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The Zeltron’s pod hummed forward again—elegant, unhurried. Though she had spoken only once, her expression suggested she'd never left the floor. Her smile was serene, almost motherly, but it bore an edge honed not in war zones, but in council halls and public limelights where policy and perception wove tighter bonds than steel. Though she had spoken only once, the emotional tone of the chamber had already shifted subtly around her pod. The tension from some pods eased, though they wouldn't know why. Her presence was balm and mirror both—inviting reflection without friction.
Her voice, once more, rang clear.
“Zeltros thanks the senators and ambassadors who have spoken with clarity, care, and courage. It is no small thing to meet panic with principle.”
She bowed her head briefly toward the representative from Anaxes.
“Senator Verrin speaks wisely of roots. And I echo her appeal to the New Jedi Order—not only for their Force-based agricultural restoration, but for what they represent: hope paired with action. Let us not neglect the power of symbols in times of hunger. There is no shame in asking for help from our allies in times of need, just as we aid them in their efforts.”
Velyra’s empathic senses brushed faintly against Verrin’s conviction—cool, clear, grounded. Not a flame, but a river’s current. She let it steady her own cadence.
A warm glance was offered to the pod of Ambassador King.
“Ambassador King’s proposals reflect what Zeltros believes deeply: when connection frays, we weave new threads. Zeltros stands ready to assist in interplanetary incentive packages, food corridor coordination, and bioscience investments. Our own research institutes have made advances in rapid-soil reactivation—particularly in high-humidity and low-alkali zones, such as those found on Glee Anselm and Wukkar.”
Her gaze turned, warm and unshaken, to the Neimoidian delegate.
“As for the comments directed toward my world: I must clarify. Zeltros does not grow spices. It grows futures. Our exports include advanced pheromone filtration for atmospheric processing, luxury-grade nutrient synthesis, and mood regulation technologies that have, incidentally, reduced planetary stress and violence by nearly thirty percent in regions where implemented. To dismiss them as ‘perfumes’ is an outdated trope we no longer need to indulge.”
She caught the ripple of defensiveness beneath the Neimoidian’s polished tone—understood it, but would not yield to it. A subtle pheromonal note calmed the space around her platform: not seductive, but centering. A reminder to her aides that power need not raise its voice to be felt. Her words cut gently—like scissors against silk.
“That said, the representative from Cato Neimoidia is not wrong in identifying urgency. What we contest is not the crisis, but the assumption that sacrifice must take the form of deprivation. Civilizational strength is not born of what we deny ourselves, but of what we empower others to give.”
A subtle gesture—two fingers raised—accompanied her next point.
“Consider: in the wake of the Hapes crisis, Zeltros rerouted three of its hospitality freighters into food transit corridors within seventy-two hours, converting hold space for hydroponic crates. Not for glamour. For good. It is a model that could be scaled.”
She turned briefly toward Senator Stalwart. The sincerity in his tone registered first through his words, and then deeper—felt in the emotional contour his voice left behind. Velyra responded not only with policy, but with warmth.
“Sacorria’s plight is not theoretical. And so I thank Senator Stalwart for reminding us that while policy may shape the future, empathy must shape the present. Zeltros offers its coordination services to your logistics teams, should they be needed.”
She let the silence stretch briefly, allowing her words to settle like pollen on still air.
“Let us not ration compassion, nor centralize power in fear. Instead, let us decentralize dignity—and invest not only in grain, but in trust.”
A soft smile curved her lips, radiant and composed as her pod retracted to its place.
Legion Combat Pistol Mark I with Whisper-class Suppressor Series
Legion Crew Personal Protection Weapon Mark I
Combat Scattergun-Model 01
3 X Modular Hand Grenade-Model 01
3 X Anti-Armor Grenade-Model 01
GAHA-32 Lionheart Commando Armor
Combat Blaster Rifle-Model 01 with Tactical Accessories Series and Underbarrel Grenade Launcher-Model 01 (20 X Launchable Grenade Series)
4x blaster cartridges
2x stun grenades
Ascension Pistol
Fusion Lantern
Datapad
Garrote
3x stimpacks
3x bland survival bars
128oz Canteen of water.
Nos gave a short nod toward Kaleleon. No objections. Just motion.
"Shortwave burst every five. Vonn, Vesik—update the sync. Deren, take point. We're moving."
