| Mission 417 - COL Astix
'Colonel, please come closer.' Mouse motioned at his Squadron CMDR. 'I would like you to conduct mission that requires some veteran experience.'
'Sounds intriguing.' Astix hid the amusement. So did Mouse but when he brought mission's details on the hologram they all turned into professionals they were.
'I need you to attack fighters defense screen near this Mestra's checkpoint ... I didn't exactly catch to the end what Kane had on mind so I fill you in all I know. This rusty 2000 freighter will be passing this very crowded Mestra's check point and to prevent from attacking it you need to give some work to do to Mestra's fighters... I assuming that it is carrying something that everyone wants or is very illegal and it would be recognized on first scan. You need to pop up there and watch from the distance and when freighter will appear attack to bring attention out of her for long enough for freighter to jump.'
'There is something fishy here.' Astix frowned.
'I have similar thoughts but Kane wasn't more specified due to reasons he didn't revealed. That's why I wanted you, you will know how to act and return in one piece.'
---------------------
Astix trotted down the long corridor from the Wing briefing rooms and caught the turbolift down to the flight deck. He leant back, resting his head against the harsh durasteel walls of the lift. A gentle humming and a lurch in the pit of his stomach announced his arrival on the deck four levels below his own quarters. The doors swished open, and the colonel walked out of the small lift and out onto the flight deck.
Things were quiet in Trapper squadron's part of the deck, and Astix had no problem having his Cygnus Works Missile Boat made ready in double-time. Like all TIE Corps fighters, the missile boat was always kept as close to readiness as possible- fuelled, cleaned and the like. For this particular assignment Astix also requested an updated Imperial Survey datapad of the local area downloaded to his flight computer, a full load of chaff countermeasures, a jamming beam, and a full compliment of 40 Advanced Missiles and 20 Advanced Torpedoes, on the basis that the torps would be useful no matter what the opposition in the area turned out to be. Astix had been a long-time fan of the Proton Torpedo, a warhead that was both quick enough to be troublesome for the majority of fighters yet pack a big enough punch to cause crippling damage to heavy freighters and small warships. Ast grinned ruefully- if he came up against anything heavier than a Frigate he'd be looking to leave the area, torpedoes on board or not.
He took five minutes to do a walkabout of his ship, checking the flight surfaces, the engine exhausts, the warhead tubes and the blaster discharge points. Weaponry was the sole purpose of his craft's existence, and to have them fail on him in battle thanks to an unchecked minor detail would be paramount to a hideous crime. Satisfied that his ship was ready for whatever the local banditry might throw at him, Astix climbed the steps up into his cockpit where he settled down into the comfortable bucket seat. He smile to himself- it always surprised new pilots that the cockpits in the more advanced Imperial craft were quite so comfortable, but when thought about it made sense, really. A veteran pilot in an advanced fighter might be on patrol for close to eight fours, or possibly even more if on a recognisance mission. The last thing the Emperor's Hammer wanted was for a pilot to cramp up and to loose control of their craft mid-dogfight. It was details like these that most subtly marked the slowly changing ethos within the Empire, moving from pilot expandability to pilot pampering; making and keeping a pilot loyal by providing amply for more and more of their needs and wants.
A few swift keystrokes on the onboard computer and a short explanation for his absence was in his squadron members' collective inboxes. It read
“All: On brief mission for LC Mouse. Stand by in case needed, apologies for lack of personal briefing; mission urgent. CMDR Astix”.
The Cygnus Works Missile Boat was, in Astix' eyes, a miracle of engineering and starfighter development. Faster than most of the competing craft, better armoured, better armed, and when the SLAM system was engaged- faster than anything else in sublight space, the MIS made for an excellent stand-off fighter and assault craft, and Astix loved it. Not quite as much as he adored his old Shadow-Class Y-Wing bomber, but it definitely came close. A flick of a switch and the engines spun up, gently humming to themselves as power started to course through the craft's systems. Further flicks of additional switches, and the fighter's other systems began to come online. Green lights began to blink over the craft's sleek cockpit panels- first life support, then flight controls, the automatic system repair module, the shields, the targeting computer, the four warhead launchers and finally the blaster cannon all came online and reported readiness.
