Chapter V
Dramatis Personae
Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.
T3-M4: A faithful helper. Utility droid.
[]Chapter V
After the better part of a day spent helping T3 repair systems barely made space-worthy by HK-50's ill-suited minions, they transition back into realspace on the dark side of Telos and bank starboard towards the terminator. As the light of the system's primary comes closer to the horizon, it becomes increasingly possible to see the scarred surface of the planet where almost everything covering the orangey iron-rich soil was vaporised by the Sith orbital bombardment five years ago. There is some contrast provided by the stark whiteness of the polar caps and the dark almost brown-green of water bodies choked by ash and fallout.
"Such destruction..." Rahne gasps in shocked awe, standing up from the co-pilot's chair to press her face against the front viewport. "The Mandalorians scorched some colony worlds, but nothing compared to this..."
"Malak was always a direct and unsubtle personality," Kreia pronounces from the seat behind her. "He provided a counter-point - and a useful distraction - to Revan's cooler and more subtle ways. As a Sith, he was an unthinking brute only interested in destruction and fear for their own sake."
"If Revan hadn't cleaned up her mess, he could have done this to hundreds more worlds," Atton adds, earning a thinning of the lips from Kreia. "Thousands, even."
"When I knew him, he had a rare sense of humour," Rahne remarks sadly, sitting back down. "He was earnest, a believer in things. He lacked Revan's wit and insight into the way the universe works, but on those rare occasions he made a joke, I always laughed. His humour was never guarded or sly or hurtful."
"You sound like you had a soft spot for him," Atton remarks, overtaking the sleek tubular shape of a Republic courier.
"It was... It was just a comment on how people change."
"Or how difficult it is to truly know someone," Kreia ends the conversation somewhat cynically, just as the sunlight strikes the first long fingers of Citadel Station.
The name just isn't adequate for what they see. An expanse of metal and composites stretch out in all directions until lost in the planet's curve. That expanse is a framework that reaches from the northern subarctic to the equator, covering roughly a sixth of the Telosian surface from geosynchronous orbit. Each strut of the grid is festooned with habitation modules, power generation and distribution nodes, defensive emplacements, shield projectors and the massive repulsor drives that keep the stunningly massive structure in position.
"How long do they think it'll take?" Rahne asks. "To revive Telos?"
"I've heard figures ranging from decades to centuries," Atton shrugs. "I'm not even sure why they're trying."
Traffic control systems handshake with the Ebon Hawk's navicomp and guide them into a docking lane. Now inside the station's perimeter, they can make out transport pods moving between modules, while larger aerodynamic shuttles make trips to and from the surface. Just before being shunted to a landing bay, Rahne makes out a large patch of colour that she's sure can't be anything else except a water source surrounded by vegetation.
Once the Hawk has settled, the three of them make their way to the boarding ramp where T3-M4 greets them.
"T3, can you wait here and watch the ship?" Rahne asks him. "We may have to leave in a hurry, and I want to be sure we have an escape route we can rely on."
If it was at all possible, the little droid's ventral plating would have expanded. Giving an affirmative whistle, he trundles off to the communications and security suite behind the cockpit.
"Laying it on a little aren't we?" Atton asks, slapping the control. "It's only a droid."
"You're always free to leave," she chides him, more than a little serious. Surprisingly the topic of parting company with Atton here had never come up during the jump from Peragus, despite ample opportunity for it to have done so. She doesn't exactly want him around - there's something troubling about him beyond his self serving cowardice - yet fate or the Force had seen fit to bring them all together and bind them in a ka-tet.
"Maybe I will," he answers, leading the way. "I'm sure you can find another pilot willing to outrun the Sith and the Exchange and whoever else is after you."
"Which raises the question about why you're willing to do these things," Kreia remarks pointedly.
"Maybe I'm bored."
"We can talk about this after we've cleared immigration and found something comfortable to wear," Rahne ends the nascent squabble. "We're going to have enough trouble there without ID."
"They're not that strict these days, especially this far out," Atton waves her concerns aside. "The wars destroyed a lot of personal data so a lot of people have started new lives. We're just some of them. It'll be fine."
