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"INCOMING!!!"
The shout rang out from the line of Republic soldiers as a pair of rockets streaked towards their position dug in against the short wall of the house, their blasters aimed out at the distant menacing line of silver-armored Sith troopers. One rocket suddenly freezes in midair, but the second one continues its deadly course, just over the soldiers’ heads and impacting the wall behind them with a fiery KABOOOOM! Shrapnel tears into the men with cries of agony, and an ominous krakkk is heard in the support beam of the roof above them. With the groan of ruptured steel, the overhang above them crashes down!
"LOOK OUT!"
Suddenly, though, the impending collapse of rubble that would have crushed the entire squad halts, frozen in the air. The soldiers stare up at it in wonder. Then the entire upper roof of rubble lifts away from them, flying up in the air and compressing into a jumbled sphere of junk and debris. The frozen rocket releases and curves abruptly upward, slamming into the assembled junkball in a violent explosion that sends chunks flying every way except onto the soldiers themselves, the deadly hail diverted.
“Wha–?”
“Huh?”
“The rocket–”
The Weequay squad leader is the first to gather his wits. “It’s the Jedi! The Jedi is here!”
The sibilant snap-hiss of a lightsaber ignition cuts through the noise of the battlefield as if to confirm this, and a ragged cheer goes up from the Republic soldiers as Iskellia Sarken steps out of the smoking hole in the wall behind them, Jedi robes fluttering behind her, tattered from shrapnel. The fearsomely-scarred two-faced Jedi Knight grips her lightsaber in her cybernetic right hand, looking over the Republic squad.
"Everyone okay?!" Her wheezing, husky rasp of a smoke-tinged voice is barely lifted, but an amplifier built into the complicated respirator mask on her lower face boosts her words above the noise and chaos of combat.
"We are now that you’re here, Master Jedi!" the Weequay squad leader shouts back with a salute.
She doesn’t bother correcting him on her rank and just nods back, her respirator hissing as she takes in breath to talk, her amplifier boosting her wheeze baoge the chaos of combat. "[kHhHh]… General Rhel says you need to fall back to the plaza!.. [kHhHh] You’re the last squad on this block!"
"Fall back? In front of that??" One of the soldiers points out at the solid line of Sith soldiers and war droids down the street. "There’s no cover! We need air support!"
"I AM the support!" Iskellia retorts, stifling a reflexive <bitch!> before it gets out. Focus now, cuss later.
Crouching down behind cover with the soldiers, she switches her lightsaber over to her left hand, then opens her cybernetic right hand and cocks it at a certain angle. A lens in her palm lights up, projecting a holographic map of the city that zooms in on their location. Angry red lines sweep down the streets between the buildings, and a cluster of blue icons are gathered a few blocks away. One lone blue triangle is out in front of the red lines, blinking. "Here’s us. Once I give the signal, take the wall over there to the right and cross the street…[kHHh] then go through the alley here, then it’s a straight shot west to the plaza. Got it?"
The Weequay looks around his squad, receiving nods. "Yes, ma’am! But what’s the signal?.. Ma’am?"
Iskellia stands up and hops over the wall, emerald blade humming. Attracted by the sudden visual landmark, Sith blasterfire begins tracking towards her, and Iskellia gives herself over completely to the flow of the Force, reacting to its nudges and whispers and reflexes as she reflects bolt after bolt. Lines of future trajectories overlay on her vision, letting her snap her blade into place with ease on shot after shot. A distant memory at the back of her mind has hard-core swooper-metal rock music playing.
Bolt after bolt are slapped away from her solid defensive lightsaber stance, and as the enemy fire truly begins to converge on her, Iskellia thrusts her arms out in front of her, drawing deeply on the telekinetic flow of the Force that has always come so naturally to her.
Suddenly, the blaster bolts sailing in on the squad stop, and the huddled Republic soldiers can see a huge, shimmering translucent blue wall of telekinetic Force in front of Iskellia, shifting and wavering as Sith blaster boots spatter and ricochet against it. A rocket screams towards the wall, but Iskellia just makes a sharp gesture with one hand and it sails off to the side, slamming harmlessly into a building.