Astix took the opportunity, as always before a mission, to look around the hangar. However, this time no racks of TIE Fighters old and new sat hanging from the high ceiling, eagerly awaiting launch. He was unsure why so many fighters weren't in the hangar, and why only his squadron of fighters were sat on the durasteel deck awaiting launch. He savoured the smell of warm rubber, cold alloys and slightly musty flightsuit, then closed his fighter's cockpit. His face-mask dropped with the canopy, enveloping him in its surreal grey-tinted universe. Astix jacked his suit's life support tube into the cabin and blinked as green text scrolled up the inside of his visor explaining that all was well, and then pulled the straps over his shoulders and legs and clipped them into place.
Seconds (and a brief conversation with hangar control) later, Astix's missile boat was climbing away from the Avenger's steely grey shape towards his hyperspace jump-off. He hurriedly punched into the surreal blue tunnel of unreal space behind it, anxious to keep his rendezvous in plenty of time.
Mestra was a dull sector in the Colonel's opinion- but his superiors wanted him there, and so he was. He sighed as the missile boat popped back into realspace, exiting near a navbouy some eight kilometers from the local customs checkpoint. He could see it a way aways; a platform type two or three- a standard local-space support and control platform. He could also see the two flights of Z-100 “Century” starfighters flying point patrol, along with a pair of System Patrol Craft and a lone Corvette. Nothing really too strenuous, so long as the YT-2000 came out of hyperspace a decent distance away.
No sooner was the thought rolling out of Astix's inner voice, when a Corellian Engineering Corporation YT-2000 freighter with civilian IFF tags dropped into the system only two three from the system. The colonel swore; the data he'd dumped into his flight computer stated only one such vessel was due in along here today, and that was it- the one he was supposed to be meeting. Astix watched with grim fascination as a single Z-100 peeled off to inspect it. If the cargo of the freighter was as inflammatory as Mouse Droid had suggested, Astix was going to have about twenty seconds to close the distance between the craft. A millisecond later, the ship's SLAM system was pushing the small ship at over 200 MGLT towards the distant craft, eating up the meters at a tremendous pace. Shield energy was rapidly dumped into the laser system, and the warhead launchers activated as the distance closed to around three thousand meters. A passenger in the missile boat would have seen Astix hunched firmly forwards over his flight controls, staring avidly at the Century fighter that was very very close indeed to becoming within close-sensor range of the freighter. He uncaged his advanced missiles, and let the bip-bip-bip of the “acquiring” tone ring out through the cramped cockpit.
A similar tone was obviously sounding through the Z-100's cockpit as it suddenly broke off from its ident run and began a series of rapid evasion manoeuvres. Astix let the ship slide and turn, and stayed steadily on his path, SLAMs roaring, as he pulled into secure communications range of the freighter, which he proceeded to hail.
“YT-2000 Freighter 'Qel-Droma's Rage' this is Cygnus Works Missile Boat Trapper 1-1 from the Executor-Class Star Destroyed Avenger. Request that you transmit rendezvous co-ordinates and then vacate the area immediately, I can't hold the locals off forever.”
Astix stared blankly at the freighter as he zipped past, the rusting and pitted grey surface of the YT-2000 in stark contrast to his own pristine fighter.
“Trapper 1-1 this is Qel-Droma's Rage. Data inbound, and kindly do your duty and cover us until we're able to microjump to the location. Repeat, do NOT leave the area until ordered. Over and out.”
With three terse sentences, the YT-2000 banked sharply to the right and began an evasive series of weaves towards what Astix supposed must be their exodus point. Interestingly enough, he noted, the registry for the ship had reported to Astix's fighter that it was carrying dignitaries and scholars, along with accompanying tomes, scrolls and books.
Astix sighed as his navcomp reported it had received a hyperspace route at exactly the same time as his targeting computer began a series of warning tones; his threat receiver was going crazy as a flight of Mestran Z-100's began an attack run, the second flight standing off around the platform as a secondary backup.
