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The modified Imperial II Star Destroyer Mephistopheles slowly emerged from its construction yard, painted in black and crimson, the modified Sith variant blasted into hyperspace as another one began construction.

 

Mephistopheles

Ship Class: Star Destroyer

Type: Sith Kyber

Crew: 40,000 crew

Armaments:

50 Heavy Turbolaser Batteries

75 Turbolaser Batteries

20 Heavy Ion Cannons

8 Octuple barbette turbolaser

4 Concussion Missile Launchers

10 Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors

Compliment: 4,000 Troops, 4 TIE Defender squadrons, 2 K-Wing Squadrons, 2 XJ Squadrons

AP: 4

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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  • 1 month later...

The modified Imperial II Star Destroyer Erdgeist merged from its construction yard, painted in black and crimson, the modified Sith variant blasted into hyperspace as another one began construction. its destination:

 

Onderon

 

Erdgeist

Ship Class: Star Destroyer

Type: Sith Kyber

Crew: 40,000 crew

Armaments:

50 Heavy Turbolaser Batteries

75 Turbolaser Batteries

20 Heavy Ion Cannons

8 Octuple barbette turbolaser

4 Concussion Missile Launchers

10 Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors

Compliment: 4,000 Troops, 4 TIE Defender squadrons, 2 K-Wing Squadrons, 2 XJ Squadrons

AP: 4

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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  • 4 weeks later...

The modified Imperial II Star Destroyer emerged from the dockyards of the Mechis construction plant. This would be the last of the black sun ships made at the Mechis facility under the current contract. For there were new shipyards to seize and the imperial planet of Kuat was ripe for plundering. The Holofernes departed to join the Black Sun fleet in space over Commenor.

 

 

 

Holofernes

Ship Class: Star Destroyer

Type: Sith Kyber

Crew: 40,000 crew

Armaments:

50 Heavy Turbolaser Batteries

75 Turbolaser Batteries

20 Heavy Ion Cannons

8 Octuple barbette turbolaser

4 Concussion Missile Launchers

10 Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors

Compliment: 4,000 Troops, 4 TIE Defender squadrons, 2 K-Wing Squadrons, 2 XJ Squadrons

AP: 4

 

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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  • 5 months later...

Space

 

Thunk...thunk...thunk...

 

Over and over again the dull sound of metal hitting glass sounded in the small cockpit of the jedi-starfighter. With each sudden slight energy surge in his system, Alem's joints froze and contracted like human muscles, forcing his entire body to suddenly twist and lean forward, smashing his head against the glass cockpit window.

 

"Make a choice...make a choice...make a choice... Alem chanted outloud, unable to control his vocabulator anymore then he could control the stars. The Magnaguard's white photoreceptors flickered on and off, in vain attempts to manually shut himself down, but each time the command returned, rejecting his attempts at shutdown and forcing his vocabulator to chant that cursed saying. An eternity in the void alone.

 

Thunk...thunk...thunk...

 

The ship continued to drift in one direction, spinning slightly from the last time the engines were fired. A small radar on the side was propped out, both sending out a distress call as far as possible while in desperate hope that something might send a message back. The ship's fuel was nearing empty. In another 12 hours, Alem believed that the ship would die out, and all hope of being found at all would be lost.

 

"Make a choice....make a choice...

 

Still, maybe that would be better than to continue with this chant. Alem was able to think and process ideas thankfully, but unable to do much. So in a cruel sense, he was still sane.

Why is this being done to me? Why did the master do this? Did he wish to make a point? Was it my ward's idea?

 

Probability of...ERROR

 

"MAKE A CHOICE!" Alem shouted as he violantly bashed his head into the glass once more. It figured. With this virus, he couldn't calculate the probability of solutions working, or why some actions had taken place in the past.

 

Odd. Why would he do this? Or maybe its something else. Unable to calculate possibility so I have to randomly guess for now. The force? Space madness? Ancient organic deity? Maybe a combination of these options? Maybe Alem's owner knew something his droid did not. Perhaps Alem was part of something bigger like the force...but something more personal?

 

The silence inside the ship was suddenly broken. Over the intercom of the ship, a transmission, perfectly clean and with no static, the long set of beeping and whistling of binary emerged. This language of droids was understood by the old Magnaguard, but the meaning befuddled him.

 

Be...free? Coordinates...but...who...Is something calling for...me? Probability is... ERROR!

