It started as quiet rumblings, doubts, and questions about the broadcast. People had questions, concerns, and most did not want to believe what they saw, but the questions grew louder and the Militant control of the base, restricted movement, and attempt to corral the healthy through the checkpoint toward transports or by foot to nearby settlements instead of answering their questions only fueled their doubts. Soon voices of dissent and anger raged, the orderly transport lines stopped and the camp was in rebellion, barriers and mobile emplacement walls rocked with the force of dozens of civilians shoving and shouting for answers.
Chants broke out among the lanky Quermian people, demanding answers as they pounded on the walls for answers.
“Sir?” A trooper questioned as they turned to face a Staff Sergeant, just as confused in the current moment.
“I… I don’t know. This was supposed to be an evacuation post, I wasn’t expecting– This.” The Staff Sergeant responded as he thumbed his comms beacon and opened comms for the officers and Jedi on site.
“Civilian unrest at the Western Gate, respond.”
Frenek Mausma had transported a lot of cargo in his day. Even still, he had been reluctant to take up the post of operating this civilian transport vehicle; he hadn’t seen himself as a taxi man. In the end, the stability of government pay had won him over. Besides, the repetitive humdrum of operating a commercial vehicle always calmed and focused his mind.
Presently, however, his doubts about the job had resurfaced in full vigor, as two full-grown Quermians forcibly entered the cockpit of the transport, each of the eight slender hands brandishing some sort of improvised weapon. He shuddered involuntarily; no matter how many times he saw an extra pair of hands slip out from underneath a robe, he couldn’t quite seem to get used to the strange Quermian feature. Pepper in a little mass hysteria, and Frenek was starting to feel like higher education maybe couldn’t have been such a bad option after all.
Of course, it was too late for all of that. Well, Frenek, he thought to himself, it’s showtime. His head swiveled back to the dashboard and his path ahead as he slammed on the breaks of the transport. Then he rotated his chair around again to face the hijackers. “Alright fellas, give it a rest. There’s no need for violence. You want the helm? Take it! But do you see this traffic? Good luck getting anywhere faster than me. And trust me, I don’t have any more answers than you do. I’m just following orders. Don’t shoot the delivery man!” He grinned, in spite of the circumstances, always relishing the chance to pull out that line about his true profession.
Standing slowly, with his only two hands open and empty palms, Frenek stepped aside, allowing the Quermians to take the wheel. This seemed above his pay grade.
With the chorusing cries of restless Quermians filling the air, a sense of uncertainty seemed to hang over the region. Having arrived only a few hours prior, a female Zeltron now stood perched atop a low rooftop, in order to gain a better vantage point of the chaos unfolding below. Soft wisps of her long silvery-pink hair lightly picked up in the wind, and instinctively she drew up the hood of her white cloak, obscuring her delicate facial features from view.
From her peripheral vision, a small Quermian child caught her eye, tears shimmering in their eyes as they were swiftly led away by the hands of their mother. Taking a closer observation, the vibrant purple fabric of a lovingly quilted stuffed loth-cat caught her gaze from where it lay discarded on the ground, several feet away from the crying child. In one fluid movement, Syrena leapt down to the ground with a dancer’s sense of balance, landing lightly on her feet. She scooped up the befallen stuffed toy and took a deep inhale, channeling a sense of focus, before swiftly weaving her way through the crowd. Syrena paused only once she was in front of the Quermian child, removed the hood of her cloak, and knelt so that she was at eye-level with small girl and presented the stuffed animal. “You forgot this,” was all that Syrena said in the softest of tones, a gentle look shimmering in her pale lavender gaze.
Syrena quickly ducked back into the fray, casting one final glance at the two Quermians over her shoulder– Only before an all too familiar male voice caught her attention. Whirling around immediately, a look of surprise lit her features as she saw Frenek standing in the middle of the crowded street. “You… Just what are you doing here? You know what, never mind that… Frenek, we need to get moving,” Syrena abruptly stated, gesturing towards the location of the Western Gate.