Astix threw his ship into a series of tight twists and turns, cutting throttle back to one-third for extra manoeuvrability and switching to his single laser cannon. He'd only ever flown against the new Century-fighter in sims, so to come up against them in active service was an interesting challenge. As he threw his ship into a sharp right bank, noticing that two of them stayed directly on his tail through the turn, he noted dryly that the stats for the Z-100 on the sims were a bit low- they guys were easily sticking with his Missile Boat, supposedly a craft with a better turn rate. Luckily his rolling, twisting turns were keeping their brief bursts of laser fire from hitting his craft.
His twisting and jinking finally paid of suddenly and a Z-100 whose pilot has miscalculated a turn flashed through his sights, and Astix's finger slammed down on the trigger on his flight controller. A spasm of green fire flashed forth from the blaster slung centrally beneath his cockpit, and leapt through the short distance between the two craft- raking up along the enemy's cockpit, over one of the wings and over the port engine nacelle. The fighter's shields dropped instantly, and the final shot from Astix obviously hit something particularly vulnerable on the engine's exhaust system as a jet of ionised gas shot sideways from the engine, scorching the wing from base to tip. The wing, already a vulnerable part of the craft, stood no chance against the superheated ionised gases and it shredded; the Z-100 spinning off and then exploding as the pilot bailed out.
A grim smile flickered over the face of the Trapper CO, before the need to concentrate hit in again. Switching to torpedoes, he briefly fired up the SLAM system to throw the Z-100s on his tail off slightly and his fighter screamed towards the two system patrol craft. Astix loosed off eight torpedoes without targeting them other than pointing his ship directly at each of the larger ships.
One of the craft realised the danger and began to turn, but it was too later to take any drastic measures- the torpedoes were coming in at around 350 MGLT, and closed the single kilometre between them within a second. Unable to lock onto the warheads quick enough, the turrets on board attempted to fire a few rounds off but to no avail. Both ships took four torpedo hits, their hulls crumpling under the impacts. As they both collapsed and tore themselves apart, Astix noted dryly that one of the two ships hadn't even noticed the threat. Sad, really.
The Corvette had powered up, and bursts of sporadic turbolaser fire lanced through space towards him. Jinking hard, Astix pulled a tight turn and rounded on the pursuing Z-100s. Seeing the loss of the two patrol vessels, the second flight of Z-100s- already a man down from Astix's initial attack- bore in at him along with the first flight that were still chasing him.
Deactivating the SLAM system, Astix switched back to his advanced missiles and selected the nearest three fighters, all a single klick away again. Flicking his index finger repeatedly against the trigger, a salvo of untargetted missiles screamed away. The idea wasn't to hit anything necessarily but to scare them off- it worked, and four of the incoming fighters broke in all directions. The remaining fighters came on, happy that the launched warheads would pass them by harmlessly, which they duly did. However, as they were only just passing the two-and-a-half kilometre mark they had only just come into range, allowing Astix the maximum amount of time possible to target and launch. Slowing his throttle to a mere ten percent power, he slowed to a crawl in order to further extend the time for launching, and began to select his targets. Ten seconds later and three pairs of missiles were on their way, their targets scattering. Astix knew that it would be to no avail; the Imperial advanced concussions were excellent homers. Sure enough, shortly three double-detonations splintered space.
The remaining pair of fighters were now within laser range, and the missile boat's threat receiver was screaming at him again as he slammed his throttle to full power and shot between the two Z-100 fighters, looping high above them before twisting around. Thanks to his speed, they'd both lost contact and were struggling to reacquire- Astix suspected that these were the relative newbies in the squadron, on their first few combat patrols. Cutting back on the throttle again, he dived back down towards them. One was removed with a single torpedo, the other fell victim to a volley of laser fire.
