The Rakghoul Plague

[Orell]

Time for another writing prompt! Rakghouls in the galaxy, the not-zombie plague spreading further... if you've got a story you want to spin, here's a nice place for them!


Kyri sighed, waving the droids onto her ship, trying to give her comm a bit of attention as she loaded up the supplies.

"Ky, I want you to promise me here." Lien had called her up a half hour ago, and was still going strong about the Rakghouls. How dangerous they were, how serious it was that Alderaan had an infestation, how even if it looked like it was mostly underground, she still had to be careful...

"Sorry, Li, promise wot?"

There was a brief pause before Lien pulled out his shouty voice. "Ky! Promise me you're not going to go to Alderaan!"

She sighed again. "I promise, Li. I ain' a kid, but I ain' a dummy either. An', 'fore ya ask, already warned the company na ta go there."

Lien groaned over the comm. "You told a bunch of smugglers not to go somewhere? Have ya any idea..."

"Of course na!" she said, giggling lightly as she took a datapad from the droid foreman, signing off on the delivery. "I told 'em tha' they'd need ta obey customs an' tha' tha Quarantine would blow 'em up iffen they tried gettin' 'round it."

"...I dunno, Ky. Tha' still migh' only encourage 'em. And you be careful too out there. Tha Quarantine's good, but it wouldna be the first time somethin' slipped by one. Make sure everyone you treat isn't infected, keep a mask on and some vaccine around at all times-"

"Are ya really tellin' me how ta treat folk, Li?" she interrupted, shaking her head with a light sneer. "Ya ferget I'mma Doctor or somethin'?"

"-and make sure you have a blaster on you at all times. Especially when dealin' with patients."

That made the doctor pause, glancing at the crates of vaccine in the ship's hold. "...I don' think tha's really needed, Li..."

"Ky, the change can come fast, and yer na gonna get a lotta time before ya gotta to put 'em down. Stay armed. Period."

Another pause from Kyri. "...you've done tha' before." It wasn't a question. Kyri knew her brother, knew how he acted about normal soldiering, and this... was something different.

And Lien's pause only confirmed it. "...promise me, Ky."

"...wot ha-"

Lien's voice was soft now. Hurt, and an old one. "Ky. Promise me."

Kyri stared at her comm, before slowly nodding, a look of horror on her face she was only too glad her brother couldn't see. "...promise."

"...thanks, Ky. If you hear anything about it spreading..."

"...you'll be mah first call, Li. Promise."

"...stay safe, sis."

Kyri just hung up, gazing out over the cargo of vaccine, all the sudden far too aware it may not be enough.

[NovaZero]

"Rakghouls, rakghouls, rakghouls. Ghoulish runts of the rak variety... how odd that they name these moronic pustules of anxious futility."

Lord Achaen could be heard musing from his laboratory several paces down any which corridor one could imagine. The search for individuals with a modicum of intelligence had been fruitless -- when the ability to count was so far beyond the intellect of the average mind, finding one being knowledgeable in the esoteric fields of Sorcery and force essence was unlikely -- to put it mildly.

"Nonono no... don't do that." he fussed, tapping the cage of a rakling that had begun gnawing its own foot. "I haven't had a chance to study you yet."

He was located in a concealed facility deep underground yet still accessible by the SPIKE. While it was no small task siphoning the Tenebrous Gospel's funds away and reinvesting in THORN's efforts, his... or shall it be said, the Gospel's contributions had enabled him to convince the GSI subsidiary into constructing a laboratory accessible only by the SPIKE. Although -- 'laboratory' was a great stretch of the word, defined purely by the fact that its sole operator was conducting his own form of 'scientific research'. When he wasn't, the facility resembled that of a highly secured pound and within was a large collection of cages, a veritable menagerie of differing rakghouls of all shapes and sizes. And at each corner were re-purposed torture tables he used to restrain the fiends as he either dissected or experimented on live captures.

He had, of course, neglected to inform Darth Magius. What the old man didn't know couldn't hurt him -- and if it did? Then he might have needed it. Pain has a tendency of building character. Or so they say. Still, as Achaen took a step back from the table, he eyed a tissue sample and was, once again, disappointed by the result.

"Begin experimental log zero dash three three five. Subject five-one has expired. Despite its high pain threshold and equally potent regenerative capacity, the subject provides no valuable insight in the field of alchemy. It serves only as proof as to the limitations of what could ever be achieved through the manipulation of an organic being. No doubt the Sphere of Biotic Science would be interested in the regenerative capacity to be implemented as some crude implant. A waste of time. Radiation is the most obvious catalyst to the mainstream strains as evidenced by the samples found from Taris and Kaon. Propogation into a less volatile strain occurs over time and conducted without feeding... starvation turns radioactive properties inwards as cellular decay rapidly accelerates the purging of radioactive cells... providing the change in biochemistry while still retaining the regenerative capabilities. This method, of course has profound impact on the subject's biomass so recommend use on only the healthiest subjects. Weaker ones will simply expire."

The Sith Lord took a step towards the many stacked and organized cages as he observed his own collection.

"Addendum: the rakghoul plague is as destructive in nature as the playing of an Electronic Kloo to stoke the impassioned passing of communicable or sexually transmittable infections among youths though only a fraction as pleasant and about as half as widespread. How our impressionable youth listen to such nauseating excuses of sound and deign to call it music has, thus far, eluded me. Which brings to mind my most recently acquired specimen-- a... young rakghoul. Setting reminder to experiment on sentient youth at a later time. End log."

These days he wondered why he bothered. Perhaps he was insane. After all, to repeatedly go to social events in hopes of finding intelligent beings and failing yet expecting a different outcome the next time around was as repetitive and equally maddening as performing these studies and experiments.

He knew that alchemy was a joke. Limited in scope and achievement, such pointless endeavours were the meanderings of that full, Fulminiss. And yet... the Emperor himself had taken interest in such crude practices. When the Emperor himself takes interest in what was, essentially, a failure -- how could he expect anyone in the Empire to have anything close to the sheer genius he required?

"Well... one can only have hope." he thought aloud, turning to the rakling -- still trapped in its cage. "And you might very well be my last hope for your species." he smiled beneath his mask as the creature tilted its head.

[Aylaa]

The whining ping of the shot as the sniper rifle fired, ricocheted off the buildings. A plague bearer screamed and was felled by the blaster bolt to the chest. Polite clapping began on the wall. A few murmurs of "good shot" and other praises were heard over the soft chamber music being piped into the area. Credits exchanged hands.

"And another round where I don't have to take a letter," Aylaa mused idly as she looked over the wall she was leaning against. She nodded at the twi'lek lying behind the sniper rifle on the raised platform. Daesha nodded in mute acceptance of the praise from her Lord, and continued to resume tracking the infected with her scope.

The other pureblood present smirked and waved at the lanky chiss sniper at her side. "Yes, yes. She's very good. Go ahead, pick your target."

Aylaa glanced over the wall. Thul troops and THORN commandos were holding off waves of crazed infected plague bearers. Thus far they'd managed to keep them at bay. A smaller holding, oh, someplace north that didn't matter now, had been overrun by a killik hive fully taken by the plague and the result was the bedlam below. The killik's had paused but the Alderaanians had been driven ahead of the infestation and right into Thul territory, but the occasional Joiner or Killik was present.

Aylaa pursed her lips and spotted a platinum blonde joiner who was rampaging against three troops in heavy containment armor. "The Joiner taking on three troops," she mused, painting her target with a small hand-held device. "Difficulty: Don't kill the soldiers." The military-grade laser's information repeated to the Chiss under Darth Koll's command.

The chiss nodded, bent to his scope, found his target and neatly blew off the top of the Joiner's head, spraying the area behind her and knocking the body backwards into the fray. The soldiers scrambled back with surprising alacrity even if it was clear they were startled.

The assembled nobles from House Thul applauded once more. Aylaa smirked and conceded the shot with a little wave of her hand. A waiting droid whirred up and brought her another glass of wine.

"That leaves me at trill, herf, resh, nern. And I think you are at Trill, herf, resh, nern, esk? You'll have to pick better targets than that, Aylaa." The other woman could have been willowy in her youth, but a long lifetime as a soldier and as a Sith had left her hard and wiry, her dark red skin weathered from exposure while marching on a hundred alien worlds.

"Of course," Aylaa said. "I believe it is your turn."

"Mmm," Darth Koll mused, brilliant golden eyes overlooking the battlefield. She frowned and Aylaa looked to see what had caught the older Pureblood's eye. "You'll want to shore up defenses at the western gate, Baron," she said, raising her voice to the chattering nobles and casually flicking a finger at the area in question. "They're going to rush again."

The Baron nominally in charge of the Thule defenses stopped talking with the pretty lady on his arm. "Pardon?" he asked.

"You're about to be overrun," Darth Koll said, one finger lying against her cheek as she studied the ongoing battle.

"Oh, pish-tosh, my dear Darth. We are as safe here as we would be on, on Dromund Kaas. The House of Thule, and her allies of course, would never put such illustrious guests in the way of any sort of harm." The man seemed rather pleased with himself and his moustache wagged like an overeager akk pup.

Darth Koll gave him a long look, unimpressed then looked over at Aylaa, who was finishing giving a quiet set of orders.

"The THORN field commander is bolstering his defenses," Aylaa said then sipped her drink. "It's still your turn."

"Hmm. Thirty seconds to down four of those little insects, dealer's choice," she decided, making a dismissive wave out to the field of battle.

"At your discretion," Aylaa said to Daesha.

