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Post by Rugs on Feb 28, 2019 17:35:06 GMT -5
The Enduring Flame was, by a wide margin, the largest ship Locke had ever laid eyes on in his life. The titan of a dreadnought loomed at the heart of the Republic fleet that had arrived some hours ago at Bothawui. It dwarfed the Vim, an Alliance-class cruiser where the Jedi investigator stood, looking through a round spaceport and the task port and dappled-green and blue world below.
“Dropship’s ready,” a soldier muttered as he strolled by, gear jostling loudly over his armor. Locke nodded. He started to turn to leave, but hesitated, looking at Bothawui once again. If he concentrated, he could feel the sickness on the world below through the Force, despite the serene appearance from hundreds of miles up in orbit.
It was twisted. Alien. Wrong.
Archeri.
Locke shook his head. Getting more used to those damn things than I’d like. But who wasn’t, at this point? He picked his light armor suit’s helmet off of a crate and left to join the strike team.
The Vim’s hangar was abuzz with motion — a smaller mirror of the activity thrumming through the task fleet. The Republic was involved in operations across the planet to retake it from the Archeri Chorus and to contain the Plague’s spread.
Locke, for his part, was joining a team of special forces on a run to the Foredi Refugee Camp. They were, officially, to clear the camp of any hostiles and evacuate refugees to a more secure site the Republic had established near Covepi’starn.
But something about the mission didn’t sit right with Locke. Major General Beshav Hildern, who’d personally ordered the task, was a strangely guarded man, and Locke had heard whispers that he had a particularly nasty streak during the war.
This isn’t the war, Locke thought as he joined his team. These are our own people. About a dozen of them milled about, waiting for the back of the dropship to open. Many had a blacked sigil of the Republic's winged crest on their armor shoulders.
“Glad of you to join us, Master Jedi.” Captain Osto Vekarr stood at the group’s fore as the dropship’s rear hatch lowered with a hiss of steam. He was a man of medium height, solidly built with dark hair trimmed short against his head. A pale scar lined his right cheek. “I understand you’ve got experience with these Archeri fuckers.”
“More than I’d like,” Locke said. “Less than might be as useful as we’d all hope.”
Vekarr smiled. “Well at least someone’s been hands-on with what we’re up against here. We’ve got two we’re waitin’ on and we’ll be off. Command wants this mission done fast and done quiet. In and out.”
“Dropship’s ready,” a soldier muttered as he strolled by, gear jostling loudly over his armor. Locke nodded. He started to turn to leave, but hesitated, looking at Bothawui once again. If he concentrated, he could feel the sickness on the world below through the Force, despite the serene appearance from hundreds of miles up in orbit.
It was twisted. Alien. Wrong.
Archeri.
Locke shook his head. Getting more used to those damn things than I’d like. But who wasn’t, at this point? He picked his light armor suit’s helmet off of a crate and left to join the strike team.
The Vim’s hangar was abuzz with motion — a smaller mirror of the activity thrumming through the task fleet. The Republic was involved in operations across the planet to retake it from the Archeri Chorus and to contain the Plague’s spread.
Locke, for his part, was joining a team of special forces on a run to the Foredi Refugee Camp. They were, officially, to clear the camp of any hostiles and evacuate refugees to a more secure site the Republic had established near Covepi’starn.
But something about the mission didn’t sit right with Locke. Major General Beshav Hildern, who’d personally ordered the task, was a strangely guarded man, and Locke had heard whispers that he had a particularly nasty streak during the war.
This isn’t the war, Locke thought as he joined his team. These are our own people. About a dozen of them milled about, waiting for the back of the dropship to open. Many had a blacked sigil of the Republic's winged crest on their armor shoulders.
“Glad of you to join us, Master Jedi.” Captain Osto Vekarr stood at the group’s fore as the dropship’s rear hatch lowered with a hiss of steam. He was a man of medium height, solidly built with dark hair trimmed short against his head. A pale scar lined his right cheek. “I understand you’ve got experience with these Archeri fuckers.”
“More than I’d like,” Locke said. “Less than might be as useful as we’d all hope.”
Vekarr smiled. “Well at least someone’s been hands-on with what we’re up against here. We’ve got two we’re waitin’ on and we’ll be off. Command wants this mission done fast and done quiet. In and out.”