Rescue at Coruscant III: Flight of the Heroes

[Sanis Prent]

RESCUE AT CORUSCANT


PART III
FLIGHT OF THE HEROES

It is a dark time the REBEL ALLIANCE and the JEDI ORDER.
Having fled from Cloud City and the might of the GALACTIC EMPIRE,
a Jedi Master named SERENA LARAN, crucial to the survival of galactic freedom,
has been taken prisoner by sinister dark agents known as the INQUISITORIUS.
Without Serena's leadership, hope may soon fade for victory.

Plotting a desperate mission to CORUSCANT, capital of the Empire,
a band of Jedi and Rebels, guided by the maverick Captain,
SANIS PRENT, prepare to take the fight to the Empire where they least expect it.

Facing odds stacked greatly against them,
the passengers of the freighter LAYLA prepare to descend to the city planet
in a gambit to restore hope to a galaxy without it.

I had a restless leg, and a bad case of cottonmouth. A shot of whiskey from my hip flask took care of the latter, but my knee kept bobbing along as the maelstrom of hyperspace continued to snake around us. A proximity alert beeped, and I flicked it off, reaching for the voxcomm control.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We're about a parsec out from Imperial sector. Weather on Imperial Center shows partly violent with a chance of Star Destroyers. If you haven't hit the refresher, you might want to do so now. Keep your lightsabers in the off position until the ship comes to a stop.

Once again, thank you for flying on Layla Express."

Cracking wise helped to keep my mood light. In reality, I was scared as hell. Maybe this whole stint in the Alliance was bad for my mental health. I was losing all sense of survival skills, and willingly about to dunk my ass into a scalding cauldron full of angry blasters, and worst of all, I wasn't even getting paid for it.

"Cirr, how's our decoy?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Finishing a bit of slapdash soldering with MARCUS's guidance, Cirr ducked out from under the console, snapping his utility goggles up to his forehead. His ears already told the story, perked and bobbing high.

"All done. We'rre now the Dug's Ugly Sisterr."

He made a face at it.

"That name sucks, Sanjis."

[Sanis Prent]

I gave a shrug at that. Cirr was right. Then again...

"I don't make the rules on stolen transponders, I just use 'em. That one sucks because I've already used the cooler-sounding ship names. You know, it's not cheap buying stolen ship ID's that convincing with a clean chit. If the name happens to be shit, that's the luck of the draw."

I gave a half laugh at the little bits of quasi-legal help I was bringing to the game.

"Some day, I hope our plucky do-gooder buddies thank a proper con like me. You know, with some good retirement bennies on Ryloth with an open bar tab set for life. Maybe they'll make me a Senator or something."

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Upper Cargo Bay

"I'm sure it's a great ship, but I've seen cleaner Jawa trawlers in my brief Recon tours."

Anbira ran a finger across the bulkhead in the upper cargo deck. Eschewing the crowd above, he sat on a tied-down crate with a few of the other passengers.

The strike into the Imperial center was a three pronged movement. A diversion in an Imperial shuttlecraft took an alternate route in. The Layla led both the rescue party and a few operatives to ensure a clean getaway, so the passenger list was extensive and diverse. On a ship designed for a third of the passengers it now had, it was something of a bustle on the cramped freighter.

"I'd almost like our chances on this rust bucket, truth be told. Corellian freighters are a credit a barrel. Unless we do something stupid on the way in, we should be smooth sailing."

He winced.

"Getting out should be a bit more interesting."

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon sat beside the Felucian hermit with his elbows on his knees, trying not to take up too much space in the close quarters of the Layla. He'd said little during the journey, choosing to quietly prepare himself for the challenge ahead. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd last undertook such a mission, and it had been with much less noble purposes at heart. But here he was with his brothers and sisters in the Force, about to rescue one of their own from the den of lions.

"I was preaching on Coruscant not too long ago," he said. "Getting in has never been the problem. Aside from Imperial Center, it's actually the least guarded planet per capita in the Core. You can't control a population that big with an army. Instead, the city becomes its own kind of prison."

Layla skipped a little on a knot of hyperspace turbulence, making Solomon reach for a support strut to keep from toppling into a neighbor. "Good news is, at the depth we're going, this hunk of junk will just blend in with the rest of the debris."

