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Nar Shaddaa


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As the black scarab plummeted towards the surface, the warriors aboard the Rabid Muumuu gave out a victory cheer. Their enemy had lost control and were falling to their doom. Their souls had been defeated, and the ancestors of each kaleesh on board would nod in approval. Death had been dealt to the enemy, and they remained. 

 

Agent Qessax however stood perfectly still, eyes widened with horror, and panic began to set in.

 

"Do not stop yet!" Qessax commanded, sobering his men instantly. "We are not out of range! Get us out of range now! Full speed away from the scarab! Loose all scrap and move!"

 

The crew obeyed. Only now under their commanders orders did they see the threat that remained. 

 

The explosion rocked the rapid muumuu like a canoe on a title wave. Agent Qessax grabbed the control panel and braced himself as the ship tumbled and shook over itself. Only the distance and the fully charged shields saved the ship from complete destruction, as everyone aboard stumbled and fell over themselves, crashing into panels, walls, and floors.. 

 

"Damage report!"

 

The damage was severe. Engines were knocked out. Shields were completely fried. They were sitting ducks. 

 

Fear began to set in again in the Imperial agents mind, working in overdrive. 

 

"Get those engines working immediately. I don't want to be picked off in our hour of victor-"

 

Qessax stopped. His men were no longer cheering, nor frantically clinging to their posts like scsred animals. 

 

They were laughing. 

 

Qessax looked down and realized why. His black imperial uniform, usually pressed and well taken care of, had completely ripped along the sides and past his crotch, revealing everything underneath. 

 

Qessax, after a moment of comprehension, began to laugh too. 

 

"What's the matter you cowards? Ashamed of seeing a rabid muumuu on the rabid muumuu?"

 

The laughter broke into a roar, as everyone cheered, chanted and danced in victory. Each warrior, tense to the very end, relieved themselves of all the stress that had been built up. They had won. They were victorious. True, the costs had been great. Possibly too great for some. But for the kaleesh warriors, who were accustomed to small fire fights and raids, this was a tremendous victory. 

 

His elder brother handed the agent his cape to cover up. Having done so, Qessax kicked his boots off and stretched his clawed toes on the metal floor. It wasn't like any imperial would be mad for breaking dress code at this point. All of his clothes had been aboard the…

 

Qessax instantly sobered up as he looked at the wreckage of the Constantine. His mentors corpse laid somewhere amongst the wreckage. A wave of grief washed over the warrior, nearly collapsing forward onto a control board. The one saving grace that prevented Qessax from breaking down completely was his own personal beliefs. The Grand Moff had earned a worthy death after a worthy life of battle. He would be immortalized in kaleesh tales to come. 

 

"Men…" Qessax spoke out. "Get the ship's engines working, and acknowledge all orders sent to us. We will move to the rendezvous when we are able

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Kirlocca stood in the cockpit of an MC-24a light shuttle. His eyes focused as they scanned the space around the area. Barely avoiding the crash of the massive Black Scarab, the shuttle was attempting to find its way off the planet, only to take on an Imperial Officer and a Jedi Master at the last minute to aid them. The owner of the ship looked back at the Wookiee every so often, wondering why he was so pressed on searching for someone. He was a Rodian with blueish skin. He seemed very much annoyed with the process, something that Kirlocca did not notice. 

 

He instead kept his eyes moving from flash and item that came within view as he continuously searched with the Force for where Raven could possibly be. Her presence seemed to be nowhere, but for his own mind, it meant something else then what everyone else in the shuttle clearly knew. 

 

<<We need to get closer, I’m not sensing her. You can do that, I’ll guide you. >>

 

The Imperial officer looked for a moment at Kirlocca before turning his head back to the comms that he was working on. The Rodian pilot looked back at the officer with a plea in his face. He held up a single finger for a second before turning towards the Jedi Master. His own brown eyes flickered with hesitation. “All reports are coming in and being finalized. The Empress fell. The only ship that could have potentially saved her has fallen as well. She’s gone.” The words, while already known to the officer, still held a heavy tremble to it. He feared the words wouldn’t be heard from the Wookiee, as he seemed deep within denial of the situation. The very fact that he just stood there for a good minute made the situation even worse. After the long minute passed, he finally spoke, without breaking from his locked view. 

 

<< No. She’s alive. Those reports must be false information attempting to steer away any attempt of a rescue. An enemy ship must have taken her captive. We must pursue it. What’s the nearest hostile planet? I bet we could arrive and take them by surprise. Easy rescue mission. >>

 

The Rodian looked panicked as he turned towards the officer, wanting support. He clearly didn’t want to do anything other than go on living his own life, not get sucked into some Jedi Master’s delusion. Knowing that the choices were very limited by this point, he walked over to stand next to Kirlocca to whisper into his ear. 