The squad fell in quickly, letting the Jedi join the flow. Bex clapped a gauntlet to Tyron’s shoulder as they walked.
"You do still owe me caf, by the way."
"Let it go, Corporal." Tash muttered.
"Absolutely not. He ran up the tab and vanished. Now I’ve got a witness." He gestured toward Kaleleon with one massive arm. "Jedi backup. Can’t dodge it now."
From ahead, Nyros’s measured tone chimed in over local comms. "Understood. Will maintain formation. I’ll mark all anomalies for review."
Vonn's response followed with the clipped efficiency of command.
"Acknowledged, Solari. Keep left flank coverage. If it turns kinetic, let us engage first."
Their path led east—past tilled fields stripped bare and a scattering of wind-worn silos. The ground here crunched dry, but deeper than topsoil. No footprints lasted long.
The first farmstead appeared soon after. Three buildings, one visible droid.
Nos raised a fist. The squad slowed.
"No birds. No insects."
Even the wind had faded. Nothing moved but them.
A farmer emerged from the porch. Older. Dust-stained. Blinked at them like they weren’t real.
“Didn’t expect company. We already got our crates.”
Nos frowned beneath his helmet.
"You shouldn't have. This is the first wave out here."
The farmer scratched his neck.
“No, no… I remember it. Big blue man. Red eyes. You gave me water.”
Nos’s visor flicked slightly.
“She’s back, too, ain’t she? That girl who liked your voice. You should’ve left her dead.”
The squad snapped to alert. Vesik stepped forward. Rann held his rifle ready, but still lowered.
The farmer blinked again. Now confused, like a spell had just broken.
“... wait wait fellas, no need for the blasters... who are you?”
Nos turned slightly, his voice clipped.
"Vonn, record this interaction. Timestamp it. Bravo, see if the house has records—anything verifiable. You three, Khan, Kaleleon, Solari, I want your read before we proceed."
A breath. Still even. Still calm.
"Sweep the perimeter. No one splits. Document everything."
His pulse quickened. He could feel the shift in emotional readings. And... The emotion of something else.
Nyros could not say what it was exactly, only that it lingered at the edge of his senses like a shadow he could not catch. A chill moved through him, subtle and persistent. He paused for a moment, drawing in a slow breath as his fingers rose to his temple.
With eyes closed, he reached out through the Force.
It came quietly. Nothing sharp. Nothing specific. Just a sensation that crawled beneath the surface of things. It was not darkness. Not yet. But something was out of balance. Disjointed. Wrong in a way that made no sound and left no trace. He reached further, trying to find the source, but it slipped away.
He opened his eyes just in time to catch the officer's command. The moment was gone.
"Copy," Nyros answered, voice steady, nodding once before falling into step.
He moved into formation with practiced ease. As a Jedi Sentinel, he had trained in a wide range of disciplines, including time spent embedded with military units. He understood their procedures, their unspoken rules, the rhythm of boots and rifles and order. It gave him a sense of grounding in moments like this. But it also meant he knew what not to say.
He did not speak of what he had felt. A vague discomfort was not enough to act on. Not here. Not now. Soldiers did not respond well to whispers of the Force when they had no evidence to back them. He needed more than a feeling before he raised alarms.
Still, the sensation clung to him like static. So he kept his silence and kept his awareness sharp.
As they approached the weather-beaten farmstead, Nyros held the left flank, matching pace with the soldiers as instructed. His eyes scanned every movement. The sway of the grass. The way shadows fell across the barn. The angles of windows and rooftops. Every detail was filtered through a quiet intensity.
When the farmer emerged, Nyros instinctively took a step forward but stopped short, allowing Nos to take the lead in the exchange. Negotiation was not his role here, and he knew better than to muddy the waters when the time for words came. Still, his gaze locked on the man's posture. Something in the way the farmer stood, the way his eyes moved, the stiffness in his gestures, it all struck Nyros as wrong.
When the others turned to him, seeking his thoughts, Nyros pressed two fingers thoughtfully to his chin. He studied the horizon for a moment before speaking.
"I feel something strange on the wind," he said quietly, tone measured. His eyes swept the surrounding area, then returned to the group. "Nothing I can define. No shape or voice. Just a sense of disruption."
