Raxus Prime's Open Orbit

Aboard the 'Blasphemy,' thigs had moved rapidly. Soon after Diena was brought to sick bay, two shuttles arrived, ferrying over two additional crews and additional materials, bringing the total on the refit crew up to 45. New orders were handed out, and a skeleton bridge crew, led by Captain Harvelle and Lieutenant Brusiir, brought the ship out of her deep slumber, preparing for flight. The final set of commands and refit were seemingly odd. The crews, now finished in the lower decks, moved up to the passageways surrounding the bridge and living / crew spaces. Bracing trusses were added in what had been hallways, making some halls next-to-impassable. compartments like the officer's mess and forum, and the conference chamber, became a spider's web of duralumin. The main fore-aft corridor became a serpentine maze to pass through as reinforcements were added everywhere. Most of the crew and guest quarters were gutted. The Ventral sensor array was deleted, as was the fore ventral turbolaser, and the below-decks, low-capacity escape pods. These voids were braced internally with additional truss.

The work stretched out over a span of three days, and when complete, a message was sent, stating the ship's readiness. A single-word reply was received. "Varonat."

=In orbit over Raxus Secundus=

This part of space had not been touched for some time. Gallius Sienar knew of the Galactic Alliance outpost that was once situated here, until the Imperials blasted the government's homeworld of Mon Calamari. Where once a presence was, it had long since vanished. Perhaps retreating to more friendly worlds and further away from the Outer Rim. Whatever the case, Sienar came with a strong guard nonetheless. Who knew where pirates lived in the Tion Cluster. Though their nests usually within the more undeveloped parts of the Cronese Mandate, the collapse of a galactic government, and the subsequent fall of the Galactic Alliance, emboldened these would-be corsairs of space. Thus, when the Prefect of Lianna arrived, his flagship, the Infernal, arrived with an escort of two Vindicator-class Heavy Cruisers. When nothing was detected over peaceful Raxus Secundus, their state of alert went down, but not their state of preparation.

The Tion Cluster had witnessed some earthshaking events. Not only the Galactic Alliance's fall and the galactic war that was waged around it, but also a devious raid by the Mandalorians and the rumors of two Dark Side Orders lurking nearby were abound. Once this part of space had been a fortress, a vibrant metropolis, and the home of some of the galaxies most ancient and powerful families. Feuding had rendered them apart and their weakness was exploited over and over again. Only a few worlds truly thrived, like his home of Lianna, which had trade and starship manufacturing to thank for its prosperity. Still, the Tion Cluster was weak... and the Mandalorians had proven that fact. That's why when an invitation came to him from a certain Danté Demici, it was hard to refuse. Some thorough thought was given before Gallius made his decision. A rendezvous was picked and such Sienar came here.

Anything on the scanners?

Gallius requests as he stands on the bridge, looking over at his commanding officer, a militarily capable relative.

=Rear Admiral Ark Sienar=
We have not, Prefect. They are likely on their way though.

A sensor officer then came up, saluting the two.

Rear Admiral, Prefect, readings on the long-range scanners. Seems they are here. Coming from the other side of the planet.

The officer points through the viewport where the sun of the Raxus system shined upon approaching vessels.

Get me an open channel, Rear Admiral.

And so the command was given and the order was fulfilled.

This is Gallius Sienar, Prefect of Lianna, on the Star Destroyer, Infernal. Am I speaking with Count Danté Demici?

There was a slight flicker of space, and the Sweet Spice popped into existence a fair distance from Raxus Prime. The ship ran dark - or as dark as a light freighter run by a down-on-his-luck spice-addict could - and did a quick sweep of the system before powering down to safe mode. The inhabitants of the ship would be supported, but only the most dedicated of searcher would see the ship as anything other than another errant piece of space junk.

Aboard the ship, Archais and the ship's captain, Jacks, debated over the results of the sensor sweep.

=Jacks=
"Agh, you weren't kidding, Sentriss. Sensors are picking up over fifty sensor pings, and three-quarters of those aren't running a transponder - almost certainly pirates. It's a lucky thing we had your intel and knew to come in dark or we'd have landed right in their nest."