 

“Master Kirlocca, it would be slightly unwise to risk the lives of civilians in a dangerous rescue mission. They are untrained. Perhaps we can have them drop us off on some nearby world to collect a ship ourselves before we go on?” Even as he spoke, he thought upon his own family. He didn’t doubt that the lack of reporting would cause his own name to be listed as one of those who have gone MIA during the last battle… But he feared that the Jedi Master on his current path would endanger others if not having someone to subtly give him guidance to avoid such a mistake. He didn’t see many other outcomes to let the Rodian go on with his own life. The Wookiee looked for the viewport to the officer a few times before speaking. 

 

<< Two would give us better chances of sneaking onboard an enemy ship. And maybe a less recognizable ship would also better suit us… I agree - Pilot, take us to Bothawui so that we may pursue Raven’s captors. >> 

 

Kirlocca returned to looking instantly out the viewport, while the Rodian gave a subtle thank you gesture to the officer for directing the Jedi away from taking over his life. As the ship turned to make it jump, the officer simply sat down and wondered what sort of hell he just signed up for.

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The monstrous Sith battleship seemed to quake beneath the onslaught of pure Imperial Allied strength. Even if it was the last vestiges of it. They did not let up. This was their world and their people. They would defend it.

 

In the silence of space, the entire crew of the Ancillary Justice watched as the Scarab began to move. When asked after the fact, they would all swear they had heard the mighty ship groan as it’s massive durasteel flexed and bowed with it’s death throws. Initially, the dwarfed Victory I doggedly pursued the Sith flagship, pouring violent retribution into her sundered hull and vulnerable exposures. It was a rain of justice, born in the backs of those who stood for the peoples of the Outer Rim. Justice that came after years of waiting, years too long. They did not stop until the enemy warship pierced the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa. Vangar grimaced in pain, while others’ faces twisted in horror at the detestation they were witnessing unfold before them, powerless to stop it.

 

Gravitational dampeners strained and the G-forces of their rapid deceleration and groaning upward leap threw men who were not prepared from their feet. The commander himself stood only because his clawed hands gripped his console with such force that they left deep indentations in the cool metal frame. The resulting inferno was a peephole into hell itself as the ship churned back into the dwindling fray, buffeted by the shockwave and carried on it towards the safety of the void of space.

 

”Captain,” Vangar spoke, his voice emotionless and firm. The navyman who commanded operational control of the boat turned to face Vangar, Moff of the Anoat Sector and by such his de facto superior. “Let us not do that again.”

 

”Aye sir!” He responded with a curt nod and the hint of a smile as he caught the subtlety of the Moff’s sarcasm. Nobody would want to undergo such a task again, even if the Ancillary Justice could survive it. “We are receiving instruction from Admiral Beck. All craft are to complete their tasks and remove themselves to the rendezvous point.” 
 

Vangar turned his cold reptilian eyes to the ship’s golden-skinned commander. “Then our task is not complete. Not as long as one Sith attack craft remains. Not as long as one child remains ensnared in the hellfire below. What is the status of our ship?”

 

A feminine voice from the engineering console called out. “Shields are at 63%. Armor is holding. There is a reactor leak in Section 7 but it is being contained. Starboard thrusters are operating at 23% for the time being. Med bays are stable and awaiting patients. Overall, we are better than most out there.”

 

A smile twisted across the plated face of Cloud City’s Baron Administrator. The report was positive and as he looked about the bridge, morale stood high, even as those here had witnessed the absolute destruction and devastation of those about them. “So long as the ship stands, so does the hope of tomorrow. Captain, you know our orders.” With that, Vangar turned, the cape of his office fluttering behind him, and walked to to locked door that connected the bridge to the conference room where rescued officers now sat discussing the battle and fate of the universe. With a palm scan the pneumatic locks gave way and the door opened allowing the Barabel access. They closed behind him and the heavy metallic thud of the locks reengaging echoed behind him to draw the eyes and silence of the room.