He exhaled through his nose, steadying the quiet frustration that came with sensing danger and being unable to name it.
"I cannot offer more than that, unfortunately. But I can tell you that whatever unease I feel… you feel it too."
He looked once more toward the perimeter where the soldiers were taking position, their movements crisp.
"Whatever is out here," he said, voice low, "it is not friendly. And it is not far."
There was no fear in his tone. Just a calm certainty that came not from knowing but from trusting that soon, they would.
Lucas felt a pang of sympathy for the neimodian as the man was apparently lambasted for his proposal. Rations were, unsurprisingly, never a favorable concept when there were other ideas to be put forth. And in truth, it wasn't that Lucas thought the idea was without some merit. He simply believed they had yet to reach that point. "In the odd moment of peace, it would be best to set aside some of our excess for harder times, but that's a discussion for alter. At the present moment, I don't believe we've achieved the desperation required to resort to rationing and restricting our citizens."
His head turned to senator Verrin as she mentioned Jedi intervention. Of course, with talk of allies, there were some that could not be ignored. Imports were all well and good, but those with the ability to make fallow fields flourish would be a boon when hard times struck. "Though I lack the authority to make any such decisions on their behalf, I would also be willing to speak with my associates among the Veran Wilders. I'm sure there are many sects, my own included that would be inclined to offer their specializations to restore and grow our food supply. Place them on a few key worlds and I believe the results could be dramatic."The unfortunate truth was that the wilders, while specialized in force skills that would help best in this situation, were far more rare than the jedi, their practice being mainly relegated to the surface of Veradune. But if they could spread their influence and do some good while they did it, Lucas was certain he could get the council to begin some missionary aid work.
A chuckle came from Tyron as Bex clapped a friendly gauntlet on his shoulder about running a tab. He didn't remember running up a tab it was a mere joke and light-hearted banter between him and Bex. Once formation had been called by Nos Voros
to the team Tyron followed suit and under the guidance of his master Kaleleon
while they were assisting and providing back-up to Rubrus Squadron. Corellia was a good time but now wasn't the time to dwell in the past the present is the current focus set before the Besalisk.
"We'll settle it another time, Bex. Let's not lose focus on the objective here. Got your back sir."
The Besalisk had his guard up where once a farmer appeared before the team and they came across the farmstead, the silos and other buildings plus a droid. When Nos Voros
asked for read outs Tyron was following suit of what Knight Nyros Solari
and his mentor Kaleleon
were doing to provide further information to the squad leader. The Besalisk let the Lightside of the Force guide him and his instincts to reach out, feel the disturbance or disturbances in the area. It wasn't good and he didn't find any confidence in what was detected.
"Master Solari is right. There's something out there... I cannot pinpoint or describe it further Commander.. Best keep our guard up."
Elijah had largely swayed the Federal Senate to his position, and the KSU would be sure to see a windfall of opportunity from his success. In addition, every Senator would be able to leave the session with a little something to bring back to their constituent worlds. Subsidies, investments, new infrastructure projects, greater market access, etc. A win win for all.
However, Senator Dod - really the Trade Federation - remained the loose nail.
He wasn't sure if he could take Dod's complaints at face value, aware of Cato Neimodia's special relationship with that intergalactic conglomerate, but he did know they needed to be sated as well. Perhaps Dod would never fully approve of the initiatives being shaped today, but Elijah was sure that the Neimodian couldn't resist an opportunity to boost those corporate profit margins.
As he nodded along to the words of the other Senators, the Ambassador quietly communed with his fellow cyborg Ala to develop a new tactic.
"While investment into agricultural biosciences is commendable, and indeed welcome in the long-term, it does not address the present. The rate of systemwide consumption already exceeds logistic capacity. The very expansion of decentralized markets you advocate will buckle under the demand without immediate stabilization as the CEO of megacorp KSA..would have known. " He offered a small but subtle smile to Elijah KingElijah King
, knowing fully well that any mega corporation would understand that the consumption rate of food within the Alliance had already surpassed the logistical capacity with so many transports being redirected to the front lines of the Sith Empire.
His pod stirred to life once more as he stood to spoke.