The blast door leading from the docking bay slides open to reveal a half dozen people in the uniform of the Republic Armed Services, weapons drawn but held in the sort of casual 'at ease' manner meaning they're likely to shoot at the drop of a hat.
"It'll be fine?" Rahne asks mockingly under her breath.
"My name is Major Dol Grenn of the Telos Security Force," the man at the front of the group declares, stepping forward. Apparently base-line human, he appears to be in his early 60s with a grizzled aspect that says he's seen more than his fair share of fighting - and killing.. "I'm here to place you in protective custody pending an investigation into the destruction of the Peragus II planetary debris field and mining facility, and the associated deaths of the one hundred thirteen other assorted personnel registered as being in system at the time of the incident."
"This is outrageous!" Atton challenges. "You don't have any evidence we were even there!"
"We received word of the... incident... a standard day ago. As a result your entrance into this system was monitored, from which a trajectory was derived," Grenn responds neutrally. "Additionally, one of you is wearing a Peragus Facility uniform."
"Are we under arrest?" Rahne asks, laying a restraining hand on Atton's shoulder.
"House arrest, yes," Grenn nods. "You will be temporarily held at the local TSF station until quarters are arranged for you in one of the habitation modules, where you will stay until the investigation is concluded."
"How long will this take?" Kreia asks emotionlessly.
"As long as it has to," he answers her. "Until that time, you will have to surrender your personal items into our custody, and your ship and droids will be impounded. So far you are the only known witnesses - refusal to co-operate is not a viable option."
"Just as well we're co-operating then," Rahne smiles wanly. "However, we need medical attention."
"For what?" Grenn asks suspiciously.
"My... mother," she indicates Kreia, the differences between their species lost beneath hood and hair, "lost her hand a couple of days ago - accident with a plasma torch. We've managed some first aid, but she needs a professional."
"I'll have the Field Medical Examiner meet us at the Sector House," he gestures towards one of his subordinates to make the call.
Atton and Rahne are cuffed and the three of them escorted from the docking bay. One of the peace officers takes point, two more flanking them on either side and the Major bringing up the rear after he clamps a seal on the docking bay doors. The group proceeds down a long but mostly empty thoroughfare linking the five docking bays that compose the module - their movements tracked by a prominent sensor cluster at either end - and through an airlock into one of the transport pods which is then piloted manually for a good ten minutes or so once the three of them are secured to their seats.
So what now? Rahne ponders.
::You were wise not to fight. The high ground was not ours.::
I also noticed they also had someone in docking control who could have vented us into space, Rahne thinks back while staring passively at one of their guards. And even if we'd escaped, they could quite possibly have shot just us down.
::Our immediate destiny remains here on Telos, as must we until it reveals itself. Though it is unwise for us to remain in one place for too long I do not believe we need to worry about the Sith for the moment.::
It wasn't them I was thinking about so much as the Exchange...
::The droid indicated that you are wanted alive. That may be of some use to us.::
Maybe. At least we're getting someone to look at your injury. How much do we tell them about our situation?
::As little as possible. If they are competent they will discover the existence of your bounty on their own. If we mention the Sith, the situation could grow... complicated.::
The shuttle pod docks gently, and then the peace officers have them up and moving again through the airlock, along more monitored corridors and into a precinct house. The three of them are marched past the front desk, through a blast door and into the booking and holding area.
"Force cages," Atton sighs upon seeing what awaits them. There's six in all arrayed along the back of the chamber, one of which looks like it's burnt out.
"Are they really necessary?" Rahne asks, sharing Atton's irritation: these things make it impossible to relax because you're constantly on guard about brushing against the energy field. "We've co-operated with you fully."
"We're repairing the ordinary cells," Grenn explains as they're ushered not quite at gun point towards a number of restraining posts designed to lock hold of their cuffs while they're searched. "These are all we have available. You won't be here long - your quarters are being prepared as we speak."