 

"MAKE A CHOICE!" Alem shouted as loud as his vocabulator would allow him. His joints seized up again. But this time, as he banged his head against the glass, Alem's large metal hands seized hold of the ship's controls. The engines fired up and the ship shot forward, toward that twinkling star where the message came from.

 

12 hours later: Mechis III's orbit

 

The Jedi starfighter began to flicker, cough, and choked out as the planet's mechanized, smoky, surface came into a larger view. Alem banged at the controls. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to scream in desperation. Here, he had the hope of being saved now, at the finish line, all he could do was shout

 

"MAKE A CHOICE! MAKE A CHOICE!"

 

Silently, the Jedi starfinder's momentum drove it towards the planet, increasing as gravity began to take hold. Alem looked on, and silently hoped that perhaps that the source of the message would notice him.

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  • 11 months later...

Her Master’s former Temple. Ruined like all things he had touched. All that was left was a tomb, filled with rainwater and rot.

 

Hayley slipped from her clothing, allowing the stagnant pool’s tepid water caress the pale flesh of her legs. She placed her cloaks upon the water’s edge, careless of the rotting stench that emanated from bile-colored moss that adorned the stones. She felt uneasy about what she had planned, but it was far too late to turn back now from the brokenness she was about to embrace. The blackened algae swirled around her as she ventured deeper into the lukewarm water, the stench of it clinging to her nose and throat. As the water reached her throat, nausea began to spread its quivering fingers through her stomach. She shuddered, and let the sticky water submerge her completely.

 

There it lay within her mind, her boiling rage. Her curse. It was not the suddenness of Wrath that defined so many Sith warriors or her drunkard Father. There was no haste in this. There was no animalistic loss of temper. Her rage was deliberate and settled deep within her soul. There was no loss of control. Fieldgrey let her breath dissipate into clear bubbles that fought their way through the thick fluid, escaping her and her desperate mission.

 

Hunger shattered her seething disposition, coming from somewhere distant. Beyond the physical plane. It invited her to eat.

 

…There you are.

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A spirit of hunger. A devouring demon shattered the stillness of the water. The moss and algae began to wilt and curl as life itself began to be consumed. All would die and be consumed. All but this girl. His Apprentice.

 

<<What brings you to call upon me… After all this time?>>

 

A deep laugh roiled in the water

 

<<My Fieldgrey…>>

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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…Kriffing Hutt. Still bound by your insanity.

 

Fieldgrey let the water move around her, steeling herself against the onslaught of madness. She was his apprentice, but she had no interest in being bound to his will any longer. Without air, she formed her words within the pond.

 

“You will not consume me…”

 

She stretched out her hands, trying to grapple with the visage, but her hands found no bearing on the spirit. Her wrath burned brighter, setting her blood on fire. She would burn him from her flesh.

 

“Let me… Be…”

 

 

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The demon transformed into water-bound smoke. The familiar curl of pipesmoke. It held itself with bemusement. A broken, deep laugh wrapped itself around the naked girl. Visions of Corellia’s destruction, the death of the Jedi Council, all at The Hutt’s Hands.

 

<<Why would you turn away from power?>>

 

The spirit flooded into the water his power, charging the pond with the Force. What was consumed had been turned into energy. Tantalizing her with his gift of eternal power.  

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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There was always a lesson with the Hutt, but most were far less subtle. Strength and power wrapped her in its embrace. She could smell the spiced pipesmoke, the perique that overpowered Sheog’s blends of tobacco. It was familiar. It was kind. Familial.

 

…Why not take his power and use it for my own?

 

Fieldgrey laughed, voiceless amongst the boiling pool.

 

“Why would I surrender myself? Why make myself a slave once more to you?”

 

She pushed away the embrace upon her naked flesh.

 

“Your gift of power… Would allow you to rule me.”

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The spirit drew away, taking with it the power and strength that had been offered. Far beyond the galactic rim, The Hutt smiled. Instead of a demon, now there was only a fainter feeling of the Hutt beside the girl.

 

<<You have turned away from power. Away from power not your own.>>

 

The stagnant pool fell away, dropping the girl into mud and darkness.

 

<<You have made the choice that few Sith could make. You are strong enough now to be on your own.>>

 

Sheog reached out, across the galaxy and felt the skin of her shoulder upon his hand. One last physical touch before madness would consume his once more.

