The Spice Mines of Kessel

[The Jensaarai]

The ragged delivery freighter was not quick to offload her goods. Even if Kessel had been taken by the Rebel Alliance, there was still a lucrative and active black market retail business that bustled about the planet; it’s illicit income still grossly out earning any legal incomes the world had access to. So even as the crew carefully and methodically offloaded their cargo of food stuffs, water, and purification tablets they watched as their local contacts moved an equal number of packages into place to be loaded and transported from the world. Spice, it was as illegal as it was valued.  The financial gain from the delivery paled in comparison to the payday awaiting their next cargo.

 

None of that mattered though. Through the carefully calculated hubbub a figure swarthed in flowing gray cloaks strode silently from the hold, ducking to the side as soon as it exited the ship. Beneath the robes, the Jensaarai’s armor flowed seamlessly, barely giving away the fact that it even existed beneath the flowing robes. The force moved subtly about the man, muted and almost indiscernible against the miniscule buzzing backdrop of the world. With a jump and a twist, The Mantis twisted around the nearest building corner and fell into stride with the few shuffling locals that made their way down the otherwise desolate windswept street.   
 

Silence shrouded the man in an aura of mystery as deep as the force that was muted against the invisible wall outside of his body. He strode silently and with purpose, his head tucked low against the cold biting wind. He did not seem to pay mind to anything around him; lime the others, he looked like he was focused on getting where he was going with as little hassle as possible.

 

Beneath his robes, The Mantis’ weapos were tucked tightly against his armor. They did not clink and clank. They did not rattle. They barely made a discernible bulge. Each tool was designed to fit into the armor, blended against detection but accessible in a moment. 
 

He strode with purpose through the newly conquered city. Things would change here, hopefully for the better. It would take time and effort. For now, chaos and darkness lingered amongst the hope. Hopes of better tomorrows and hopes of less interference in money-making schemes, good and bad. Against the backdrop, with his subconscious signature alteration within the force, The Mantis was all but invisible to anyone or thing but the naked eye. Anybody that did not focus directly on the Jensaarai Defender simply glossed over his very presence.

 

Twisting and turning The Mantis distanced himself from the distant landing pad until he found an idling and unattended landspeeder outside a crowd-packed tavern. With nary more than a glance to see that nobody was attending the craft, The Mantis commandeered it. Soon enough, the speeder was churning up plumes of dust in the weak atmosphere as it tore across the open ground outside the small city. Racing towards Outpost Delta, The Mantis made good time. There was little here to hamper him. The outpost was barely beyond a few prefab structures and an ad hoc landing pad; but it was the start of good things on the oblong planet.

 

Grinding to a halt as he entered the base, The Mantis slowly raised his hands in a gesture of peace in response to the laser dots trained on him by the guards outside the outpost.

 

“The Jensaarai have sent me as a representative. Tell Lt. Andromina I am here.”

[The Jensaarai]

The Mantis had stood, his limbs hanging loosely at his side, staring down the weapons leveled in his direction. Concern had not been high on his list of responses. The rebel soldiers were doing their job. On a world like this one could hardly blame a fella who was wanted for his mere existence for being a bit jumpy.

 

From behind his enclosed helm, The Mantis raised an eyebrow in interest at the arrival of the hulking canine. If he had to guess, the Jensaarai would have figured him for a bounty hunter of sorts. But still, the being had the same name as The Mantis did and he himself could be considered an odd specimen by some. Who was he to judge. Given the fact that the guardsmen obeyed the wolfman, The Mantis figured he was a rebel of sorts. So was he, he pondered for a moment. The Jensaarai had thrown their lot in with this ragtag band of upstarts and idealists. There was something about them.

 

Clambering with ease from the speeder, The Mantis dropped to the packed earth and made his way into the prefabricated command structure, down the hall to a spare service room set up almost like a cafeteria eating area. He offered a nod of thanks to the much larger wolfish rebel. Otherwise, he was content to remain in the silence of the cramped room, his eyes scanning the walls; diagrams, a few odd maps and starcharts, nothing too exciting really. The comment about the Jensaarai from the wolfman took The Mantis by surprise. Not many usually knew who or what they were.

 

When Lt. Andromina entered, The Mantis stood from the benched sear he had occupied, stepping forward to extend a hand to tightly and quickly grasp the pilot’s before releasing and stepping back.

 

As the ranking rebel spoke, The Mantis fell into step as they left the hall and walked down the hallway. He walked in silence allowing Mythos a chance to speak first, which he did as they entered the official briefing room.