 

With his booted feet thumping softly on the polished decking, Vangar made his way towards the podium. He took it heavily, standing behind it to regard the men, women, leaders that were assembled before him in various states of battle weariness. “Comrades. Countless lives, lives greater than some entire star systems, have been lost today. Blood and souls shed into the void that can never be replaced. Not one here has not felt that loss on some real level. Yet, each of us fought on. We had our orders. We stood shoulder to shoulder with brothers and sisters and strangers, united in a common goal, a common belief; hope.” The sharp toothed lizard man paused, emotion swelling up inside until he could regain control over it. Only then did he continue. “The battle is not over. Sith warlords flee into the blackness between stars to lick their wounds, too afraid to die for their cause. They are cowards. They are weak. The scourge of the Outer Rim, the Black Scarab, burns even now where it crashed into the cityscape of Nar Shaddaa. Still, there are a few, zealots, true believers and brainwashed acolytes who continue the fight. Our fight is not over. The people of Nar Shaddaa, the Rebellion, hope, still has use of us. Forces of the Imperial Remnant have been ordered to regroup at the evacuation point, undoubtedly we will pursue the frightened Sith to whatever rock they crawl under. We will squash them like the parasites they are. Admiral Beck still stands to command the forces of her majesty, the Empress. Empress Raven, Grand Moff Kolchak, and many more have been lost to us. General Slaughter’s ship floats alive, but barely and we do not know the status of the Alliance’s great leader. For every leader that has been lost, ten lives have been saved. It is for those lives that we will press the fight. Your men in the mess halls have been fed and uplifted. The bays of the Ancillary Justice are crammed with fighters and transports. I ask you, if you still have the strength, stand, purge this system of all foes, rescue those who have been struck down into the dust, bury the dead. Until death and darkness are brought to heel here, our fight is not over. If you have questions, speak freely now. If not, I bid you, go, serve, lead as I know you are able.”

 

Aboard the bridge, the captain began to direct the ship to begin pursuit of the few remaining Sith craft. Keying up the comm unit, the middle-aged gold skinned humanoid, directed a message to Admiral Beck, “Admiral, the Ancillary Justice, under the direction of Moff Vangar of the Anoat Sector, has elected to remain and see to it that the few remaining Sith fleet elements are brought to heel. We will evacuate all that we can and then meet you at the rally point.” The captain offered a crisp salute.

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“Sir, the ship is ready to move now. We have engines running and should last one more jump”

 

Qessax nodded at the warrior and breathed a sigh of relief. At least that had gone down without issue. 

 

“Sir, we are receiving word from another ship…” 

 

Qessax looked at the nearest control panel and raised an eyebrow. A squib ship, heavily damaged in the firefight, was barely limping itself closer to the Rapid Muumuu. Qessax was actually partially impressed. With no engines, the squibs were using their own tractor beams to pull themselves to pieces of debris and swing themselves closer. 

 

“It seems they are requesting our services to get to the rendezvous point.”

 

Qessax laughed once. “And the only reason they do so is because we have tow cables like them!”

 

After a brief looking at his brother, Qessax nodded. 

 

Rabid Muumuu to Sith 7-8” Qessax started

 

“Stupid name” the elder brother mutterred, who received a hand wave from his sibling. 

 

“Get close and we will hook our ships together. Transfer your controls to us, and we will get you to Ylesia. 

 

“It is a stupid name”

 

“Ya ya…” Qessax rolled his eyes. He couldn’t really argue with that point.  Shortly afterwards, both ships jumped into hyperspace. 
 

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The next few minutes were like a fever dream that passed in and out of Slaughter’s consciousness, to be remembered only upon waking in the indecent hours of the morning. He vaguely remembered clutching at the elbow of one of the medics and snarling something combative--and then he caught a glimpse of himself through a chance reflection in the medic’s spectacles. His body looked… broken. His abdomen had been torn open by transparisteel shards, one of which were glinting out of the viscera as a polished spear. A pool of blood surrounded his body despite the best efforts to stop the bleeding.

 

A heavy impact and another jolt of pain pierced through the cloud of painkillers. He glanced around and saw the familiar boxy interior of his command shuttle--and a portable bacta tank, bubbling ominously with a translucent ooze. Slaughter raised a hand in a vain attempt to protest--he couldn’t breathe. A ghastly, gurgling noise escaped from his throat.

 

Curses responded all around him. One set of hands placed a mask and an irritating trail of plastic tubing down his throat. Two more lifted his body from the stretcher and shoved him into that sinister pink fluid. A warm prickling sensation went up his arm--

 

--and then he was out.

 

The LAAT/i transport raced from the hangar, into the chaos surrounding Black Scarab and her escorts. The airspace was so cluttered with escape pods and starfighters and munitions that the unescorted shuttle went unnoticed even after it cleared the debris field. Only a pair of passing TIE Defenders on a strafing run managed to catch its transmissions through the interference and broke from their attack to form up on its sides. Though an awkward, unmaneuverable craft, the LAAT/i boasted an impressive top speed and it raced through the blackness, chugging urgently towards Fidelity.

 

Upon breaking the magcon field of Slaughter’s flagship, the TIE Defenders broke upwards to rejoin the fight.

 

An entire team of medics and droids were awaiting the Admiral once the transport settled. One of them spoke urgently into a comlink as the bacta tank was carted away towards the medical bay. “We have the Admiral, sir. They got him into bacta, but we don’t know enough yet. Crazy son of a… He actually kept command with those wounds.”

