Ana Rix
He gave a nod, a good rest was not always something you got so one could savor it. That they had plenty of time to travel only meant they would at least have the time to mentally prepare. He let out a breath though as they were going and the ocean gave way to some spray that the repulsors pushed away. Then the first thing Mistral noticed was the sound. Not the engines that constant, rattling howl of repulsors against gravity and water but the way it changed. A subtle shift in pitch, a rising whine that told him the Twi'lek at the helm was better then most. The hull vibrated under his boots, a low, complaining tremor that ran up through his legs and settled in his spine.
And the chase hadn't even properly started yet. The ocean became a canyon around them rose in jagged walls of dark stone, its surfaces slick with spray and shadow. The water below was a churning, broken mirror, shattered by rock outcrops and the blue glow of their repulsor wash. The air smelled of wet mineral and ionized gas, sharp and metallic on the back of his tongue. Overhead, the sky was bright light, cut into uneven pieces by the teeth of the cliffs. He stood near the starboard railing, feet planted wide, one hand wrapped around the cold metal, the other resting on the grip of his weapon. The captain Aya was a few meters ahead of him, closer to the bow, her stance already squared, rifle slung but ready.
The shark woman lingered near the stern, weight balanced like a coiled spring, eyes on the water. The Twi'lek Seastone sat forward in the helm chair, lekku twitching with every micro‑adjustment, her gaze locked on the path ahead. Behind them, the sound came engines as an echo, plural. Low at first, then building. A layered growl, distinct from their own. Mistral didn't turn immediately. He counted the beats between echoes, gauged distance by delay and volume. Multiple craft, closing fast. He let the information settle into place before he finally glanced back over his shoulder. Four boats. They rode low and fast, cutting through the water in a staggered formation.
The lead craft was slightly larger, its prow reinforced, its gunner already braced behind a mounted repeater. The others fanned out behind and to the sides, maintaining enough distance to avoid colliding in the wake but close enough to overlap fields of fire. Their throttle discipline was tight. No one was surging ahead or lagging behind. This wasn't a mob. It was a hunting pack. "Company," Mistral said, voice even. The captain turned, eyes narrowing as she took in the sight. She didn't swear, didn't flinch. She just reached up, unslung her rifle from the frame of the ship and checked the charge with a practiced flick of her thumb.
"Seastone," she called, raising her voice over the wind. "We've got four on our tail. They're closing." She said it as her eyes were watching it and she tossed Mistral a blaster rifle. "I hear them," the Twi'lek seastone replied, not looking back. Her lekku tightened, then relaxed as she adjusted their course. "Channel narrows ahead. If they follow us in, they're idiots." The shark woman was looking at it as she opened her eyes and stood up with a yawn showing teeth. "Idiots with guns," the captain said looking at them. "Mistral, starboard side. Keep them honest." He moved without comment, boots thudding against the deck. The metal was slick with spray, but he'd ridden worse.
He dropped to one knee near the railing, bracing the rifle against it. The weapon was a familiar weight in his hands, the stock settling into his shoulder like it belonged there. He exhaled slowly, letting his breathing fall into a steady rhythm. The first volley came from the pursuers. Red bolts cut through the air, sizzling past the stern and carving molten scars into the rock walls. One shot hit the water just off their port side, sending up a plume of steam and spray. Another struck the aft railing, showering sparks across the deck. The Twi'lek Seastone jinked the boat to the right, then back left, not enough to throw anyone off their feet but enough to spoil the enemy's aim.
"Return fire," the Aya said, voice flat, as if she were ordering a routine course correction. Mistral squeezed the trigger. He fired in controlled pairs, not wild bursts. The first two shots went wide, the distance and motion working against him. He adjusted, tracking the lead boat's movement, compensating for the slight lag between his sight picture and the boat's actual position. The next shot struck the metal plating near the gunner's feet, sending sparks skittering. The one after that forced the gunner to duck behind the repeater's shield. The Aya's rifle barked beside him, her shots more aggressive, less concerned with precision. She wasn't trying to kill anyone yet. She was trying to make them hesitate, to break their rhythm. Suppression, not elimination.
The shark woman hadn't moved much. She watched the enemy boats with a predator's stillness, eyes half‑lidded, shoulders loose. The wind whipped spray across her face, but she didn't blink. Her hands flexed once, claws catching the light, then relaxed again. "Seastone," she called, voice low but carrying. "Get me closer." The Twi'lek didn't answer immediately. She was busy threading them between two jagged rock pillars, the repulsors whining as she forced the boat into a tight turn. The hull scraped stone, sending a shudder through the deck and a spray of sparks into the air. "Closer how?" Seastone asked, once they were clear.