[Mara Tallen]

Upper Cargo Bay

"You should try a hired transport on Nar Shaddaa in a feline form sometime. That, honey, is dirty. It took hours to wash the stench out of my fur." Mara grinned at him over her shoulder, even as her fingers carefully wound some very colorful wire into a compact bundle. It took its place nestled beside the others in her sleek pack, tucked in amidst blocks of explosives without labels. No labels because she'd made most of them herself, and those she hadn't, she was testing for some of the scientists of the Alliance.

With the explosives and assorted blasting caps and wires and such packed neatly away, Mara turned to the only one of her silver cases she'd brought along. She opened the large case and absently tugged on her black bodysuit as she perused the weapons she'd brought.

"Getting out should be a bit more interesting."

At that she nodded - getting out, if they succeeded, would be the hairiest part of the mission.

[Corell Capstan]

Upper Cargo Bay

Correll caught a glimpse of the tangle of wires in Mara Tallen's luggage and sat further forward, trying to get a discreet look at what else was in that bag of tricks. With each shudder of hyperspace turbulence, the tightly-packed passengers of the Layla jostled one another. Though there were few places Capstan was more at home than on a Corellian freighter, the smirk that seemed to be permanently etched onto her lips had gone, replaced by a hard line whilst her hazel eyes flicked from face to face. Her elbows were propped against her knees, with the endless twitching of her feet the only outward sign of the anxious energy that was bouncing around inside of her.

[Jason Na'moda]

Upper Cargo Hold

Jason was sat on the floor opposite Mara, wearing the Mandalorian styled armour he'd scavenged from the corpse of a freelancer who had tried to kill him. The helmet that would conceal him from prying eyes and protect him was between his legs while he sorted out a slight wiring problem in the wrist mounted dart launchers. He'd done this sort of thing before, though admittedly it had been a lot less precipitous. This was the Imperial Capital. Death would surround them on all sides.
Jason had preferred to listen through the journey, since he didn't know the others all that well, although the odd smirk at a joke or a snippet of banter would cross his face here and there. He nodded to Soloman's words though. "Lets focus on one step at a time though. No need to freak out just yet." He checked the straps on his two sabers. He had supposed that it was worth bringing Ka's old one along either way since there was always the possibility that he'd lose his. He had his blaster pistols and had borrowed a E11 Blaster Rifle to start with. The other Jedi were perfectly competant with close combat scenarios, but this way he could make sure they could return fire.
"But yeah, lets hope that Sanis is as good as he's supposed to be." He'd already seen the guy fly and knew he was good, he just hoped he was good enough, and saying that - Jason knew that he himself couldn't do it. With a snubfighter maybe, but not a freighter, he wasn't that good a pilot with one just yet.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Upper Cargo Bay

The figure in black stood apart from the group, alone. Her tattered gray traveling cloak was left behind on the Whaladon, traded in for a close-fitting bodysuit and a hooded cowl, that was drawn down and gathered beneath the waves of red hair falling over her shoulders. She wore her lightsaber on her belt and a pensive expression on her face. Though was no fan of space-flight, it was the Force itself that held all of Daria Nytherciria's concentration and occupied her thoughts as she quested out with her senses, trying to peer with sightless eyes through the misty veil that clouded the future.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan didn't have a saber, much less know how to wield one effectively. He did have a DH-17 and a 434 "DeathHammer" heavy blaster pistol. Each rested in belt holsters. He sat beside Corell and across from Anbira and Solomon. He hadn't gone much further than introductions with anyone besides Daria.

"There's tougher flying in parts of Nar Shadda. Sanis will do fine." Morgan said. He has to. Morgan added as a thought.

He got up to check his handiwork, unfortunate name aside. Modding a transponder had been a welcome distraction from the rest of the mission preparation. He weaved his way from the cargo hold through the mess to the cockpit.

"Did the transponder stick?" He asked Sanis and his felliniod engineer. If it didn't, this would be a short trip.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Back in the Cockpit

Cirr's cheshire-like grin was tinted green with monitor glow as he tapped the screen for emphasis.