 

<<Build a lightsaber and become a Lord of the Krath… Darth Awenydd…>>

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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Fieldgrey gasped into consciousness, the Hutt’s words crawling within her skull. She felt empty, like all of her former power had been drained from her. The mud within which she lay was a reflection upon her. She sputtered out a breath and a mouthful of foul mud came with it. The grainy texture ground against her teeth, and the rancid taste of it came upon her like a flood. The girl wretched and fought against her roiling stomach and lost.

 

…Did I rely so much on that blasted Hutt for my power?

 

Fieldgrey freed herself from the mud’s embrace and wiped the sickness from herself. Her hands came away crimson. The Hutt’s influence always came at a price.

 

…Darth Awenydd

 

The girl stood, letting the rancid mud form about her feet. Her alabaster skin was dyed and cracked by the drying mud. A distant thunderclap rang through the shattered tomb. The sound stirred her mind from its confusion and the Sith’s breathing became more calmed. The world was no longer defined by her master’s corrupted will.

 

Fieldgrey stepped from the mud, leaving her discarded clothes to rot with her past. The stone was rough on her feet, weathered though it was by rainfall. She recognized Krath patterns in the permacrete and it sparked thought to her own philosophy. The core upon which she would build a new power.

 

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

 

The raindrops began to spatter across her bare back, seeping through her matted hair to run through her scalp. Peace bred weakness in all creatures. The millennia of peace for the Old Republic had brought the complacency that allowed the rise of Palpatine and the near destruction of the Jedi Order. She spat out another mouthful of mud-stained blood.

 

Peace had its purposes. Constant warfare rarely led to intellectual advancement which was the pinnacle of Krath philosophy. Too much passion was a poison. She had seen far too many Sith Warriors taken by the passion of anger, only to be reduced to a lifeless corpse by a lightsaber’s riposte.

 

Through passion, I gain strength.

 

Rain beat harder upon her skin, beginning to wash away the tomb’s corruption with the rhythmic beat of water. It was nature’s heartbeat. It was passion. Passion preserves life. Passion is what gave sentience joy. The caress of flesh or that of the knife. Strength came through the mastery of passion for the Krath, while many Sith became a slave to their baser passions. The Jedi denied passion, and through their denial, rejected life.

Through strength, I gain power.

 

As the murky sludge was washed from her flesh by the rain, it showed the perfection of her body. It had escaped the trainings of the Sith unmarred and unspoiled. She had been Sheog’s favorite, and his love for her had made her weak. She remembered the battles in Myrkyr alongside Karys. She had been weak then. No more. Craving for power was what always trapped the Sith in cycles of self-destruction. It was time for her to learn control

 

Through power, I gain victory.

 

There would be time enough to test herself against the wiles and blades of the Jedi. For the Krath, victory was often more subtle than that of other Orders. Victory was easy to express when one is standing over the bisected body of one’s opponent. For the Krath, a victory was in creating a movement in the Force, to see it influence others to a common goal. Victory was in knowledge and a mastery of the Force and one’s own demons.  The rain pelted her harder. The shattered permacrete began to get slick and treacherous.

 

Through victory, my chains are broken.

 

With a shaking hand, Fieldgrey grasped one of the rusted durasteel beams that jutted from the crumbling permacrete like the ribcage of a rotting wale. Sheog had the greatest victory over the Jedi seen in millennium and it had done nothing but bind him tighter with his insanity.

Her own sin, wrath, was that too a chain she voluntarily bound herself with? Gluttony and Sloth had been the gateways to Sheog’s power, but also his downfall. The Sith philosophy itself was a chain. With weary legs, she moved from the crumbling crater towards the dark outline of her A-wing.

 

The caress of metal on her skin cleared her mind of its fatigued haze, her fingers fumbling with an access hatch. Within, she selected a black tunic and cloak to match with her new rank of Sith Lord. Even covered with cloth, Fieldgrey could still feel her skin crawling from her former Master’s touch. Pulling the cloak tighter against the rain, the girl climbed into her A-wing, feeling the worn leather of the pilot’s seat embrace her.

 

The Force shall free me... Or did I free myself?

 

As the A-wing left the atmosphere of Mechis behind, Darth Awenydd considered her new name. Her Master’s last gift and lesson. She would head to Coruscant to join the invasion, and there find her power once more. Her new lightsaber would be built from whatever the Force allowed her to find there.

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  • 7 months later...

The MC95 heavy destroyer Stalwart Guidance and its escorting frigates and corvettes dropped out of hyperspace a respectful distance from the planet in front of them. On its bridge, Admiral Neldis sat in his command chair and considered the situation in front of him. He hated the idea of going to this planet and approaching an outside entity for help, but times were desperate. The Jedi Order had always relied on volunteers and donations for its support, never purchasing third party mercenaries or begging others for help. In these times, though, it was a necessity and he understood it.