“Oh no….”
Sonyo sighed softly, hands with long fingers gently helping an injured Quermian sit. She had been bringing the woman to the Western gate for more intensive care than she could give in the field, and now there was an angry mob in her way. Lips marred with a gold line turned downwards into a gentle frown. It seemed the Vauzem had gotten what they wanted after all– discord and confusion.
“Why are they yellin’?” The Quermian mumbled, obviously still horribly concussed.
The bandaged that had been carefully wrapped around her head had begun to soak with blood once more. The Quermian was a victim of her own people; the choas and confusion had created a few stampedes in other locations as people began to panic and flee to what they assumed was safety. Whether that meant with the Jedi, the Vauzem, or in their own cramped shelters depended wildly on which side of the story they believed.
“People are scared. Uncertinity creates room for fear to set in, to snake around the heart and cause doubt and paranoia.”
Sonyo made sure to speak in a calm, gentle tone– the one she always used for patients. The Jedi reached into the bag slung around her shoulder and began to reapply the bandages to her patient’s head.
Her actions, however, seemed to have gained attention of some of the nearby mob.
“Ey! What ‘r you doing to her?! Leave her be!”
Sonyo’s head snapped back to the four Quermians that had broken away from the group at the gate. What were once gentle, golden eyes had hardened into burnished blades. The Jedi wanderer’s normally serene and gentle expression had become hard and severe. Abnormally long fingers pointed to the arm band with the universal sign of aid that had been placed on her right arm, and when she spoke, her soft tone was no longer.
“I am assisting this injured woman, who was trampled over by her own people. If you want to cast blame, cast blame on those who sent out the broadcasts– for their only purpose in doing so was to turn you against yourselves and the ones trying to help you. You can try to stop me, I won’t fight against individuals who don’t even know why they are fighting, but I can promise you that if you stop my care, this woman will die. Do you want her blood on your hands? No? Wonderful. Now go get me some water and some ice, if possible.”
The three Quermians, three males and a female, looked amongst eachother in confusion before mumbling to eachother and walking off to collect the supplies requested. Sonyo turned to her patient once more, the hardness once again replaced with serenity and softness.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry. No harm will come to you while I am here.”
Now street-level, in the midst of the stampede, Frenek began to move more or less with the flow of people around him. He couldn’t help but notice a middle-aged Quermian woman stooping to scoop up a child, presumably her daughter, off the ground, where she had apparently stumbled. Together with the apparent husband and father, they made haste westward, nearly a complete unit, save for a hand-stitched loth-cat doll that tumbled from the girl’s desperate clutches. Frenek lingered for a moment, staring at the loth-cat, wondering if he would find it within himself to change course, traverse the crowd, and return the child’s dearly departed toy before it—or he, for that matter—was trampled to smithereens. There were a million other more urgent matters to attend to at the moment, and yet, something in the mismatched button eyes of the surprisingly evasive inanimate loth-cat seemed to plead to him. “Alright, fine,” he said aloud, beginning to judge the timing of the crowd, charting a course toward the doll.
Before he got the chance, a womanly form clad in a white robe swooped in from above. Frenek did a double-take, noticing the low rooftops of the surrounding buildings for the first time. He couldn’t help but return his gaze to the mysterious agent, who was revealing herself to be something of a vigilante, as she plucked the loth-cat, weaved through the crowd with practiced grace, and presented it to the Quermian girl. It was then, as the woman stooped to exchange words with the girl, that a lock of silvery-pink hair fell from beneath the white hood, and Frenek knew who had come. “Syrena!” he shouted, “boy, am I glad to see you!”
Syrena approached him, so far seeming less than eager to buy in to his “happy reunion” narrative. Together they resolved to follow (or perhaps even beat) the flow of traffic towards the Western Gate. As he set off through the crowd, Frenek felt rather clumsy. Just when he was starting to feel permanently entangled in a mass of panicked people, Frenek caught wind of a small speeder bike that had broken away from the haltering traffic behind them and started off in the direction of the Western Gate. He quickly calculated its arcing trajectory, taking its acceleration and the conspiring winds into account. It seemed just right… He made a running jump onto a durasteel crate that lay before him. Springboarding off of the crate, he attempted to grab hold of the speeder’s undercarriage.