"All unjiverrsal trransponderr bands arre set. jIt'll take a shjip full of parranojid sljicerrs wjith a lot of frree tjime to crrack that one."

He tossed a bit of that good feeling back over his shoulder as Morgan peeked in for a look.

A beacon midway between Cirr's station and Sanis's pinged up. Everybody on deck knew what that one meant.

They'd arrived.

"Alrrjight, rrealspace jin thrree, two, one, contact."

The maelstrom quieted into starstreaks, rapidly shrinking to individual points of starlight as Layla decelerated into realspace in a flash, looping about to enter one of the dozens of main planetary entry lanes for Imperial Center. Ahead, Coruscant reflected back sun off of its unnatural surface. Between Layla and the planet lay a corona of capital ships, transports, freighters, stations, tankers, skyhooks, and just about any manner of space-capable ship possible. It was the busiest point in the galaxy.

"Well, we'rre herre!"

Why was he so giddy? Wasn't he supposed to be the pessimist here? There had to be something to be said on travelling in a ship full of Jedi Knights. Shouldn't that by some cosmic law make your ship the safest in the galaxy?

He hoped so.

[Lowrook]

Lowrook was in the back of the cargo hold, feeling like he was packed in like blasters in a crate. He was lucky that he was bigger than everyone else and could stretch out his arms to steady himself against the bulkheads. It also meant that others were constantly bumping into him. He thought about using the Force to steady the group, but knew that it was a bad idea. He needed his connection to the Force to be strong when the time came to battle.

Lowrook had changed his appearance, like several of the jedi. Instead of his Jedi Robes, he wore the guise of a bounty hunter. Bandoliers hung around Lowrook’s body and the parts of his body that were covered, were covered by Krayt Dragon Scales. His lightsaber, which the handle was a Rancor Tooth hung around his bandolier along with two more rancor’s teeth. His shaggy main was pulled back into a pony tail and a streak of silver ran from the edges of his mouth down his neck and onto his chest. He hefted an underslung rotary repeating blaster onto his arm and connected to the power pack that he wore on his back. While not the weapon of the Jedi, he could aim and fire it like most humans could fire a blaster.

Word came back that they were dropping out of hyperspace at Coruscant. If the falsified transponder code didn’t work, the Imperials would be rid of a vast majority of the Jedi left in the galaxy. If they were to perish now, the Jedi Order might never rise again. That thought renewed the determination in Lowrook that this mission had to be successful.

Even though Lowrook was a Master, he was still trying to find his way in this new galaxy where the order of everything was turned on its head.

He realized belatedly that they hadn’t been shot down yet.

[Navaria Tarkin]

Upper Cargo Bay

It was not the homecoming she had wished for. When Navaria, Lianna, was here last, a bittersweet reunion had occurred with mother and daughter. The memory was special and untainted, but such fondness had no place in the here and now. The status of her blood family always in a state of constant discord.

Her eyes drifted across the cargo bay to the woman standing alone, features currently veiled by the hood pulled on top of her head. The Jedi were her family. Her heart belong to the Force, to them, to her long last father, and to Daria.

She looked away and closed her eyes, head resting against a container as all thought left her mind in preparation. Dressed similar in a body suit, Navaria opted to not cover her features. The sheer surprise at the 'Empress'' sudden appearance would provide a momentary pause. It was why her hair was not hidden under a cowl, merely tied back to allow ease when battle commenced. Her lightsaber was waiting against her hip.

Eyes opened prior to leaving hyperspace and Navaria's face grew grim in concentration as she got to her feet. Proceeding to the cockpit, the Jedi Master poked her head inside between Sanis and Cirrsseeto. Eyes were focus ahead at the enormous amount of traffic that circled the planet. "What is our status?"

[Sanis Prent]

"That's a lot of damn Star Destroyers, Cirr."

They were hard to miss, really. You don't lose a mile-long battleship like you do a spare power converter. The familar dagger-hull ships hung lazily in orbit, none really coming or going. By visual count, I saw a dozen. That didn't count what I was sure I was missing on the dark side of the planet. The only thing comforting to you when you see that much cold grey death in front of you is to imagine you're too small and inconsequential for them to notice, which was incidentally our plan of attack.

