“Sooo, by eliminate, does that mean we have to … you know?” asked Bril, though he already knew the answer that his found-brother was going to sign back to him.
Confirm.
“But bro, we can totally just capture him, right? Heck, I wouldn’t even be opposed to mind-wiping him or something, like that cool buddy cop movie with the aliens we watched. Surely, they wouldn’t have a problem with that, right?” Bril continued, signing slower than Foxen did but much faster than he used to; he’d had lots of time to practice during his vacation with Minnie and with his frequent visits to his found-brother’s home with Flyndt both prior to and following his return.
Bril was a Golden Envoy, a recognizable face in the organization and The Flitz, its headquarters. Surely that came with the privilege of more flexibility for what constituted a successful mission, especially given the fact that despite not knowing the man personally, he doubted that Marick Tyris cared about the exact way in which they took R’aoke Adebanyo off the board. All he needed to do was convince Foxen that there were ways to do that besides a slug between the eyes or a vibroknife in the chest.
<@244244163002892288>
Bril was familiar enough by now with his oathsworn sibling that he knew when the Nautolan hybrid was rolling his solid red eyes, even without pupils; it was all in the light catching the movement. That expression was even more condemnation of their target’s fate than the click of Foxen loading a clip into his pistol. Once it was holstered with the safety on, hands freed, he coldly replied.
Capture is supremely inefficient. Exponentially increasing chance of mission going sideways for every second A-D-E-B-A-N-Y-O still breathes. Probability of success significantly drops.
Foxen didn’t slow his signing for Bril anymore, a challenge as much as an acknowledgement. It did sometimes mean he missed words and had to infer, especially with the particularly rapid fingerspelling, but he got the gist enough. Besides, if he could put together an Ancient Sith grain manifest for a single district on Korriban at three in the morning on only cold caf and Minnie’s charcoal attempt at burnt grilled cheese…well, suffice to say he could interpret his brother pretty well.
The massive amphibian narrowed a look at him, turning from the ship’s weapons rack.
Don’t tell me you’re going to argue for non-lethality.
“Capture is also humane,” he contested, “something that is kind of a priority for the Envoy Corps. I mean the entire point of the organization is to make the Brotherhood look good in the eyes of the galaxy, and us showing up a murdering the guy is bad for PR, brophibian.”
After finishing signing, he took a moment to check his that all the features of his beskar vambraces were in synch with his armor. “If they wanted executioners, they would have sent the Inquisitorius.”
Gray-white skin below one eye twitched violently at the nickname.
If you were concerned with humane then you would’ve shut up before suggesting violating the target’s mind. Foxen’s gestures were knife-like, cutting. Search for as many synonyms as you like in ‘eliminate,’ we ARE executioners.
“Flyndt would disagree. He’d find a different way … a *better way,” he replied, giving him a knowing, if not defiant, look. “Should I call him to confirm?”
Foxen stilled.
His chest fell with an exhalation.
“Hrm,” he grunted, and turned back away to rumble down to the hangar like an oncoming avalanche, throwing a short, confirm, capture over his shoulder.
The corners of Bril’s mouth pulled into a triumphant smirk when Foxen finally acquiesced to his suggestion. “The Flyndt card saves the day again,” he muttered to himself while following.
As they stepped off of the ship’s exit ramp and onto Koboh’s rocky surface, one thing that stood out to him was how dry the air was here. It reminded him of the deserts back home on Iridonia. His eyes shifted to the hulking nautolan hybrid to his right. “Hey, just a heads up, I brought the spray bottle I use for Minnie when we’re out in the elements,” he noted, “you know, for the whole drying skin situation.”
A look that could cut beskar convinced the zabrak to change the subject. “Sooo, the mission briefing says that Adebanyo is holed up somewhere in the mountains. We should stop by one of the local settlements to gather intel regarding his whereabouts.”
Producing a datapad from his pack, Bril pulled up a map of the area provided to them by their employers. After communicating this to Foxen, the duo made the short hike to the nearby Rambler’s Reach. As expected, the arrival of two heavily armed men drew curious glances from the town’s denizens; a waluna woman stopped to stare at them for a moment or two before continuing to shuffle down the street.
“You two don’t look like you’re from around here,” came a voice from their right, “you two here to find Priorite as well?”
Bril turned to see a melbu dressed in a long tunic made of gray and sandy-brown threads. A medallion with repeating geometric patterns etched into the surface hung from his neck.