“Glad to see you too, Frenek… Now time to get a move on!” Syrena quickly stated, gazing at her longtime companion. He always did have a knack for showing up at the most unexpected of times. Her focused lavender gaze began to intently scan the crowd, until she was able to identify a possible path through. “Alright Frenek, if we maneuver this way, and then if we possibly–” Syrena began to say, though her words suddenly cut short as she realized the human male was no longer standing beside her. “Frenek, where did you…?” Her question was soon answered as she caught sight of her friend impulsively leaping towards the undercarriage of a speeder.
Despite her surprise at these sudden turn of events, not wanting to waste a second more, Syrena began to weave her way through the crowd. She veered to the left, utilizing a sturdy iron grappling hook to propel herself upwards. With athletic movements that were smooth and calculated, Syrena leapt across a series of low-hanging corrugated rooftops, bypassing the masses of Quermians down below.
Once the Western Gate came into view, she traversed to an upwards vantage point, using her grappling hook and a sense of focus to begin making her way down. With her white cloak flowing behind her, Syrena shifted it in order to create an almost parachute-like effect, as though to slow her descent. She landed lightly on her feet within the vicinity of the Gate, already beginning to visually scan the scene before her. It was then that Syrena caught sight of another female, one who was kneeling beside an injured Quermian woman. Instinctively, she made her way over, offering the only thing she carried that could be of any use– A few small, yet clean scraps of fabric for additional bandages. “Let me know how I may be of assistance,” Syrena offered to the other female, whom she could only presume was perhaps a medic. She shifted her gaze towards the gathering crowds and took a focused stance, fully grasping that the cause of such civic unrest came from a source of fear.
The guards on the parapets took notice of what seemed to be civilian efforts to help, as several pockets of Quermians began to break away from the rest of the frenzied crowd. The lack of response from the headquarters unit sent a brief panic through the other soldiers who heard the Staff Sergeant’s initial broadcast. They were handling this crowd alone, a handful of soldiers, a few civilians, a Jedi or two, against a crowd of panicked Quermians who couldn’t tell if they were friends or foes thanks to the broadcast someone snuck in and sent out across their internal network. The sergeant cursed under his breath as he turned and saw the panic on the face of some of his men, clear through the visors of their Commando-Pattern Helms.
“We’re here to help these people, even if they don’t realize it. Guns down, do not resort to force unless absolutely necessary. Someone get to the Comms Closet establish an uplink with our network, if you can’t get our screens back in our control, trash it. We have local, wide-, and tight-beam comm backups still.” He commanded before he reached out to one of the foremost Quermians at the barriers.
“Look, you have questions. Let me do my best to answer them. I’m just a Sergeant, I’m only a part of the operations here, but, I’ll level with you, if you’ll level with me and help me level with everyone else here.”
The group of Quermians that had surrounded the Jedi ( <@264959101384130560> ) rendering aid to their fellow on the ground returned a few moments later with a couple members of a Quermian Medical team and an O.U.S.C. Medic who had been working alongside them, marked by the caduceus on his shoulder. Opening packs of medical supplies and laying down a rescue board they turned to the Jedi.
“What’s her condition? Do you believe she’s stable enough to move, or would you prefer a second opinion?”
The smaller Quermian child snatched the Loth-cat doll from the Zeltron woman ( <@607619766752116771> ) and hugged it to her chest tightly, muttering multiple “Thank You’s” and apologies in childish Basic as she buried her face into the doll and her mother simply bowed in response. A simple deed, not noticed by many, the affects of which were witnessed by several, garnered the attention of the passing crowd and began to cause murmurs about the allied forces in the base. A small ripple, surrounded by surging bodies still attempting to exit and many others shouting at the guards on their parapet.