The Twi'lek nodded, searched the field for a moment then began a series of rapid shots. Four of the smaller Killiks that were now beginning to pour over the hillside went down in five shots.

"Twenty five seconds. Not bad," Darth Koll said.

Aylaa gave her a little fencer's bow. Her attention was drawn back to the seething mass on the ground once more. "And here comes the surge."

"Indeed," Koll said, watching the main host of the infected crested over the hill only to be cut down by the heavy emplacements at the western gate.

"It's almost like watching the surf," Aylaa commented, watching the literal wave of infected killiks, joiners and holders break against the defenders.

"Mmm. There is a rhythm to it as well. Different from our usual engagements, but there," Koll agreed. The wintry wind picked up and an errant strand of silver hair that had escaped the elaborate hairstyle she preferred and she tucked it back in with idle fingers. "It also makes playing T.H.R.E.N.T.A ridiculously easy."

Aylaa pursed her lips and nodded in agreement. "The Republic on Illum were more interesting targets. They tried to hide."

Darth Koll chuckled. Some of the more squeamish Alderaanian's shifted their weight in the crowd behind them. Aylaa rolled her eyes at their obvious fear and unease. "Those three big Killiks in the back. Take all three at once," She said, using her laser to paint the specified targets.

At Darth Koll's nod, the chiss sniper lined up his shot and fired.

"Ha!" Koll said as all three fell.

"Ah!" Aylaa held up a hand. "One's getting back up."

"Damn."

"Take your esk, My lord," Aylaa said sweetly.

"Uppity," Koll retorted. "Gets a title and suddenly she's giving me snark. Let's see you keep that smirk when you're down in those tunnels."

Aylaa snickered. "If I and my teams can possibly be spared from such... worthy combat as this," She gestured to screaming, writhing horde.

"Don't be so sour you couldn't just carpet bomb the place," Koll chided. "I know you and Admiral Villem are anxious to start joint training operations," she gestured to the plagued people and aliens below. "But it would be rude of us to simply turn the area into glass and be done with it."

More of the nobles behind them grew quiet and shifted their weight. The strings and violins couldn't quite cover up their sudden silence.

"Ah. Yes. Diplomacy," Aylaa replied, ignoring the nobles. "As we have not yet heard from THORN I believe it is your turn?" She gestured back to the playing field.

"How is your retainer at riccochet shots? I think we'll just have to see."

[Audaine]

"Service announcement from the Republic Military. Please, relocate yourself and others of your family to your closest Republic sanctioned safehouse(s). If unable, relocate yourself and others of your family to your closest available residence and lock your doors firmly. Close all windows and apply blackout curtains, keep your radio set to this frequency and await further instruction as the quarantine conditions are lifted."

"That's the fifth time they've looped that in ten bloody minutes, Harnem!" The aristocratic woman drained in a solemn voice, the mascara stains trailing down her cheeks and near her jawline from the constant sobbing she was subjected to. The male wearing torn and tattered garments that at one stage resembled a trade workers uniform sat on a small disposable looking chair, sat by a heavily curtained window as he looked out into the cityscape of Alderaan.

Great plumes of smoke lifted into the cloudy grey sky above the pristine cityscape of Aldera. Entire city blocks were engulfed in a great corona of orange blaze, screams in dotted locations made the ambiance of what was normally windswept, horrific.
The green zone was far inner city, much of it was lost to the plague that spread over the city. Yellow zone was thick with military that were losing a falling battle. Then, the red zones... Force help those stranded in the red zones.

"It's okay, 'oney. Ey'll come and save us, soon. The 'ings can't win, Republic's got'et down pat, look. Can see 'em killin plenty of the slimy buggah's." He lied. A few city blocks away... laser fire rapidy lost volume, until none was seen aside from the shimmering backsides of the... Once-was people.

"I woke up to a normal /bloody/ morning, today. What in the name of absolute /kriff/ happened? Do you know anything from the city works?" The woman asked the Harnem male, tucking in a pale looking child into a couch, sheets up to his little chin. "It's okay, sweetie. We'll make sure you're fighting fit and strong tomorrow. Republic's going to save us." Veiled lies, words thin with belief and thick with hope.

"Some say the Empi'ah did et. Iunno Jeen. It was all nerf steaks and thranta singing one moment, nex..." Few hours had passed since the initial outbreak claims. Already, the posted Republic forces had sealed of so much population to keep the infection from spreading.

"Why is he so bloody sick? None of them bit him or scratched him." But he had consumed from the local water supply. She was oblivious. Never did such a thing happen to Alderaan, before. She had no idea how to handle this, let alone treat it. Nobility and even so much as the commoners in Aldera had never seen something like this. Even the occupation by the Empire wasn't this... Volatile.

"Cripes, Jeen..." His voice echoed the woes of a man clearly shaken to his core. What little courage he showed was a pokerface for his family. He was this close to just balling up and sobbing, as is. He saw... Things just lumbering over the road and tearing into the railway locomotives... And the spray of blood he saw. Just... It was all too much. His lip quivered, sinuses burned as tears tried to well over his eyelids.

The boy, his eyes begun to jerk around beneath his eyelids. A bad dream, perhaps... Jeen - the matriarch - was not looking, she casting her gaze to the carpeted floor below her. Would salvation ever arrive?

"Any word on the other cities, the noble houses...?" She inquired with the husband who had relocated to check the barricade over the door. He'd already proofed it over about twenty times... Panic was easy to distinguish.

"I think I 'eard one of 'em smaller cities was straight up scorched ta stop any spread. Sick stuff... Imagine how many folk were still 'live?" All exchanged whispers when he was in the safehouse... That wasn't safe anymore. People didn't know how to check for the carriers, people got sick. The entire room was evacuated whilst a male tore into his own wife... Well, was he male anymore? He had no idea.

The boy's unseen body trailed with blackened veins... Nails soured to a stain of yellow, grew brittle and dense.

"What about the Empire? I wonder if they're coming to assist us." Jeen gulped, the prospect of their safety measures. If it wasn't Empire territory, it was blazed in fire no doubt. As ever the pessimist she was.

"Busy wi' Thul'n'Cortess, such'n'such. Doubt 'eyll bother wi' us. We're all Reppies far'zey concerned." His chafed lips were so dry, he'd spent alot of hydration running from the grey beasts, the recently turned.

A scream filled the room, the son had... Awoken? But his teeth were deep in Jeen's turned neck, a crimson tide spattering his lips and darkening her jacket, the blankets about his waist. "JEEN! NO!" Harnem belted at the top of his lungs. The only thing he had left, his son was no longer, and she was-... She... His holdout blaster was pulled free from his waistline, took moments to jerk up and send a volley of red light into the boy. He keeled over, let free an unholy shriek emitted from the now bloody and burned boy. He writhed on the floor rapidly, squirmed and jerked. One final shot, ended it.

"J-Jeen! Oh god, Jeen!" He sunk to his knees, crouched over the fading woman. His hands curled in to her blood caked and soggy hair, lifted her up some to meet with his forehead. "Jeen, t-talk to me. Talk, please."

"Harnem... I, love... You." Her features were pale, lips once red now fading to a lighter tone. Her warmth felt cool to her, her limbs didn't feel. "Don't let me... Turn, into... Them."

He with wet eyes, sunk his lips to meet with his dying love. It was a thing of tremendous emotion, the kiss was by no means good but... What was lackluster in physical, was dense in spiritual. His years with her spent over his mind in a cascade of seconds, felt like minutes. "I love you... So very much. I'm coming, sweetie."

After she had grown cold in his arms, stiff... She had begun to softly writhe, emit soft coos. A shaken hand raised the blaster, tilted it to her forehead. He... he couldn't pull the trigger. It didn't matter she was what she was, he still loved what she was. Her eyes parted wide and open, stuck to him. She or better described it, lurched up and sank teeth into his shoulder.

[Audaine]

Flick, sprit.

The spark caught the wick of the rustique lighter, sent up a warm hearth of flame to bristle over the end of cigarra. It was a damnedably cold evening on Alderaan, didn’t much help with the major power outages that made many streets inhospitably dark and unforgiving. A week had passed since the initial outbreak incursion, and planet-wide quarantine zones were established to keep the population in check until more reinforcements could arrive. Many cities had fallen to the rakghoul plague, plenty more were in radio silence.

Aldera, the capital of Alderaan. The ‘green’ zone, the only safe havens of the planet at this impasse of time, stretched across a small span of the city. Heavy blockades cut the bastions away from the yellow zones, densely secured checkpoints ensuring no further outbreaks could leak in. Sewers were submitted to heavy neurotoxin pumping, in hope rakghouls attempting to flank the green zones were destroyed. Yellow zones in contrast were thick and thin with decay, electricity and military presence. Refugee searches were in place in the early hours of morning, in hope to save a few forgotten souls from their untimely demise. Then there were your red zones that engulfed nearing eighty to ninety percent of the planet, areas that the military were unable to venture into, including the outer wilderness.

“’Ey, Gauss. Toss us the lighter, eh? Dying over here.” Spoke the second of the five heavily armoured and secured soldiers called, in process of peeling away his helmet to receive the cigarra smoke. One of the finest platoons of the Republic Army, the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. Though thin in numbers, each was extensively  trained in specialized fields of their own, atop the qualification of being a Commando.

“Get kriffed, bud. Bloody thing hasn’t had a refill in a month.” Protested the first, a jovial smirk winding across his lips whilst he regarded the soldier at his flank. The squad was tasked with midnight exploration and analysis duty in the thick of yellow zone, near the red territory. It was a fundamental job to keep tabs with the rakghoul population, in aid of the war effort against the foul beasts.