Jacks waved a hand at the holo display, rifling through sensor profiles and what scans they'd been able to get of individual ships, but results had been murky given the quick nature of the sweep and the poor state of repair of the ship's systems. In some cases the ships were little more than obtuse blobs that held a vaguely ovular shape.

=Jacks-
"Unfortunately we're stuck until we can figure out which one you lot need to be on, unless you care to knock on the front door of thirty-six potential pirate ships. Don't suppose you have a name or ship class we might try?"

Archais stood hunched over the terminal connected to the holo-display and answered.

=Archais=
"Give me a moment."

Archais exhaled what remained of that breath, and with it, expanded his senses beyond himself.

It was said that an apt metaphor for the solar system's gravity was to think of it as a flat sheet, and a planet or star laid on that sheet would create a dent. Items would fall into that dent, or if they were traveling fast enough, would fall into an orbit or slingshot past.

The Force, at times, operated on a similar principle. Even in the black of space there was a sort of static, the low rumble of the energy field reaching across even the light-years of the endless void. If one reached beneath that static, powerful concentrations of the Force's energy could be perceived as a similar dent, nexus, or whatever term satisfied a ponderer. Fortunately, he was searching for just such a phenomenon.

His sword had been forged by hand using the natural heat of Mustafar's volcanoes, its very metal warped by his own incorporeal hand. The gem at its center was a Luxum crystal, and he still remembered the acrid taste of the waters of Lake Naath on Ambria as he'd searching for a specimen suitable for mounting in the pommel of a blade. Between the crystal, the forging process of the sword, and the incalculable death the sword had dealt in Sentriss's hand, there was simultaneously a miasma that surrounded it and an inseverable bond that connected weapon with master.

That bond rang true, and Archais followed it as he made subtle gestures on the touch bad of the holo-display's terminal. The viewscreen's view was cast wide, and with a sweep the sensors were dialed in an order of magnitude. A moment later, another, focused on an area in the north-west quadrant of the previous view. Another, to further south-east. Another, and it was only four ships in view. A final stroke, his eyes barely open, and the sensors settled on a single ship.

=Archais=
"This is our target."

Whatever response Jacks offered was muffled as his senses left the ship and traveled along that bond. Faster than light, it felt akin to some out of body experience many Force users experienced in deep meditation. This felt more alive, though, more visceral - when his senses collided with the sword, it felt that a portal had opened in his mind's eye, and it was a simple matter to step through.

This was the technique of the Theran Listeners, and true to their name, it allowed a rudimentary sensory perception as the Luxum crystal at the sword's heart became his ears.

<<...thought we saw a new signature enter the system b.....ished as soon as we could look for it, Capta->>

<<...eep searching. This is open water....on't be caught unawares....>>

<<....o Captain, I...>>

<<You will, or my name isn't Jayse.>>

Given how clearly that last line had been, it could only have come from whomever had been holding the sword. His mind's eye went back to the holo of the burly man bursting through the open bulkhead and brandishing it as he cut down the crew of the ship his holo had come from.

Jayse.

Now he had a name, as well as a location.

His senses snapped back to him like a spring, and after a moment, his gaze righted itself and he came back to the freighter. Jacks looked at him as though he'd seen some manner of episode, but Archais brushed it off.

=Archais=
"That ship is our target. Put us on a trajectory for vacuum transfer. Skirata, Ohnaka, prep your vac suits. We're about to take a long ride through hard vacuum."

=Archais=
"Copy Marauder, copy Moxie. Initiate countdown."

Archais responded as he grabbed hold of the railing that would serve as a makeshift anchor, the party posted directly opposite the freighter's main cargo ramp. He knew that as he'd spoken, the ship had cut thrust and aligned with the target vessel, ready to burn hard in a different trajectory as soon as the three makeshift projectiles were away. It was a risky maneuver for a ship this old, but all they could manage given the alternative plan of hailing the ship and politely asking to be allowed onboard.

Jacks's voice sounded in their helmets a moment later.

=Jacks=
"Thirty seconds. Remember, this girl isn't quite built for this kind of maneuver. You may need to alter your trajectory mid-flight. Your helmet computers will do most of the work, though you may need to manually thrust a time or two. Remember to aim where the ship will be, not where she is. Ten seconds."