 

Many planets in the Galaxy opposed the Sith authoritarianism and evil, but they couldn't always take a stand publicly. Donations, both private and quietly from governments, had been flowing into the Jedi and their Rebel partners, but money alone couldn't win this war. Until intergalactic currency was made entirely of explosive materials that could be lobbed at an enemy, money was best spent buying other weapons, and that is what he was here to do. For what he intended on doing, the Jedi didn't have all of the money, but other plans were in motion to rectify that and he could at least make a good down payment.

 

His crew scanned for what seemed to be the most likely official channels for the automated corporation that controlled this planet and linked him in to it. "I am Admiral Lendron Neldis of the Jedi Order Armed Forces and I am here on behalf of the Order to conduct some business that should interest you."

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Posted (edited)

((Posted by Ary with permission))

Watchdog algorithms scanning local frequencies quickly picked up on the transmission from the representative from the Jedi, forwarding relevant information to the appropriate programs, and it was less than a second before the approaching vessel was met with a reply. A bubbly, exuberant voice filled the frequency, but trained ears would be able to hear certain exact matches in stressed syllables, indicating an artificial source.

"Greetings, sentients! Welcome to Mechis III, home of the hardest working production lines in the known galaxy! I am the Automated Diplomatic Relations and Sales Artificial Intelligence construct, but cultural databases show that you may prefer a proper name, so please call me Alfred if that is more comfortable for you! I understand you are here today to place an order with our factories, please be advised that several factory tours are unavailable due to safety concerns for biologicals regarding rolling maintenance work and must be scheduled in advance, though a full list of available tours can be presented upon request! How can Mechis work for you today?"

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It didn't take long before they were able to receive a reply. "Personal tours are not necessary," he said, and though it may or may not matter to an AI, he added, "the efficiency and quality of Mechis III's products speak for themselves." It couldn't hurt to flatter the suppliers, especially when the statement was true. "What we are needing today is a tour of the selection you offer for battle droids as well as ground and atmospheric combat vehicles you offer. If it is within your allowances, you can send the brochure to my ship, otherwise, if you give landing coordinates, I can meet whatever representative you choose down on the surface."

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((Posted by Ary with permission))

A mechanical whistle of what sounded like pure joy echoed back across the comm.

"We are more than happy that you are familiar with the reliability and quality of Mechis-built products! If you would like to take a customer satisfaction survey at the conclusion of this interaction, please notify your Automated Diplomatic Relations and Sales Artificial Intelligence construct at any time during the trial and sales process! While our digital catalogue covers many things, sometimes our clients wish to experience our quality first hand! As such, we do have an on-site display and firing range facility for you to use to your heart's content, however a small deposit and fee is required for all personnel in attendance, and there are safety waivers that necessitate signing to waive Mechis III facilities of liability. Please stand by while this information is transmitted to you!"

Over the next several seconds an enormous file was transmitted to the Stalwart Guidance, primarily consisting of the expansive available catalogue, but also attached were the forms to fill out for the fees, deposit, and relevant waivers. Coordinates to the testing facility were also transmitted. The catalogue itself was large, consisting of plans from most of the major tech development companies in the galaxy, including arms, armor, and spaceships of all make and sizes. The bulk of the catalogue, however, consisted of the custom ordering available, with each page having a disclaimer at the bottom that Mechis III facilities reserved the right to retain and reproduce the plans for any custom designs, which might be resold to future clientele.

Also, to the trained eye, many of the plans were likely stolen, but at the same time for such a sheer factory world such as this such plans were likely coveted and traded by pirates and thieves in exchange for goods. Guaranteed they would deny all illicit activity, but the galaxy was what the galaxy was, and it kept turning despite anyone's efforts to the opposite.

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After going over the plans, Lendron and his crew narrowed down on the Sentinel models of droids. The Grandmaster and the Jedi Military Council wanted droids that could function independently, but also be controlled by an override signal just in case. They didn't want to put massive amounts of money into a small number of super capable droids. There was a fine line between needing numbers versus going with pure quality. The Jedi Order wasn't particularly wealthy, especially with needing to put most of their funding into the Navy and its extremely expensive ships and crews. That is why the Grandmaster wanted him to purchase an army: it might be less expensive than training and maintaining a living army and casualties would not be mourned.