The hijackers gave little to no inclination about their purposes with taking the freighter, but if his eyes were fast enough and his attention on what they carried, <@1292362530299183208> may have been able to scope a view of some of what they had brought on board during their attempt to steal his vehicle.
Among the sea of chaos, is a crippling manpower shortage. The best intentions don’t matter unless one has the logistical capability to follow through. As Freneks situation with the attempted hijacking has proven, right now you don’t have that capability. But you should.
Delayed reports of missing soldiers start to filter through the grapevine. While there are many reports of individuals missing, a patrol of about forty has not been seen in hours. The last time anyone had heard from them, they were supposed to be meeting a shipment of food supplies for the Quermians just outside the camp. Without knowing what happened being down such a substantial number of staff and potentially that food drop off is causing morale problems among the remaining soldiers. The thirty or so reports of missing individual soldiers isn’t helping matters but given the crowd size it’s understandable to lose track of individuals. A group that big going missing? Are the Jedi not able to do their job?
Frenek held on tight to the undercarriage of the speeder, his sturdy arms straining to hold on. His body weight flattened the curve of its arc, such that as he and the wayward Quermian soared over the frantic crowd toward the Western Gate, they barely managed to clear the parapet. Judging the timing, Frenek let go and rolled onto the landing. He stood up, brushed himself off, tugged his leather jacket into place, and surveyed the scene. A soldier near him on the parapet, the Staff Sergeant, was giving orders to get to the Comms Closet to establish an uplink. “I’m pretty good with mechanics,” Frenek said, nodding at the Staff Sergeant, “You should have seen the engine of that government transport I was assigned to this morning, before I got to it. Of course, now that I’ve left it, that’s a whole other…” he trailed off, scanning the crowd and transport lines below for signs of what became of that hijacked transport. He looked back at the Staff Sergeant. “Name’s Frenek Mausma,” he said quickly. “And, technically speaking, I’m still on the clock. I can get your screens back under control. But I’ll need a team to help get me there…” he searched the crowd for familiar faces, instinctively finding Syrena, who was standing next to a female Jedi rendering aid to an injured Quermian.
As the screens lit white and a broadcast sounded across the array of the network, a fleeting look of alarm shimmered in her silver gaze. Syrena understood full well that the misinformation and false propaganda were continuing to spread like wildfire, and that it would require a prompt resolution. Just then, a white flash came from her datapad. As Syrena read the information on the device, it became clear to her that there were even more unresolved issues, with the new incoming reports of missing troops. After slipping her datapad away, she cast a glance over at Frenek, relieved to see he had made it to the base as well.
Syrena drew in a deep breath, as though preparing. She surveyed the masses of the crowds outside the gates warily, knowing the situation directly outside was only growing worse with each passing minute. Something had to be done, and in her mind, Syrena quickly formed a plan– Though as to whether or not it would be effective, that was unclear, yet she figured it would at least be worth a try. Syrena made her way to a platform that overlooked the panicked crowds below, taking stage, her white cloak flowing behind her shoulders in the wind. With the fluid wave of her hand, she channelled a bright glow of pale silvery light that shone around where she stood, intending to draw attention to herself. Projecting her voice, yet still speaking within a gentle tone, Syrena began to directly address the crowd, “I understand you are afraid. I understand your fears. No harm shall come to you. Please, just listen, show your neighbors kindness, and your questions shall soon be answered.”
Gazing upon the crowd again from where she stood, Syrena carefully drew out her instrument from where it had been strapped to her back, a seven-string hallikset. Cradling the instrument, fingers beginning to glide smoothly across the white-illuminated strings, Syrena drew upon her vast studies of musical traditions to begin to play a soothing Quermian ballad. “Ari sai, liira ae, Tiiro a'lae, Liera vuna, Elu nai,” Her melodic soprano voice began to softly sing, reciting the familiar lyrics to the audience below with a sense of calm.
.