"Any way that lets me jump," the shark woman said. The captain glanced back at her, then at the pursuing boats, then at the narrowing canyon ahead. Mistral could see the calculation in her eyes. Risk versus reward. Asset versus liability. The shark woman met her gaze and smiled a small, sharp thing that didn't reach her eyes. "Do it," the captain said. "Mistral, cover her. Don't let them pin her down once she's over there." Mistral was looking at her and then the other ships as he gave a nod. "Understood," he replied. The Twi'lek Seastone adjusted their course, angling them toward a cluster of rocks that broke the water into a series of uneven swells.
The repulsor wash hit the formations and bounced back, creating a chaotic pattern of waves. It was a terrible place to be in a firefight. It was also a perfect launch point. "Hold on," Seastone warned. The boat hit the first swell hard, the bow rising sharply before slamming back down. Mistral absorbed the impact through his legs and shoulder, keeping his weapon steady. The second swell lifted them again, higher this time. The shark woman moved, fluid and precise, climbing onto the railing with the ease of someone stepping onto a curb. She didn't look back. She didn't ask for confirmation. She just waited, muscles coiled, eyes locked on the nearest enemy boat.
"Now!" Seastone shouted. The repulsor boat hit the third swell and launched upward, the hull leaving the water for a heartbeat. The shark woman pushed off the railing with explosive force, using the boat's upward momentum to add to her own. She arced through the air, a dark shape against the pale strip of sky, and came down on the enemy boat's deck with a bone‑jarring impact. The craft rocked violently, nearly capsizing. One of the pirates lost his footing and went over the side, hitting the water with a splash and disappearing beneath the churn. Another stumbled into the railing, clutching at it with white‑knuckled desperation.
Mistral shifted his aim, tracking her landing. He didn't fire immediately. The deck was crowded, bodies moving in chaotic patterns. He waited for clean lines, for moments where his shots wouldn't risk hitting her. She didn't wait for anything. She moved with a brutal, efficient ferocity that made the chaos around her seem slow. She seized the nearest pirate by the front of his vest and slammed him into the deck, the impact loud even over the engines. He tried to bring his weapon up, but she pinned his arm with her knee and drove the butt of her pistol into his face. He went limp. Another came at her from the side, knife drawn. She pivoted, letting his momentum carry him past her, then hooked his ankle with her foot and yanked.
He hit the deck hard, the knife skittering away. She stomped once, heel driving into his wrist, and he screamed, hand spasming open. Mistral fired, taking advantage of the distraction. His shot caught a pirate who'd been trying to line up a shot on her from behind. The man jerked and went down, weapon clattering across the deck. The captain's fire joined his, her shots forcing the remaining crew to duck behind whatever cover they could find engine housings, railings, even the low lip of the bow. The enemy tried to shake her off, throwing the boat into a hard turn. The hull tilted, water rushing up to meet the deck.
The shark woman dropped into a low crouch, claws digging into the metal, riding the motion like it was nothing more than a change in wind direction. One of the pirates wasn't so lucky. He lost his grip and slid across the deck, slamming into the railing with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. He hung there, half over the side, scrambling for purchase. She grabbed him by the back of his belt and yanked him the rest of the way over. He hit the water and vanished into the wake. The Twi'lek Seastone had her own problems. The canyon was tightening around them, the rock walls closing in. She threaded the boat through a gap that looked too narrow even from Mistral's vantage point, the repulsors screaming as she forced the craft into a sideways drift. The hull scraped stone again, a harsh, grinding sound that made his teeth ache.
"Port repulsor's not happy," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "We lose that, we're swimming." Aya was looking at more as she had a nod. "Don't lose it," the captain said. Seastone was there for the moment as she looked. "Working on it." The second enemy boat surged forward, taking advantage of the chaos on the first. Its gunner, more disciplined than the others, had waited for a clear line of fire. Now he had one. He swung the mounted repeater toward them, the barrel already glowing with a charging pulse. Mistral saw it and shifted his aim, but the angle was bad. The boat's motion, the canyon's curve, the distance too many variables.