 

((@Beck Pilon))

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”Welcome Captain,” Tilt heard a strong low woman’s voice called out from a podium at the head of the table before a real time screen that displayed the naval battlefield outside. “Please tell us what you know of the Misercordia. What did you see? Do you know anything of the Empress? The battle goes poorly. Sith and Allied craft alike flee the battle, hundreds of thousands more are dead including Grand Moff Kolchak. Where are your men?”

 

Tilt situated himself at the empty seat after being guided by a service droid. He took off his helmet as the droid delivered a steaming cup of caf. He hated black caf, but it was better than stagnant water and it woke him up. Sugar, sweetener and creams were for R&R. He set the helmet to his side revealing the face of a Republic Clone and his expression was clearly showing that he didn't want to be there. 'Swallow it up, p*@#y.'

 

"What I know of the ship was that it was overrun with Sith forces. Imperial and Rebel personnel were being pushed back, messy business, I was knocked for a minute when our transport was shot down within the hangar and my squad and I got separated. From there a small group and I had gathered whoever we could and sealed one of the exits that would further prevent additional enemy units from entering and taking allowed forces by surprise. When one of the combat engineers hacked into the ships security mainframe they reported that Sith were trying to sabotage the escape pods, that's where I and others stopped them, afterward we were ordered to immediately evacuate the ship. My squad got out and are on the ground now, but as for the Kolchak? I heard he died, last time anyone said anything, I don't know how accurate that is."

 

Tilt shook his head as he downed more than half the mug of caf, it was hot and it stung his throat all the way down to his belly. It hurt, but it woke him up and allowed him to focus via pain, "As far as I know of the Empress? Nothing. Just that the main control room was compromised. That's all the information I have, Ma'am, I wish there was more I could give."

 

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With the Grandmaster’s show of faith, what had seemed like a monofilament tightrope suddenly seemed a little wider, marginally less futile. Ailbasí’s sigh of relief was audible. Even though she kept Ca’aran somewhat at a distance in terms of bonds to keep her own darkness from pulling him down, she still felt it when the Scarab’s doom consumed him in immolative fury. It was all on Sheog now to do his part. 

 

After this last duty is done, let’s run away together, my love. Our bellies are full of loss and sadness and war, and now I want nothing more than to find some forgotten place and curl up with you by the fire. I’ll be with you shortly.

 

It was a message that would find her champion across the almost immeasurable bounds of distance and void, as his consciousness stirred in a false womb her presence would be there to comfort him. As long as they remained part of the cycle of conflict, his wounds would never heal, his ghosts would continue to remain fettered to his psyche. One last mission and then they were out. 

 

“Withdraw the fleet, but set a heading for Kamino for the Fair Lady, the rest will just have to suffer without my charming presence. And have the ground teams retrieve the crusader if she still lives, I sense that she will have a part to play in all of this.”

  

The fleet began a phased and disciplined withdrawal, melting away to leave behind the flames of retributive wrath. Darth Nyrys was glad for the red hue of her skin, it hid how flush the death and pain made her. It was the finest meat and headiest of wines, but like all meals it would pass, fleeting sensation followed by hollow memories. And then hunger. The curse of sapience was to dream beyond the measures of reality. Ambition beyond reach, lust beyond love, hunger beyond need. 

 

She removed her mask, as she doubted that her opposite had any plans of low cunning. While not a guardian, this Jedi carried with her the sense of a warrior’s principles. Amusingly, despite her rank amongst the Sith, meeting a Jedi was still something of a novelty for her, rebels and rival Sith had been far more present adversaries throughout her years of service.

 

Would you like a drink? There are matters that we must discuss of great consequence, and a stiff drink may help with the processing part. I assume that Jedi are allowed to drink in order to cope with the whole… being a Jedi thing.” 

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A crisp rapping rang out on the door that separated the conference room from the bridge interrupting the briefing. With a scowl, Vangar waived to the junior officer who had been overseeing the room before his arrival, a rather muscled middle-aged Bothan. with the faintest streaks of gray in his beard.

 

Turning to the locked comm unit, he keyed in his passcode activating the unit that had been shut down prior to the meeting. “Speak.” He growled. “You have the room.”

 

”The Baron Administrator is needed on the bridge immediately.” The wall mounted unit buzzed, the voice crackling with mechanized interference. “The Sith forces are in full route.” There was a sense of relief and joy in the voice as it carried over the suddenly silence-swept room. Even Vangar stopped to stare at the comm unit on the wall. It was an announcement that hung in the air, a heavy silence that seemed unbelievable. It was only broken as someone dropped a stylus that clattered mightily to the floor. At that, there were several muffled remarks of joy, weighted at the knowledge of the enormous price that had been paid. Activity began to flutter about the room. Everyone knew that there was even more work to be done.