Jon tapped his foot as he listened to Syrena’s performance, glancing up from his holo-map occasionally to glance at the crowds. She really was spectacular, and judging by the reactions it was having an effect but a song alone wasn’t going to sort this mess out.
He went back to the holo-map of the city. He needed a route from the Western Gates to the Comms Closet, one that took them around any conflict-heavy zones. Easier said than done, but…
“Consular,” he called, rushing over to the Jedi currently giving orders to the division. The Consular looked up as Jon approached the holo-table where he was currently overseeing the patrols around them. “I think I have a plan.”
The Jedi stood up and looked at Jon in that eerie-Jedi way that he had never quite accustomed to, even after all these years in Odan-Urr.
“Speak, Captain.”
“I think I got a route for us to get to Comms,” Jon said, placing his holo-map on the table and highlighting a twisting route through the city blocks; it wasn’t far, perhaps a dozen blocks, but he’d mapped out a path filled with switchbacks and twisting turns. “But we’re gonna need to be quick and slick if we wanna get there without getting bogged down in a blaster-fight.”
“Get me there alive and get me a mic, I’ll have this whole city on our side in five minutes guranteed. Syrena’s keeping the civvies from panicking here, but
that’s only gonna hold so long, I need a team to get me there alive.”
The serene Consular pondered his words for a moment, before nodding. “I can’t spare many,” he said, “But take whoever is willing to join you. Expose their lies Captain, and may the Force be with you.”
Jon nodded in thanks before turning the assembled Jedi, Loyalists, and Mercs. His eyes locked on one particular newcomer, Frenek he believed the man’s name to be. “Alright, whose with me?”
For a moment suspended in time, Frenek watched and listened as his companion’s song permeated the surging crowd. It seemed to Frenek that the sweet words of the Quermian lullaby filtered through Syrena’s nuanced understanding as a river tumbles through a bed of stones.
At the sound of Jon’s proposal, Frenek raised a hand. “I’m a pretty darn good navigator, if I do say so myself. And when we get there, I reckon I can help get the screens up and running. Now let’s get a move on. Sounds like we’re running out of time.” Frenek turned to those around him. “Anyone else coming? I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
With that, Frenek set off on Jon’s route.
The Zeltron female gazed at the crowd below as she finished the soothing melody, her silver eyes shimmering with compassion. “I understand your frustration, for we feel it as well. But let us stand together with purpose, and not with anger, to support one another and the community,” She called to the crowd in a final address, a message that she could only hope would ensure a deep sense of calm for now, in order to buy the team enough time to finish navigating the situation at hand. Syrena set her seven-string hallikset aside and glided down from the platform, wisps of her light pink hair streaming behind her shoulders in the chill of the wind.
Overhearing Jon’s final address to the assembly, she nodded in agreement. “Well, lucky for you, I always keep one of these on hand,” Syrena offered, handing a small white mic that was currently powered off towards where Jon stood. “I shall join you both. Time to make haste,” She stated, her silver gaze quickly taking in the information of the holographic map, honing in on the various twists and turns of the urban landscape that would form their path.
Without another minute to lose, Syrena took off in that direction alongside her team. The wind whipped against her face, tugging at her pale white cloak, yet the Zeltron female did not falter. She drew in a deep breath, drawing focus to her own senses, willing her speed to rapidly increase. With a burst of movement, her form curled into a graceful arc, the same calculated movement propelling her body upwards. Syrena lightly landed atop a low-hanging roof, moving back into a swift run with a series of balanced steps as she made way towards their target destination. All the while, Syrena ensured to not stray too far ahead from her teammates below, the steel claws of her gloves clawing into the rooftops for extra stability with each leap that she made.
<@230809550297497600> <@1292362530299183208>
More than half of the crowd slowed, going from raucous rabble rousing to entranced, watching the Zeltron as she played for their attention and spoke toward them. As she wound down her performance and handed a microphone towards another figure, the gathered crowd watched, puzzled, for what would come from him, waiting to see if it would be a continued performance or something more.