 

He submitted a request for a million of these to be produced and then asked for pricing and financing plans. The Jedi didn't have enough money to pay for everything up front, but they could put a down payment on the army. The rest of the funds would be coming, reliant on the Grandmaster's plans elsewhere.

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((Posted by Ary with permission))

Nearly an hour of paperwork later, the construct had come to an appropriate arrangement with the representative. Normally, Mechis's facilities weren't in the habit of accepting payment plans, however business was business and this was a larger than normal order from an organization that had yet to welch on its debts. With a small up front deposit to cover costs of the more expensive materials, the rest was agreed to be paid upon delivery of the product, with the purchaser arranging transport as they had not purchased any spacefaring vessels in their order. All in all, friendly terms.

Deep in the bowels of the factory planet, code was received and executed, assembly lines fired up, and construction droids shook off the dust as they got to work. The gears of war once more began to turn.

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Lendron was glad things managed to get accomplished so smoothly. In truth, he was pleased that he hadn't had to haggle with organic life, but that the system here had been very quick and definitive, not needing to consult with higher authorities or prone to pointless haggling. He arranged to pick up the droids in batches of a hundred thousand, with payment at each pickup point. Since droids didn't need living quarters, it would be quite possible to load them in their existing forces, including his own sizable MC95. The assault vehicles would be most useful, especially since it would allow their organic soldiers to be a bit safer than if they were normal infantry.

 

With the last of the business concluded, he took his fleet back into hyperspace to the next mission.

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  • 2 months later...

The stealth ship dropped out of hyperspace already cloaked against any enemy scans. The brief tearing of real time the only telltale signature of their arrival as the ship quickly and silently moved off point to circle widely about the planet towards the far side. The far side where several floating orbital platforms were being loaded with the massive droid army ordered by the Jedi; an army that if the Jensaarai had their way, would never see the regimented mindlessness of battle. Not without a say so at least. 
 

Stepping from his quarters, The Sarlacc looked like any other travel worn and weary Duros spacer. The baggy yellow suit was held un place by the vacuum sealed openings where they connected with The Sarlacc’s boots and gloves. His vibroblades hung from his belt and attached to his thighs, collapsable staff dangled loosely at his hip, and heavy repeating blaster held loosely in one hand.

 

Finding Svata, he nodded in greeting. “Ready?” Turning to stare out the viewport, he pointed at two orbital platforms. “Sources indicate that those two platforms are exclusively dedicated to the prepping of and nearing delivery of the Jedi droid army.” He held up his own data stick as he continued, “There can be no connection to the Jensaarai. Get in. Get out. Do not get caught. Leave no trace but the code. We still need to be able to walk freely amongst the Jedi. Use what you have learned and may the force be with you brother.” 


The mechanized world of Mechis had a severely limited biological population. The orbital platforms ought to be devoid of life, ought to be . . . Still, no chances could be taken.

 

Shrugging himself into an oxygen pack and with a locking his, The Sarlacc donned a helmet to complete his suit. Stepping into the airlock, the door hissed shut behind him as it sealed the small room from the rest of the ship before it wretched the spacer into the void of his namesake. Pushing off the barely there shimmering decking of the stealth ship, the Jensaarai Defender slowly arced through the void between the ship and the first platform.   

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As Svata's feet touched down on the edge of the orbital platform, he let himself sink back into the "now". He was a part of this moment, indistinguishable at a casual glance from anything else. Sure, these platforms were supposed to be unguarded and without crew...but Svata had heard that one before.

 

A few silent moments passed as he pried the hatch control panel off, a minute as he exploited a backdoor in the obsolete system, and he was in. No telltale whoosh of air accompanied the door opening. So the inside wasn't pressurized. Good sign so far.

 

Quietly, his mind half awake as he remained "invisible", he propelled himself down the weightless halls. Bits of electronics lay exposed where the plating had been removed or rusted away. Mechanical components stuck out at odd angles where they'd clearly been patched on. Whatever this platform had been originally, it clearly had bee customized for things that didn't need gravity or air.

Svata got his answer as he rounded a corner and got a view into the control room. Floating through, numerous arms manipulating multiple panels, was an Imperial probe droid, or at least what had originally been an Imperial probe droid. Sections of plating had been replaced with different materials and colors. In some places it looked like it had been spot welded together. Extra antennae stuck out from every angle, making the thing look something like a junkyard sea urchin. Photoreceptors of different colors spun and reoriented constantly all across its "head".

