Terran spared a glance down the frescoed hallway in either direction, then ducked back into the supply closet. It was dark, it was dingy, and best of all, it was private. Still, they can spend billions of credits on tapestries and murals of fictitious Kajidic accomplishments, but they can’t spare a little bleach for their janitorial closets? Karkin’ Hutts. Engaging the lock on the doorway’s control panel, he pulled out his datapad and called back up the floor plans to the crime lord’s abode. A translucent blue dot marked his location on the palace’s second floor. Two red markers, one atop the other with three floors in between, sandwiched his location. I’ll only have a few minutes, max, to make it from one target to the other. And there’s got to be at least a hundred guards in between. How can I—
The thought was cut short as a particularly heavy stomp on the floor above caused flakes of plaster to rain down from the ceiling. By the Force, the Kiffar thought irritatedly. Loosen up the purse strings a bit, Mr. Big Fancy Crime Lord, before your pet Gamorreans start falling through the floor. Terran ran his free hand through his brown hair, ruffling away bits of dust and plaster and eyeing the ceiling with ire. Then he stopped, mid-motion, a grin rising to his face. That just might do the trick, he thought, pocketing his datapad and retrieving his lightsaber from its wrist-bound sheath. Yeah, that should do nicely.
Stretching out with his mind, searching for gaps in the presence of lifeforms on the floors above and below, he lit his amber blade and set to work.
With a grunt of effort, Terran dragged his saber through the last inch of stone, connecting either end of the circle in the floor before him. People often thought lightsabers precluded friction, cutting through any surface without resistance. People were wrong. The strain of keeping the blade precisely angled only added to the effort, and Terran’s arms felt like Togorian jelly. Sighing in relief, the Kiffar closed down the lightsaber and wiped a rivulet of sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm.
He sat down cross-legged, resting his palms on either knee, and focused on his breathing. In...and out, he thought to himself, letting the Force suffuse his body and flow outwards in a mesh, blanketing the floor and the high-ceilinged room below it. He could feel the cut in the stone, beveled to keep the six-inch thick block of Selonian granite from falling through to the room below. There were a dozen lifeforms beneath him, spread along the perimeter of a large, open chamber. He felt a sense of watchfulness from the room, like eyes drilling into the back of his neck. Security cameras. Good. Hopefully someone is paying attention. In the center of the room, directly beneath the plug he had so carefully carved out, he could feel a Gamorrean. The creature’s mind was muddled, even more so than was typical of his species, and Terran suspected he was dozing on the job. Note to self: Gamorreans may look intimidating, but there’s a reason they’ve never developed spaceflight.
His arms felt stronger after the brief respite, but even so he needed to make this quick. With a last glance at the ceiling above - its own hole neatly cut and unplugged - he picked up the satchel that lay by his side and slung it across his shoulders. Nodding to himself, the Kiffar stood and gestured towards the newly-made granite plug with both hands. After a few seconds of strain, the beveled block grated free from its hole, rising into the air. A brief, sideways motion with his wrists sent the block sliding to the right, and he released his telekinetic hold on it. It dropped a few inches to the floor with a muffled crash, and Terran leaped through the floor just as the noise startled the guard below him to wakefulness.
The drop was a mere six meters, and Terran’s aim was true. With the Force lending strength to his muscles, he fell into a crouch on the table below, immediately in front of the still-seated Gamorrean guard. The porcine jailer attempted to rise, but Terran was quicker, planting his saber’s emitter into the Gamorrean’s forehead and depressing the thumb switch. The amber blade snap-hissed to life, burning its way through the creature’s skull and boiling brain matter before erupted through the other side. The guard stood unmoving, face frozen in a rictus of surprise and pain, for a space of heartbeats. Then he toppled backwards to the floor, crushing the incongruously wooden chair beneath him into so much kindling.
The Gray Jedi, hands now red with blood, hopped down from the plasteel table. Grabbing the keyring from the guard’s belt, he scanned the cells that lined the room’s perimeter. A pair of Bith occupied one, and a trio of Gran another. He even has an Ewok in here, the Kiffar thought to himself, A frakking Ewok! Better not let Kolot know about that… Finally, he spotted his target and trotted over to the third cell to the doorway’s right.
The cell’s inhabitant was a nightmare given flesh. Scarred gray skin and a trio of wicked, ungainly claws on either hand were outdone by a maw of carnivorous teeth that would put a Sarlacc to shame. Chained to the cell’s wall, wrists chafed bloody from a pair of durasteel manacles, the Dashade Jedi looked surprisingly serene. He stared at Terran, as if trying to make sense of the sudden shifting circumstances. The Kiffar met his gaze wordlessly, then sliced through the cell’s lock with his lightsaber. The amber blade melted through the durasteel, showering the cell’s interior with sparks, but the Dashade looked nonplussed at the fiery waterfall that threatened to pelt him. Kicking the door open, Terran strode towards the seated Jedi and knelt in front of him, pointedly not looking down.
“I heard you could use some help.”