-# <@607619766752116771> <@230809550297497600>
Jon dashed through the streets, Syrena and Frenek trailing behind him. He motioned for the trio to stop at one point, standing before at an intersection of roads, and the trio pressed their backs to the wall of an alleyway between a shop and what looked like some kind of restaurant.
“How much further?” Syrena asked, as Jon pulled out the holomap. The route he’d plotted through the city was a knot designed to shake any pursuers and avoid any patrols, full of switch-backs, loops around blocks, and similar tricks that made what could’ve been a straight line into a maze.
“Not much further,” he responded. “We go left here, two more blocks, and we’re where we need to be.”
He checked one more time for any unseen patrols before stepping out and –
Blaster fire, a blade in the rain, dead Jedi
“Agh,” Jon grunted, suddenly dizzy, as he gripped his head, the world swimming before him. He caught a glimpse of Syreena and Frenek moving to steady him but their faces were replaced with –
Corpse-pale flesh, eyes wide as they lay in the streets, bodies hurled aside like garbage after the ambush.
The world slowly righted itself, and Jon let out a slow breath.
“Jon?” Frenek said. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” Jon said in a shuttering voice that betrayed the lie in his words. “I’m fine. We… we go right.”
“But you said–”
“I know what I said. Just… trust me here? We go right, and then…” he checked the map again. “Three blocks up and a switch around, we’re there.”
The Force sent no more visions into his mind this time, so he assumed this path wouldn’t get them killed.
He pocketed the map and led hi compatriots on, wondering at the back of his mind just what was happening to him anymore.
The duo made it to the comms room without any issues. It was a relatively short and easy trip for them, Jon’s visions guiding them every step of the way. It was as Frenek opened the door Jon realized the path he took got them there fast, maybe too fast. The comms room looked to be in horrible distress. A note on one of the walls marked when maintenance was supposed to come and fix it up. In one hour from now.
Pointing to the note on the wall outside the comms room, Frenek turned to Jon, saying, “I reckon one hour oughta be enough time.” Even still, he tore down the note, hedging his bets in the event that any passersby were referencing the posted information. Cautiously, he pushed open the door to the comms room. It opened with a creak, but was met with no answer from within the room. With a look toward Jon, Frenek crept into the comms room.
The room was lined with rows of glass panes displaying various readings or live feeds of the civilian uproar. As he strode through the room, Frenek caught a glimpse of what must have been a replay of wide- and high-angle footage of Syrena clutching her hallikset and singing her song to quell the crowd. He smiled. “That’s my girl,” he said under his breath, before pressing onward toward the back of the room.
On the back wall, a pair of large monitors were mounted over an expansive computer terminal. Frenek took a seat at a swivel chair and reached for the controls. He opened up a command line and typed out some basic hacks to probe the firewall. His preliminary findings seemed promising. Half-turning to Jon and without stopping typing, Frenek said, “Doesn’t seem so bad—I think I can get through. Let’s see if we can’t get this uplink back up and running.” He typed out one last command, designed to bypass the security measures, and executed the code.
To his dismay, both monitors immediately seized up. Frenek desperately typed out some codes he reserved for last resorts, but he seemed to have lost all control over the computer system. He turned all the way around in his swivel chair to face Jon. “Well, you know what they say: ‘Close only counts in thermal detonators and eopie-shoes.’” He forced a laugh, racking his brain for how to continue. Then he remembered what the sergeant had told them back at the Western Gate. If they got to the comms closet but weren’t able to reestablish the uplink with the network, they were to trash the whole terminal. After all, they had comm backups to rely upon.
Frenek drew his vibrodagger and began slashing the computer terminal wildly. Sparks flew as the terminal’s thin vibrasteel gave way to the repeated slashings, exposing wires of various colors. The monitors went dark. Frenek turned back to Jon, saying, “I’m sorry about that. I know it’s not what you were expecting. But we don’t have much time, and we’re going to have to come up with a new plan to get the truth out there.”
<@230809550297497600>