"This place has seen better days," Rahne remarks, nodding her head towards the scorch marks visible on the decking beneath the door leading to the cells. She tries not to show a reaction when the officer searching her takes the tiny holocron. "Been having trouble?"
"I have other matters to attend to," Grenn ignores the question. "I'm afraid any further questions will have to wait."
"When does the interrogation begin?" Atton demands as, following the search, they're positioned beneath the field emitters.
"When the fact finding mission returns from the Peragus system. The FME will be here momentarily. Good day."
The fields materialise around them with a low hum and the peace officers leave the room, sealing the blast door.
"Well," Atton sighs dramatically. "Looks like we're going to be here for a while."
"Have a little faith, Atton," Rahne offers a wan smile.
"In what? The Force?" He shakes his head. "I'm not one for hokey religions that just seem to get you killed."
"We're still alive aren't we?"
"Someone is coming," Kreia interrupts them.
"Sith?"
"No," Kreia answers her. "I do not sense any intention to cause us harm."
Well, that's something at least. Closing her eyes, Rahne attempts to reach out through the Force only to discover her nascent perceptions clouded by the gossamer web of the energy field surrounding her and the surrounding white noise of the station's electromagnetic pulse. She'd known how to filter her perceptions once, but such control is just a distant memory.
The blast door rumbles open admitting a tall gaunt man in TSF colours with short brown hair, what looks to be perennial stubble, and ever so slightly bulging eyes; a medical drone hovers a pace behind him, its repulsor warbling. Bringing up the rear is a second officer, a shortish blonde with cold grey eyes and slightly broad features that remind Rahne a little of Grenn. The door closes and the man sets his medical kit down on the ground next to the control console.
"Which of you need to see me?" he asks with an irritatingly nasal and almost obsequious voice, opening his case and retrieving a data pad.
"My mother," Rahne directs him with a nod, continuing the lie. "Plasma torch accident."
Keeping Kreia covered with her blaster, the second officer deactivates the force field at which point the FME waves his drone forward. "Please allow your injury to be scanned.
For just an instant Rahne has the image of Kreia just crushing the officers' throats, or hurling them aside like rag dolls. But it doesn't happen, and the old woman just pulls back the sleeve of her robe to expose her wrist and the dressing covering it. Lights flicker across the drone's surface in a needlessly showy display of activity and the FME examines his data tablet.
"You received competent attention," he decides - almost grudgingly it seems. "A doctor can take a cell sample and clone a proper dermal layer to graft over the injury. Preferably they can instead mount a prosthetic. There are a number of models available, though I'd recommend the Ara--"
"No," Kreia states flatly. "The graft will suffice."
"Where are they being held?"
"Somewhere in the Zero Eight," his escort answers.
"The medical officer for that sector is competent. If I take a sample now, he should be ready to complete the procedure in a couple of days." Reaching into his kit again, he produces a wand-like device with which he scrapes some skin cells from beneath the injury; after sealing the sampling device in a plastic sleeve, he replaces the medicated dressing. "You can put her back in now."
The escort touches the ear piece of her helmet. "No point - they're coming to collect them now."
"I'll wait then."
Not long after that the blast door opens once again, and three more TSF officers step in. The first, a twi'lek with tan skin and strange squiggly glyphs tattooed on his lekku, cuffs himself to Kreia. The others, both human, flank Atton's cage and after it's deactivated by the FME's escort lock the rogue in cuffs; the trick is repeated for Rahne. The three prisoners are then led back the way they had originally taken until they arrive at the airlock leading to another transport pod.
"Where to?" the pilot asks with an irritatingly nasal voice that verges on the obsequious. He resembles Atton, though there is something an almost rodent-like quality about his features that her companion lacks.
"Habmod Zero Eight sub Two," the blonde that had escorted the medical examiner answers, sealing the hatch while the prisoners are strapped in.
"Hey Rem, I thought you went on leave?" the twi'lek asks over his shoulder, making sure the old woman in his care is seated comfortably before he secures her.