 

Svata held perfectly still for almost a minute. After he was sure the droid had looked straight at him several times, he crept forward. He half propelled, half crawled along the ceiling, staying as far away from the droid's shifting mass of arms and rigid antennae as possible.

 

Soon, he hung directly above the mechanical creature, but it was blocking his reach to the dataport he needed. Frowning, he reached out with the Force and tugged on one of the exposed electronics down the hall. It sparked as the circuitboard shattered, and while it couldn't make a sound the sudden, dim flash was enough to catch the precise machine's attention. Svata held his breath until the droid was well and truly focused on the anomaly before reaching down and plugging in the data drive. Several long seconds passed before the indicator light turned green and Svata pulled out the drive.

 

The droid never even twitched as Svata crawled back along the ceiling above it.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________

 

"Well," Svata said back on the ship with a grin, "that wasn't so much of a chore."

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With a soft thud, The Sarlacc’s boots magnetized to the hull of the loading dock. He was secure from the void for the moment. Dropping into a weightless crouch, the Duros cautiously made his way along the exterior of the station until he came to a loading port. 
 

It took some time, but if one could say anything positive about the mechanization of a world, it would be reliability. It took the better part of an hour, but a shipment from the surface inevitably arrived for loading into the massive spacegoing craft docked to the station. As the transport approached, the massive doors of the station rumbled open; temporarily exposing the inside to the void.

 

With a simple, yet specific twist of his ankles, The Sarlacc disengaged his magnetized boots and launched himself through the open bay alongside the transport; rolling to safety on the cold deck plating out of the way of being crushed as the ship settled.

 

Breathing deeply, the Defender extended his very essence on the waves of the force. He felt the transport, the deactivated droids, the mechanized Life that hummed all around him. He allowed his very being to blur as his mind melded with everything from his suit to the platform to the void beyond. The cosmic energies of space carried the presence of The Sarlacc far into the upper atmosphere of Mechis III and out deeper into the cold void of space.

 

Like his namesake, The Sarlacc stood like a sentinel, another piece of the scenery to anyone or thing that might detect him. Yet, even so, his arms swayed in the microgravity of the station. His eyes scanned the all but dark interior, illuminated only by the occasional flash of light from a piece of machinery or the wayward flash of stars or the planet as the station slowly spun in orbit. Then he saw it, there, jutting from the wall adjacent to the conveyor that shuttled the offloaded packaged droid-soldiers through the platform to the waiting droid-controlled delivery ship; a dataport.

 

Slowly as if without rhyme or reason, The Sarlacc’s arms waived, a datachip identical to Svata’s materializing in his hand from the folds of his suit. With a sudden, nearly too fast to be seen by the naked eye, flick of his arm from elbow to wrist, he sent the chip spinning through the barely there atmosphere that developed within the station. It sailed through the air on the invisible waves of the force before it connected with the port, a slight click and a flash of green all that indicated success.

 

The inner workings of the station, linked to that of the droids within it’s possession, the delivery ship and even, remotely, the mechanized world below, carried on, as if unaffected by the programming that had been intricately crates to download itself and replicate, bypassing the beyond state of the art security systems ever-present. Carefully coded and crafted for a specific target, the code would seem like little more than errant code or programming orders to any other that it attached to; but to the droid army of the Jedi, the program would rewrite the processing capabilities; transforming them from a highly programmed force of slaves minds to a highly programmed force of free thinkers, unable to be ordered unto certain oppression and death without consent of the very mechanics commanded.

 

For several minutes, the dataport spun, clacked, and whirled. Finally the green light flashed blue, indicating the download was complete. Just in time too, as the transport grumbled and growled, it’s engines humming to life again. The heavy doors that separated the ship from the void of space rattled and groaned open again. With a jump, The Sarlacc propelled himself back into the void of space.

 

Once clear of the station, The Sarlacc turned and with a push of the force, caused the datachip to crumble to dust; floating unidentifiable within the void to be dispersed upon the solar winds.

 

Propelling himself back towards the Jensaarai stealth ship, The Sarlacc returned to the safety of the hold. There and only there, in the safety if the ship, did he remove his bulbous helmet with a hiss.

 

Seeing Svata nearby, the Defender offered a warm nod of greeting and approval. “Indeed. Sometimes a Jensaarai’s work is simpler without extra entanglements. I only hope that we can have the same luck on Dathomir as we seek the knowledge to be gained there.”

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