature of loyalty bound them all now but the woman treaded carefully; guarded by poorly placed mistrust. The reports that filed in courtesy of the eyes left dotted through Imperial command had offered little hope. It burrowed in the back of her since the system’s sun waned and her thumb rubbed circles absently into her temples. Their chance to strike had passed, whatever became of Muunilinst and the greater half of the Order was beyond every man here’s control.
Half a decade's crusade and billions of lives would be thrown away-she didn’t want to know the results. Sybila imagined herself standing over Irveric himself and would just have to ask, would he do it all over again? He would and it angered her at the single thought.
It was the unseen, unknowing and lack of control that provided enough torment to a person-it seemed she had become a whited sepulcher all the same. The essence of her discipline relied on unpredictability, maybe on the cusp of a fight but here it dwindled once again. She wasn’t calm, she was absent. Bound to one with fidelity questionable as the winds. So this was what ashes tasted like, another year toiled away but they all had their own wounds to lick. Imperial funds-the entire national assets was up in flames and she had walked away with nothing.
She wanted to scream at the enigmatic shadows, it was guilt and there was no place for it out here on the fringe still. The cybernetic, what was left of it twitched and screeched as she flexed it-the outline sparking from ruined wire. There was no feeling left in the arm and she exhaled heavily, square one it seemed. At Least she enjoyed the challenge.
“There were no traces, we have sensors planted a kilo surrounding us. SS-One is on the hill holding for the night and the cloaking device should manage the rest but I’ll have all teams maintain black out protocol until we receive transmission from the TURBO,” Ban’s voice was no louder than whisper, the shuffle of the remaining men in the freight cabin painted the backdrop of their conversation.
“There’s a settlement one hundred fifty or so kilometers south west, correct?” Sybila muttered, dredged from spoiling thoughts. The Zabrak braced himself, settling on the grate of the ramp in her peripheral vision. The tell tale sound of a lighter clicking filled the silence followed by a burning stench overwhelmed her senses. She listened to the man take a hearty inhale off the cheap smoke and Sybila accepted it-smothering her chuckle as she took a drag off it. He had had the chance to run but came through nonetheless “-thanks.”
“Yes. I want to send a team in to retrieve some supplies while we relocate farther out. We’re close to the desolate zone, less interesting this far out when the temperatures rise,” Ban answered.
“Good, but I’ll be joining the excursion. Locals are one thing but with the information from the Major..I don’t know what to expect, same monsters different shades,” Sybila nodded her head idly, discontent stung and it reared its head. Men were beyond reason, but she was confidant in a body that just didn't break-they couldn't kill. What was left of the security task and the AWOL squad. They were trapped here for lack of better term and it was chief concern. Neither she nor Ban them wanted to admit it, and the echo of the man was louder across the Force than most words.
“You’ll draw too much attention, Korbosk isn’t a melting pot but three men won’t stand out that much.”
“Maybe, maybe not but I have a bad feeling and we need to eat,” Sybila admitted, the gnawing in her gut was attributed to something simple this time. Even if that’s all she got these days, these bad feelings. She tucked the smoke between both teeth and inhaled deeply, offering the burning stub back to the man. It brooked less of an argument atleast and she breathed out a cloud of smoke. It felt almost normal, the fatigue that pressed into every joint and dressed each eye made for a sorry show. She silently wrapped the broken cybernetic back up in the sling waiting for the man to find his words, to disagree. Yet the generator kicked on and the flicker of lights in the crew cabin at her back signaled it was time to lock in.
It was an understanding, they didn’t have people here or anywhere. If they needed extraction, she made for a shiny distraction. It was a tried and true method and she smiled bitterly at Ban. It wasn’t a shared sentiment as they turned in.
The Zabrak's hand found her elbow as he helped her up to her feet. It burned, still the greater gaping wound, under the layers of bandage-the brace trapped the lower half of her leg as it strained. Turning away from the night, they retreated further inside the ship as the ramp hissed and shut. If you stared too long at the dark, something soon enough would take notice she had found. Sybila figured she’d find out soon enough, whatever the nagging feeling was. Frustration lingered well to dawn, but the sentiment slide down the wall beside her consciousness-just out of reach. Maybe it was the proximity to the borders of Darth Maledictus’ circus. If it wasn’t today, then maybe tomorrow or someday she’d see the job done. That consecutive day wouldn’t arrive soon enough for the woman though.
The cluster of merchants and the crowd they attracted to the sandstone cut buildings were sparse at this hour. In the harsh light, the temperatures continued to climb well into the late afternoon across the city. Perched at the edge of the road at the side of an aging speeder; it’s paint half peeled. A cool breeze swept from the imports and the woman kept watch behind a cigarette. They were faceless amongst the rabble, another set of miners and outlanders swath in the rough spun cloak and greaser’s gear. She was sweating like a dog as the Sergeant haggled the Kobokian counter keeper.
The dust on the stone road stirred under her boot and she remembered the cartel front, the last decade in the Legion had left her in a place not to dissimilar before the split. It was not home that had been a fool hardy comparison, but the false sense of security didn't wane-and the woman frowned deeply to herself at the memory none the less; touched by grief. Sybila had to give it to them as Jespe raised his voice from inside the hollow, they put up a strong fight over a few credits and she considered turning around to yell at the man. Shifting her weight against the rusting transport the fuel teetered on the back precariously. Her mind half drawn to a sluggish halt, all sense cast to the ethereal as she painstakingly masked her disposition under the layers within the Force-weaving it between her fingers. Moneus was up the road and Yovae sat in the shade across from her, eyes meeting hers. She idly tilted her head to the sharpshooter the longer they were forced to wait, hand resting on the pistol shrouded at her side. The nefarious blade wasn't far out of reach but red wasn't a good look this far out, and her fingers danced down the holster as she turned her attention back to handful of locals loading up their own barges. It wouldn't change the fact she was waiting for trouble to find them.
Sometimes fate was sealed like that.
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