The Weequay squad leader is smart enough to know a signal when he sees one. "Squaaaad! We! Are! Lea-ving!" He bellows over the chaos. The soldiers immediately turn and sprint for the route that Iskellia had instructed.
Iskellia doesn’t need to glance over her shoulder to confirm once the men are out of line of fire. She can feel them through the Force, psychic bundles of terror and relief and gratitude and worry moving further away. The shimmering silver line of Sith down the street intensify their blasterfire as they see the Republic retreating behind the telekinetic barrier, but Iskellia’s wall of sheer stubbornness lets nothing through. Now, alone against the entire firing line, she has to worry about herself.
Narrowing her focus, concentrating through the throbbing pain pushing her brain to what feels like the limit, the Force Barrier in front of her narrows and shrinks, intensifying its strength as she protects just herself, slowly stepping back into the house again behind her personal telekinetic shield. The minute she’s behind a physical wall again, she lets the barrier drop with a gasp through her mask, coughing despite the flow of the Force rushing through her body. Can’t relax yet. Still not done. A blaster bolt through the yawning doorway zaps near her boot, underscoring this.
Another deep breath. Pinned down. No exit? Time to make her own.
Delving deep into the Force’s flow, the gathering of telekinetic energy comes easily despite her exhaustion. One of the first things she ever learned with the Force, as a little girl. As instinctive to her as a scream of rage, of fear, of pain, of hate. Once upon a time, those emotions she embraced without a thought. Now, self-discipline guides her mind as she looks to the southern wall of the war-torn house. Deactivating her lightsaber, she pulls her arms back, summoning the Force to her aid.
"rrrrrRRRRAAHH!!" a shout of mental exertion bringing the energy inside her to bear, and with a massive telekinetic FWOOOSH, a person-sized hole is torn in the wall with the shriek of ruptured durasteel. Her thin frame heaves, mask hissing. Damn, that was cathartic.
The scarred Jedi steps through the hole to find herself in the other end of the building as expected. Distantly, behind her, blasterfire still patters against the house entrance, but without active targets the Sith can be heard shouting distant orders. Iskellia hurries down the alleyway with the holographic map still in her mind, turning the corner and dashing across an open street. One more turn, and ahead in the distance she can see the red and orange uniforms and white plasteel of the Republic stronghold. She hastens towards them as the perimeter guards wave to the welcome sight of Jedi robes.
The Republic encampment is a buzz of activity, soldiers running back and forth over the din of shouted orders. Weapons crates, supply bins, and stretchers of wounded soldiers and civilians form a constant traffic. Iskellia strides through it all and pauses outside a tent, taking a few deep breaths through her hissing respirator. Then she steps in.
General Rhel looks up from a holomap of the city. A grizzled older Trandoshan, Rhel is no stranger to open warfare, and his predatory mindtrack is often a useful tool against the aggression of Malak’s Sith forces. He gives Iskellia a nod as she enters.
"Jedi Sarken," he greets her. "Welcome back. Anvil Squad got in a few minutes ago. Those kids owe you their lives. Nice work."
Terse and straight to the point. So unlike another Trandoshan she knows. Iskellia smiles quietly to herself, unseen behind the heavy respirator, and bows slightly as she matches his attitude and tone. "Thank you, General. Happy to help… [kHhHh]… How are things looking?"
He gestures at the holomap. "Bad. We can’t hold the city. Daalang’s southern continent is completely in Sith control. Just lost our third cruiser up in orbit. Malak smells blood. Republic is pulling out. Cutting our losses."
"He’ll attack even harder once he sees us retreating," she points out.
"I know. No choice." The grizzled Trandoshan heaves a sigh. "Only alternative is waiting for the slaughter, and hell if I’m just going to cower like prey."
"The cornered gnathgrg…[cough]… is the most dangerous," Iskellia agrees, coughing as her her grating rasp mangling the Trandoshan word a bit.
Glancing up and tilting his head in mild surprise at the Trandoshan saying coming from her, Rhel bares his sharp teeth in a grin. "Hah! That it is. Didn’t know you Jedi knew about those."