“Oh blast it you old coot. Giv’it here, Gauss.” The man stepped over, snatched it free from his palm with a snide chuckle. The street they were in was without electricity, illuminated only by their visors and optical implantation. A few overturned furniture pieces scattered the streets, as did the Quarantine FAQ leaflets that danced with the sharp breeze that rolled beneath the soldier’s ankles.

“<:: Uhh... GRID team, this is actual. Report status.” The orange shoulder painting on the first of the soldiers glowered against the moonlight, stars. He’d taken a brief detour with the squad medic, identified by the white and red helix symbol atop her shoulder.

“GRID Bravo reporting, currently trying to wrangle back my bloody lighter from Fochpin. All clear.”
“GRID Charlie reporting – dude, he’s hogging it! All clear though, from street level.”
“<:: Grid Delta. Zero rak count. Got my scopes on Gauss and Foch... You two, pull your kriff together.”
“<:: GRID Echo, on your six, boss. All quiet.”

“<:: For the love of Sithspit- Get your damned helmets back on, Bravo and Charlie.” Boomed Alpha.
“Not like it’s airborne, boss.” Charlie called amusedly, igniting his cigarra.
“<:: Listen to actual, kid. Before I put a round in your cranium.” The gritty voice of Delta atop his vocoder chimed through.
“See what I say? I tell y- <:: You, Delta’s out to kill us all.” Charlie whined in protest as he was forced to drop the cigarra to the floor, trample it under boot. “<:: Oi, same for you bravo.”
“Ah, suck a fat one Foch.” He took a single airy drag, tossed the butt of the stick away, stomped on its embers. The ‘Gauss’ male begun to clamp down his helmet.

“<:: Sad sight to see, boss.” The distinctly female girl murmured absently, the Echo unit. She stepped in close, was near brushing her arms with actual. Her visor aligned to see a stack of yellow biohazard-labeled body bags, fuel buckets sitting nearby. Whoever stacked them didn’t have the time to clear them.
After flicking his squad-wide comm off, he clutched the medics hand tight. “<:: Hey, don’t get too clingy with squad-comms on. We’ll get rap-sheeted for fraternization.” Actual wound his head over, looked at blood trails that lined the duracrete pathways at their sides.
“<:: Just forget sometimes. Sorry babe.” Responded the woman, her head tilting softly to rest against his upper arm plate. “<:: Can’t help but make eulogies for each one we drop. They were people too, once.”“<:: Don’t ponder on it too much, can’t have you mentally unfit on us. Who do we rely upon to stick matches in our wounds?” Actual broke off into a chuckle, a closely held memory.
“<:: Hey, that was a one-time thing. Amazed Gauss didn’t get rapped for his smoking.” An elbow lightly jerked into her companions side.

Delta, the squad sniper. His sights waivered slightly as he looked to the actual and the medic a few streets away. He’d positioned himself on a balcony that overlooked the nearby intersection, kept tabs on the two troublemakers and the lovers. He lowered the DMR weapon, sat it against the wall to his side. He pulled a small tattered photo from the stock and brought it into sight. Affectionate passing of his thumb went over the cheek of a frail looking girl, a light skintoned woman next to the male, himself.
Tears welled in his eyes as he looked to the woman, lips quivering for the space of a moment. After nimbly flicking off his squad-comms, he let free a rogue few curses beneath his breath. He couldn’t save them... Why did he let them live on Alderaan? He told her that Coruscant was safer, closer to his military posting.

“<:: Cripes, he’s sobbing again.” Whispered Bravo, looking up at the sniper perched on the balcony, his weeping heard from this distance.
“<:: Think we should do something? I don’t particularly like having my ass in the open without cover.” Responded Charlie, looking sidelong at the male.
“<:: Normally I don’t mind your ass in the open but ehh... Let’s just call through. Boss’ll be here in a bit.”
Fochpin turned, looked at Gauss silently.
“<:: Hey, just saying.” He responded, breaking into an amused chortle.

A violent cackling and hissing broke the stillness of the midnight air, the distant sound of barricades being made to fall letting the earth rumble some.

To be continued.

[Auryn]

“Someone has to put them down.”

The kid was a mess, covered in scrapes, dirt and the green stains of infection. She crouched in the snowmelt, sobbing quietly to herself and looking around with wide, fearful eyes at the ring of troops surrounding she and the twitching bodies. The soldiers outnumbered the two near-death infected but hesitated even then, maybe bearing little faith in the inoculations they'd received, maybe cowardly, maybe wondering if the child, too, needed to be dealt with.

Hesitantly, strain in the movement of every muscle, the commanding officer raised his rifle, swallowing thickly behind his gratefully concealing helm. None of the others followed the motion, and he couldn't blame them. He told himself he had to shoot now. He told himself, it would be more merciful, before the change was complete in the adults, before the child even had a chance to know the pain-

“Wait,”

Almost gratefully he lowered the rifle slightly, tilting his head to regard the Jedi.

“She might not be infected.”

It was wishful thinking, the man thought, an exasperated breath whistling through his teeth. “Gods know how long she's been with those two. We can't risk-”

Dismissively, the Jedi moved past him, making a subtle gesture for the officer to halt as he passed. “I'll get her,” he paused a moment, gazing absently down at the snow, then added, “don't shoot them until we're around the side of the rockface.”

The snow was stained red and green, a cruel parody of the colours of Life Day only recently passed. She shivered in the cold, made another attempt at shaking one of the fallen bodies into wakefullness, though it was clear by the amber glow in their eyes, the colour of the froth on their lips, that it was far too late for the two Alderaanians.

As the Jedi approached she sat back on her haunches, wrapping thin little arms around herself and looking up at him. Closer now, he could tell the stains on her own skin were from the others, and not caused by her own sickness. No sign of scratches at first glance, though he couldn't know if she'd accidentally ingested any of the slime or infected blood. Even if she'd been exposed to the virus for a little while, it was still possible that there was time left for an injection to clear it out of her system.

He knelt before her, not too close.

“They're going to turn into monsters soon, aren't they?” She asked quietly, surprising him. Her voice was sad, knowing. She'd seen this before, maybe. She looked about six or seven.

“Yes,” Reithan replied, softly, seeing no reason to lie to her.

It took a little while, silent contemplation and waiting. Then, she nodded, and shuffled a little closer.

“I think I want to go now,” she watched him expectantly.

He nodded, holding out a  hand to her.

*

“What do you mean, 'there are no speeders'?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Master Jedi. We're short on manpower enough as it is, even the Republic and Imperial presences here have thinned. We've got every able body aiding in quarantine,  evacuation, relocation and rakgoul population control,” the officer regarded him grimly, “so no. There are no available speeders. There will be one around in about five hours to pick up any infected we've got here. The girl will just have to wait until then, like the rest.”

Reithan gestured back to the makeshift medical tent, where the girl was being treated with the vaccine by the on-site medidroid. “Someone needs to get her back to the med centre at House Organa. That's a day's journey on foot. If she's infected, five hours will-”

“I really am sorry, sir.” the soldier interjected, shaking his head with a forlorn frown. “It's the same story with the rest of the infected we've got here. All we can do is give them the Stage 1 vaccine and hope for the best. Trust me, I would take the kid myself...” he didn't need to finish. If she was in fact infected, she would turn far before reaching House Organa on foot.

He sighed with frustration, but knew the problem was out of the officer's hands. Turning swiftly away, Reithan headed back for the tent, pausing at the entrance and jerking his head to the side as a small first-aid container went sailing past through the air.

“Rei!” she slammed into his legs, “I don't wanna! Don't let him!”

He looked down, blinking, and looked back up – the medical droid approaching, holding the sizeable rakghoul serum, did look a little intimidating, but there were bigger problems now. He attempted to dislodge the child from where she'd wrapped around his knees.

“Get off,”

“I hate needles!”

Syrie was six years old, liked the colour yellow, and apparently hated needles. Reithan wasn't sure how she didn't see the sense of the situation, especially when the sick and dying lay all about on every available cot, but then there wasn't much he understood about children and their lack of rationality. He wasn't a massive fan of needles either, but between being healthy and inoculated or being a rakghoul, he would rather bite the bullet.

“Your armour hurts...”

“Then stop hugging it,” He mumbled, managing to pry her arms off, but as the droid had crossed the distance between them now she instantly yelped and relocated herself around his other side. He almost tripped on her tiny feet, and with a sigh offered his hand to the droid.

“Give it here. Syrie, go sit on the bed.” He swiped the syringe of faintly luminescent purple liquid, and with a little more fuss, marched the girl back into the tent.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the fold-out cot, fixing Reithan with a scared pout. “I don't like them...”

“Close your eyes and think about something else,” he tried to sound gentle, tugging the glove off his left hand to handle the needle with more dexterity.

“What happened to your hands?”

“I burned them.”

“Did it hurt?”

“It was a long time ago,”

“Did it hurt when it first happened?”

“I guess so,”

“How did it-”

“Close your eyes,”

“No, you're gonna put the needle in my when I do!” she yelled, whacking him on the shoulder.

Children are so violent. Reithan momentarily gripped his jaw, running the hand down and around to the back of his neck. “Look. I need to give you this, just in case you're infected. If you are, and it's early, then the vaccine will stop it, then protect you against further infection.”

Syrie looked up at him with big eyes, a gasp catching in her throat. “What if it doesn't work though...?”

He arched an eyebrow at her, “the longer you carry on, the longer it'll take us to figure that out.”

She contemplated this, which took longer than that sort of rational explanation should have made it. Finally she nodded, becoming quiet and sullen, holding out her arm obediently.