 

”Everyone,” Vangar’s soft low voice carried above the room drawing silence again. “There is still much to be done. Celebrate in your own small way, but remember the lives lost; countless lives on both sides and even more families torn apart by this attack. Captain Nim and the Ancillary Justice will remain to oversee rescue and recovery operations. I urge you, try to contact your commanders through what channels remain, confirm your orders. Then either journey with me to the rendezvous or stay here and continue the true work.”

 

Stepping from the podium, Vangar swept towards blast doors. They hissed open as the Bothan officer keyed them open and then closed behind the Imperial commander.

 

”Captain Nim. Status update.” He commanded, a hint of joyous relief present in his deep voice as he took his usual position.

 

”Sir. The remaining Sith forces have fled the system. Hundreds of ships lie destroyed from both allied and enemy fleets.” The man’s face was grim, knowing firsthand even a rough estimate at the hundreds of thousands of naval lives that had been lost just on their side; much less the civilians, allied fleets, ground-based units, and enemy personnel. “Even the Squibs have fallen back from the system.” That statement alone testified to the totality of destruction about them. “We stand ready to offer aid. Salvage and reclamation vessels from Anoat and Bespin stand at the ready to be called in to assist.” The man offered a datapad that contained lists of surviving and lost craft from both sides.

 

Barely a dozen warships from each side remained accounted for in some way shape or form on any functional level. Maybe a few hundred freighters and the like filled in what remained. As he scanned Vangar’s heart felt heavy in his chest. “Such catastrophic losses…and for what?” He whispered to himself as if trying to make sense of the numbers. “We must rally what remains of the Rebellion, of the Imperium, an Alliance to stand together is the only way that we might survive.” Vangar did not know if the Sith had some dastardly plan, but surveying their own losses, any military commander would be a fool to sacrifice so much on an offensive that gained nothing. If they did not, the whole of the galaxy was ripe for the plucking.

 

”Captain, the Justice is to remain here under your command. See to it that the aid of Bespin’s vast wealth is offered here. Contact whoever you see fit within the Sector and beyond. Save lives, bury the dead, preserve what can be saved.”

 

“I and select officers will board the,” he paused as he scanned the list of surviving ships and the view screen before him. He settled on the nearest Tartan Patrol Cruiser, “Dawnguard. We will journey to the meeting point and rally the forces of good for whatever may come next.” With the Vangar offered a salute to the gold-hued captain, who returned an even more crisp one, and stepped aside.

 

He turned before leaving the bridge, “Alert what few of the others remain.”

 

”Aye sir.” The captain returned before turning to begin his lengthy duties.

 

”Attention all Imperial, Allied, abd Galactic craft. This is Captain Nim of the Imperial Navy, commanding the Ancillary Justice, under the direction of Moff Vangar Longfang. The Sith forces have fled into the unknown. They will be pursued; but for now, we look to our brothers and sisters. Recovery and reclamation efforts are beginning. The Justice will serve as the command point for these efforts.”

 

Vangar, @Tilt07, and several other officers quickly found transport to the much smaller and battered Dawnguard. Within the hour they were bound for Ylesia.

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The remainder of the battle was mop-up action for Fidelity. One by one, she and the two Victory-class Star Destroyers at her flank pounded the remainder of Black Scarab’s escorts into submission; the three capital ships operated with a sort of ruthless efficiency that was born out of mixture of battle-tested experience and cold fury at having been forced to watch the battle from a distance. The ships pounded at the squadron that had bombarded Nar Shaddaa, reducing the daggers on Fidelity’s left flank to hulks, and then the right flank. There was a single desperate moment when both sides of the MC90 cruiser were aflame and she was still badly outnumbered, but L’Ouverture and Gerrera maneuvered to place their weakened shields in the path of fire until their command ship could effect some damage control.

 

One individual barely even noticed the battle. That was the Bith surgeon D’ruppo Kozim, operating in a sterile surgical suite so soundproofed and insulated from the remainder of the ship that he barely noticed a single erstwhile vibration. Robotic arms twisted and stitched and cut within the bacta tank that contained Admiral Slaughter’s broken body like an obscene orchestra, closing hemorrhages and removing organs that could not be saved. The Bith blinked his enormous black eyes with exhaustion: one kidney might be saved by the bacta, but the other had been shredded; nearly a meter of intestines needed to be bypassed; his left lung had collapsed and would need to be monitored for weeks; and the damage to his spine was quite irreparable. He would walk only with the aid of implants.