"One of the best Jedi I know is a Trandoshan, heh," she nods with a faint chuckle.
"Might want to meet them someday," Rhel nods, looking down at the map again. “But to do that, we’ve got to get off Daalang. Republic can spare a total of two Foray-class blockade runners for the evac, but that’s it.” He touches a control on the display, and a schematic of the blockade runner appears. "300 passengers each. This camp has a little over 500 beings."
"It’ll be enough," Iskellia agrees, studying it. "Not many guns. …[hHhh] …Two turbos, two anti-fighter cannons…do we get an escort?"
"Not a chance. We’re just trying to escape with our lives." Rhel shakes his head. "I’ll admit, Sarken, I don’t know everything you can do with your weird ‘Force’, but I can’t deny it’s saved my people. Can it keep Malak’s ships off us?"
Iskellia hesitates, running over options in her mind. <Telekinetically move an entire starship during flight while it’s attacking? I’m good, but not THAT good. Reach out and telepathically persuade the enemy pilot to hold fire or turn away? Maybe if there was one or two, but not in this kind of large scale space battle…>
Finally, she shakes her head. "…Nothing is impossible with the Force, General, but…[hHhh]…even I’ve got limits. Best I can do is support and bolster the reflexes of your turret gunners…[hHhh]… make them better shots."
"Fine. I’ll take it." Rhel sighs. "I’ve seen you make our cargo float in the air, the squads report you making shields and blowing through walls better than a shaped charge detonite, and the Trauma team says you’ve saved soldiers they thought were goners. We’ll need you more for that first part, getting everything loaded as fast as we can. Medics will move what wounded they can."
"Got it," Iskellia nods. "When are those Forays getting here…?"
Rhel taps a button and studies the display. "They’re diverting now, entering atmo in 5. ETA 10, maybe 15."
"Then I’d better get to it." Iskellia rasps. Rhel nods, and the scarred Jedi turns and walks out of the tent towards the cargo areas…
Two hours later. Two frantic, panicked hours.
Iskellia stares out the window into the swirling vortex of hyperspace aboard the Foray-class blockade runner Epsilon. With her telekinetic help, the Republic forces had managed to move their supply and weapon containers into the ships in time before the Sith army pushed into the camp. It had been close, with blasters pinging off their hull as the ships lifted off. Large-scale Force Barriers had absorbed one or two artillery rounds, leaving Iskellia with a pounding headache but giving just barely enough time for the ships to pull away.
Now, with the chaos of combat fading into the vortex of hyperspace, Iskellia finally allows herself to slump into a chair and let the vortex of the Force fade from her body, its constant flow the only thing keeping her up and moving through all these hours of fighting and exertion.
Her thin frame heaves with coughs, a flare of pain in her chest bringing the taste of blood to her mouth. Damn. Getting worse. She closes her eyes for a moment, sinking into the Force to gingerly probe her body. Her spasming, diseased lung struggling as always. Feeling weaker, recently. She’s relying more and more on the Force these days to function and fight. Not a good sign.
The scarred Jedi takes a deeper breath, letting her respirator’s mechanical hiss and rhythmic ticking act as her focus as she slips briefly into meditation, long enough to push back the pain through the Force. Kick that can down the road.
A sudden ping from her datapad draws her attention, and she opens her eyes to glance at it. Then her eyes widen.
From: Mon Cala Cybernetics Clinic
To: Iskellia Sarken
This is a reminder to return to the Clinic for your regular maintenance and servicing upkeep for your installed cybernetics.
Additionally, your latest bio-diagnostics data has been processed by your Primary Cyberdoc, and we are pleased to inform you that we believe your body has a sufficiently low risk of implant rejection that we are recommending you return to us for installation of your approved LX-44 cybernetic lungs and full ribcage / chest cavity replacements.
Please schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.
Jana Brosar, Patient Reception
Mon Cala Cybernetics Clinic
Her respirator hisses in a long sigh of relief. At least some good news out of today.
A distant cry of pain from the cordoned medical corner of the ship’s hold shakes her out of her own musings as she makes her way over to the wounded, summoning the Force once again to surge through her body. The Healer’s work is never done…