"As other Senators have stated, I do believe at present we are well equipped to deal with current crises. Relief groups are primed to be readily deployed on demand and have done so successfully." He glanced over to Lander Stalwart
with a small smile. "Chancellor Alicio Organa
has wisely executed a grand mission to reestablish safe hypertransit and secure our borders. A mission which the KSU has gladly joined in the pursuit of collective peace and prosperity. To my understanding the Chancellery and its executive ministries already possess a variety of financial tools to raise targeted imports from external systems as may be required to cover shortfalls in the short to medium term."
His gaze returned to the Neimodians. "However, I do hear your concerns about the possible problems of uncoordinated decentralization efforts as it pertains to national security and food supply in the long term. If I could offer the Senate another suggestion, perhaps the idea of an establishing an agricultural futures exchange could be explored? I believe this marketplace platform would satisfy your desire for security and stability while still encouraging growth of inter-planetary markets and food production within each Senator's constituent system."
He offered Cato Neimodia and the Trade Federation their own carrot. A new lane of influence where it could employ its impressive galaxy spanning trade networks for further self-enrichment. Many more profit opportunities lay in store in this avenue than under Dod's initial proposal.
Ultimately, this wasn't about opposing Dod, but subtly communicating to the Neimodians that they had a new friend that could open doors to greater wealth. All while preserving the integrity of the Galactic Alliance that allowed both powers to operate to their fullest.
He looked around toward the other Senators. "The KSU would happy to pursue such a venture in partnership with the Galactic Alliance."
"New hyperlanes may indeed serve the long term flow of relief and eventual trade. Sacorria's emerging role as both a recipient and contributor to galactic food security is one to be watched and supported. But again, we must distinguish between aspiration and application to ensure that the Defense Forces have adequate food measures for the long wars ahead."
"If I may," Lander chimed in, keeping his tone polite, "I'm not sure I follow. There's nothing aspirational about investing in the charting of new hyperlanes, Senator Dod. Hyperlanes are not projects that take lifetimes to blaze. When the Daragon Trail was established the ancient Sith Empire rained fire on Empress Teta within the month. And that is from the Outer Rim to the Core. As Senator King has pointed out, this institution has already seen success investing into the routing of new paths into the Hapes Cluster. I see no reason why we cannot replicate that success here in the Core. A direct line from the Corellian Sector to another nearby system that may have seen degradation that cut them off would on it's own dramatically change the crisis on Sacorria for the better. This would by no means be a slow solution. It is both immediate and long-term. I would wager that such an investment would only bulster the supply line of our Defense Force in a way that rationing may not. After all, last I was aware our soldiers were not starving. If they were I would surely have words for this institution"
The implication was clear. As a veteran, Lander certainly would be the first to know if their troops were not getting the resources they needed. That was a matter that was close to the heart.
"Though I lack the authority to make any such decisions on their behalf, I would also be willing to speak with my associates among the Veran Wilders. I'm sure there are many sects, my own included that would be inclined to offer their specializations to restore and grow our food supply. Place them on a few key worlds and I believe the results could be dramatic."
"However, I do hear your concerns about the possible problems of uncoordinated decentralization efforts as it pertains to national security and food supply in the long term. If I could offer the Senate another suggestion, perhaps the idea of an establishing an agricultural futures exchange could be explored? I believe this marketplace platform would satisfy your desire for security and stability while still encouraging growth of inter-planetary markets and food production within each Senator's constituent system."
"Aid from the Wilders would be much appreciated," the Sacorrian stated with a gracious voice, "To that end, Sacorria stands open for further delegation. As for the matter of agricultural futures, there is merrit to persuing a long term system to address food security. But, I also would like to present some level of caution..."
Trade law was his bread and butter. He could see a potentiall pitfall in such a system alongside it's benefits.
"Regulation of futures should be done within the confinds of our Department of Agriculture," he suggested. "If such a system is left too open, an overly competitive market may push for the over-sale of contracts. If a natural-disaster were to occur like on Sacorria, that is a potential future that cannot be fulfilled. If too much of our resources are invested into contracts, we may find that when the time comes for the sales to come due, the agricultural assets aren't very liquid. As I'm sure many have seen occur in other markets, the insentive to sell and reap the benefits of contracts brings risk. I ask that any further exploration is handled delicately so that it may be regulated appropriately."
The pod of Anaxes stirred once more, gliding forward with the same quiet grace as before. Kaela rose to her feet again, posture composed, voice calm — but this time, the weight behind her words was unmistakably firm.