He fired anyway, shots sparking off the repeater's shield housing. The gunner flinched but didn't abandon his position. The weapon continued to charge, the hum rising in pitch. "Heavy on the second boat!" Mistral called. "I see it," the captain replied, already adjusting her aim. She fired a rapid series of shots, walking them up the repeater's mount. One struck the gunner's shoulder, spinning him slightly, but his hands stayed on the grips. He gritted his teeth and forced the weapon back on target. The shark woman glanced up from the deck of the first enemy boat, eyes narrowing as she took in the threat. She didn't hesitate. She didn't weigh options. She just moved.
She sprinted across the deck, boots thudding against metal, and leapt. The first boat, already damaged and listing from the earlier impacts, hit a rock outcrop at that exact moment. The collision sent a shockwave through the hull, a burst of force that turned her jump into something more like a launch. She rode it, body twisting mid‑air, arms outstretched. She hit the second boat like a thrown spear. The deck buckled under the impact. The gunner staggered, losing his grip on the repeater. The weapon swung wide, its charged barrel scraping against the railing. The energy discharge went off in a blinding flash, the bolt slamming into the canyon wall instead of their hull. Stone exploded outward, showering the water with debris.
She didn't give him a second chance. She grabbed the repeater's frame and wrenched it sideways, metal groaning in protest. The gunner tried to hold on, but she drove her shoulder into his chest and shoved. He went backward over the railing, arms pinwheeling, and disappeared into the churning wake. The repeater, still partially charged, slipped from its mount and crashed into the boat's engine housing. The discharge that followed wasn't clean or controlled. It was messy, unfocused, and violent. The explosion tore through the rear of the craft, sending flames and shrapnel into the air. The boat lurched, its stern dropping as the engines died.
The Twi'lek Seastone seized the opening. She pushed their repulsor boat harder, engines howling as she forced more power through them. The hull vibrated, the port repulsor whining in protest, but it held. They surged forward, leaving the burning wreckage behind. Mistral exhaled slowly, letting his heart rate settle back into something manageable. He checked his weapon charge still good, barrel warm but not overheated. He scanned the canyon ahead, then the water, then the remaining enemy boats. Two left. The third boat had hung back, using the others as a screen. Now, with the first two crippled or destroyed, it moved in.
Its pilot was cautious, keeping just enough distance to avoid the worst of the wake interference. Its gunner fired in short, disciplined bursts, testing their defenses rather than committing fully. The fourth boat was the problem. Larger, heavier, its hull reinforced with additional plating. Its prow was shaped to cut through both water and debris. Its gunner sat behind a partial shield canopy, protected from most small‑arms fire. This was the command craft, the one that expected to outlast the others. "Third boat's probing," Mistral said. "Fourth is a hammer." He was looking at more of it as Aya snarled. "Can we outrun them?" Her voice came out but she was more annoyed then worried.
"Not in this canyon," Seastone replied. "Too many turns. They'll get angles on us no matter what I do." She was navigating them around as the waves were kicked up and the boat was rising into the air. "Then we break them before we're out of it," the captain said. "Suggestions?" Seastone was making a small show of it and using the repulsors to push them off of the walls. "Use the rocks," Mistral said. "Force them into bad lines. Make them choose between collision and exposure." The Twi'lek's lekku twitched. "I can do that." The shark woman had already moved back toward their boat, diving into the water when the second enemy craft lost control and using the chaos to slip away.
She surfaced near their stern, claws digging into the hull as she hauled herself up with casual strength. Water streamed off her as she swung back onto the deck, breathing hard but grinning. "Fun," she said. "Not done," the captain replied. "We've still got two." Mistral was looking at more as he moved with his attention on some of it. "Good," the shark woman said, rolling her shoulders. "I'd hate to stop now." The canyon ahead narrowed again, the walls leaning inward. The Twi'lek Seastone adjusted their course, angling them toward a split in the rock that looked barely wide enough for their hull. The water there was rougher, broken by submerged formations that sent unpredictable waves across the surface.
"Hold on," she said. "This is going to get ugly." The third enemy boat tried to follow their line, but Seastone misjudged the swell. The bow hit a rising wave at the wrong angle, lifting too high. The stern dropped, the repulsors momentarily losing optimal distance from the water. The boat's nose slammed down hard, sending a spray of water over the deck and throwing the gunner off balance. Mistral took the shot. His bolt caught the gunner in the chest, the impact knocking him backward into the railing. He hit it hard, bounced, and went over the side. The pilot of the third boat swore Mistral couldn't hear it, but he could see the shape of the word and scrambled to regain control.
