The Rebel Faction

<font color=”#000000”><font size="1">(OOC: This Role-Play will consist of a takeover for the hard-to-find planet Aeten I. I will be adding an additional 2000 words, as the planet is hard to find and will be marked as hidden) Completed</font>

Exiting hyperspace on a vector for the planet Aeten II, the Vigil-Class SPC Orion I began broadcasting authentication signatures the moment she reverted.

… This is the Bith Monarchy ship Orion I requesting permission to enter orbit …

For a full five minutes the ship waited, but no response was given.

“That’s long enough. Helm, bring us into a geo-synchronous orbit. Shields on high.”

Acknowledging with a nod, the helmsman compiled and the SPC lunged forward toward the silent planet.</font>

<font color=”#000000”>The Present

For four days the Orion I orbited the planet of Aeten II, constantly scanning the surface of the planet. The data their scanners returned was unremarkable, no settlements were visible, the planet was still in a state of volcanic activity thus rendering it impossible for the existence of either flora or fauna.

“It has been ninety-one hours since we began orbit Sir, I am of the opinion that we need to land, and examine the surface of the planet.”

“Agreed. Prepare the shuttle, and the fighters, I want constant air support for our people.”

“Air support? The planet is un-inhabited!”

The captain grinned a toothy, sly grin. “That,” he said, “Is exactly what they want us to believe”

“They.” Replied the other in a flat voice.

The only response was a chuckle.

“You shall see soon enough.”




Two Years Prior

His com buzzed, jolting the young officer/scientist out of the deep sleep he had been enjoying so greatly.

“Yes?” came his irritated voice. The air was chilly, and the bed warm and this interruption not appreciated.

“Sorry to disturbed you sir, but something’s happened here in the lab.”

Fully awake now, the young man asked cautiously, “Can it wait for tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not Sir.”

“Stang… I’ll be right down.”

He slapped the com down onto its cradle before the man on the other end could acknowledge, and slid out of the warm bed. His floor was chilly, and he let out an involuntary gasp as his feet hit the tile. “Blasted military code” he muttered. Turn the heat down when everyone was in bed to save money… heat cost so little, was it worth the inconvenience?

He grabbed a pair of pants and slipped them on, grabbing some shoes before he continued with a shirt. “Off duty right now, don’t need to bother with the uniform” he thought, “If they court martial me for not having a uniform on at…” he glanced at the crono, “0200 hours, they are really off their repulsors.”

Stepping into the well-lit hallway half dressed almost made him take those words back, it was like being naked. But… it had sounded like it was important… “It had better be really important” he thought as his spit-shined shoes carried him down the carpeted hallway. “If it isn’t…”

Two minutes and one elevator ride later he arrived at the lab to find the main room empty of all but the maintenance droids.

“Excuse me… pardon me… thanks …” Finally in the lab, the young officer was suppressed to see no one about. The only sound was a constant hum, and the sound of someone using a spot-wielder in a nearby room.

“What the frell?”

“This way Sir!” came a frantic shout. “Quick!”

He glanced about, but saw no one. “Where are you?”

“Over here! Center of the room! Help me!”

“What the freck?” Then it hit him the experiment was gone… someone had been messing with his cloak, and must have imprisoned himself.

“Just a second… are you under the cloak?”

“Yes” came the sheepish reply. “And there is a live wire touching the rim of the capsule, I can not get out.

Sighing slightly, he moved over to a nearby computer, and examined it. The cloak controls were active, and surprisingly enough, the cloak read as stable. “What the…” As he first saved the current settings, and began the de-initialization he asked the invisible prisoner a question. “How did you get it to stay stable for more than five minutes?”

The hum that had pervaded the room slowed, and vanished with a slight buzz, and a three-meter long object appeared in the center of the room. At the center a plastic capsule sat with a seat, in which a forlorn human rested. Surrounding this clear plexi capsule was a complex setup of wires, non-conductive metals, and a large steel mesh in the shape of an ovoid completely surrounding the contraption. A loose wire end lay against this mesh, sparking as energy laced from its end to the mesh in blue tendrils. No wonder the prisoner had not been able to leave, he would have been flash-fried from the inside out.