"The positions have been made clear," she began, sweeping her gaze across the gathered senators. "We have heard proposals rooted in caution, others in compassion. Some emphasize control. Others, resilience. But the people we serve do not have the luxury of endless deliberation."
She allowed a brief pause — just long enough for silence to settle.
"We are agreed on the crisis. What remains contested is how we respond to it. Whether through restrictions or incentives, through fear or trust. I believe we must move forward — not by stalling in theory, but by choosing action."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the Cato Neimoidian pod, then to those of Sacorria, Zeltros, Veradune, and Kiribi.
"I believe the time has come for a vote."
She continued, voice steady:
"Let this body decide: Shall we pursue an emergency package of decentralized aid, Jedi and Wilder ecological assistance, trade corridor expansion, and exploratory support for a regulated agricultural futures exchange? Or shall we endorse a program of wartime rationing and logistical prioritization at civilian expense?"
A breath. Calm. Grounded.
"I trust this Senate to choose wisely. Because in this moment, we are not just voting on food. We are voting on how we value our people."
With that, her pod eased back into place.
Kaela Verrin speaks like a woman who has seen more storms than most. Her words struck with gentle weight—subtle, rooted, and utterly resistant to panic. There’s power in a senator who can speak of hope without sounding naïve.
And then Lander Stalwart. A man still adjusting his collar beneath the lights of the chamber, yet already standing taller than many who’ve held these seats for decades. His restraint, his focus, his gratitude—bless him. That’s the kind of voice this body needs to hear more of.
Then, Neimoidia again. Ah. I had so hoped he’d let this chamber move forward unencumbered, but instead he returns, clutching the same iron ration book. And now with barbs. Perfumes and perfumers, was it? What a strange fixation.
The Zeltron pod drifted forward again—slow, deliberate—like silk let loose in zero-g. A hush followed. Not silence, but stillness: a room unconsciously bracing.
Senator Velyra Vonn rose, dark waves of hair cascading as if drawn by starlight, her glasses catching the faintest gleam. She did not raise her voice. She didn’t need to.
“I had not intended to speak again today. I had hoped that the hour’s tone—set so graciously by Anaxes, affirmed by Sacorria—might carry us forward.”
She turned slightly, her profile cast in dignified silhouette against the opalescent chamber lights.
“But it seems there is still confusion about what this debate asks of us. Or more precisely—what it does not.”
A pause, brief. The kind of silence that invites attention, not dread.
“Senator Dod has reminded us—repeatedly—of the necessity of sacrifice. And on that point, I do not disagree. War requires it. So does leadership. So, too, does survival.”
Her gaze slid calmly to the Neimoidian’s pod.
“But sacrifice must be measured not by how loudly we demand it of others… but by how wisely we orchestrate it.”
She let that hang. Then turned slightly, arms folding with elegance.
“Let us be precise: No one has proposed excess. No one here has suggested we throw lavish feasts while our soldiers starve.”
“But we have, many of us, asked whether deprivation should be our first instrument of governance.”
Let him deny it again, if he dares. Let him argue that a starving family must take solace in ideology.
She unfolded her hands, gesturing gently toward the chamber’s center.
“Zeltros has made sacrifices. We have diverted luxury liners into transport freighters. We have opened our research labs to agricultural partnerships. Our perfumeries—yes, those perfumeries—supply filtered pheromone stabilizers for medcenters and atmospheric control towers. These are not indulgences. They are stability. They are peace.”
A faint smile—polite, disarming, and not entirely warm.
“To mock what one does not understand is a luxury we cannot afford, Senator.”
There. Enough of that. Let the record show I answered, but did not dwell.
Her tone softened again, as she turned to the others.
“Senator Verrin called for wisdom. Senator Stalwart reminded us of proximity—that policy must not outrun empathy. I thank them both.”
“And I echo their sentiment: If we are to emerge from this with more than just filled bellies, we must invest not only in food corridors and rerouted trade, but in something far rarer—trust.”
She drew a datapad from her sleeve, projecting a soft map of regional hyperlanes.
“Zeltros is prepared to commit ships, technicians, and funding to support the charting of emergency food lanes to and from Sacorria. We propose a rotating corridor system—anchored at major agri-centers, but responsive to regional need. A ‘living network,’ if you will.”