Pulling with Force-augmented strength, he flexed his left arm to bring his lower body up, feet against the horizontal bulkhead. The shield's weight was a momentary comfort on his back as the ship made one last adjustment before the countdown sounded in his head.

=Jacks=Five. Four. Three. Two. One. M-"

Archais pushed off with his feet as the cargo bulkhead irised open, and combined with the explosive escape of the cargo bay's atmosphere, he was out into the void like a rocket.

What struck him was the utter silence, only his own breathing filling his ears as he tried to spot the target. He knew it was folly; at this distance, trying to pick out a single grey wedge against the pitch-black void of space was a fruitless gesture. It was more an exercise to keep his pulse even and to keep from becoming unacclimated to the vertigo that sometimes accompanied a sudden exposure to endlessness.

His helmet's computer highlighted a course correction, and a quick thrust from one of his side thrusters automatically keyed like a brief tap to beneath his arm. His own breathing remained steady, and he idly realized he could see the reflection of his eyes in his helmet's visor. A brief ping sounded, indicating their journey was halfway over - time to start a deceleration burn unless they wanted to overshoot their target or, if their aim were true, smash into the hull with enough force to turn human into human paste.

His shoulder thrusters kicked in, but he intentionally keyed them down ten percent. His ritual was to feel the danger, to feel the fear of death, and to ride that adrenaline like a rancor into battle. He didn't know what to expect once they landed on the hull and infiltrated, and that unknown too was a source of anxiety. His paranoia had been decried in the past as a means of safety, of a xenophobia that was meant to be insulating.

Today, he would prove it was anything but.

He felt that anxiety burn a hole in his chest like a laser impact, and as he furrowed his brow he saw his pink organic iris saturate with citrine orange. He pushed a hand out, and as he heard the ping indicating impact in ten seconds, he loosed the valve on his power.

It was as if feeling the sudden push of a tear in his suit, only diffuse and softened about the edges. He pushed harder, and felt himself slow as the ship came into view and rapidly expanded. If he were off target, even slowed he would find himself moving too quickly to grab a handhold. Five seconds to impact.

He kicked his feet to indicate an inverting thrust, landing feet-first, and with a final heave cut his velocity to a survivable impact. His feet contacted with the hull, and for a moment he felt the shock through his feet, knees, hips, and seemingly every joint in his body registered the static of overwhelmed nerves. At the moment the Force was the only thing keeping him adhered to the hull, and as his nerves settled he clicked his heels to initiate magnetic grapple.

He'd heard nothing the entire time, the void of space transmitting no sound. It was possible the impact could be heard by anyone on the ship's interior, so long as they were neaerby, but a ship this size was certain to have baffles installed to prevent the crew from fretting over every micrometeroid impact. He thought to look up, but realized his compatriots would be beyond his help even if he were able to give it. As it were, he retrieved the handheld fusion cutter as he spotted a maintenance access hatch and walked the few ponderous steps over across the ship's hull. He used his tongue to key his mic as he squatted and began cutting.

=Archais=
"This is Nexu, I've made contact and begun entry cut. Marauder, Moxie, status report."

She was the last one of the three to fling herself, willy-nilly, into the void.

And as the void swallowed her, she did her best to maintain a level head as she tried to keep in line with the trajectory set by her two strange compatriots: Bleak and Bellicose. It wasn’t the easiest thing she’d ever elected to do. She spent more than a few moments trying to figure out how to use her microthrusters effectively, and she was very deeply thankful of the fact that her helmet was, in fact, doing most of the work. But she knew the landing would be, at least in large part, up to her. And she was trying very hard not to dwell on it.

But the silence was complete, and completely unhelpful in regards to her growing anxiety. In addition to imagining every way this could possibly go terribly wrong for her, personally, she had plenty of time to ask herself—again—why she agreed to participate in this truly ill-considered attempt to recover… whatever Bleak was so intent on recovering.

And then, everything seemed to speed up when her helmet told her she was half-way there. She started the deceleration burn, just like Bleak and Bellicose did, and as their target ship came into view she kept her eyes peeled for a likely entrance point—or, barring that, any kind of hand-hold that would prevent her being left adrift in open space. She felt like vomiting.