 

But he would live. For the moment, steady vitals would be sufficient. Returning the Admiral to service would take time and patience.

 

____

 

As operations died down to retrieving escape pods and rescuing ejected pilots, Captain Tal’dira of the Fidelity finally allowed himself to sit at the command pit of his bridge. Though a hulking brute of a Twi’lek warrior, he felt utterly spent at the conclusion of this battle. Even if the Rebel Alliance had survived this siege, the losses had been so enormous that it was impossible for him to feel anything other than weariness.


Even after receiving a positive report from the medicals operating within the deepest bowels of the cruiser, the green-skinned Twi’lek merely sighed and hailed Moff @Vangar's flagship, the Ancillary Justice. Fortunately, the report had been summarized for the benefit of the military officer and even he was able to deliver a satisfactory explanation as he read. “Moff; Fidelity Actual. The doctors have reported back. Admiral Slaughter will survive. No signs of brain damage. He’ll be confined to bacta for…” There were no estimates for how long that period of time would be. “They’ve rigged up a comms system so he will be able to communicate once he comes out of anesthesia.”

Edited by ObliviousKnight
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Beck let out a massive sigh as TIE's moved across the viewport, dragging with cables escape pods and other items of value to bring it all onboard the Fiat Lux. He had received the report over Admiral Slaughter being recovered and in a state of healing. He would live, but no clues as to a timetable on full recovery. He remained seated within his command chair, for the first time in a long time. Normally he would walk the deck, but since the amount of devastation and wreckage that took place, he felt his own presence wasn't needed to breathe down the necks of every man serving. They knew their duty and what was required of them. 

 

The blonde rebel officer came up to him and gave a slight salute. He glanced over at her, seeing her actual rank of lieutenant before he returned the salute. "... What's your name and story?" She hesitated at the response. "Umm sir, wouldn't you rather have the report?" The Admiral slowly shook his head before sitting more upright. "No. Too much bad news. Give me something that's neutral at best." She looked at the Admiral then towards the comm officer a few times before she cleared her throat. "My name is Lilla Rurn. I'm from Corellia. I grew up always wanting to serve the galaxy the best way I could. Admiral Starlisk and Slaughter were some of my many heroes growing up. Inspired me really." Beck turned and snapped at someone on the deck to come closer. 

 

"Bring some drinks - not alcohol, for everyone on the bridge right now." He then turned back towards lieutenant Rurn. "How long did it take you get in service and how did you end up with us?" The girl slightly bounced her head and shoulders as she did her best to recall all of the information that would be relevant. "I was at the academy for around 3 years before I was assigned to a ship. I honestly don't remember the name. I got grounded because half the crew failed on it's last run. Been planetside for a long while, I would say ever since the joint partnership happened between us and the Imperials. I was about to change branch into something more tactical when the evacuation was called. SInce I wasn't assigned anywhere, I was low priority to get to a ship, but I was asked to help load some items onto the Fiat Lux... and I kinda just wandered my way up to the bridge..." 

 

Beck looked at her with an eyebrow raised. It was a move he would have expected from someone eager within the Imperial ranks to have done. But never through a different organization entirely. There was suddenly a tension on the bridge, and he was well aware of it. He didn't have to look around to figure it out either. "So technically you're not supposed to be here and could get court martialed for this?" Lilla Rurn looked down and slowly nodded her head. He looked down himself and let out another heavy sigh. The weight of everything came crashing down on his mind. He glanced up to look out the viewport and let out a smaller sigh. "What are the reports you have for me?" 

 

She looked up for a second, confusion all over her face. With shaky hands, she lifted the datapad, but when the Admiral didn't reach for it, she lifted it further to read it herself. "The last of the Mandalorians who attacked the surface have left the system. Rumors have it that many of the Mandalorians who were even on our side have begun to leave the system entirely. And while it's not confirmed, first reports are that the entire Sith fleet has withdrawn..." She slowly put the datapad down and awaited the Admiral's response, to which she now dreaded. He simply looked out the viewport and gave a few slow nods at the report. 

 

"How many more escape pods?" She gave a shrug before looking back at the sensor station, to which the officer there quickly sent to her datapad the numbers. "About 19 still not recovered." Beck then stood up and looked at her. "Very well. Let's wrap this whole situation up. When the drinks arrive, make sure everyone gets one." He then began to walk towards the front of the bridge to look out the viewport. Rurn looked around again. "That's it then?" Beck never once looked back, knowing full well what she was asking. "Under the circumstances, there is no one to report you to. I don't trust the system to begin with. If you were within the Imperial ranks, I would have congratulated you for the attempt of bravery to make such a bold move. Since we are an allied force for the moment, I will report that you got stuck on our ship during the evacuation and I asked for your help on the bridge. Is that satisfactory for you?" Beck then turned around and looked at her directly. "Unless you'd rather transfer over to the Imperial navy? I could always use personnel that carries such chutzpah."