“I don't want to...” she scrunched her face up, eyes closed tightly, “become like...”

She was sad, deeply so, yet no one had seen a single tear escape her, not since the Jedi had first dragged her away from the changing bodies of her parents. He still recalled the look on her face, when the shots had rung out – even obscured from view, Syrie hadn't needed to see to know what the soldiers had done. The cry that had escaped her once-family had been so far from human, by that point. She had simply not connected it, on some level.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed again, gentler.

To be continued~

[Esk]

((The characters in this segment are not any that I have in game currently, but I had a dream, and I felt like I needed to set it down.))

The transport rumbled. A young trooper, dark of hair and brown of skin, sat strapped in his seat with datapad in his hand. With each jerk of the vehicle, the datapad jumped, but he kept reading.

Agupta my boy,

I hope the military is treating you well, as always. I imagine you are flying among the stars now; you had always wanted to do that as a young child. I am proud that you are fulfilling your dream, although your ma worries every day about your safety. But a boy has to grow into a man. When we last spoke via holo, I knew you were now a man, and my heart swelled, although I mourn the loss of my smiling boy. Take care of yourself, my son. I remember you had said basic training was brutal. But life is even more so. You don't have to be a soldier to know that.

A nearby grunt nudged the young trooper on the shoulder, "Yo, Guppy. Whatcha doin' readin' at this time? Letter from yer sweetheart?" Agupta looked up, shaking his head. "Nah, just something to clear my head." The grunt nodded, "Hnh. Any other toon would call this a suicide mission." Agupta shrugged and returned to his reading.

Agupta my boy,

I am sure you have heard about the outbreak now. Your ma did not want you to worry about us, so I am send you this note. We are taking care of ourselves. The authorities are trying to get us to go to a safe camp. But you know how hard we worked to get this home, to build this shop. We have decided to stay behind to watch the shop against looters. It is unlikely the plague will reach as far south as the town in any case. But I have taken out our familial blasters, just in case. Remind me next time you return to give them to you. You will need them far more than I do, and it is time I passed them on.

The transport landed with a clang, and the soldiers rose as one and moved out rapidly, Agupta among them. The cold Alderaanian wind blew along his cheeks, a familiar sensation, as he put on his face mask. He raised his blaster rifle, taking aim at the ghouls who were already coming.

Agupta my boy,

I do not want you to worry, but I thought you should know this. Your ma has been bitten. Only a small bite, but the site festers badly. I killed the creature that did it; we would not have let him in, but he looked like young Gavhin. Remember? Your childhood friend. It was a terrible shock. You are right. I think we may have underestimated the spread of the plague. We are packing up our cases now and locking up the shop. The safe camps might have a doctor who can take care of your ma. Don't worry. I have dressed the wound, and she will receive care soon.

The troopers had taken a segment of the countryside. They walked in twos and threes among the empty dwellings, clearing out stray rakghouls. Agupta pressed on. There was dark, dried blood splattered against his combat suit. Waving at his partners, Agupta led the patrol down a side alley. Mixed with the stench of the dead came the smell of spices.

Agupta my boy,

We were not able to make it out of the shop after all. Your ma took a turn for the worse, and the creatures were too many outside for our two blasters. Your ma... Your ma is very unwell. She began scratching at me, unheeding of my words. I had to use force against her and place her in our bed chamber. I do not know what is wrong with her, but I fear the worst, thinking of young Gavhin. I hear on the holo-casts that help is coming to Alderaan. Soldiers. Are you among them? If you are able, perhaps you can come and help us. I know it is dreadfully selfish of me, but, your ma. She is unwell.

Agupta counted the doors, one, two, three, four. Vines hung down from the rooftops of the small buildings, pale blue flowers blooming upon them. Above, slices of the blue Alderaan sky could be seen from the path of the alley. The smell of spices grew stronger.

Agupta my boy,

Through the door, I tell your ma to stop scratching at herself. These are your own hands, your own feet, I tell her. Your body is sacred, and it is beautiful, I tell her. But she would not stop biting at herself. She has eaten her own fingers. Almost three decades, and it is the first time I am crying again. The last time was the day you were born. Agupta, where are you, my son? The scratches on my arm, they burn. Perhaps I will leave alone, find help for your ma. Perhaps-

Abruptly, Agupta stopped. The smell of spices was overwhelming now. Beyond a curtain of vines was a sturdy red door. Once upon a time, there had been words painted on the awning overhead. Now, only parts could be made out: ... AND SON'S ...

Gesturing for the others to stay back, Agupta approached the entrance. He drew a deep breath, then knocked, "Open! In the name of the Republic!" For a time there was no reply. Then, the sound of scratching. Frowning, Agupta took out a blaster and aimed a shot at the lock. TSEWW. There was a click. The scratching grew louder.

Blaster out, Agupta kicked at the door. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM--it flew inwards.

A flash of pale flesh. The strong odor of spices. Crouched at the doorway was a pale, gaunt creature: a rakghoul with a shock of black hair. There were scratches on its arm. Beyond it, on the floor, lay a pair of blasters.

"Ahk.. Ughh...akhhh," it said, unmoving. Agupta raised his gun.

"Ahgg....ugghhhpp...ttt..Aaaahg."

Agupta shot.

[Audaine]

 “<:: Contact... Survivor, looks young. Advise.” Gauss otherwise signalled as Bravo praised his hand to the commlink atop his helm. Charlie reeled his rifle over, focussed his sights. Delta cleared his eyes with a few rapid blinks, fixated his scope on...

“H-help, please... I-I’m-“ A teenage female staggered forward. Her arms were clawed to shreds, features incredibly pale, hair in tattered clumps that swayed about her shoulders; it was caked thick with greenish looking liquids as well as maroon coagulated strains. Her clothing looked as if it smelled worse than it looked, tattered to pieces that hung by mere strands of fabric weave.

“<:: Infected, late stage. Actual, please advise.” Charlie murmured absently, his fingers glazing over the hair trigger of his rifle in case she turned as soon as she was in distance to harm. “<:: This is GRID Actual, we’ll rendezvous with you asap. Secure, observe, report.”

“<:: You, halt! Keep-your-distance!” Charlie boomed, holding his hand out in a gesture of pause, though she kept staggering forward, weeping tears and mumbling incoherent phrases. Bravo fixed his Squad Automatic Weapon to an overturned dumpster, settled the humming barrel to the woman’s torso. “<:: Final warning! Keep back or we WILL open fire!” They had been through this so many times, survivors having been shaken to the core until even orders from authority were nothing. Shellshock, Post-traumatic stress disorder.

“<:: Kriff it. Incapacitating.” Gauss tilted his heavy weapon down, let free a rapid arc that dug through one of her knees. With a strained and hoarse yelp the girl collapsed to the flooring below her, sobbing as she resorted to dragging herself forward.

Akimbo hammering of plated sprinting drummed through the infected street ways until Alpha and Echo met with the brunt of their squad. “<:: Grabbing a blood sample. Euthanize please, put her out of suffering. Nothing we can do for her.” Echo muttered quietly, Charlie complied, drifted a single blaster round into the struggling woman’s forehead. It was the quickest way, the most resource efficient. “<:: Thirty-two...” He murmured. “<:: Stop keeping track. It’s depressing enough we can’t save them all.” Echo droned in response, taking the chance available to her to extract an assortment of tissue and blood samples.

It was an excellent distraction, the girl. Rakghouls were learning, adapting. A few of the runner varieties scurried over rooftops, out of distance for the biotic scanning arrays that gave them early warning of flanking rakghouls. They cackled softly at these armoured humans. Canned food.

“<:: Right, done. Boss?” Echo muttered.
“<:: Sweep, sterilize, ripcord. Daybreak is a few hours out, best we get back soon.” He responded, looking over the street. Tonight was a complete failure in his mind. Thirty two survivors in hiding and thirty two had to be ‘sterilized’. The term was disgusting, but it was code they responded to. At least Echo called it Euthanize.

Separating yellow and red sectors were long and heavy ferrocrete barriers designed to withhold against even a dense orbital bombardment. Hastily erected and placed between abandoned city blocks to reduce building costs, they worked effectively. The walls stood near four to five stories high, as thick as two to three meters. All camera feeds that kept watch on the walls would show a few feral rakghouls inspecting the walls, occasionally attempting to scale it but struggling without the grip on a smooth concrete surface.

Learn, adapt. There was a sub-breed of rakghouls seldom seen, a runner breed that had claws able to pack into dense surfaces to obtain a grip capable of scaling most surfaces. A lone nekghoul stood by, lead the rakghouls by his sentiency and hive-mind like aura. The force was a strange thing.
Runners stacked up on the wall, held in tight. A ladder... A ladder of rakghouls? Then the other lowly rakghouls had begun to scale their backs, each hissing in insatiable appetite and desire to infect any and everything.

“<:: What the f- Belt it! They’re climbing over the wall!” Delta roared through the commlink. At first it was hands groping at the lip of the wall, then it was lone bodies spilling over. Then, it was a wave of them tiding over and crashing to the floor. Those that didn’t survive the fall made a mattress of flesh for the rest to land on. The sniper flicked the safety off the weapon, allowing the chamber to pump with reactive gas, the focussing lens glimmering in the moonlight. Pang, Pang, Pang. Rakghouls thinned in numbers; though it wasn’t enough to slow them.

“<:: The kriff?! I’ll cover! All of you, ripcord! RIP-CORD!” Gauss boomed, kicking the safety off the SAW once more, setting it to rip out a flurry of dancing lasers out into the white and grey pulsating crowd that begun to sprint down the street towards the soldiers.