With a start, Astix realised he'd not kept track of the four fighters he'd scared off with his round of head-to-head missiles, something that was almost unforgivable. He rarely lost tactical knowledge of a situation, and to become so target-focused worried him. Gritting his teeth he checked his aft sensors hurriedly, expecting to see a pair- or even all four- of the century craft on his tail... to find nothing. A second check, this time of his forward sensors, revealed that all four were hypering out of the area. The ageing colonel was stunned. Four fighters, protecting a busy shipping checkpoint had just fled the area, leaving a possible “hot” freighter to continue on its way and their attacker the run of the sector. He looked around some more, at a rapid count there were about fifteen other very lightly armed freighters and cargo vessels in the sector, all of whom he'd have no problem eradicating without much hassle- and those guys had upped and fled? He sighed as he pulled his ship around to face the distant navbouy he'd be hypering out from, shaking his head at the stupidity of the opposition.
“Trapper 1-1, this is Qel-Droma's Rage. We're five seconds from our hyperspace jump. You have permission to depart the area, we'll expect you at the rendezvous within five minutes. Rapier out.”
Astix was about to hit open a comlink channel to the YT-2000 then realised it was futile- it had just entered hyperspace. He reread the scrolling message text on the screen, and took a start- Rapier?! What in Vader's good name was his Proconsul doing out here? He shook his head slowly and punched his own way into the unreality of hyperspace- leaving a corvette's captain feeling cheated of a fair fight, a platform's operations manager and a handful of freighter crews relieved they'd been spared, along with a scattered bunch of pilots and crewmembers in evac suits.
He leant back in his seat and prepared to enter a brief trance. Although the fight had been extremely one-sided, it had still been taxing and he needed to cleanse his mind of the raging adrenaline within him. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and looked inwards...
To be woken five minutes later by the beep of the navcomputer as he arrived in the middle of no-where, a sector of space empty from any features whatsoever except the omnipresent display of pinpoints of light, and one battered and rusting YT-2000.
He was about to open a comm channel when the freighter got there first.
“Ahh, Astix. Glad you made it- I trust those remaining fighters didn't pose a problem?”
“No, Dark Master. All four left the area while I was tackling the others.”
“Really? You must be loosing your touch, Battlemaster. Ahh well, I suppose I'm glad you're here on time. Now, dock and come aboard, we have things to settle.”
A click announced that the conversation was over. The Sith ignored the sarcasm in Rapier's voice; he knew the Dark Jedi Master was always deliberately seeking to rile the younger man, mostly in order to attempt to improve Astix's understanding of the Dark Side.
Docking operations were duly commenced, and a boarding tube extended from the freighter allowing Astix to enter the ship. As the hatch slid open, Astix was greeted by the sight of Dark Jedi Master Rapier, flanked by Krath Priestess Kerri Jorddyn. They motioned him into the saloon, and all three took a seat.
“Quaestor, Proconsul. This is an unexpected pleasure- to what do I...” began Astix.
“Shush, Ast. Drop the formalities, we're friends here. You've not been singled out for any particular reason, it's just you were the best pilot accessible to us within the time frame. I believe Commodore Reese has explained why you're here?” interjected Rapier, his face jovial for one of the few times ever, enjoying Astix's obvious surprise and discomfort, he supposed.
“No, Raps. I was basically hurried out of the Avenger at double-time and told to meet a freighter, stop it from being attacked and collect something from it.”
With this, Jorddyn raised a small parcel from a storage compartment next to her, and placed it on the table in front of her. Fingers gently pried back the wrapping, which appeared to be in good condition despite its obvious age. As the wrappings fell away, Astix was hit with a powerful wave of interference from the Force, a solid wash of almost mind-numbing invasion. He felt hot, and then cold. Jorddyn had obviously felt it too, while Rapier sat smiling to himself- whatever the contents of the parcel, Rapier was the only Dark Jedi in the room able to fully shield himself from its power. Almost teasingly, a pyramidal form was pulled out of the swaddling wraps to reveal...
“A holocron” Astix breathed. He'd only ever touched one, and seen around four others. Most of his learning had stemmed down from older, wiser and more powerful members of the Order, and his brief assignation with one of the few stores of Jedi knowledge on Eon had been all too short. He realised that his mind was adapting to the waves coming from the artefact, and the bother it had caused him only a few moments earlier was abating.