"I'm just about to," Rem answers as he turns around and shoots. The concentric rings of a stun blast cut through the air, striking the blonde in the chest. Before her comrades can react, Rem produces a second pistol and fires off two double bursts that take out the other two human officers as they start to bring their rifles to bear. A final shot leaves the twi'lek sprawled on the ground, his weight pulling down on Kreia's arm.
"What the frak are you doing?" Atton demands, struggling to free himself.
"Relieving the over-extended Telos Security Force of the burden of your presence," Rem chuckles, turning back around and initiating take off. "And collecting the bounty on your head. I must say that you don't look worth the reward they're offering."
"You'd betray your fellow officers and your oath for money?" Atton growls. "The Republic must really have been scraping the barrel when they hired you."
"They're not my fellow officers," Rem shrugs, punching a destination into the autopilot. "I was here for other reasons, but I can't ignore an opportunity like this."
"You're with the Exchange," Rahne guesses. Kreia, can you take him?
"A two-bit pistol jockey like him?" Atton shakes his head. "Yeah, right."
::Yes. However, I would advise waiting until we have gained access to his vessel. It may prove useful.::
"The Exchange?" Rem disparages the idea as he collects the weapons from the unconscious officers. "Don't insult me. Please bear in mind that habit - and my personal preference - would be to kill you out of hand, so if you cause me any trouble between here and the cells awaiting you on my ship, I'll forgo their value on the slave block and space both of your lady friends along with those mitzhers on the deck. And then stun you like I plan on doing anyway."
"This is about Atton?" Rahne boggles, turning to face her companion with a look of surprise. "Anything you'd like to explain?"
"Guess I must have burned someone off?" he shrugs in confusion.
"No kidding?" Rahne shakes her head ruefully. "Who's offering the bounty?"
"The Genoharadan," Rem answers, displaying a look of amusement. "I see your friend recognises the name."
"They're just common assassins," Atton sneers. "With delusions of grandeur."
"I assure you we're nothing so crude," Rem preens, picking up the blonde and securing her in one of the pod's spare chairs. "Someone else would probably have just tried to short out your force cages while no one was looking.
"You'll never get away with this," Atton presses, straining to free himself.
"I already have," Rem smirks as something occludes the light of the system primary coming through the cockpit. Rahne glances towards the sudden shadow and catches sight of the ventral surface of a darkly coloured spaceship splitting open to reveal an unlit cargo hold, gross details picked out by light reflected from the surface of the station. At a guess the ship would have to be at least three times the size of the Ebon Hawk, probably a heavily modified medium freighter of some kind and mostly cargo space and engine given Rem's apparent intention to just run with the entire transport pod.
Returning to the pilot's seat, he completes the last stage of the flight manually. Stretching her senses as far as she can, Rahne focuses on the flow of energy, on how the web shimmers and changes in response to Rem's interactions with the pod's controls. Though she can't physically see everything he does, she still gains a reasonable idea of the access codes he uses to communicate remotely with his ship's computer to close and repressurise the cargo hold, and initiate the ship's pre-flight cycle.
And then she's aware of something more.
::Kreia!::
It's not a thought but a shout - the telepathic equivalent to a vocalisation.
Rem suddenly pitches forward, his face striking the cockpit window, the stun pistol he'd been about to use dropping from his hand. One heart beat, then a second, and he's yanked violently backwards, striking the rear of the pod and dropping to the deck like a rag doll.
"Nice," Atton drawls in a rather familiar manner, trying to crane his head back far enough to see. "Now get us out of here."
"Is he dead?" Rahne asks.
"Yes," Kreia answers, removing the restraint that her escort had never had the time to fasten and using the Force to disable the lock on her cuff. "I did not intend to kill him: his skull must have been weak."
"Drokk it!"
"He wouldn't have told us anything anyway," Atton shakes his head, watching Kreia release Rahne. "They're very resilient to questioning."
"Is that experience talking?" Rahne asks, tossing her cuffs aside.
"I ran into one during the Civil War," he answers after it becomes clear the women are making no immediate effort to free him. "Apart from the name, I found out that they see themselves as the galaxy's groundskeepers, lubricating the gears of civilisation with the blood of the disruptive - for a substantial sum of course."