But, aha! She caught sight of a decent bit of hull and aimed for it.

Seconds later, fully assisted by the technology of her suit, her feet made contact and the magnetic grapple was activated just seconds after she heard Bleak and Bellicose sound off. Copy, Nexu. Marauder. I’ve made contact as well. Looking for insertion point. Moxie out.

As she walked along the hull looking for a view port or likely hatch to exploit, the strangest sense of recognition bubbled up within her. But she couldn’t place it. Not yet. Frowning to herself, she found a maintenance hatch a moment later, and set to opening it with her own fusion cutter.

Finally! she thought to herself, impatient and nervous all at once, as the hatch finally allowed her entry. Carefully, she slipped in to find herself in some lonely corridor. And while the hatch behind her groaned itself shut again, she took off her helmet with a quiet sigh of relief and dropped it. Sure, they kept you breathing in the vacuum of space, but nobody talked about how suffocating they were. She made sure the helmet stayed tucked away in the shallow alcove she was pressed into, then stepped out into the corridor proper.

Luckily, there was a monitor nearby, where she quickly pulled up ship schematics of her own.

Naturally, the data core was uncomfortably close to the bridge and command—just beyond it, in fact. Meanwhile, she appeared to be somewhere below the crew quarters, and above combat personnel. She’d have to blend in to make progress.

So, nodding to herself, she blanked out the monitor and moved on.

The corridor was still unhelpfully empty as she made her way to the nearest lift. It wasn’t until she was closing in on the lift itself that she finally encountered a couple of people who were late to the party that Marauder was throwing. Thankfully, she heard their footsteps far enough ahead of time to duck into yet another alcove before they saw her.

“... how d’you figure a Mandalorian even get on the ship anyway?” one was asking the other.

“I got no clue, Sijik,” the other said, making her listen closer. “But we got bigger problems...”

Unholstering her blaster for the first time since being aboard, she stepped out into the corridor behind the pair, blaster leveled at them just in case. “Sijik?” she asked, “Sijik Fe?”

The pair whirled, blasters at the ready, until Sijik recognized her. “Whoah, whoah, whoah!” The other weequay urged his companion, “I know her!” Then, he demanded, “What are you doing here, Yoko?”

“Ah, it's complicated,” she answered, not lowering her blaster. “Suffice to say, I’ve wandered in a little deeper than I imagined. Tell your friend to lower his, and I’ll lower mine.”

“Can’t do that,” the other spoke up. “You’re working with that Mandalorian.”

Sijik nodded at her, “We do seem to be cross-purposes, here, Yoko. You know as well as I do that Jayse would take it out of our hides if—”

She cut him off by firing a shot that clipped him in the shoulder. Then, another, hitting the other one in his gut, making him fall. Then, she sprinted forward and kicked at the other’s temple, hopefully just hard enough to knock him out cold.

“Shit, Yoko!” Sijik gasped from where he, too, had fallen against the wall. “You didn't have to kill him!”

“Don’t think I did, Sij,” she assured him, crouching to divest the unconscious stranger of his blaster rifle and of the headscarf he wore. Wrapping the scarf around her own head, she turned back to Sijik with a smirk, “but I need it to look authentic.”

That was the only apology she gave before punching her long-time friend directly in the face, sending him, too, into unconsciousness. She grabbed the necklace Sijik wore, a surprisingly well-tended string of beads from Srillur, and draped it around her own neck. This and the scarf weren’t the most persuasive of disguises, but they would have to do.

Then, armed with a new blaster rifle alongside her pistol, she straightened and padded the rest of the way to the lift unchallenged. Once inside, she keyed the appropriate sequence on numbers to get her to the crew deck. Tapping into her comms as the lift started moving, she sent a quick status update to her two partners, Minimal resistance so far. Headed upwards to the data core.

Now, she knew why the ship looked so familiar to her. Just like Sijik Fe, she’d known Jayse for a long time. She’d even served under him for a while, before she got bored of his particular brand of piracy. And here she was, helping a pair of unknown assholes steal from and murder those she’d once considered friends—even family.

What rotten luck.