 

Lilla Rurn gave a smile and looked down for a quick second before looking back up. "I think that I could have a decision for you upon our arrival at the rendezvous point." Beck gave a quick nod in response. "Alright then. Finish up the reports, and lets get those final escape pods in. Send out the reports to the rest of the fleet. Prepare the Fiat Lux for the jump upon completion of cleaning up the area." The Admiral returned to looking out the viewport and observing first hand at the clean process. Soon he would have to rebuild the entire imperial navy personnel again. He would much rather do that then working with the politicians. For now, he would make sure that the entire system was clear and ready before he would meet up with whatever of his peers were still left alive, if any. 

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As Black Scarab fell towards Nar Shaddaa, an expression of tension that resembled panic appeared on the Grandmaster’s face. Draygo wasn’t even looking at the Dark Lord; her eyes were focused on the sensor relays within the crew pits, and then seemingly nowhere at all when the sensor blip that indicated the dreadnought disappeared. Nyrys might have recognized the expression if she had the honor of knowing many military veterans; she had broken out into a feverish sweat and sucked in a desperate breath of air, as though preparing for a long dive underwater with no estimation of when she would resurface. At that moment, the Jedi Grandmaster was seemingly not there.

 

In a sense, she wasn’t. Her mind was present on another planet, an entire generation and a war ago. It was on Coruscant, only a few years older than Nyrys; buried under the rubble of The Shield Incident and trying to understand why the walls were trying to kill her and the darkness was screaming in helpless terror.

 

Her memory had three priorities at that moment. The first was to not throw up in her helmet. The second was to punch her way out of the layer of rubble she had found herself. The third was to start killing people.

 

The part of her mind that remained conscious had been through this drill many times and managed to reassert itself before her body started an interstellar incident. It shoved her way out of the half-circle of bodyguards and towards the nearest mostly-flat surface that she could sit on. That happened to be the console of one of the bridge’s intraship holocomm projectors–the drably-uniformed officer who was currently relaying some routine orders offered some stuttered syllables of consternation before the console was occupied and then the recorded hologram was blacked out by Draygo’s backside.

 

And then her mind began going through the familiar drills. Name. Age. Location. Son was alive and safe. Padawan was alive and safe. The inner monologue repeated itself until her instincts had returned to the present.

 

She finally looked up from the deckplates. Her face was smeared with a salty mixture of tears and sweat, and a red streak was beginning to rise from where she had attempted to rub away one of the smears with a hand in a plastoid gauntlet. A mixture of a grimace and pathetic smile flashed in her expression. That had been an episode that she had never allowed another Jedi to witness. She blinked a few times and recalled what the Dark Lord had just asked her before the breakdown.

 

“There’s prohibition. It’s purely a matter of me being a recovering, self-annihilating alcoholic. 

 

I’d kill for a caf, though. Speaking figuratively.”

 

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Standing with hands clasped behind his back watching the last few ships make their jump, Admiral Pilon stood in the center of the walkway that broke the pit crew on the bridge. His white topped uniform stood out amongst the grey of the bridge, making it very easy to spot him. The space over Nar Shaddaa had been cleared of enemy forces. The disaster of the Scarab crashing into the planet had already been done. And now the corner of his own eye spotted Lilla Rurn walking towards him, most likely bringing news that the last of the escape pods had been recovered. His brown eyes locked on her as she made a more direct path towards him. He shifted ever so slightly to face her. "All pods have been recovered Admiral. No ships outside of fleet ones remain, and many others have already jumped. Fiat Lux is ready for her next journey."

 

He let out a very small exhale of breath before responding. "And the wreckage?" Lilla slowly shook her head. "No scans of survivors yet. We'll have to wait until after everything settles." He let out another breath, one that came from his chest. "All right then. Prepare the ship to leave. There is nothing left here for us at the moment. Recall all TIEs and do one last sweep, then we can jump." Beck pushed past her for a moment, heading back towards the command chair, only to stop and turn around to address the bridge before sitting down. "I'm proud of you guys. This was hell and will leave a mark on everyone mentally. Upon arrival at the rendezvous, everyone is getting two weeks leave before new orders will be issued." He then sat down and held up his hand, signalling for them to finish his orders. He then watched his crew move with the precision and order that he had trained them to do. And within the hour, the Fiat Lux was in hyperspace and away from the planet.  

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  • 11 months later...