“We are also opening diplomatic channels to independent sectors along the Perlemian and Corellian Runs—worlds whose surplus may be persuaded to cross Alliance lines in the name of good faith.”
Veradune’s envoy will be pleased. Perhaps more than he lets on.
She lowered the projection.
“Zeltros will not ration its compassion. Nor its responsibility. We do not seek to lead this effort—but we are willing to anchor it. With humility. With urgency. And with open arms.”
Another pause.
“So let us ration supplies if we must. But never spirit. Never resolve. And never—never—our vision for what the Alliance can become.”
She dipped her head once, slowly, and the pod began to retreat. When the question was called, she knew how she would vote.
Often acts as the squad's point man, scouting ahead for danger.
The Sacorrian dusk settled heavily over the farmstead.
A lonely wooden barn creaked on its foundations as a bitter wind howled across the plains, rattling loose planks in a mournful cadence. Nos Voros advanced at the head to investigate with Bex and Lorne while the remainder checked on the still-confused farmer, questioning him about the apparent days of missing memory.
Nos's boots crunching desiccated soil as he pushed open the barn’s broad double doors. Inside, the air was stale and cold. His helmet’s tactical light swept over rows of rough-hewn benches and up to a makeshift altar at the far end of the structure. A crooked symbol—indistinct in the gloom—had been painted above it in what looked like dried blood. What should have been an innocuous feed barn had been twisted into a forsaken church. Nos’s nose wrinkled beneath his visor at a sickly-sweet odor threading through the usual must of hay: something like copper and rot. Even without the Force, the Zeltron captain felt a wrongness here, a subtle pressure prickling at his senses. The shadows themselves seemed to watch from the rafters. Behind him, he heard Private Cass Deren swallow nervously. Nos silently agreed with the unspoken fear—this place felt hungry.
Knees bent and rifle raised, Nos signaled for Rubrus Squad to fan out. “Secure the interior,”
he ordered in a low voice. His words barely carried over the wind groaning through the barn’s rafters. The commandos swept the corners with disciplined precision, stepping over scattered, handwritten hymn books and moldy grain sacks arranged like makeshift pews, scanning behind support beams and rusting plow equipment.
The Jedi were free to operate as they felt best — a wave of his fingers let the trio of Jedi any previous orders to act as part of Rubrus were relinquished. Just as the Jedi could not command GA military, Nos would not presume to command any Jedi in a potentially hostile scenario.
A few weak rays of evening light speared in through the warped slats in the walls, illuminating swirling dust motes. Everything inside was eerily quiet—no livestock, no villagers. Only the incessant wind outside—ever growing in strength—and the squad’s muffled footfalls disturbed the hush. As Nos’s team converged near the altar, a palpable heaviness seemed to gather, pressing on them like a humid weight. He could feel the Jedi around him grow tense, their Force attunement no doubt screaming a warning. Nos’s own pulse quickened. Something was here. Something wrong.
A soft sound cracked the silence—wet, mumbled words carrying from the shadow of the altar. Nos halted, raising a clenched fist to freeze the squad in place. “Movement,”
he hissed quietly to the comms. The barrel of his rifle traced the darkness behind the improvised altar’s pulpit. In the dim light, a hunched figure became visible, half-hidden behind the wooden altar table draped in soiled cloth. It was another local villager. a middle-aged man by the looks of his tattered farming tunic. He knelt facing away from them, head bowed as if in prayer. Sergeant Lorne Vesik, tightened in concern as he trained his weapon on the man. He looked to Nos, which the captain returned with a small nod.
“Sir?”
Sergeant Vesik called out, keeping his tone calm but firm as he took one careful step forward.
“We’re with the Galactic Alliance. Are you hurt? Please turn around.”
For a heartbeat, the villager remained motionless, hunched on his knees. Nos wasn’t even sure the man had heard. Then the figure twitched. A ragged chuckle bubbled up from the man’s throat, low and choking. The sound was off—as if two voices were layered in that laughter, one of them wet and shrill.
Corporal Bex Jarn tightened his grip on his AT-RB07 behind Nos. “Got a bad feeling about this, cap.”