The Twi'lek didn't give them time. She cut across their path, using the canyon's curve to force the third boat into a tighter turn than it wanted. The hull scraped rock, sparks flying. The boat wobbled, overcorrected, and clipped a submerged formation. The impact tore into the underside, sending a plume of water and debris into the air. The craft lurched, slowed, then began to sink, its engines sputtering. "Three down," the captain said. "One to go." The last boat didn't flinch. It came on steadily, engines roaring, prow cutting through the chaos like it wasn't there. Its gunner opened up with a heavier weapon something between a repeater and a light cannon.
The shots were slower, but each one hit like a hammer. One bolt slammed into the water just off their port side, sending up a geyser that rocked their hull. Another struck the canyon wall, blasting a chunk of stone free. The debris rained down around them, chunks of rock hitting the water with heavy splashes. "Can't take many of those," Seastone said through gritted teeth. "Then we don't," Mistral replied. He watched the command boat's approach, tracking its angles, its timing. Seastone was good better than the others. They weren't overcommitting, weren't charging blindly. They were herding, trying to push their repulsor boat into a position where the canyon would limit their options.
"Left fork ahead," the Twi'lek said. "Narrow, low ceiling. Right fork is wider, but more exposed." Aya was looking at it for the moment as she debated for a moment. "They'll expect us to take the right," the captain said. "They'll be ready for it," Mistral agreed. "Take the left." Seastone nodded once. "Everyone duck when I say." The canyon split ahead, the left passage a darker, tighter cut in the rock. The ceiling dipped low, close enough that Mistral could see the rough texture of the stone, the mineral veins running through it. The Twi'lek angled them toward it, then at the last second, feinted right. The command boat adjusted, committing to the wider fork.
At the last possible moment, the Twi'lek snapped them back left, engines screaming as she forced the repulsors to bite into the water at a brutal angle. The hull shuddered, but the boat obeyed, shooting into the narrow passage. "Down!" she shouted. Mistral dropped, pressing his shoulder to the deck, one hand still on his weapon. The captain did the same. The shark woman crouched low, head bowed. The low ceiling rushed past overhead, close enough that he could have reached up and touched it if he'd been suicidal. The command boat tried to follow. It was too big. The prow hit the edge of the rock ceiling with a sound like a building collapsing.
Metal crumpled, the reinforced plating buckling under the force. The impact drove the bow downward, the stern lifting. The engines screamed, then choked as water flooded over the rear. The boat twisted, slammed into the canyon wall, and broke apart in a spray of debris and flame. The shockwave hit their repulsor boat a moment later, a wall of displaced air and water that rocked them hard. The Twi'lek rode it out, hands steady on the controls, letting the wave push them forward instead of fighting it. Then, suddenly, there was open water ahead. The canyon walls fell away, the sky widening above them. The water smoothed out, the chaotic chop of the confined channel giving way to broader, rolling swells.
The engines' pitch shifted, the strain easing as the repulsors no longer had to fight the tight confines of the canyon. The Twi'lek Seastone exhaled, shoulders dropping a fraction. "We're clear." Mistral pushed himself back to his feet, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He checked his weapon again, more out of habit than necessity. The captain stood, scanning the horizon, then the water behind them. No more engines. No more pursuers. Just the fading echo of the explosion and the distant crash of waves against rock. The shark woman leaned against the railing, water still dripping from her hair, chest rising and falling with the afterglow of exertion.
There was a faint, satisfied curve to her mouth. She looked like she'd just finished a good workout. Mistral took in the deck scorched railing, pitted metal, a few fresh dents where debris had struck. Nothing critical. No one on their boat was bleeding. No one was overboard. The hull had held. The repulsors were still humming. Acceptable outcome. He glanced once more at the widening expanse of water ahead, then at the others. "Next time," he said calmly, "let's not take the scenic route." The captain snorted once, a short, sharp sound that might have been a laugh. "No promises," she said. "But I'll take this over the alternative."
The Twi'lek Seastone adjusted their heading, angling them toward their objective. The engines settled into a steadier rhythm. The worst of the vibration faded. Behind them, the canyon swallowed the last traces of smoke and fire. Mistral was looking at it as the rocks of the canyon were still there and he could see the dangers of just going through most of the sea as they went. "So... did anyone catch if those were pirates or the ones trying to kill us?" He said it as Aya looked at him. "I think there was a human there or four but no one got a chance to talk to them." The shark woman was looking at them. "Hmm that got the blood pumping."