“I…” said the prisoner as he painfully exited after the scientist neutralized the offending wire,, “stabilized the power flow with a barvuvian transistor between the generator and the crystal, and removed all but two projectors from the array. Then it was just a matter of making sure the cloak field didn’t touch any non-conductive surface.”

The scientist frowned, and assisted the man in exiting. “I hadn’t thought of a barvuvian transistor…”

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Science Faculty

“Charge the auxiliary capicitator batt to … 55%, hold it steady”

“Aye”

“Main generator status?”

“80% output, holding steady”

“Main coolant status?”

“95% of safe levels, rising at .03% per second.”

“Stang… ok, start filming boys.”

Ten men with ten different cameras immedeatly began to film the device in the center of the room, a device they could not see. Their cameras were capable of simulating every sort of scanner device in popular use across the galaxy, they were doing their best to penetrate the cloak before them.

“Coolant heat level rising sir! We have 97.5% and rising at .5% per second.”

“Shut it down gentlemen, disengage cloak… now.”

With a slight whine a device from design hell appeared to ripple reality, and appear out of nowhere. Within three seconds, its opaquicy returned to normal levels, and the device stood still.

“Shut the onboard generator down … now.”

Yet another sound dissipated, and a few lights winked out on various control panels about the science lab.

“Coolant pump and generator, shut down … now.”

The soft whish-shish sound of the generator and pump ceased, and the room was silent save for the constant clicking and buzzing from the various cameras and sensors running.

“Filming may end now. Pack up people, let’s get he film ready for examination at … 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed.”

As everyone in the room packed up and left, the inventor of the device stayed behind, walking around his “baby”.

“Why won’t you stay cool? Why must you overheat so often?” he whispered softly, as he examined this connection, and that cable. “Why so temperamental?” he queried again. His hand stroked the mishmash of wires, cabling and tubes as if stroking a cat.

On an impulse he knew he would probably regret later, the scientist stepped over to a control panel and initiated the cloak sequence, and watched as the device vanished from sight. After a few moments he sighed and disengaged the cloak, and stepped over again.

“So hot, no matter what coolant we give you” he said to the lone crystal in the center of the device. “I’ll bet we need more of you to keep everything low…”

As if in response, a crack ran up the center of the crystal, and it fragmented into hundreds of small pieces. These pieces clattered to the ground before the scientist’s eyes, and he watched his project vanish with stunned disbelief.


*


Pulsing music prompted the scientists to order another drink. In his dismal state of self pity he was prepared to drown his sorrows in temporary relief and oblivion. Perhaps he would do something stupid while drunk that he could laugh over the next day. Then again, perhaps not.

Downing number four, the scientists slumped to the table, dry sobs racking his frame.

“Why me! Why did it have to happen to me!” he cried, unaware that his predicament was probably temporary.

“Why, what happened?” said a voice behind him, a voice slightly familiar. “Did it shatter?”

The scientists whirled in his chair, falling out in the process and scattering his drink, cup and glasses across the dirty floor of this downtown bar. Regaining his composure, he stood on unsteady feet and looked down at his addressee. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it did.” He said without thinking. Clapping a hand over his mouth in drunken over-exaggeration, he sat again.

“You realize, the more crystals you have the less heat it generates.” Continued the short stranger, who probably topped out at only 5 2”. “Having only one will put great stress on it, causing it to shatter after a short while. Putting too much power into it as well will produce the same results.”

“Y… y… yo … you!” stammered the scientist, pointing. “It’s you!”

“Yes.” Replied the stranger. “Are you quite finished with your drink?”

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“My name is Hadul.” said the short man, his square face impassive. They were sitting around a small table in the private sitting room of the old soldiers apartment. The lighting was set to low, as the old man didn’t want to wake up too much. Apparantly the short man expected the other two to carry on the conversation, for he sat like a stone after introducing himself.

“Ah… I am Pachet, and this is Dr. Vor…” stammered the old officer, his eyes still heavy with the aroma of sleep. The short man nodded his head to each in turn, as if giving a minor bow. Again saying nothing, he gazed upon the two men with expressionless eyes.