"Fascinating," Kreia remarks, and there's a distinct quality to her tone that says she isn't entirely mocking him.
"And now they want to silence you."
"They wish to interrogate him I think," Kreia corrects. "Maybe to find out how much he knows, or maybe to extract a measure of revenge."
"According to him, finding Atton wasn't his mission here," Rahne muses. "Which means these Genoharadan are planning a hit against someone or something on Telos that they consider disruptive. But blowing his cover the way he has means the target obviously isn't of immediate importance nor going anywhere in a hurry."
"Which leads to the conclusion that the assassin's role here was either anticipatory," Kreia concludes. "Or conducted in concert with at least one partner that remains in place."
"Another TSF officer?"
"Unlikely: discovery of one would mean a greater likelihood of the other being compromised."
"Do you think this is the reason we were meant to come to Telos? To stop this?"
"Possibly," Kreia guardedly allows.
"Ahem," Atton interrupts pointedly.
Rahne feels Kreia raise the mental equivalent of an eyebrow, but doesn't resist when Rahne takes the key from her and frees Atton.
"What now?" he asks, rubbing his wrists.
"We explore - quickly," Rahne decides, scooping up one of the fallen weapons. "Presumably he had some sort of decoy to mask his escape, but I imagine that it's almost played out."
"Why don't we just run?" Atton asks, doing likewise.
"They still have the Ebon Hawk and T3 under impound," Rahne shakes her head, triggering the hatch. "And I imagine you'd be thrilled if Kreia suggested we skipped out on several tens of thousands of credits of your property. But in any case, we don't know anything about this ship or want to run around the galaxy with a Republic all points bulletin out on us in addition to our mutual bounties AND any remaining Sith looking for us. We check the navicomp and then call Major Grenn."
::You place a great deal of faith in the Major's investigation, Exile.::
::No more than you do the Force guiding us to something. What are they going to find back there anyway besides tiny bits of debris? We turn over HK-50's memory core and put everything down to the explosion it caused in the first place.::
"What's in the navicomp?" Atton asks, taking point before Rahne can.
"Hopefully Rem preloaded jump and autopilot coordinates for his outward journey that just require minimal recalculations for stellar drift," Rahne grins, leaving Kreia to watch the stunned peace officers. "We got lucky during the War when we captured a Mandalorian transport where the pilot had set up something similar in case she needed to make a quick escape."
There's not enough room to swing a scrat, forcing them to hug the wall in order to make their way around the transport pod. Even then edging past the engine exhaust ports is an uncomfortably warm experience. The internal doors are thankfully all unsecured - obviously Rem hadn't expected boarders - and they find their way to the cockpit.
"Alright Atton, work your magic," Rahne orders, looking out the viewport at the system's star just vanishing behind the horizon. Casting about, she can make out other vessels in holding patterns and high orbits.
"It's locked off."
"Try ZZ9 Plural-Z Alpha," she suggests, coming to look over his shoulder.
"Jedi thing, huh? Hey, what do you know! I'm in."
"What are you doing?"
"Resetting the ship's clock to a standard day ago so the forensic examiners that will doubtlessly be crawling over this ship in the next hour won't realise we've been sneaking around in the system," he explains with a smug grin.
"Clever boy," Rahne grins back, ruffling his hair. "See anything?"
"Not what you were looking for," he shakes his head. "The ship's log is interesting though. Lots of stops at Nar Shaddaa - not unusual in itself for a criminal."
"So you're familiar with the place then?" she teases.
"Home away from home," Atton agrees blandly. "Except in a few cases he generally seems to use the same dock in the Corellian Sector. One of those exceptions being just before he arrives here."
"Where's the other one?"
"In what's become known as the refugee sector." Catching her look, he continues. "The Mandalorian Wars and then the Jedi Civil War destroyed a lot of peoples' homes. The Hutts were more than happy to take them in."
"Slave labour?" Rahne asks, though she already knows the answer.