Follow them. We cannot see without you. The runners atop the roofs dashed about, the local hive mind keeping track on their movements and showing the other rakghouls where to weave about the debris on the street with the birds eye vantage.

“<:: Oh crap- oh crap!” Fochpin spluttered, his legs growing cool and almost non-responsive. Time slowed for a moment, all he able to hear is a haze of snarling and insatiable hisses. The black beady eyes of each rakghoul all glaring at the soldiers. “<:: FOCH! WAKE UP!” Alpha pulled out his flare and shot a bright corona of red and pink into the midnight sky, advance enough to get the attention of the quarantine zone a good distance ahead. The three turned on their heels, felt the burn of adrenaline pulsate through their legs and chest as they crushed glass, paper and metal beneath their heavy clanking boots.

“<:: This is Delta, I’m bugging. Bravo, get out and advance with the rest!”  The sniper hissed, pulled away his rifle and sunk back into the apartment he’d come into. It was dark, a good as a nest as any if he was compromised, a plentiful spot to hide.

“<:: I am holding! Rest of you, get the crap out of dodge!” His weapon was hot to touch already, having not paused to let the weapon discharge the heat gathering in the focussing chamber. It’d risk exploding in a blaze of superheated gas if he didn’t. His window to up and leave was long gone, he’d be caught and taken to the ground below and sentenced to being eaten and otherwise clawed to death to only reawaken as a heavily armoured rakghoul. Chattachattachatta, he spent his final moments rippling a scythe of red hot death over the crowd. Then, a rakghoul pounced him from the side. Some of the crowd pulled away from their dauntless advance to deafen out his screams with their mass.

“<:: Oh force... Blocking Bravo.” His entire demise was recorded to the GRID squad, his commlink active. Delta stood in the middle of the room, cradling his rifle. He couldn’t leave; he’d have to hold out until rescue arrived. The sound of Gauss dying however... Delta pulled off his helmet and tossed it onto the overturned bed in bewilderment. A man normally of no weakness buckled, a pious yellow bile escaped his gut and throat.

“<:: G-hGha-auss!” Charlie wheezed as he vaulted over turned vehicles, old barricades erected by law enforcement in the early days. His brother in arms, he heard it all. The desperation in his weeping, the snarls that mingled in the transmission and still did. His mind was racing, he had no focus to mute him- survival instinct was screaming at him as did mortality.

The outpost, it was closing. The floodlights that illuminated the approach to the heavy gates and large guard towers were almost blinding through the three’s visors. They could hear the rakghouls behind them, there was no chance to pause and turn, let alone look. “<:: OPEN, THE, GATE!” Screamed the three of them in garbled unison. The message got through; the heavy iron portal drew to the side and made them a window to enter.

“<:: G-gau-gauss...” Charlie sobbed as he took the lead, was blinded by the floodlights. He thought for a moment he’d died and ascended to an unknown plane. The lights were so bright, blindingly so. Then hands pulled at him, tried to stop him. He slammed into a wall of sorts and keeled over, the hands still trying to drag him down. “<:: Get off me! G-Get off me you bloody beasts!” He screamed, though a hand jerked forward and clocked him heavy in the sternum, took the wind out of him. Rak’s didn’t punch, it occurred to him in a moment of struggle. He was home.

Alpha felt his legs burn in overexertion, the fear of slowing griping at his chest. He could see Echo in the corner of his panicked tunnel vision, her mighty waltz of dedication to see another dawn. He knew she was in the same state as him; they shared that much in common. The violating floodlights were beginning to suffer him, he couldn’t see. Then his bought caught on something, he toppled. “<:: KRIFF!”

Echo saw his fall in the corner of her peripheral, slowed to turn and examine her lover on his chest. Seconds away from being at the end of this wall of rakghoul. She pulled out her repeater pistol, fired towards the crowd in tandem with the gatekeepers behind her. “<:: VESKER! GET-UP!” The medic emptied her lungs in a haughty scream, almost feeling the trampling of the rakghouls ahead rumble into her boots. The screams of the soldiers behind her pleading for her to abandon her comrade and return were faded, sounded muffled as the sound of blaster fire and blood pumping through her ears became heavy.

Alpha pulled himself up, attempted to crawl his way forward. Then the tide of infection lost him beneath their fleshy mass. Echo was pulled down by various few who pounced, their screams filling the local communication network. The gateway was raised, rakghouls near vaulting through the opening. Seconds almost too late, a few got caught in the way and were crushed.

“<:: Vesker? Hasken? Tondra...?” The delirious Charlie was dragged away, asking in hope that Hasken the sniper would growl at him, Tondra would whine about his and Gauss’ cigarra smoking or Vesker to reprimand him. Nobody responded, only the blazing klaxon sirens that warned green sector of the rakghoul tide, the loud banter of soldiers that dragged him away. He was the sole survivor... It hit him in the gut, a cold pitiful feeling of morose and anguish.

Back in the thick of the now rakghoul-claimed city, Delta – Hasken sat in a cool and damp corner of the apartment, tucked in a foetal position. He could hear Fochpin crying for a response, the radio feeds of both Vesker and Tondra now loud pitched ringing as the signals were lost and cut free. He heard it all.
“<:: This is Vrukker Hasken, Sergeant first class. I am stranded in what was yellow sector, my beacon is active. GRID squad is broken and divided. If anyone can hear this... Burn the city. For the love of the Republic, burn it all.”
Then the door was hit, groaned in protest of the weight of what hit it. The sniper looked at the door, frowned in a defeated sorrow. He took his sidearm, checked it was working. He’d not give them the satisfaction of turning him as well as his wife, his daughter.

[Aredanus]

0350 HOURS
I counted the seconds passing, as the dropship sped down towards the surface. It was a maneuver done mane times on Halmaya, but now we used it here, some infected world known as Alderaan. The Battlecruiser Reclaimation had dumped three dropships from low orbit. ETA to surface: 10 minutes...

0355 HOURS
I looked around the interior. Darkness surrounded all but my faithful soldiers. 'The Lucky Dozen' Republic soldiers had dubbed us. A silly name. Data of this planet showed it looked a lot like home, Halmaya, but there was no Ralaya or Obrist Township here. We were here to stop an infection. Rakghoul Virus they call it. We aren't exterminators, but if they're sending us here, there must be something to fight.

0358 HOURS
The dropship doors opened. This planet did look like home. The wind was chilled and snow dotted the landscape. There were also massed groups of greyish organisms everywhere. The infection. We would be dropping into the thick of it.

0359 HOURS
Alarms clanged. The doors resealed. Landfall in thirty seconds. I counted them down. We had to be very precise. I felt us falling, falling, falling. CRUSH. We slammed into something organic, not the ground. We took assault postions. The doors opened, and we saw what we were really dealing with. A horde of creatures. Larcentis had faced a Halmayian horde when he united us under the White Kyrak. Odalphin faced the Human hordes of the Invansion. Now I, Aredanus Pervaiyus Marr, would face the Rakghoul horde of Alderaan.

0401 HOURS
'Shel'yen Ai'teer' I cried. 'For Victory, Honor'. Whatever howls the creatures made, were drowned out by the fire of Halmayian Assault Cannons.

[recoveringgeek]

Alderaan

House Trader's Circle

"Now that is a damn big drill."

"GONK, GONK-GONK. BORCHA."

Jaade looked at the Gonk droid beside him.

"No, you can't go offer to plug in and boost their revolutions. That hole is crawling with angry, hungry, infected... you know what? Sure. Go knock yourself out. Or down."

"The drill site is quite safe Captain, I assure you. The deeper caverns, that is the domain of the T.H.O.R.N. volunteer exploratory forces."

Captain Jaade regarded the young uniformed woman who approached him.

"Volunteers? Not sure I'd call living bait a voluntary position. More like a paid advance on your life insurance policy for next-of-kin. Look darlin', I'm looking for customs. Chief inspector Riddell. Sorry lookin' son of a mynock. You'll probably find him in the contraband office, sneaking a sip of smuggled vysint."

"I am Chief Inspector Riddell, Captain."

"That's cute darlin'. I didn't realize he was trying to develop a sense of humor after all those years of being a hard-nosed, stubborn, credit-stacking bureaucrat."

"I'm the daughter of the hard-nosed, stubborn, sorry looking son-of-a-mynock Captain. My Father retired two seasons ago."

"..."

"Now, I assume this your shipment behind you. I presume you have your bill of lading in order? We'll discuss your unorthodox landing permit in a moment."

"Daughter? Well, it looks like he managed to ensure one delivery arrived on time, and intact. He never mentioned his daughter was following in his footsteps... "

Inspector Riddell thumbed through the datapad manifest, replying to Jaade without looking up.

"You know how it is with us bureaucrats Captain. All those credits to stack. Now, do you care to explain how exactly you ended up with a shipment of titanium bearings rated for asteroid grade excavations? This supplier has an exclusive contract Captain, for dig sites on Dromund Kaas."

"Are they? You never do know what you'll find on the secondary marke... "

"I am also curious how it is you arrive one week before our next delivery of diamond-etched drills heads right as our number two drill went off-line?"

"The thing is darlin', there are these slicers out there, selling information to whomever happens to bring them hot-caf first thing in the morning. Seems they don't like to walk around on cold deck plates in their delicate bare feet, so they fix their mirrored eyes on you with this certain look... "

"Unfortunately for you - darling - I could fine you right here and now for that little stunt you pulled in low-orbit. The quarantine approach grids for all off-planet traffic are in place for very good reasons. Evading T.H.O.R.N. interdiction and inspection vessels is punishable under the Emergency Measures Act."