It didn't take all that long for an incoming message to reach us. No doubt it was whoever was in charge of guiding all of these buckets to and from the planet. No fucking this up, because there was a big chance they probably had a star destroyer or two on speed dial.

"Corellian freighter, this is Imperial Sector Harbor Master 98742. Identify yourself, slow your approach to 75% and align onto the transmitted vector."

A series of waypoints were transmitted to the ship, and I plugged them in, noting bitterly that their suggested flight plan carried us very close to not just one, but two Star Destroyers.

I tapped the transmit key on the comm, and gave the closest thing to a non-chalant reply as I could.

"Harbor Master, this is Dug's Ugly Sister, on approach from Cato Neimoidia on business. Requesting landing clearance in Bindai district, uh, thank you."

I clicked off the comm in time for Cirr to mouth silently thank you?! with an incredulous look on his face, to which I simply shook my head tersely.

As I awaited the Harbor Master's clearance, Layla cruised along the given waypoint. One of the Star Destroyers began to loom large in my cockpit windows. So, it came as a bit of a shock when Navaria Tarkin (you think a name like that makes me nervous in a place like this?) climbed up into the cockpit to ask for a status update. I flinched a bit, not expecting that.

"Status is officially buttocks-clenched, ma'am."

For emphasis, I gestured to aforementioned Star Destroyer.

"So far, we're not dead yet."

Again, looking for a release from the tension, I put on a casual, easy smile, looking to the Jedi as she no doubt had her mind on bigger things.

"You know, Navaria is it? You look damn familiar. Like we've met before in a past life, if I believed in that sort of thing."

What was I doing? Hitting on a Jedi Master as certain death surrounded us. I've done more craven things before, but probably not many.

With a shrug, I was eyes forward again.

No regrets.

[Jason Na'moda]

Jason felt the deceleration, as well as the malign radiation of the dark side from the planet. Being the Capital of a previously Sith Ruled state, it was saturated with the sense of evil. From Jason's perspective anyway. He stood up, cradling the helmet beneath one arm and stepped on a box to look out over the jedi amassed. He looked down at them and the thought occurred to him that many might die today. He frowned and put on his helmet, hearing the hiss as it pressurised and then the Heads up Display appearing. The systems in the helmet ran quick diagnostics which all came up green and along both sides were small icons of all the little gadgets he'd added to the armour. Flexing his hands, he checked his lightsabers were stored in the nondescript bantha leather pouch stored horizontally at the back of his belt.

Hopping down from his perch on the box, he stood next to Master Lowrook, glancing at his bounty hunter attire approvingly. "You seem to have taken on the part well Master, I approve of the blaster." The smile he wore didn't show outside the helmet but his semi-dry humour did. "Just as long as we live to use it." He glanced around at the jostling Jedi and realised that he didn't know what the immediate plan was as they reached planet side. That and an overbearing curiosity was driving him towards the cockpit. He waited for Lowrook to finish speaking and would answer before he began to push his way through to the main ship from the cargo hold. The door which hissed closed behind him or Lowrook if the Wookie followed him, and the noise of the hold muffled with it. Moving through the ship with confident steps, Jason found the cockpit immediately and, seeing the number of people seated around it or standing, was content to lean against the wall, removing his helmet now simply because it'd be more polite. "How're things going in here?" He spoke quietly in case Sanis needed to use the comms. He noticed Navaria quickly. That interested him, the twin sister of the Empress on a mission to rescue a high priority prisoner of the Empire. The family dinners were not going to be a happy affair after this, if they ever were. "What's the plan for when we land?" He asked Ms Tarkin since she wasn't working on whether they were all going to live through the lines of star destroyers. She was beautiful, stunning in fact, he couldn't help but notice, but also she had a look in her eye that suggested to him that any attempt at seduction, or things of that nature would be wasted.

[Lowrook]

Lowrook depressed the trigger and spun the barrel, but didn't engage the power pack. He looked over at Jason with mock surprise.

"What, this old thing? I use it to shoot some sort of woodland vermin in some rut in the ground? That is the correct way of phrasing it right? And just in case it misses, I have this."

Popping open another case, he produced another Merr-Sonn Rotary Underarm Carbine. He plugged it in and hefted both of them spinning their barrels with a whine from the engines.