Foxen didn’t deign to try talking, a behavior Bril knew by now was less a matter of arrogance and more one of practicality; not that many citizens of the Galaxy knew Sign Language. Not that his found brother wasn’t proud or didn’t think communicating with others a waste of his time, but there was a sad reason behind some of that jadedness that meant it was genuinely just faster most of the time not to expect anything from people.
Bril liked to challenge and break expectations.
Nonetheless, they were on a mission, and so as Foxen merely turned his own datapad towards the melbu to display a holo of their target, raising one silent brow in question, Bril took the conversational lead.
“Greetings, friend,” he offered amicably, giving a small, cordial smile and dip of his horned head. The culture of this planet wasn’t one he had studied, but only a handful of galactic cultures he had encountered so far took poorly to such gestures or expressions as insults or signs of aggression. Generally speaking, just being nice went a long way. “As my brother here is showing you, we’re actually looking for someone, not something.”
The local looked between them with an obvious air of one anticipating a mistranslation over “brother,” but didn’t comment on it. Instead his thin shoulders rose and fell, mouth mashing into a line.
“Bounty hunters, then?”
“Nothing so… unpredictable, shall we say? I assure you, we mean you good folk no harm.” Bril caught the look the man was giving Foxen, and tried to will the Nautolan into relaxing, maybe, a millimeter – without actually willing him to do so, of course. “Hey, don’t worry about his big grouchy head, he just looks like that.”
The Force screeched a warning at him, but even his reflexes weren’t fast enough in such a setting to save him from the brutal, petty pinch to his ear of all things.
“Ow! Owowowow BRO NOT COOL LET GO.”
- The vice-grip relented, and Bril wildly wondered for a moment if it was possible to have a broken ear before remembering and calmly reminding himself no, ears did not work that way.
…at least, the bones were all on the inside. Cartilage could be broken. Couldn’t it? Ribs, and…
“Jerkphbian…” the Zabrak muttered, rubbing at his abused side. “Pull your ear…holes…headtails…I mean, no, I won’t, but not cool.”
A soft huff of dry laughter redirected his focus. The melbu looked a little more relaxed now, expression twitching with mirth.
“Alright, I see it now,” he commented. “You don’t seem the usual sort, at least. You said you’re looking for someone?”
“Yes. Though, if you don’t mind me troubling you for your time and asking a few questions, do you get a lot of traffic coming through here? People looking for Priorite?”
“Not as many as there used to be. A lot of the Priorite rush dried up in my father’s days, after the Imperial occupation found their way here…we still get miners, though. Just for other sorts of minerals. I always end up telling the Priorite folks not to waste their time.” A slight beat. “And to get their boots off our ground.”
It wasn’t a hostile sentiment exactly, but it certainly conveyed their welcome could be overstayed. Bril inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“Well, we don’t intend to trouble you too long, I promise. Actually, I’m sorry, what was your name? I’m Bril Teg Arga.” He stuck out one gloved hand. “And this is–” a quick look over showed the Nautolan signing confirmation to him, so he went on, “–this is Foxen.”
“Brez.” The melbu returned the shake briefly.
“Nice to meet you, Brez. I appreciate the help. Now, if you’re usually telling people to bug off, I don’t suppose you’d be amenable to us helping take another with us?”
“Depends who it is.”
Foxen showed the datapad again. The image of their Noghiri target was a rather flattering headshot. Brez squinted at it in the bright, dry sunlight.
Obligingly, Foxen turned the brightness up.
“Ah,” Brez said, “that karker.”
“Caused you some grief already, eh?”
“That piece of poodoo went and barricaded one of the mines and has his goons sniping at anyone who goes by that track of the river. That’s how we get our water– the dam was wasted ages ago. I’d feed him to the boglings myself.”
“Er…” Behind him, he could actually hear Foxen’s jaw clench, likely due to the mention of all the wildlife rather than something as mundane as feeding people to them. The viciousness wasnt making the Zabrak any more optimistic about his capture plan. Hopefully these locales wouldn’t make a fuss when they lead Adebanyo out. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them cleared out for you. If you could just be so kind as to point us in the right direction?”
“You bet.”
The sun was high and scorching by the time they arrived at a gorge 1.377604 km, according to Foxen, away from the entrance to the absconded mine and the river that ran past it. Even Bril was starting to sweat in his armor, and his oath-brother had deigned to use the spritzer as pissily as the Zabrak had ever seen anybody use anything.