"Evading? The hell I did. I saw two bulk cruisers looking ready to engage in some war simulations, so I gave them the breathing room they so obviously neede... "

"Captain, falsifying your landing permit with stolen diplomatic clearance codes is a violation on an entirely higher level. Punishable with fines, incarceration, and impounding your vessel."

Jaade fixed the fiery customs official with a furrowed gaze.

"The hell you will."

Chief Inspector Riddell didn't budge from her stance, meeting the aged spacer's stare with her own.

"I can cite four different import/export violations on your cargo manifest alone Captain."

"Let's address your most grievous error in judgment however, shall we? Your blatant disregard for the lives of those fighting to keep Alderaan safe. Who exactly is it that you think comprises the bulk of the volunteers Captain? Native Alderaanians. People like my brother. I assure you, he is anything but live bait."

"..."

"Do you even understand what it means to stand on the brink of losing not just your home, but your entire way of life? You come here, with smuggled goods, on forged manifests, using sliced clearance codes, and you expect Alderaan to just kiss your backside in gratitude?"

"Look, I saw a chance to get your operation back online... "

"You saw a chance to line your pockets with credits Captain. Alderaan has no complaint with the exhange of free commerce. I do have a problem when the galaxy looks to profit not just in our moment of need, but on the bodies of our dead and dying."

"Look, I'm just here to make a delivery. You got a moral objection? Go take it up with House Wymarc. I'm sure they can siphon off a few hundred thousand credits to buy you all the drill heads you need."

"Baron Wymarc has removed himself from the public eye Captain. It's is up to all the houses of Alderaan to burn this plague into extinction. Not to mention the sacrifice House Wymarc has already made in leading the fight against the killik incursions into our settled lands."

"See, that was the one thing your Father understood about the shipping business. Don't bring politics into it. Supply, and demand. Profit, and loss. Let the politicians work out which side of the border you get taxed on."

Riddell stepped forward, shoving her finger in Jaade's face.

"My Father, Captain, gave his entire career in service to Alderaan. He inspired his children to follow him with pride into careers that helped ensure Alderaan remains a free, prosperous system. His retirement gift? Plague, devastation. Watching Alderaan tear itself apart. What you call politics, I claim as personal."

"You want to fine me, go ahead. You want to impound my shipment? Dangerous, but your call. I'd hate to see House Trader's Circle get the wrong reputation amongst independent tramp freighter Captains right when you need reliable deliveries most of all."

Jaade pointed a finger skyward.

"Those Capital ships in orbit? They ain't there to keep smugglers out. They're keeping the plague in. You know damn well the Republic and the Empire won't risk the plague getting off-world, and catching a ride to the Core worlds, or anywhere else that threatens their safety."

"It's our safety that concerns me Captain, when hot shot fly boys run the blockade and risk even tighter flight restrictions... "

"You ever stop and think why I came here, now? Why I came asking for your Father when any of these datapad pushers around us could have signed off on my shipment, and be none the wiser?"

"You hoped to take advantage of your relationship with my Father to bypass any... "

"I wanted to ensure the smartest customs official in this hemisphere not only took possession of my cargo, but ensured it got to the crews that needed it most. Someone who knew the system well, and wouldn't let valuable parts get lost in processing or decontamination vaults."

"..."

"I could have re-sold these parts to Dromund Kaas, or any one of a dozen deep space drilling crews who'd pay a lot of credits for top-grade components. Instead I brought them here, since I knew having your number two drill offline for an extended period could be the difference between controlling the plague, or having to fire bomb it from the air."

Jaade leaned forward a little as he spoke.

"Regardless of who's brother was leading the hunt."

Chief Customs Inspector Riddell stood her ground as she and Jaade took their measure of each other. The Gonk droid shuffled slightly during the extended silence, the hydraulics in his legs whirring.

"I'm deducting thirty-five percent from your usual commission Captain, for possession of stolen diplomatic codes, and unauthorized flight paths."

"Fifteen percent, and I get the first call over the comm for your next emergency shipment."

"Twenty-five, and you pay full price for priority Alderaanian clearance codes for preferred freight haulers."

"Twenty percent, and you ensure a certain retired Chief Customs Inspector gets my application to the top of the queue."

"We have an agreement, Captain. Welcome to House Trader's Circle."

[Vastar]

"Sweeping left."

The sergeant kicked the door into the the shoddy moisture farm's main building. It had long since been abandoned and any sense of security had fallen with erosion. It's only saving grace was the partially burried nature of the dwelling, not leaving much walling to fall to the same fate.

"Clear left!"

"Clear right!"

"Alright, set up in the main room - Cooper, Bradley, on the door. They come our way, funnel them in through the hallway." Field Colonel Sharak Vastar pointed with his uninjured hand to two locations their heavy weapons could find mounting. His own weapon was damaged far beyond repair, and his injured arm assured him he wouldn't be able to use it well enough anyway. Instead he carried a backup pistol and concentrated on his men's positions.

"Yessir. On it."

Affirmations echoed all around the now-seven-man squad as they prepped the building for defense. In the second room, a portable comm pack was being turned into a call station. Trained and panicked men work quickly.

Vastar keyed up the portable comm, setting it to the patched frequency Saura Colton had rigged just hours before. "General, Senator, we need evac - repeat, immediate evac. Single squad pinned down north of transmitted coordinataes. We are unable to make previous rondevoux. Repeat need immediate extra--"

"Colonel, General Womac, we hear you loud and clear. A shuttle is being prepped and will be your way presently. What's the situation?"

"We've encountered a heavy Exchange resistance force... Along with rakghouls. The fighting is chaotic, at best."

"Rakghouls, you say?" The heavy-set human male almost seemed to sneer.

"Rakghouls, Senator. We need that evac."

"It's on its way, Colonel." The General nodded her head quickly. Though she was aged for a mirialan, her eyes were still sharp - and even over a holo showed she knew exactly the kind of enemy they would face without help.

"No, it won't be, General. The Republic's stance on the Rakghoul spread on outer rim worlds is one of distance. This is THORN's territory now."

"Excuse me?"

"No offense, Colonel, but the Republic just can't be involved with a Rakghoul scandal right now. You're to pull out. Your orders were--"

"--My orders were go fuck yourself, Senator. I still have men up there! General--"

The Senator did something to the comm channel that forced the General's end silent. "The General is no longer in control of this situation. And, clearly, neither are you. I suggest contacting THORN while you still can."

"I'll see you in hell, Senator."

The Senators only response was only a swift and slight smile before terminating the channel on all three sides, preventing Vastar's transmission of coordinates. Tracing the transmission would still be possible... But not in time.

The men covering the doorway exchanged glances, before looking back at Vastar. "So, uh, what's the word, Colonel?"

Vastar could only turn to look at them, his face a mix of pain and rage.

"Colonel?"

Slowly, he let out a breath, and checked his blaster pack. "They're not coming."

Everyone around him instinctively checked their blaster packs as well, and more glances were exchanged. Outside, the eerie 'scree!' noises of their foe closed in. It wouldn't be long, and there were many of them.

"We're on our own."

[Cordae]

Crazy Feth

- - Tatooine, Mos Ila, Main Street - -

Ricker tromps up the steps to the Mos Ila spaceport, his standard-issue Erinian las-rifle held tightly in his hands. In a waist-mounting sling sits another weapon of Erininan design, some kind of stocky, carbine-shaped thing with wooden accents. He looks around, carefully peering around corners, boxes, and the occasional Jawa junk cart, then quickly sprints up the starport’s front steps. Families and vagrants huddle next to each other against the starport’s outer walls, safe from harm but nothing else as a vicious wind whips through them. Ricker curses under his breath as he marches past two idling security droids and turns back to look over the elevated view of the city. This was some feth.

_

Cleared by central traffic, Foha guides the Clawsmith into the docking bay. She powers down the ship slowly, stretching, then heads toward the exit hatch. The spaceport authorities were oddly specific in their inquiries prior to landing. What did they mean, did she wish to stay indefinitely? Foha frowns, walking down the ramp to solid ground. She sees Ricker at the hangar entrance, kit and all. Breaking in to a smile, Foha waves, "Hey!"

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and smiles back. He holds his arms out, expecting one of the hugs he had come to miss dearly, particularly under present circumstances. Foha dashes into Ricker's arms and hugs him tightly. "I'm glad to see you."

"Great to see you too!" Drawing back, she gazes at Ricker. "What's going on?"

Ricker lingers, holding tightly to her, then pulls back slightly to speak. "…You know anything about rakghouls?" He asks, tugging at his gun's strap.

Foha wrinkles her nose. "Rakghouls? What's that gotta do with anything?" She pauses. "Are you getting sent out to fight them? They can't have made it Erini?"

Ricker quickly puts his hands on her shoulders to calm her. "No, no, nothing like that. Thank feth nothing like that.”  It's...uh... Well, you'll see. You should see for yourself. Come on." Foha follows after Ricker, puzzled. Her hand strays to her blaster, fingers resting lightly on the handle as he leads her to the starport's main hall.

THORN operatives and volunteers are everywhere and in the middle of a hundred different epicenters of motion, wheeling around large crates with biohazard stickers to and fro, directing lines, and conducting bioscans. Spacers, soldiers, and tramp freighter captains from all over are milling around, grounded indefinitely.

"Couple of days back, folks started getting strange reports...now, this.”

Foha studies the activity of the starport, frowning. "Kriffing fate... there's rakghouls here? Kriffing...” Foha looks at Ricker, distressed. “They won't let me take off will they?"