“Um…” muttered the young scientist, Vor by name. “Ah… where, exactly, did you obtain that crystal?”

Hadul’s left eyebrow raised somewhat, and he smiled a controlled smile. “From Aeten, naturally.” he said with a matter-of-fact tone. “You have not been very successful in locating the planet, have you?

Their jaws dropped simultaneously, both more than slightly stunned.

“Where… exactly… is Aeten?” queried the old officer.

“Far away.” replied Hadul.

“Oh. A secret?”

“Obviously, and closely guarded as well.” Taking the initiative from the two on the other side of the table, Hadul continued. “Only recently has the Order become actively involved with the protection of the planet, as the previous guardians met a rather … untimely … end…” He let the statement trail slightly, then resumed his silence.

“Order?” asked Vor.
“Aye.” replied Hadul, volunteering no more information. Vor decided to let that issue rest for the moment. Pachet, on the other hand, jumped on the mention.

“What kind of order?”

“A private order.”

“Rather secretive eh?” muttered the old man, disgruntled at Hadul’s lack of openness regarding the subject.

“By necessity.” said Hadul briskly.

Changing gears, Vor put forth a query.

“If this is such a closely guarded secret, why did you allow a crystal to fall into the hands of a random person at a bar?”

“Let?” said Hadul, his eyebrows rising again. “I gave you the item.”

“Why?” said Prachet, jumping in before the again silenced Vor could say something stupid.

“Because you needed it.”

Prachet and Vor looked at each other with confusion. The feeling of sleep had run from Prachet, he was wide-awake now.

“If you were a little more fluent, we would get further faster,” said Prachet, slightly exasperated at Hadul’s seemingly characteristic lack of forthcoming. With a small shrug, Hadul began.

“The Galaxy is in turmoil, the after-effects of the Wrath virus still wreak havoc in remote parts of the galaxy. Governments vie for power, striving for dominance while troding those that give them the power underfoot with little or n regard for their welfare. The Order takes little interest in the powers that be, and how they treat their people. Except for the rare case, we avoid interfering. We do, however, take enormous interest in the activities of the Dark Side, and its minions.”

“I KNEW IT!” shouted Vor, jumping to his feet in excitement. “A Jedi!”

A sharp smack across his rear-section by Prachet pulled the overexcited Vor back to his senses, and back to his seat. “Shut up you young fool!” hisses Prachet.

Totally ignoring the outburst, Hadul continued.

“Years before the fall of the republic, the planet of Aeten II was discovered by the minions of the Sith, and the unique properties of its crystals exploited. No one knows how many craft were equipped with the cloaking devices these Sith produced, the number has been surmised as being as great as ten thousand, to a mere two hundred. Many of the incredible ships survive today, the Order owning a few, your government as well. Upon the rise of the Empire, the planet was again lost, being so small and incapable of sustaining life because of the severe volcanic activity. A group of mercenaries discovered it again, and protected it well. Several years ago the Order came in contact with these mercenaries, and their very well-organized group. After extensive negations, we obtained a supply of the rare crystals, and the promise of more if needed. Through long research, we managed to manufacture a crude cloaking device. Lack of knowledge about the properties of the crystal forced us to cease our experiments however, we were splitting, fracturing, and melting too many of the crystals. More in-depth knowledge was needed.”

“And so, you found me, and gave me a crystal and several rather well placed comments…” mused the now calmed Vor.

“We have an extensive spy network, we knew that you had written about the theoretical possibility of cloaking for your thesis in military school, and we knew about your experiments. A few comments with random strangers here, and there got your mind thinking about the planet, and the possibility of mass-production.” Hadul shrugged, and continued. “Simply put, the Order needs a scientist to continue research on the technology.”

“Why?” asked Pachet. “Obviously, the potential for cloak-able ships is immense, if successfully implemented their power could be incredible. But if the technology fell to the wrong hands, the devastation could be … devastating. Why not simply destroy the evidence, or even better, destroy the planet?”