Foxen punched him in the arm when he pointed that out.
He was pretty sure the bone was bruised.
“What do you see?” Bril asked, laying on his belly next to the supine Nautolan hybrid who had set up a sniper’s perch for observation. They had been sitting awhile. Bril had spent it meditating, attuning himself to Koboh’s unique currents in the Force so that he could better ignore the ambient life around them and more focus on their targets.
Two guards posted at path of I-N-G-R-E-S-S, Foxen rapidly fingerspelled for him, moving the S over once to indicate repetition. He pulled his unblinking eye away from the omniscope mounted atop his rifle. Observed comms checks every half hour. Lazy on target’s part. First guard likely female, B-O-T-H-A-N, only reached for her canteen twice. Higher chance of distraction due to increased degree of dehydration likely. Approach on her flank. Second guard male, Zabrak, take him out hard and fast so he can’t frak us over with your two heart P-H-Y-S-I-O-L-O-G-Y.
“Right,” Bril agreed, and then pointed a finger at his brother. “And no killing.”
- Flashfire pain lanced through Bril’s aforementioned two hearts, through his bones and soul, a brief flare in the Force; then it was gone, nothing but numbness replacing it.
Generally, he tried not to read those around him, as much to stay sane as to respect their possible privacy, but especially so with Foxen and Minnie – though his pur'ika had grown more comfortable with having their connection over the course of their relationship. Her older brother was another story, and Bril tried very hard to respect that, but he couldn’t always help what he sensed, particularly when the emotions were strong.
And Foxen, Foxen didn’t feel anything by halves. His emotions were furious things, and he controlled and compartmentalized them ruthlessly, such that his presence in the Force was often a void or a cosmos, with no in-between.
Bril did a double take then, tearing his eyes from the horizon where their objective lay over the edge of the gorge and the river below to assess his brother. His brows furrowed in deep worry.
“Bro? What’s wrong?” he asked, urgent. The Zabrak opened his senses, allowing them to spill further over their immediate area, trying to detect any cause for such agonized offense from Foxen. But there were only the flora and fauna…
Oh, right, kist.
“Is it the animals? I’m sorry, brosieden, look, we can take the long way around, yeah? Avoid them.” There was a hoard of some quadruped down there at the river’s edge drinking, and more dotted the landscape. Bril didn’t know which one was a bogling and he was sure he didn’t want to find out with his traumatized brother in tow.
“HRM,” was the elder Erinos’ only response as he climbed to his feet, shouldering the sniper rifle. Deny. Direct route. Focus on mission.
“Foxen–”
DENY. MISSION.
- There was no arguing against Foxen’s sharp, condemning gestures. Bril sighed, knowing that such focus was a sure sign whatever hurt that had been there remained, only locked firmly away. The only way to unearth it would be when Foxen was ready to, after the job was done.
Resigned, Bril inclined his head in a nod, turning back to the task at hand.
“So, we have an approach. What about once we’re there? I don’t fancy the thought of going through a gauntlet to get to Adebanyo.”
Have you ever been in a mine before?
“A couple times, during archaeological excursions with my parents.”
Worked a few jobs. Typically mines dug with parallel tunnels such that if one collapses, another exists for escape. Suggestion: collapse one, force exit from other. When they emerge, subdue.
“Yes. Yes, that could work. And we don’t need anything like explosives either. I could collapse it myself.”
Foxen didn’t ask him how, only nodded and began his descent back the way they’d come.
Ready? Bril signed silently. Over his shoulder, he saw Foxen nod back. It was dark save for the limited lighting built into this section of tunnel, but it was enough to see by.
Centering himself in the Living Force, Bril lifted both hands, concentrating on the rock before him. He had watched Master Ruka rip down buildings and fortifications, and, more impressively, uphold, an entire cave system when there was an attack in subterranean Korda. He’d seen him hold back a blizzard on Kasiya. He knew this was possible, and had sought training on doing so. Bending matter to one’s will.
Despite his skill, it was still an immense task. Sweat further beaded the Zabrak’s brow, and it felt like his head was splitting as he focused first on the support pillars that braced the tunnel every few feet. They ripped free with a screech and a shudder, one after another after another. Dust and stone fell in plumes, but it wasn’t enough, no. He had to really cause a cave-in.
Trembling with the effort, Bril focused on the earth and rock itself. On Koboh. He had heard its song. The slow movement of its mantle. The deep thrum of its core. He narrowed that all down, to this point, this rock, here, and pulled.