Ricker looks back at her for a while, then shakes his head. "No. Not with this still going on." He sighs, looking helpless. "I tried to tell you...THORN requisitioned the long-range comms as soon as they dropped in." He inhales deeply. "At any rate...I've gotten our place prepped. It's full of rations, aside from what was already there."

Foha squeezes Ricker's hand. "How bad is it? Are the ghouls everywhere?"

He squeezes her hand in return. "There are some sections of town, way off to the north that people have been told to keep -out- of. They roam around down there. There's no curfew...but you'd be a fool to be out in the dark with all this feth."

Foha nods. "Seen some of the Tarisian ones. Then I heard 'bout Alderaan and kept well away from them." She pauses and mumbles, "Sometimes I think it's worse than the Taint." She casts a THORN member a look, then quickly looks away before anyone gets any ideas about searching her. "What d'we do then? Sit tight? What about company folk?"

“As far as I know, people are safe. I think a couple of runners are unaccounted for, but it's no one we know. They probably bugged off, headed to Anchorhead or one of the outposts. They're smart," he says, smiling and nodding reassuringly. "They'd have known what to do." He looks around and nods at one of the THORN privates. The private nods back, apparently recognizing Ricker.

Foha looks at the sea of faces: spacers, travellers, THORN members, local refugees, all mingling in the spaceport, which is busy even on a good day. Here and there, children cry, tear-streaked, wandering among the temporary enclosures that provide food and water and treatment. She frowns. "Kriff."

He sighs, then nods. "Yeah… Oh! Before we leave."

Foha tilts her head curiously as Ricker angles them both away from the public eye and toward a shaded corner. He hands her a hypo-syringe.

"Vaccine. Don't, uh...make a big..y'know, show of it."

Foha looks at the syringe, then wrinkles her nose. She sighs softly, then with a glance to the left and right, and then straight at Ricker, Foha jabs the syringe into her arm. "Where'd you get it?"

Ricker hesitates for a second. "From…the THORN members over there..."

Foha follows his gaze. She whistles. "Stand in line for long?"

"Ha! Yeah, and for two? It was murder." He is lying, and quite badly.

She grins a for a moment, her eyes looking beyond him, then nudges him on the arm. "You ain't that patient. And you'd have had to stand there for days." She stares at the line, in particular an elderly twi'lek lady, wrapped in desert tunics, carrying all her belongings. "What d'you hafta give them?" Her green eyes meet his.

Ricker purses his lips, not excited about what he's about to tell her. "I've...y'know, I've got a certain set of skills. Good with a rifle, know how to teach people...When THORN came, I let 'em know our place had a sweet vantage point over most of the main cross-street. Could use it as a sniper tower if they needed. Started letting 'em come up." He snorts. "Some of those guys are green as hell. Fresh off the agri-farm, most. I started teaching 'em how to use the rifles they'd been given."

He continues. "Well...after talkin' with the lot of 'em, I started to get wise as to how bad things really were. They're containing this thing all over the planet. Supplies are thin."

Foha frowns. "They've been tramping all over our place?"

"Eh, they're alright. I made sure they didn't touch anything." He grins at her, then looks back at the line. "I got my vial pretty early. Bumped into them on their way down, actually. Then I realized you'd be back in a week. So, I made a trade. I'd lead some of them on their night raids, they'd get me a second vial."

Foha stares at Ricker for a moment. Suddenly, she lets out a long breath. "You coulda been bitten."

Ricker returns the look in her eyes, then nods after a particularly long second. "...Yeah. I could have."

"You still going out there?"

Ricker smiles, his eyes getting a bit glassy. "I don't have to anymore. I got your vaccine. It all paid off. Everything I saw, all that feth...at night." He cups one of her cheeks. "Everything's fine now."

Foha places her hands at Ricker's side. "Oh, you..." She sighs. "Thanks." After another moment, she says, "Next time you get a notion to go out there, you take me."

Ricker blinks at her. "You...want to go out there?"

Foha rolls her eyes with a small laugh. "No, I'd sooner kiss a rancor. But, if you're going out there, I'm gonna be with you."

Ricker snorts, then smiles at her. "Yeah. Right. Well. I dunno. I guess that's kind of up to you. Getting you that vaccine was my only priority for the past couple days...but these guys...They could really use a lot of help." He looks over at a billet of privates sitting around a collection of cots. One man is cleaning his rifle and has, for the third time now, put it together incorrectly. Ricker sighs at them. "A -lot- of help."

"Where do they recruit for these folks anyway? Can't imagine that many people willingly going after the rakghouls personally."

Ricker puts his hands on his waist, his bare upper arms a few shades darker than they had been before coming to Tatooine. "Well... MkTeeg over there is from Dantooine, so like I said, fresh off the farm. Hallinn is from Corellia, Dormida and Polstin are from Tygg and....I think Bastiff is from Coruscant. Like, ‘senator's son’ Coruscant."

"Huh. Senator let his precious son come out to middle of nowhere to shoot rakghouls?"

Ricker's gauntlets clack together as he crosses his arms. "Yeah, well," he says, grinning, "I don't think he clued daddy in until he was knee deep in sand. Actually, I think he's on a poster or two back there. Y'know, to drum up volunteers."

Foha thinks for a moment. "I just remember a lot of posters about Captain Ralakan, Hero of the Empire." She shakes her head and laughs. "I don't know what I'm thinking." She pauses.

Ricker looks over at her. "We don't have to go if you don't want. I'm probably going to work shifts on the porch with my rifle, but..."

"Good place to start." She claps his shoulder and starts walking again. "Whatever you do, I'll do,” she says again. “Besides, you said you wanted me to be a better shot.”

Ricker smiles and walks. "I did. Just...feth, I'd prefer paper targets to those monstrosities..." He spits on the sanded concrete landing as they step out.

Suddenly, at the far end of the main street in front of the spaceport, a parked speeder is inexplicably thrown from the ground and into a house. A fan engine explodes, shooting parts everywhere, but the speeder falls back to the ground harmlessly.

"What the kriff?" Foha squints over at the speeder.

An inhuman shriek follows from an alley near the speeder. A THORN private comes sprinting out of the alley followed closely by a small-ish rakghoul, no more than three feet tall.

Foha grabs her blaster, pointing it at the rakghoul. Ricker had been about to light the stub of a half-finished cigar, but spits it out, curses, and gives chase alongside Foha..

"These things come out during the day too? For some reason I thought they hated the light. Or was that some other kinda creature?" She rambles on, her eyes not leaving the creature.

Foha dashes after Ricker. "Do we -shoot- it?"

"Yeah, we fethin’ shoot it!" He drops to a knee, rifle raised, then yells at the sprinting man. "PICK IT UP, OJUUNA, GODDAMNIT!"

The terrified Sullustan named Ojuuna stumbles over his own feet, but quickly corrects. He swivels around and throws his rifle at the charging rakghoul, then resumes sprinting. By now, the commotion has attracted the attentions of several THORN sentries. One runs after Ricker and Foha while the other darts into the spaceport, yelling all the while.

Foha stops, arms raised, both hands gripping the blaster tightly. She's trembling and winded. She tracks the two runners for a while, human ahead, rakghoul behind. "Kriff..." Foha fires.

(( Esk says: /roll 1d100 ( Result: 24, Total: 24 ) ))

Ricker fires from a kneeling position.

(( Cordae says: /roll 1d100 ( Result: 76, Total: 76 ) ))

The shot goes wide, and Foha curses again.

Ricker's shot brains the pursuing rakghoul. Ojuuna flies panting wildly past Foha and is followed by a pungent, acrid stink that sticks to him. Though it might be difficult to tell with a Sullustan, anyone near enough would know that he was absolutely terrified.

She kneels, steadying herself, then fires once more.

(( Esk says: /roll 1d100 ( Result: 45, Total: 45 ) ))

Foha's shot hits the rakghoul after Ricker's already laid him low. She lowers her blaster, breathing heavily, looking around at the commotion that's gathered in the meanwhile.

Ricker sighs. "Feth." Just as he relaxes, the owner of that first curdling howl reveals himself. He's a massive, red-skinned rakghoul, a berserker. One other rakghoul, pale and covered in slime, climbs out of a trash recepticle near the large one. Ricker curses.

Foha stares at the berserker. "Someone give him stims?"

Ricker winces. "Yeah, we're trying to figure that shit out." He removes the weapon from his belt sling and tosses it to Foha. "Just point and shoot. Before he gets closer."

Foha admires the weapon for a moment, then lifts it in one smooth motion and shoots at the berserker.

(( Esk says: /roll 1d100 ( Result: 6, Total: 6 ) ))

The shot destroys the trash recepticle, and pieces fly everywhere, one piece bonking a fleeing bystander on the head. The bystander is knocked unconscious. "Kriff kriff kriff…"

"Aw, -come on-.." he sighs, then picks smooth, slender shell about a half foot in length from his belt, then tosses it to her. "It loads at the breech. Like, uh…Like...break it in half!" He makes a ‘breaking-in-half’ motion with his hands, then aims his rifle at the beast.

Foha "breaks the weapon in half" and loads the long shell. She lifts the weapon and aims. "Kriffing fate, this thing doesn't shoot like blaster at all." She pulls the trigger.

(( Esk says: /roll 1d100 ( Result: 47, Total: 47 ) ))

The shell hits the berserker in the chest. As it enters, the rakghoul's flesh begins to expand in a curious bubble. All is silent.... followed by a loud explosion where pieces of shredded ghoul are launched into the air, sizzling in a cloud of fire and smoke. The pieces land with a thump, and as the air clears. The berserker is gone. The smaller ghoul has been plastered against the remains of the trash recepticle, half-burnt.