“Devastating would be an underestimate,” replied Hadul. “Our reasoning is as such. Several months the mercenary group that resided upon Aeten vanished. Gone, without a trace. And now, suddenly, the Republic receives a poorly orchestrated attack via highly developed cloak capable ships. Sheer luck and some good captainship by one of the ancient cloaked craft allowed the Republic to capture one of these ships, and upon examination we discover it is powered by an advanced stygium cloak.”

Pachet choked suddenly, going into a massive coughing spree, and if Vor’s eyes were capable of becoming any wider they would have fallen out of his head.

Vor, however, squeeled like a stuck myverian piglet.

“You have a cloak capable ship! One of your own manufacture?”.

“No,” said Hadul patiently. “This craft is one of the original the Sith manufactured, it has been cared for for many decades.”

Pachet recovered from his coughing streak, and, regaining his composure, spoke.

“I see what you mean. The protectors of the planet have been bought off, highly developed ships have been discovered, and so you push your own development forward in an attempt to maintain an upper hand…”

“Almost,” said Hadul. “You will be continuing the research, and protection of the planet. We will begin to hunt down the owners of these ships. Their actions are questionable, the possibility of the Sith re-obtaining the technology spurs us on.”

“Sith? Re-Obtain?” asked Pachet in slight disbelief.

“Yes. The Sith have re-emerged in the wake of the Wrath virus.

“The Force help us all…” muttered Pachet, his face turning pale. He was old enough to know of the legends of the ancient Sith wars, old enough to know.”

“Why do you trust us so implicitly?” asked Vor, now suddenly suspicious. “You’re rather free with information now.”

Very deliberately, and with measured slowness, Hadul stood. Though short, he suddenly seemed to loom above them. In one hand was a cylinder, how it had gotten there neither new. An explosion of sound ignited their ears, and light blazed from the top aperture. A blade extended almost a meter in length, light burned their eyes. A constant deep throb issued, and the two men at the table gazed mesmerized with fear.

“Because,” said Hadul, leaning forward the blade coming dangerously close to Vor’s throat. “Because I know you won’t betray me.” His voice was soft, a whisper, but sounded as loud as a hurricane in their ears.

The blade slowly moved close to the tabletop, the eyes of both men upon it. Seemingly without friction, it bit into the edge of the table. Burning a brilliant red line through the smooth stone, the blade sparked and sizzled.

Then, it was gone. The molten line was not however, and both men continued to look at it.

“Besides,” said Hadul as he straightened. “We have contacts within the Republic government. You, in fact, are the last people to learn of the arrangement.”
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<font color=”#000000”>
It wasn’t the fact that the Dark Side was present on this planet that bothered Tobal, the Dark Side was present everywhere one went. In the market, at the spaceport… The Dark Side was not picky about where it was, or whom it was with. It wasn’t its presence that bothered the young Jedi, but rather the fact that it was so strong, so tangible. Strong enough to be capable of effecting the atmosphere of the planet, to raise the temperature and effect the well-being of well over sixty men. Strong enough to touch the physical realm, and speak to a force sensitive being, that is what bothered Tobal. Thankfully, it had not shown enough strength to speak to Vor, a decidedly common man.

As the two walked back to their temporary base of operations, they did not speak. The memory of the voices, no doubt fading from Vor’s mind, was still present in his. What Vor had heard was the manifestation of hell itself; those who succumbed to the temptations of the Dark Side were damned to eternal want, without fill. The ancient texts he had studied while at the Order described what a Dark Sider went through with great detail. How the ancient scholars had obtained the data was a mystery, but the texts hinted at Dark Siders being revived in medical labs after being clinically dead for a few hours.

The texts also spoke of the things the spirits could do to one, especially those of weak minds.

The sound of an explosion rent Tobal from his revere. They were but a few hundred yards from the place they had left the Tanks, the explosion had come from that direction. The scream of a projectile flying through the air at a high velocity caused Tobal to grab Vor and slam their collective bodies into the ground.

“They’re shelling us!” he cried as the projectile flew harmlessly overhead.