“Yes. A Holocron. More importantly, it is one of the few Holocrons devoted entirely to the studies of the Dark Side. I have no idea why it was stored on Mestra, but Jorddyn uncovered rumours of it, and together with Prophecy Phyle we launched a minor operation to uncover and remove it. It's strictly an Arcona find, and we're keen to keep it close within the Clan. We've obviously announced the capture of it to the Dark Council, but we were hoping to pass that checkpoint with little or no trouble. Unfortunately as we were leaving, somehow the local authorities got wind of the fact it was missing, hence the larger than normal guard at the customs point. We called to the Avenger for some support, and here you are.
You are also going to serve another role. Through the Dark Council, Kane Reese heard of it, and feels it may be connected to his own operations with the Avenger Task Force in this region. We've granted him leave to access it, on condition that it does not leave the Avenger, and that you are present whenever he accesses its knowledge. In addition, it will be kept by you in your private quarters. This is an Arcona find, and we intend to keep tight grasp of it. As both a pilot and a Sith Quaestor, this matter fell to you. We expect the Holocron back at the Tower of Shadows within one standard month, please make that clear to Battlelord Reese.” Rapier continued.
“Now, head back to the Avenger swiftly. This tool is not to leave your sight whenever it's not locked safely within your quarters, understand? Now, go, and may the Dark Side serve you well. I look forward to a full debriefing on exactly everything your Commodore uncovers from within this Holocron.”
Astix nodded slowly to himself, and reached forward and picked the Holocron up, turning it over in his hands. It went without saying that he would take every opportunity to glean as much knowledge and power from the Holocron himself as he could. Rapier would be expecting no less of him, it was his obligation as a Sith to better himself in the service of the Dark Side in every way possible.
Jorddyn smiled as she replaced the wraps around the Holocron, and nodded to Astix as she handed it to him. It felt heavy, dense, and powerful. Astix noted dimly that he should have felt the power from it as he first neared the YT-2000, and the further noticed that he could no longer feel the force energy radiating from the artefact at all. Somehow, it dawned on him, the flimsy fabric enclosing the Holocron was acting as a filter for the Force, rendering the object inside normal to all intents and appearances when felt and viewed through a Force user's powers. It seemed the wraps themselves were worth investigating too, and Astix made a mental note to devote some time to it in the coming month.
As he left the ship, carefully stowing the Holocron in a locker under his seat, he could almost taste the power that he might gain from close study of this exciting new tool, and he almost quivered with anticipation. The docking clasps were undone, the good-byes said via the comlink, and a few moments later he, his missile boat and the Holocron were in all safely hyperspace.
For the third time that day Astix used the flight through the blue tunnels of super-light speed to relax and to centre himself, and for the third time that day he was awoken by the navicomp warning him he'd arrived back in realspace. He blinked suddenly as he realised that the familiar scene in front of him of the Avenger and her escorts was wrong, and blinked again as he realised what it was.
The four Z-100 fighters from the Mestran customs checkpoint were a mere three kilometres from his own location, and roughly seven from the Avenger. With a curse, Astix realised the customs platform must have had a sufficiently powerful processor on board to trace his hyperspace route back, and had instructed the fighters to check locations along it to find where their enemy had come from. The need to check every few regions along the path had obviously delayed them while Astix was dealing with his fellow Arconians, and by sheer chance all five of them had arrived at the Avenger at almost the same time.
Immediately, Astix noticed that one was peeling off to return to the platform while the other three were coming to engage him. Mind working at lightspeed, he realised that the returning fighter would be able to report that he'd arrived at the Avenger, while the platform knew he'd probably been to collect whatever the YT-2000 he'd saved from inspection was carrying. They also knew that a Holocron had been pillaged from their home planet... Forcedamnit, but they were going to be Pissed, and now they knew exactly where the culprits were. He sighed, he was still in the mood for a good fight but his cargo was too precious to waste and there was always the chance one of the Z-100s would get lucky. He engaged the SLAMs and raced back to the Avenger... |