The villager’s shoulders jerked unnaturally, and he began to rise to his feet. Sergeant Vesik stepped forward, extending a hand in a peaceful gesture. “Easy… we can help y—” The medic’s words died as the man finally turned to face them. In the half-light, the villager’s eyes caught the glow of the tactical lamps, reflecting an animalistic sheen. They were milky, unfocused… yet filled with manic purpose. His face was deathly pale, veins bulging at the temples in black branching patterns. Lips peeled into a grin far too wide, he bared teeth stained with blood. Nos’s stomach clenched—a wave of nausea and dread slammed into him, sudden and inexplicable. Through his Zeltron empathy he felt nothing from the man but a void of emotion, laced with a cloying sense of malice that was not his own. This man wasn’t scared or angry—he wasn’t there at all. Whatever stared out of those eyes was something other.
“Dank farrik…,” Bex whispered, flicking off the safety on the heavy repeating blaster. The commando’s visors cast dancing shadows across the warped beams as the corrupted villager threw his head back in a sudden convulsion. A keening wail erupted from his mouth—starting human, then splintering into a chorus of guttural whispers that reverberated unnaturally in the barn. The sound set Nos on edge, like a discordant hymn sung by a hundred unseen throats. Lieutenant Vonn flinched, momentarily overcome by a surge of despair that prickled across everyone’s minds.
“Steady! It’s in our heads,” Nos barked, Or just my head?
Shaking off the fog of dread. His voice snapped the squad back into focus. But the villager was already moving. In a blur of feral speed, the man vaulted onto the altar then launched himself at the group with a snarl.
“Contact front!” Nos shouted, bringing his rifle to bear.
The villager reached for the Miralian Medic, and with an invisible force—the dark side of the force—and pulled Lorne Vesik off the ground, towards the threat just before gripping onto the sides of his helmet, latching on with his feet over the Sergeant’s arm and hip like a primate climbing a tree limb.
Blaster fire lanced through the dimness. Bex’s carbine spat red bolts that struck the altar, just missing the the villager, but cut off once the man had begun using Vesik as a Miralian shield. Before Nos could reposition, the villager was prying at Lorne’s helm, twisting with full-body strength while grappled stop him. Vesik punched repeatedly at the attacker, his knuckleplate vibroblade tearing into the attacker’s side, spraying dark blood, but the darkside-infused villager barely flinched. A guttural growl rattled from his chest. Blackish ichor oozed from the dozens of tiny wounds, and still the man smiled. Lorne’s armor began to creak, the joint stabilizers in the neck soon to give.
Nos’s heart thundered. This thing was impossibly strong—far beyond any normal farmer.
“Bex, focus fire!” he snapped, sidestepping to get a clear line. “Lorne, hit the dirt!”
the Miralian desperately tossed their weight onto their back, exposing the villager just as Corporal Bex Jarn braced his four arms and unleashed a sustained burst from his heavy repeater.
Bright lances of energy stitched across the villager’s back, searing clothing and flesh alike, filling the barn with the smell of burned meat. The impact made the assailant snarl and drop Lorne at last. The Miralian tumbled to the ground, coughing and clutching his bruised neck as he scrambled away. But instead of collapsing, the villager twisted toward Bex with alarming speed. Before the Besalisk gunner could release the trigger, the man flung out his arm—and Bex roared in surprise as his massive repeater was yanked from his grasp by an unseen force, clattering across the floor. The infected man’s eyes gleamed with an unnatural light. Nos realized with a jolt that this local into something like a rabid, untrained Force user. "He’s using the Force—look out!”
He warned, but the warning came too late. With a snarl, the villager thrust out his bloodied palm and a burst of telekinetic energy slammed into Bex and Nos both, knocking the two commandos backward into a pile of splintered pews.
—
A sudden clatter from outside coincided with the sound of blaster fire in the barn. It was followed by a distant, inhuman shriek on the wind. Cass Deren’s Duros eyes snapped the village outskirts. Beyond fencing, dusk had begun to settle in. There were new shapes moving out there in the darkness. One shape became two… then five… shambling silhouettes emerging from the tree line and fields, drawn by the sound of battle.
Through the howling wind, faint voices carried—some wailing, some chanting in that same awful multilayered discord. Those of Rubrus Squad outside the barn quickly fell back into formation as the surprised farmhand retreated into his home, ushering the visitors in for cover.