To compare Nar Shadaa to a post apocalyptic holovid or even its freshly ruined cityscape of half melted towers and rubble for miles that buried and entombed the less fortunate as a war crime did not do its truth justice. It was more than words could even justify, for even his eyes barely could believe what it was he saw as he traveled it's ruins for days. There were survivors, and rumors of the Sovereign Empire that was reformed from his own in course of rebuilding. But Lok saw none of this. He may have as well been the lone survivor of what remained of the Imperial Knights, and what he saw made him question everything he thought he knew as a Knight.

 

Hunger pains stabbed at his gut as he climbed up from a small passage that had been formed from the falling rubble into a new section of the upper streets. Dusting the glass and dirt from his crimson armor, blood staining a portion of his hair above his left ear from where he cut it on rebar stinging against his sweat. In truth, this form felt alien even if it was forged from his own DNA, and to inhabit it felt wrong to a degree. But this was what he agreed upon when he pledged himself to Kyrie and Raven, and he felt that he would eventually find it as comfortable as his own in the passing of time. Stopping for a brief moment, he ate upon a small nutrition bar he had found a few miles below as he made his way to the spaceport in hopes of finding a ship that escaped damage, or better yet, the Sovereignty he heard had replaced the Imperial Remnant.

 

Looking out across the landscape as he chewed up a bite of the bar, he couldn't believe the devastation. Even as he crawled and climbed across miles of it, it seemed surreal, almost dream like. It's sun was blotted out by the hazing dust that swept up into the upper atmosphere giving day an almost dark night, and fires still burned in the distance. He had only met a few that remained, having survived hell and one or two having lost their minds to the ensuing chaos. If it had not been for the Force that danced across the planet like an angel, he would have swore the Force had forsaken Nar Shadaa. He understood the concept of war, and of the Darkside the Sith worshipped like ravenous hounds lapping at a puddle of water during a drought. And yet, he could never have had comprehended such a horrific truth as the one he saw plainly before him. And in that moment, he wept.

 

Wiping the tears from his eyes as he finished the bar and toss its wrapper to the side, he stood and looked to the east. He knew the spaceport was still at least a three day hike from his position, maybe more depending on the obstacles that laid between him and it. Before this destruction, it wouldn't have been but a few hours on foot. But after traveling two miles below and back up through a maze of devastation and debris, he had soon found that his trek would be significantly longer. His surmise was that it would be the same for the rest of his trek. Grabbing a bar, encircling himself with the passing Force, he lept across the gorge that once was likely a warehouse to its other side with a stumbled landing. Recovering, he continued on.

 

But the question remained: What would he do when he did find the Sovereign Empire that replaced the one he swore life and limb to?

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With the looming Nal Hutta on the horizon, Lok stumbled into the Spaceport. His throat parched, every swallow felt like sandpaper rubbing the inside of his throat and gave the urge to cough or gag. And yet, he resisted the urge of his new body and continued on inward, intent upon finding a way off this moon and back into the wayward Galaxy at large.

 

It wasn't to say that Nar Shadaa didn't need him, nor was it to say that he could do some real good work upon the destroyed Smuggler's Moon. In fact, it was something he had contemplated during his trek quite often. But there was a pull upon him, a natural curiosity that plagued him to find this Sovereign Alliance and to see what true destruction was left in the wake of the Sith's War Machine. It was almost obsessive within his mind.

 

The Spaceport, much like the rest of Nar Shadaa, laid in ruin and shambles. Lights flickered and systems still sounded a half hazardous alarm that threatened to die at any moment. And it was in this moment that Lok almost gave up. But the obsessive compulsion to find what he missed was a powerful pull that refused to relinquish. And Lok soon found himself pulling what he could manage from the holostation before it's cells frizzled out in a burning spark. All he managed to get were coordinates to the Sovereign's flagship from the elder Imperial Remnant channel and months old news reels on the final battle that transpired here.

 

Months.... it had been months since Nar Shadaa was laid waste to. Months he laid in stasis within that Cloning Pod while the Galaxy continued turning, and months since Byss. His face soured with a small hint of shame as his mind crossed the thoughts of perhaps he should have had remained as part of the Force rather than awaken here and now of all times and places. If it hadn't been for the Imperial Cloning Protocol where each member of the Knights were chipped to be activated upon the stopping of their heart, he likely would have.

 

Or would he? His mind still wondered what woke him from the pod and why the Force seemed to encircle him like moths to a lit beacon. He shook the thoughts from his mind and began his search for a haphazard ship capable of hyperspace. And one he would find stored away, a dented and beat up old freighter that laid buried beneath a crumbled command tower. It wouldn't take much to blast out of there, it's shielding and hull rather tough by the looks of it.

 

A few hours later, the old freighter shot into the upper atmosphere and inevitably hyperspace, leaving the crumbled command tower finishing it's fall. Lok was off to find the Sovereignty. 

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