“I’m...grateful...human,” the Dashade murmured slowly, throat seemingly raw with dehydration. “How did you find me?”
Terran shrugged as he sorted through the guard’s keyring with his free hand, ignoring the sudden commotion of the dozen other prisoners still confined to their cells. “Sorenn said you could use a hand,” he replied nonchalantly. He just didn’t say it to me. Finally finding one to fit the manacles, he unlocked the seated Jedi and stood.
The reptilian behemoth leveraged himself to his feet, rubbing the abrasions on either wrist and nodding his head. He seemed calm, but there was the slightest edge to his gravelly voice when he spoke.
“I am thankful to you. How are you called?”
“No time for that,” Terran replied, glancing around the chamber with feigned worry. “The guards will be on us at any moment.” Taking off the satchel that had been slung across his shoulders, he tossed it to the Odanite. “I swiped this from the armory. I figured you could use it.”
The Dashade — I really should have paid more attention when Isshwarr gave me his bio. I don’t even know his name. — grabbed the satchel out of the air and withdrew its contents: a simple lightsaber and one of the Herald’s new fancy Peacekeepers.
“Not to sound ungrateful,” the Odanite replied, an uncharacteristic bashfulness in his voice, “but I don’t suppose you have a pair of robes hidden around here?”
“Don’t worry,” Terran thought, suppressing a grin and drawing one of his blasters in his free hand. “Nothing’s more intimidating than a naked Dashade with a lightsaber. Let’s go. There’ll be a proverbial horde of Kajidic goons here any second.”
The Dashade snorted and dropped his Peacekeeper back into the satchel. Arranging it across his neck and left shoulder, he held his lightsaber in his right. A flick of his thumb brought the yellow blade to life and ignited a chorus of pleas from the chamber’s still-imprisoned denizens.
“We should free them as well. Some might deserve justice, but no one deserves this particular fate.”
Frak me, Terran thought. There really wasn’t time to free them, even if he hadn’t had other business in the palace. I’ve got to rein him in, at least for a few more minutes.
“Look, we can try to free them now - but even if they don’t bog us down and get us killed, there’s no way they can escape alive.”
“I will not abandon them to the Hutt’s whims.”
Terran sighed audibly, running his gaze over the cells of miserable miscreants. The Dashade was right. No one deserved what these wretches had coming to them. Releasing them was as good as a death sentence, though.
“Look, I get where you’re coming from. I really do. But if we release them now, they’ll be slaughtered on their way out. Better to get out of here ourselves, then come back with reinforcements tonight while the palace is still in disarray. I’ve got a ship a few klicks south of here with a couple of well-armed friends aboard. They can help us free the rest of the prisoners and take care of this over-sized slug for good. Sound fair?”
The Dashade seemed to ponder the words. Before he could decide, the room’s sole doorway slid up and a hail of red and green blaster fire filled the chamber. The pair dove in opposite directions and Terran rolled to his feet, amber saber raised in front of him, weaving in a figure eight to pick off a trio of bolts that were aimed in his direction. He spared a glance towards the Odanite and raised an eyebrow questioningly. The nude Jedi met his eyes for a heartbeat, then nodded, agreeing to the Arconan’s plan.
The pair moved forwards, slowly but steadily. The Arconan’s saber continued to weave before him, deflecting blaster bolts into the floor and ceiling, but it was his Force-fueled footwork that kept his skin whole under the hailfire of green and red that sought his flesh. He couldn’t spare a glance for the Dashade, but he could feel the creature - just barely - keeping step with his advance. Terran could sense a hunger from the Jedi, kept barely in check after days of imprisonment, and knew the Odanite was keeping himself on a very short leash. Time to let him slip it.
They neared the doorway, the guards’ shots slowing as they inched further down the hallway to keep out of sight, and Terran spared another glance towards his Jedi ally. “On my signal.”
The Dashade nodded his agreement, and Terran fought down a wave of guilt. He’ll be fine. And I’ll keep my promise. Eventually.
“Three…” he called, blocking a wave of blasterfire and ignoring the ache in his shoulders as he continued to twirl the lightsaber in a defensive pattern in front of him.
“Two…” Terran felt the Force flowing through him, begging to be used.
“One…” From the corner of his eye, he saw the Dashade’s grip on his lightsaber tighten, the reptilian’s gray skin going white around the knuckles as he prepared to charge the doorway with Terran by his side.
“Now!”
The word came out louder than intended, and the Dashade roared in response, slipping his mental restraints and lunging towards the guards that still peppered them intermittently with blaster bolts.
Distraction unleashed, Terran spun on his heel and dashed back the way they had come. He jumped atop the table in the center of the room and suffused his muscles with the Force, leaping up and through the hole from which he had entered the prison antechamber. Pausing for a few seconds to concentrate on the erstwhile plug, he pushed against it with the Force and slid it back into place, sealing off the room below. Ignoring the stitch in his side, he leaped again, back to the supply closet, and sealed that hole as well. Taking a deep breath, Terran glanced up to the still-plugged hole cut into the ceiling above him and grimaced. Two more to go, then paydirt.
