“We have all been out of the fight for too long.” The words had bubbled up unbidden from the lips of the Twi’lek Marauder. The Sadowan Rollmaster peered down at her weapon’s bright, violet blade for a moment, as though contemplating her own words more carefully. The emotion she felt was not immediately evident. After a few moments, the Twi’lek gave the tip of the lightsaber a wiggle, before slashing at the air with the well-worn weapon. She appeared to bitterly relish the words. The tone and inflection of the words drew pointed attention from the Corellian Sith. Though he was obviously interested in hearing more, the scarred Consul’s gaze shifted between either of his Sith comrades.
His expression was a mixture of appreciation and apprehension. In that moment, it did not appear that she had any regard for her husband. His feelings, his attitude, his composure or lack thereof- none of it meant a karking thing to Tasha’Vel in that moment. Rather than the woman that Bentre Stahoes had married, she was a wicked predator of the watery deeps. She was on the hunt and there was already Collective blood in the water.
“Calm down, both of you.” Stahoes’ words were firm, but not angry. “There will be so many chances to unleash your rage before this day is up. We have so much to do, and our ride home is not going anywhere just yet. You do not need to release all your rage to such waste.” Taking short hops from boot to foot in a jig of jittery energy, Bentre let loose a shuddering sigh. “All you need to do is draw a few slow breaths, and push down your desire for vengeance for a time. Do not stomp out that fire, but slowly stoke the embers. Leash your wrath for a time. Instead wait for the perfect moment to let loose the fiery hounds of your retribution!”
“Nonsense.” The single word of the muscular human Sith was presenting cold refusal, with no sign of either compromise or capitulation. Krennel was now stalking down the hallway, followed closely by the female Versea. The pair were dangerously brandishing their weapons as they traveled down the hallway.
The Sith Warlord shook his head, walking quickly behind to keep pace with the incensed pair. He poked at his datapad thoughtfully. The briefing and initial intelligence files scrolled down the screen. If they were careful, they might be able to make the rest of their journey relatively unseen. If a turbolift could be located, their arrival on the bridge would merely be a matter of time.
“We will need to work quickly.” The Corellian Shadow announced his words decisively. “So tell me, Jurdan, what do you really believe that we ought to do in this situation? What cunning plan do your propose?”
The Dakhani man paused mid step and turned sideways to stare down his friend and Consul. His expression became markedly darker. “Did you forget what we experienced on Nancora, Bentre? Did you forget the things we lost, the wounds we endured, the people who died?” His eyes narrowed. “I did not and have not. I am with Tasha’Vel. We have been dealt several grievous wounds by the Collective. It is time to start repaying the outstanding debt I cannot and I will not allow all that pain to be for nothing.”
The Corellian drew a sharp breath. “Fine.” The scarred man looked between the male and female Sith now standing defiantly before him. The word did not elicit the reaction the Clan leader had expected. Instead, it seemed to harden their resolve. “Yet, I ask you one thing. Help me to help you both. We need a path up to the bridge. Help me to find a console to work from. With data access, we can pull the blueprints of the ship. Hopefully we will be able to disable some of the security measures. We get that much closer to the big event: a chance to take the bridge.”
“Just give me some Collective bodies and fifteen minutes. I will take care of the rest.” Krennel’s voice was low and menacing.
“It looks,” Stahoes pointed behind his compatriots, “like you both may have an easier time of it than you had first expected.” The Twi’lek and human turned around. A pair of muscular, hairless soldiers had rounded the corner of an nearby intersecting hallway. The new enemies started by smartly snapping their blaster rifles to attention.
Each drew a bead on their own choice of target. Meanwhile, or the pair of Battlemasters, there was no need to come to agreement. The two worked together in a flawless tandem, bringing the ire of the disciples of Sadow down upon the soldiers in quick succession. The screams were short-lived, leaving lifeless flesh fit only to be fed to the lowest of hounds.
“Where did he get off to now?” The Twi’lek wondered aloud. She was left without an answer for but a moment. Three, heavy metallic clangs met the question before an inconspicuous hatch laid into the wall had opened. The head of the Sadowan Consul poked out from behind it. “You know what?” There was a hint of laughter in the man’s voice. “I think I like this idea better. We could spend ages with their computer system. I want to save my time for the core, and this looks like it will be more fun.” The Corellian winked.
A moment of silence followed the remark. The mirth on the Walord’s face turned to disappointment, before slipping into mock hurt.
“Maintenance tunnels,” Krennel’s voice was begrudging but curious, “or something else?”
“Oh yes! Lovely things, really they are. The maintenance tubes will let us probe deeper into the depths of the ship. We can just climb past additional hostile forces. A little faster, we can make our way up toward the bridge. After all, didn’t you two want to cause some havoc?” Stahoes grinned. “More than that, didn’t you want to get into the real fight, Jurdan?”