They took up defensive formations, weapons trained on the doors. A chill ran down their spines as more guttural cries answered from the north and west.“Form up, cover Farmhouse entrances!” Karis ordered, voice tight but unwavering, even though those who went to investigate the barn haven't yet returned. Lantern light swung crazily from a hook in the rafters, casting the cabin in strobelike flashes of illumination.
Outside, the corrupt chorus of the damned grew louder, closer, a cacophony against the raging Sacorrian wind. Debris flew past, bringing a haze of dust drastically lowering visibility.
The siege was about to begin, and Karis silently prayed that the these Jedi would be enough to help hold off whatever was closing in.
Darkness surrounded Rubrus Squadron and the trio of Jedi, two Jedi Knights and a Padawan Learner. Tyron being the lone Jedi Padawan accompanied by Nyros Solari
& Kaleleon
at this farmstead. Senses through the Force were firing on all cylinders as the Besalisk can detect pockets of Bogan, Darkside presences distant but closing in. A glance between the two Jedi Knights that Tyron placed faith and trust upon as he was out in the field always learning, always gaining experience and training to become the Jedi Guardian he sought to become. He waited for an order from Nyros Solari
and his master Kaleleon
but he never forgot about the Force Ghost who became an additional mentor Jedi Master Kei Raxis
. There was tension within the air trying to suffocate everyone but through sheer focus and determination Tyron placed his trust in the Force, the Lightside, Ashla taking inspiration from Jedi Masters Jonyna Si
and Valery Noble
it was time to be that Light of Hope.
"I sense the Darkside brewing around us and getting closer masters. We're going to be challenged and faced with fearsome obstacles. I won't back down masters nor abandon anyone."
His words didn't echo arrogance, no, they resonated the sheer courage and confidence coming from Tyron. Seeing the shapes emerging from the dark and shadows. Encountering the Darkside presence like this was a first time experience for the Besalisk Padawan. However, he was not going to falter or cower away. This is what Jedi experience, learn, study and train against in their lives. No more temple-based sheltering of lessons and training that only took many so far. The field is where everything and anything can happen. Tyron fell back with the Rubrus Squad members that were outside of the Church led by Nos Voros
but there was commotions from inside there too; the Darkside also present from within the building. This situation was really him being thrown into the deep-end of gaining field experience as a Padawan Learner but he remained calm and determined.
"Something is going on inside of the Church too. We'd better form up and take vantage points no? Lookout for one another and don't split-off. Divided we fall, we stand united!"
Monaray recognized that the Federal Assembly exhibited a significant level of hostility towards the statements and proposals he presented today. If this was indeed the situation, then he had accomplished his intended objective, which was also the reason the Trade Federation of Planets was compensating him.
The Alliance represented a vast market, and with fewer regulations and increased political stalemate, the megacorporation could further monopolize areas beyond the already monopolized Defense Industries, which were primarily controlled by two corporations within the Alliance.
His gaze lingered on the Zeltron pod not in challenge, but in acknowledgment.
"Senator Velyra Vonn
has spoken with some semblance of grace and eloquence. And I do thank the Senator for such rifting clarifications on the subject matter of the Zeltros contributions to the Alliance beyond merely filling the entertainment halls on our former Capital of Coruscant. My remarks, though pointed were meant to draw attention not to your overall worth but to our collective willingness to examine comfort against necessity using crops as the starting point." Dod offered a small smile to the two Trade Federation Envoys seated in the senatorial pod for he had managed to make a proper statement without directly being hostile.
Dod turned now, addressing the chamber broadly. "Let it not be said that Cato Neimoidia is blind to adaptation nor the insights of Senators such as Lander Stalwart
and Kaela Verrin
. If the mood of this Senate is to act now upon a package built on aid, ecology, transit, and regulated markets, then I will not obstruct that will nor the assistance of the New Jedi Order and Senator Lucas Gracin
Wilders. Consensus, even when imperfect, is the spine of this institution."
He took a slow step forward within his pod, tone shifting subtly. "However, I must correct one misconception before we proceed: I never proposed that our people should suffer....at least not to the extent that is being overdramatized by the other members. I proposed that in times of imbalance, we recalibrate resources not by fear, but by forethought."
The Neimoidian clasping his hands behind his back in contemplation. "Lets begin the vote," he finished by pressing the Yes button on the console.