 

With a hiss, the Defender removed the faceplate of his light Jensaarai armor helmet, the suit adapting to the pressure of the world about them. He tucked the faceplate beneath his armpit, his rugged Corellian features offset by his bright green eyes. With a low baritone, The Mantis spoke, after they entered the briefing room and Mythos had said his piece. A sight smile played across the Jensaarai’s face; surely the woman knew what she was asking. “I am Mantis.” he spoke by way of introduction. Any mention of the Jensaarai was left unsaid. His people’s anonymity was one of their greatest defenses, even as he wore his customized armor beneath his gray robe. That same robe he lifted to reveal a complete set of throwing knives held against his armored waist alongside his collapsible staff. “I am not a soldier or a Jedi. Espionage is my area of  . . . ability. Like him,” he inclined a thumb towards Mythos, “I can just,” he circled his hand in the air, opening his fist in a trail of fingers before closing back into a fist as if signing a universal idea of disappearing. 
 

Taking the chance to redirect the conversation, he opted to pepper the lieutenant with a few queries of his own. “An interesting location to plan an invasion of such a contested world.” Shooting a glance around as if for emphasis he continued, “I am hoping there are more than us and a few marines. No offense sir,” he shot an apologetic glance to Mythos as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about what has been going on at Mon Cal. Dark stuff. What are you thinking? Do we have any rebels planetside already? Getting there should be easy enough. Mon Cal has become the new Nar Shaddaa. What kind of defenses do they have set up?”

 

The Mantis stepped up to a table bearing a holographic rotating display of the watery world in question. His eyes scanned the fluxing world map. Was this real time? Glimmers of ships in orbit blipped in and out of sight above the world. The Mantis was not by any means a one man army. He was a stealthy combatant. Protecting protectors, moving unnoticed amongst the shadows, aiding the Alliance, those were his tasks. By them, he was bettering the cause of his own people. The Sith Empire was too big a threat to be ignored. They were coming for them, the Alliance, the Jedi, anyone who might be a threat. Masters of camouflage and stealth, even the Jensaarai were threatened by the ever growing horde of evil.

[The Jensaarai]

The Mantis nodded slowly as he took in their task and watched the others. Glancing at their ragtag group, the worn Corellian turned to lock eyes with the rebel pilot. A solemn nod was his designation of agreement. A world of fish folk would be hard enough to blend into. If the Sith found out they were coming, it would only get worse.

 

The Defender did briefly ponder how a band of space marines were going to smuggle their weapons planetside on a civilian cruise ship. He quickly let the thought slip away. It was not his concern. The two hour time gap however, was a bit of a concern. They would have to hit the ground running. Even then, chances of getting much accomplished if they hit any bumps were slim. “Two hours from touchdown to assault; what are you expecting in that time?” he pondered softly to the room.

[The Jensaarai]

The Mantis nodded. Sabotage, deceit, distraction, set the Sith in disarray before the main attack makes landfall allowing for a divided enemy in disarray; these were all skillsets of The Jensaarai. These were skill skills that The Mantis’ people had used in some way or another to survive for a long time.

 

“If all goes according to plan, we will see you on the other side. If it doesn’t,” he paused considering his next words for a moment, “then there is no need to relieve us. We will die fighting or see ourselves out.”

 

Moving towards the door, The Mantis looked towards Col. Von Howlster as he turned, fitting his hemet back over his head and obscuring his features. “Quick and quiet. Grab your best men. The rest should come with attack forces. We’ll be quick. If all goes well, we rendezvous. If not,” he shrugged, “we don’t. I’ll see you for our cruise.”

 

The Mantis moved like a dark feline amongst the city streets. He flit from shadow to shadow with ease. Before he made the transport that would take them to the cruise ship, the Defender had changed from his signature look into one of the many disguises each Jensaarai initiate was taught to utilize, conceal, and change from and into in a moment’s time. 
 

Striding carefully from the shadows clad in robes head to toe of vermillion and carrying his aros (staff) now with a censer bellowing  heavily odored plumes of qatameric incense all about. In silence, as befitting the religion of The Brotherhood of the Beatific Countenance, The Mantis made his way to the transport. From there, the pleasure cruiser. Even amongst the odd crowd that would cruise the spacelanes amongst a galactic war, and moreso one that had a scheduled docking at the lawlessly resurrected world of Mon Cal, a Brother would not be an odd sight, pilgraming from world to world by whatever means available.

 

Mythos and his crew would have to find their own way aboard the cruiser; one that would leave them undetected by their fellow passengers. Anonymity was their greatest defense.