"As good as," he nods grimly. "Millions of people willing to grasp whatever fragile hope is dangled in front of them. They'll become thieves, murderers, whores... victims. They'll do anything to support their families, or even just alleviate the crushing depression of their lives. Even those who have something to go back to when the fighting's over most often can't because their lives are owned by someone else."
"How long did you spend there?" she asks, voice softening.
"Only ever passed through," he blithely shakes his head. "Mandalorians and Jedi were never a problem for me."
"I see," it's her turn to blandly agree, not at all sure she believes him. "Anything else of interest?"
"Not really," he shrugs. "I imagine cross-matching the log to deaths would probably solve a few murders though."
"Pull up the contacts screen."
"Hmm. There's a fair few names there." He taps a few commands, sorting by location. "Looks like a list of local businesses types here. Jana Lorso of Czerka Corporation, Loppak Slusk of the Bumani Exchange Corporation, and so on and so forth. They could all be either assets, customers or targets."
"Is there anything we can copy this to around here?"
"Don't think so," he looks around half-heartedly before favouring her with a worried look. "You're not thinking about going after the Genoharadan are you?"
"I'm keeping my options open," she answers while searching. "They're an enemy. We need information on them."
"They're not your enemy."
"They were going to - at best - sell Kreia and me as slaves," she points out. "And they're trying to kill the only pilot I know willing to outrun the Sith and the Exchange and whoever else is after us. And maybe I'm bored."
"Funny."
"And yet you're not laughing. Aha!" Rahne stands, clutching a data crystal which she hands over. "Download as much as you can onto that."
"I have a bad feeling about this," Atton shakes his head. None the less he complies with her request and returns the crystal after a few moments.
"Alright, let's get back to the transport pod and place the call."
"Where are you going to hide that?" he asks, resetting the clock to the correct time and logging out.
"Where do you imagine I'm going to hide it?" she teases.
"I can imagine quite a bit," he leers.
"You wish!" she mocks with a friendly laugh, dashing on ahead.
When they return to the transport pod, they find Kreia seated in the pilot's chair. "I have informed Major Grenn of our location and the events leading to it," she comments authoritively. "Did you find what you were seeking?"
"Not exactly," Rahne answers, holding up the crystal. "This may at least hold information about one of our enemies. Where they're located perhaps, or people they reach out to."
"Think carefully on this, Exile," Kreia's tone darkens, sensing what Rahne does not voice and holding up her missing hand. "You are too eager for a confrontation. You have been to war before: you know the consequences and the costs of any such action. I sense that our true goal on Telos is near to revealing itself, but caution remains our strongest guarantee of survival."
"We were lucky to get out of there," Atton agrees. "Listen to her, Rahne. The old witch is talking sense for a change. Just leave this to the security forces, and let's just worry about getting out of here."
"Would the pair of you just shut the drokk up!" Rahne snaps. "Yes, I've been to war. And yes, I know what's at stake here, and how ill prepared we are at the moment. But I also know there comes a point where we won't be able to run any longer. We will have to fight back or we will be lost. And if we can find an edge they don't expect us to have, so much the better."
She turns on her heel and stomps out into the cargo hold, undoing the fastening on the mining uniform and shrugging it off down to the waist. The plan had been to have Kreia hide the crystal in one of her long braids, but the idea seems moot now. Instead, Rahne pulls off her ersatz bra and feels along the raggedly burnt edge of it until she finds a fault in the material that allows her to tear a strip free. After carefully wrapping the crystal in the cloth she shoves it down the front of her makeshift underpants, squirming a little as she pushes it past the sparse hair of her mons and works it into her sex.
"Well Atton, it looks like you got your wish," she says without looking around. Pulling her bra back on and refastening her uniform, she contracts a few times to draw her smuggled prize deeper.
"Not exactly," he admits honestly, "but the view was slightly better this time. Interesting tattoos."
"What do you want?" she demands.
"I don't think either of us meant to burn you off back there," he says in an attempt to mollify her. "It's just th--"
The ship shudders and reverberates with the sounds of another vessel docking.
"Sounds like Grenn is here," Rahne announces ominously. "Let's get back inside."