Another explosion, now identified by Vor as the secondary slug gun on the tanks, prompted the two to move from their prone position and into the shelter of a nearby building.

“What the frell?” cried Vor, as the place they had been laying in detonated.

Tobal didn’t comment, but he knew what was happening.

“Try contacting them over the com systems, and stay low!” he yelled as another shell flew overhead. At least the gunners were not using the main guns… yet.

Opening himself to the Force fully, Tobal allowed it to flow through his body, empowering his muscles to do things not possible for the standard human. He crouched, and leapt. Flying straight up, he cleared the roof of the dilapidated building they had stood in, flying straight through a hole. Waving his arms for vertical control, he landed next to the exit hole and sped off. Crossing rooftops in leaps and bounds he began to cover the distance between himself, and the tanks.

He had to move fast, for they had higher powered scanning systems, something he could not affect from this distance. His lightsaber was out, the pale blue blade yet hidden within the confines of its metal prison. These were his companions, people he had grown to know moderately well over the past week. Affected by the voices, they were no doubt terrified and acting only in self-defense. At least, that is what he hoped was happening.

And, on second thought, flying through the air like some spirit out of these poor people’s dreams was not going to assist him in any way. The tanks were nodoubt fitted with anti-aircraft weapons, weapons which would pluck him out of the sky before he could react. When he landed again on a rooftop, this time after a rather large jump spanning a house that had no roof, Tobal stopped and dropped to the pavement below. Turning his own com on, he brought it up to his ear. Nothing, absolute nothing. The main router must have been turned off. He tried point-to-point, and picked up a faint fuzz.

“Vor?” he asked inquisitively. A plaintive “Yes?” came back.

“Any luck?”

“No. They are getting closer to me though - you better hurry. I’m going to have to move in a few minutes.”

“Ok.”

Deactivating the device, Tobal began to jog. The sound of men’s voices reached his ears, and he ducked behind another building. Incoherent from this distance, the voices did betray a sense of urgency. Another shell was fired, and then another. They were syncing their shots, attempting to make Vor move out with the first, only to get hit with the second. The sound of a squad of men running became loud, and Tobal realized that they had detected his movement as well.

He had to thing of something, and he had to think of it now.


*


“Sir, we’re registering heavy weapons fire on the planet at the location.”

The captain of the Orion grinned a toothy grin, and said nothing.

“Sir, more heavy weapons fire.”

Again, the captain said nothing. His first officer blinked, and stared at him. He returned the gaze with equal levelity.

“Sir, the fire is picking up… reading small arms fire as well.”

“Take us down ensign, full speed,” said the Captain, a heart beat before his first officer commented. Closing his mouth, the mate nodded slightly.

“Nothing to say?” asked the captain.

“No sir.” he replied, his CO had been here before, after all.

“It, has them,” said the Captain, his face almost gleeful. “I wonder how many will die?”

The first mate glanced again at his captain, a look of distaste on his face.


*


He hadn’t wanted to do it, but the dice often fell the wrong way. Standing amongst the bodies of five foot soldiers Tobal deactivated his saber. All of them were dead, very much to his regret. He had stood in the open, hands up and visible, and had stated who he was… he had definitely been close enough to identify…

Yet they had fired, and he had been forced to defend himself. The flickerings of laughter faded from his mind as the last of them breathed his last breath, and Tobal slumped slightly. Killing, though a part of who he was, would never become easy for him. Taking a life here meant someone back home would be devastated, and would never see daddy again.

The deafening roar of a B-Wing fighter thundered overhead, and Tobal looked up. The Orion had arrived. The sound of the shelling stopped, the last echoes fading quickly. At least the men who had been firing hadn’t pulled the anti-aircraft weapons out.


*


Later that night, when all had been explained and re-explained, when the food had been eaten, and wounds tended, only then did Tobal relax and put down his guard. He had done his best to explain to the soldiers what had happened to them, but he doubted they understood. All they knew is that something had been chasing them, something that wanted them dead. They had seen swarms of soldiers coming down the street, they had seen a blood red messenger with flaming hair flying through the air with a flag of death, but they had not understood. They had not seen.

This planet was cursed.