Foha blinks as she lowers the scullaigh.

Somewhere behind them, a Twi'lek sergeant breaks the silence. "Whaaaat the fuuuuuck..."

"Good shot!" Ricker says cheerfully as he stands up and dusts the sand from his knees, not fazed by the carnage wrought by the ‘scu’.

Foha hands the weapon back to him. "What the kriff is that thing?" She turns to look at the pieces of the ghouls. "And what the kriff... are those things doing here? Thought the spaceport was secure."

Ricker blows a wisp of smoke away from the weapon’s ornate breech, then slides it back into its sling. "Yeah. That's the thing with rakghouls. Though, this zone's officer is behind us if you want to give him the piss. Nice one, Monita," he jeers, looking back toward the line of THORN volunteers. The look on the Twi’lek sergeant’s face is somewhere between embarrassment and sheer confusion.

Ricker turns to Foha, stopping. "I should check on Ojuuna...it's his first day,” he says, frowning. “Then we can go back to the apartment?"

Foha nods. "Looks like you found yourself a lot of newbies to help." She smiles. "I like that about you." She follows after Ricker toward the starport.

[Kremon]

-Transmission between a high-ranking Organa Noble and a Republic General.

"How's the situation on Alderaan?" "Going poorly, we thought we'd stopped the Rakghouls when we set up more proper defenses, but... the primary generator of Aldera's become a red zone, and that just so happens to be the power source for the defenses. Nothing else will be able to provide enough energy for the turbolasers." "Damn. Do you have any plans on re-taking it?" "We don't have the man-power, and even if we did, they're not good enough." "I might know who to send in..." "Who?" "We're sending in Major Exephos."

Exephos strode down off the shuttle ramp, regarding the capital city of Alderaan around him. Rellius had read over the man's service record, and was slightly nervous at bringing such a war machine to his homeworld. While he'd read a largely [RED-ACTED] report of the Major's profile, he still wasn't so sure at having him flown in. But, if he was ever to see the threat to his planet ended, he'd have to step up the heat. Then there was the 95th, two hundred and fifty men after Exephos's own heart; 'Get the job done. No matter the cost.' Having them taking care of his citizens made him shudder, but it's be far much worse for the Rakghouls, at least, that was assuming the Major even bothered to stay, it'd been made very clear in the report on him that he hated politicians. With that lovely thought in mind, Rellius stepped forward and held out his hand to shake while saying: "Major, it's good to have you with us." "Skip the small talk. What are my objectives?" Exephos asked, ignoring the hand instead preferring to cross his arms. Rellius couldn't see the man's face, but he imagined he was scowling. "Aldera's primary generator, we need you to recover it and hold it while our technicians start it up." The noble said, slowly lowering his hand. "I'll have that generator running within ninety-six hours. Think your forces can last that long?" The Major asked in a leering tone. "I'll make certain they do." Rellius replied, cowed at the unexpected hostility. "Good." The Major shot out, before striding past him towards one of his Captains who was managing the landing of more Republic transports.

"Alpha Manka taking the lead." Exephos strode along next to the walker as it thumped it's way forwards down the street, towards a massive gate. "Bravo Manka in third position." "Charlie in fourth." "Delta behind the point, second." Raising his wrist-comm, he spoke into it: "Anvil to all forces. Mankas, no matter what happens, you keep going. There will be no stopping unless ordered. Ground forces stay close to the Mankas and let me remind you all, we're not on a rescue mission, if you see anything closely resembling a rakghoul, blast it. We can confirm later." Lowering his wrist, he continued striding forwards as a cacophony of responses came back. "Affirmative." "Thunder squad is fully understanding." "Blast first, ask questions later, got it." "Roger that, Anvil." Residents of the green zone peeked out from behind corners or windows, watching the convoy march past. The silence besides the clacking of boots and mechanical stomping of the walkers was disconcerting, but he wouldn't let his confidence be undermined. All of the events on Alderaan were tiring, first the Civil War, then the Rakghoul threat. He was through with the planet, if he had to come back here one more time, he was glassing the planet. As the gate approached, solemn THORN and Republic guards deactivated the energy shielding, admitting the convoy through. Everything after this was un-secured territory.

-To be continued... 

[Sutorei]

"Load them up with as much baradium as they can carry."

Scottrys pinched the vulcanized rubber of his index and thumb against the bridge of his nose as he repeated the order he'd given time after time in the past few months. It had been a difficult week for what remained of the aliit, and those that had survived the campaign were doing what damage control they could.

When the first carriers were found in Mandalorian Space, the galaxy breathed a sigh of relief. The rakghoul plague was something that had been confined solely to a few celestial bodies in the Ojoster sector, the Mandalorians' neighbour, in decades past, and those Clans that traveled there usually only hunted them for sport. The general consensus of the galaxy at large was that the Mandalorians would once again realize that the rakghouls were a force to be reckoned with and would subsequently branch out to test their mettle against them like they did the Jedi during the Mandalorians Wars. This very well may have happened, if not for the fact that it only took a few short months for a wide-scale outbreak to hit Concord Dawn. The mostly agricultural planet was hardly a match for the virus, and it ran rampant through the lands like wild-fire. It wasn't long before it was just another Jebble, and all trade and transport there and back was ceased.

--

Scottrys rose from his chair, his hand falling to rest atop his helmet. The operation to retake Concord Dawn was a slow and painful process. Several of his verde were currently in varying stages of infection, and standard procedure dictated that they be given a means of glorious death, as opposed to bolstering the population of the creatures. This usually meant packing heavy amounts of high explosives on a timer and fighting in an infested zone until death, by rakghoul or explosion, took you.

The din of the camp broke him out of his trance as the flap of the tent was pulled away. A battle-worn suit of beskar'gam gave him a short inclination of the head before it, and the large pack weighing down its shoulders, disappeared from view. With a solemn exhale, the Mando'ad affixed his buy'ce to his head and connected the constraints that completed the circuit which activated his armour's electrical systems. He swept a hand across the table, collecting the baradium charges that lay in a line beside his personal data-pad.

His belt laden with explosive and personal ordinance, Scottrys ducked under the swathe of polyester and took his leave of the encampment.

[Kremon]

-Previously on... (You get the idea.)

"Shield's men, move it up here!" Someone hollered from the front of the convoy. In response, around thirty men hustled forwards carrying a shortened blaster carbine in one hand and a large thick durasteel shield in the other. The shields had been Exephos's idea. Originally, he'd conceived it as a defense against Sith but the trouble was that making an entire shield out of cortosis was very expensive, more expensive than what Republic Command was willing to pay. So instead he had them made of durasteel and used in rare occasions, mostly close quarters combat. But they'd seen action in peace-keeping duties as well. "Sir, we've got contacts." A sergeant called in through the com-link. "And you aren't blasting?" Exephos asked back. "Ehrm, no, sir. We'll engage now." Came the response, a touch embarrassed. Rather then replying, Exephos just grasped his rotary cannon and jogged forwards to the front of the convoy. Beside him, a Manka walker kept on stomping forwards. Judging the distance, he hefted his weapon upwards in one arm before leaping onto the side of the walker, grabbing hold of the service ladder thereon. Clambering up quickly, he stood atop it and so got a bird's eye-view of the skirmish.

 There was a pack of Rakghouls, perhaps twenty in all split about in twos and threes all across the street. A couple seemed to be eating something over on the right side, he didn't want to know what they were eating. "Lock shields!" A squad leader barked. In a line across the entire street, the dark gray shields went up with blasters being poked through the cracks. "Fire!" The squad leader ordered. At the second the shields went up the Rakghouls had already started charging so when the fire order was given, it was at a distance of about twenty paces that the volley hit the charging creatures straight on. The majority fell in the first volley, the bolts taking them in the legs just as his troops had been told to aim for.  A few remaining Rakghouls charged onward, right into the wall of shields. With a heave across the line, they were thrown back a couple of meters just before a second volley finished them off. "Extermination protocol!" The shields simultaneously went down to the sides and in pairs, the troopers went to each Rakghoul body, putting a round into every head. They approached the Rakghouls that had been merely shot in the legs hunched behind their shields just in case they leaped forwards. A few tried just that but rebounded right off the heavy metal before being quickly put down. The entire engagement went by quickly enough that the Mankas never had to stop.

An hour later and they'd made steady progress, pushing deep into the very edges of what was identified as the 'red' zone. Three streets down was the facility housing the generator. So far, they'd been able to engage the Rakghouls with minimal casualties, the shields being particularly effective along with the heavy-duty under-hand style flamethrowers he'd requisitioned specifically for this mission. "Alpha walker engaging targets." Exephos's com-link buzzed right before the Manka on his right paused and fired two quick bursts of high velocity plasma bolts with a tremendously loud boom each time. Just ahead, the entire front of a house caved in from the explosive ordnance. The rakghouls that it'd targeted went flying, dead from the shockwave before the fireball could get them. Charging at the convoy due to the resulting noise, two packs slammed into the shield wall that'd been raised at the second the cannons fired. A quick melee resulted before the rakghouls were pushed back with the aid of a few vibro-blade wielding infantry that he'd decided to mix among the shield's men halfway through. "Clear!" A squad leader called out. Striding on-wards with the rest of the convoy. Exephos let himself have a small mental celebration. This operation was going quite well, un-feasibly so. Perhaps this would not be as difficult as Republic Command had made it out to be.

How wrong he was, as he was soon to find out...

-To be continued...