The tunnel began to quake. More dust fell. Bril grit his teeth.
A large hand fell on his back, bracing.
Empowered by that quiet encouragement, Bril let himself go fully into the Force, trusting Foxen with his physical self. He put everything into the push and the pull, until–
With an explosive, thunderous roar, the ceiling came down. Bril had no chance to dive, but his brother was there, and the Nautolan swiftly grabbed him up and sprinted them both bodily away from the collapse, outrunning debris. The comm they’d stolen off of one of the outside guards immediately blew up with chatter, outcries of alarm for feeling the quake, panic at being buried, others trying to reply with calm.
The duo retreated back out into the daylight, their armor plastered with dust.
-
At least they blended in better. They crouched aside the entrance, lined up with the angle of the sun so that those emerging would be forced to look directly into it to even spot them, and waited. Over the comms, their Noghiri foe was ordering an evacuation, though he was smart enough to send his muscle first.
For all Foxen had been confident at the outset of their mission if it came to a fight – “Intel says Adebanyo is really skilled with ranged weapons and blades,” to which Foxen had replied, dead serious, not better than me – things didn’t come to any sort of firefight. The mercenaries that came trekking into the glare of the day found themselves facing down Foxen’s barrel, and that was enough persuasion to step quietly aside. Bril quickly disarmed them with more telekinesis, and a tidy pile of weapons grew until finally their target emerged and blinked.
Bril lit his lightsaber and pointed out under the Noghiri’s chin before he could finish drawing his own blaster.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, friend.”
Adebanyo smirked, not an ounce of fear for the plasma blade in his dark eyes.
“I’m not afraid of you, sparky–” he began to drawl, only to be cut off by the massive black, gauntleted fist that slammed into his temple. He dropped like a stone, and Foxen eased back, other hand still pointing his pistol at the kneecaps of the other goons.
Not lethal, the Nautolan said, then tossed Adebanyo over his shoulder like a sack and strode off.
“Clear out of this valley,” Bril told the mercenaries seriously, who seemed to be weighing life or paychit. “Or the Envoys will find you. And trust me, we’ll be gentler than the locales. They want to feed trespassers to the livestock. Alive.”
- Bril jogged to catch up with Foxen, and loped alongside him. As they made their exit from the river area, Bril made sure to choose a path that avoided the animals, and even offered to carry Adebanyo himself with telekinesis. Foxen shut him down with one word, and conversation lapsed after that.
They got back to the ship without running into Brez again, for which the Zabrak was grateful. He still had a bit of a migraine, and trying to be diplomatic wasn’t always easy. Foxen stripped their “eliminated” target of his gear, tied his wrists, and dumped him into a cargo container without the lid on. It wouldn’t be a cozy ride for him.
As they settled in with the stripes of hyperspace bending around them, Bril finally broke the silence in the cockpit.
“Hey, brohiemien rhapsody…I know something is upsetting you. I just want you to know you can talk to me, right? That’s what brothers are for.”
- For awhile, Foxen still said nothing. Bril was patient. He knew Foxen well enough by now.
Eventually, the other man said, I agreed.
“What?”
Non-lethal. You used Flyndt against me – when I already consider him in all decision making, particularly about lethality – and I ALREADY agreed to non lethality. Not for him, but for you. And then you saw fit to remind me. As if I.
He stopped. His hands fell, leaving the sentence unfinished. But Bril knew Foxen. He knew what the next words were. He realized his mistake in a sudden moment of insight.
Foxen always did exactly what he said. He never lied or misspoke. He always, always followed his word. For most people, saying something once didn’t mean everything, but for Foxen it was as absolute as any promise.
And Bril’s stressing the point in their conversation had thrown that back in his face.
“Foxen,” he began, and then, “Thol. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll try not to do that with you again.”
For another few double heartbeats, the quiet stretched. Then Foxen threw a knife at him.
Bril yelped as one of his locs was cut an inch shorter, the hair falling to the floor with a sad little plop. And sure, Foxen had no intent to harm him, thus his senses not going off, and yet the bastard had committed the perfect crime, the ultimate BROTRAYAL, not his hair–
“Bro–” the Zabrak gasped, and could only flail. “That– you– no!”
Deal with it, Foxen shot back. Now you are forgiven. Get the frak out of my cockpit.
“Broooooooo.”
He didn’t leave. And Foxen didn’t kick him out.
They flew to the Envoy lunar base without further bother.