"Wookie Droideka."

As soon as the Layla landed, Lowrook would join Team 2, who was in charge of rescuing Serena. While most carry lightsabers, the ability to lay down Force Targeted whithering firepower was an asset. It also made him look less like a Jedi Master than a Hutt regurgitating green slime.

He was ready.

[Naomi Lang]

In the Layla one person amongst the group was far removed from the camaraderie. Naomi Lang, former Inquisitorial Agent. No class or designation with that, just plain Agent, people who were in some sort of limbo between enlisted ranks and being a full Inquisitor. Carte blanche on almost anything the Inquisition could think of.

And now she was stuck of a piece of dren rust bucket with more Jedi than she had known existed on some karked up suicide mission to Coruscant to spring some Jedi bitch from the Inquisition….who’d tried paying off her pension check with a nice, polite bullet between the eyes.

Yeah, go towards the people that try to kill you. That’s smart.

The Alliance hadn’t even let her take her gear along.

At least Maren had given her the option of taking a side-arm. And promptly refused when Naomi asked for a disruptor. So here she was stuck with a pea-shooter blaster.

“Hey furball!”

Naomi looked at the wookie from her seat on some tucked-away bench playing around with the toy of a gun Maren gave her.

“You have a decent slugthrower in that kit? Semi-auto would be nice. I promise not to shoot anyone.”

[Lowrook]

“Hey furball! You have a decent slugthrower in that kit? Semi-auto would be nice. I promise not to shoot anyone.”
Lowrook look down at the smaller woman. He smiled, bearing his teeth. "Well then what is the use of having a blaster if you are not going to shoot someone?"

He wuffed a laugh at his own joke. It had been awhile since he joked. He could feel the turmoil in her as dark side met light side... it was the same thing that Lowrook felt. He nodded to the box where he had pulled out both of his Merr-Sonn Underslung Rotary Carbines. In the bottom, along with 5 power packs was a N'Gant Zarvel 9118 Heavy Carbine with a wooden stock (Boba Fett's gun). "You had use that. My fingers are a little big for it."

[Jason Na'moda]

Jason laughed at the Wookie's sense of humour, it was good to lighten up the atmosphere, otherwise people would choke on their own sense of duty. Jason was going to follow Lowrook into the shuttle in order to rescue the captive master, simply because he added a new skill set to the team. Being able to remain at altitude could be useful in providing an eye in the sky.

[Abarai Loki]

Beside Corell stood Loki, his arms folded and eyes trained on an unoccupied section of floor in the middle of the room. While others revised mission strategies and cracked jokes, he remained as silent as he had been for the entire duration of the journey, and instead ruminated upon the exorbitant amount of time he'd recently spent hanging around in cargo bays. Including today. Inwardly, he was aching for action, and made no effort to disguise his disinterest in his comrades' conversations and their contemptuous small talk.

In his mind there was no doubt. Every detail was committed to memory; he knew his role and the roles of his teammates, and he was also fully briefed on missions elsewhere in the Imperial Center. His confidence was unshakable, as was his belief in the Jedi. It was refreshing to sense in Corell an uncharacteristic sobriety, the kind that would sculpt her into a disciplined Jedi Knight. A thought occured to him and he found himself wondering if there was anything else he could do, some nugget of wisdom he could impart, to better prepare his apprentice for the challenge ahead, but he quickly cast it aside. He would be with there. She was safe.

In place of his black robes and the elegant haori, he wore a smart sand-coloured shirt with a pair of brown cargo pants, a fully-loaded utility belt, a black ammo vest burdened with stuffed pockets, and a pair of regulation field boots. It was a far cry from his usual look and yet, as uncomfortable as he felt, Loki had wasted a shameful length of time choosing his attire. And now he resembled a privilaged suburban teenager who had just discovered scrak music and sought to rebel against his overbearing parents with a spot of heavy arson. A soft tremor rumbled through the bones of the ship as it broke Coruscant's atmosphere, and the congregation stirred.

It was the day of days, for him, and for the rest of the Jedi. When all of their efforts; the secrecy, the training, the years spent in hiding; when it would all culminate in one singular moment of resistance: a proud declaration that they were back, and they were unstoppable.