Fire and Shadows [Seroth]

[Rosa Gunn]

"As I recall it," Rosa mused, eyes glittering with mischief. "The Rosa got plenty dirty on Spira. Those storms did some serious damage I'll have you know." She followed him to the room, her mocking smile chasing him the whole way. "Beside which, the Iron Snake could do with a face lift."

She would pay for teasing him, but it came so easily, more easily when times were hard. Laughter was needed to get through the dark moments and they were about to plunge head first into their greatest shadow yet. Stealing form them did not worry Rosa, they had done it before, granted with the best pilot in the galaxy at the helm of a ship that didn't belong to them, but they had still done it without planning. They had keen minds and plenty of skill between them, it would be a breeze. Or so she hoped.

Facing Spencer and seeing what dark demons had grown, preparing herself to berate Ashin for allowing it to happen, now that was terrifying. Rosa rested one hand on her hip, head tilted a small frown on her face as she watched Seroth pack, shaking her head as his glee she collected her lightsaber from the bedside table and clipped it to her belt. The Iron Snake carried clothes enough for both of them for the trip. Opening a cupboard she pulled a ready made medical kit from a shelf and slipped the strap over her shoulder. She could heal wounds well enough, but if she was injured, Seroth may have to do the healing as best he could until they returned.

Drawing close to him, she slid her hands across his hips, bringing them to rest at his lower back as she rested her forehead against his. A moment of calm before they rode the coming storm. "I love you." she said softly.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

"I love you too..."

This venture would see them either successful or burned. Failure meant coming home to see dark trails of smoke wafting over a Teth sunset. If they came home at all. Rosa told him she loved him. And picking her up by the slope of her knees, to swing her up against a porous stone wall, her lad made sure his reply was resounding. If everything was to go to flames, they'd burn for a moment now. The kiss was a scorch of ether and heat. Soft sunlight glowed over like umber, veiled by crystal ceiling panes. Hurried gasps plied with impatient hands, stroking where they dared. But not now, not yet. Greater works needed seeing to. Rosa was settled to her feet. They strolled for the turbolifts, red-faced and slowly gulping back air.

Moments on, they stepped out into air-cooled bays. Feed lines looped overhead, swaying thickly as pythons. Duranium decking, vulcan-rock walls, refueling hosing, glistened with morning condensation. The Golden Rose slumbered, elegant as a monarch, daring as a concubine, strung up in maintenance scaffolds. All gold and ivory with mirroring sheen's. Tools piled in red-rusted chests laid where Seroth had left them. He thought of returning and getting that one stubborn CO2 nozzle to dislodge from its sealant cuff. He reached to hold hands with Rosa.

The Iron Snake brooded like its namesake. Its fierce, galvanized lines were draped with leather tarpaulin, locked to the decking. Water slowly dripped off its hooked nose, bubbled on the main cockpit canopy. A long slice of riveted jet-steel, looking restless for flight. Seroth even gently hushed it with a stroke against its fuselage. As Rosa boarded to store their cached tools, her beau trundled in the cold, snapping off plugged diagnostic feeds. The fueling cap turned a stubborn note before finally accepting the captain's wrestling grasp. Low throbs of ionic power began to heat the air. Seroth waved to Rosa at the viewfinder, climbing aboard as takeoff protocols cycled on. The Iron Snake loosed a shivering growl, harkening to the call of the void.

Seroth paused as he took the control yokes, and looked to his fiance. "...Are you ready?"

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa was already seated in the co pilots chair, forehead crinkled with concentration as she began plotting their jumps through hyperspace. Their journey would take them through the space of the Black Suns, CIS and Omega Pyre before they even reached Fringe space. It would be an long arduous journey in itself, never mind what would meet them at the other end. Was she ready? She looked up from the console at her love and smiled. With him at her side she was ready for anything. Leaning towards him she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Yes." She said softly, before turning her attention back to the console.

The Iron Snake purred around them as it lifted from the landing dock, sailing above the forests of Teth. Rosa watched them shrink away, giving birth to the black void of space, a home from home. Even so, a month in a confined space after several months running around Teth would take its toll on both of them. Once clear of the planets atmosphere, Rosa activated the hyper drive and welcomed the streaked stars that would be their view in the coming weeks. Rising from the chair she gave Seroth's shoulder a squeeze and moved towards their cabin, dropping clothes as she did.

***

They wiled away the days as best as lovers could, discussing plans for the wedding playing sabaac and seeing if they could do as much damage to the cabin as they had done on the Golden Rose. Even in the company of her beau, when bright lines gave way to stars, and Taloraan's bright form glared at them, Rosa was eager to get to the port. A few smooth words to the security officer that was unlucky enough to question them that day, earned them a landing spot. As the ship powered down, Rosa sat back in the co pilot's chair, chewing her lip, deep in thought. "We're going to need to do some recon." she said finally.

 

[Seydon of Arda]

They made love and conversation for three weeks plying the spacer lanes. Taking the trail from the far pieces of Wild Space, across to the slowly mapped 'Unknown' Regions, required to circumvent several established vessel traffic lanes. The Conclave emphasized discrete action, subtlety, and reasonable caution. Republic Space was especially prickly. Patrol fleets kept up their monitor upon worlds with vested military interest.

Commenor nearly saw them flagged and boarded for a random patrol, ominously backed by an overseeing Jedi Knight. Quick thinking avoided any unnecessary attentions. Seroth flew them close to a local G1 star and had their vessel bask close to its interfering radio outputs. Light and heat obscured their general vessel outline. For added effect, they busied in case communications were in fact established. A stiff necked Commodore attempted to upbraid them over the holo-com. She got an eyeful of a 'navigation session' occurring between the pilot seats.

Their comm. line stopped ringing.

~

One Standard Month Later

"Readouts are detailing several atmospheric layers compatible with most standard, carbon based mammals," Seroth murmured. The Iron Snake was gliding slow into a meandering orbit. "But the atmosphere's generating a naturally potent magnetic field. Sensors are either being foiled outright, or being milked out. ...Hmmmnn."

Jorus had obliged them with details regarding a secreted TibannaX platform. Taloraan was a swollen repository of untapped gas floes. Both the Protectorate and Imperials had been beaten to establishing a claim, as the Fringe routed supply lines that strung from Phu to distant Yalara. That the Lords now possessed both a heady supply of stygium and the isotope-specific variation of ordinary Tibanna gas spoke of increasingly subtle production capabilities. Even the Mandalorians were hard pressed, by rumour, to compete with their own line of stealth warships. It didn't sit well with the lad, considering the implications. At Yalara, the Conclave bore witness to Ashin Varanin's fathomless ambition. Or addiction.

They flew low, piercing several solid cloud layers that briefly eschewed their vision. The Iron Snake leveled out into what bore up as a kind of fantastic vision. This band of atmosphere stretched high, enough to allow several kilometer long floating gas-islands to leisurely rumble by on their own propulsion. 'Living Islands' someone called them. Great, pustular bubbles of toughened, membranous hide swollen wide. Beneath trailed massive, fleshy boughs, roughly three kilometers long, and thicker than most battleships. Riders on wide-winged beasts extricated themselves out through an unseen bottom exhaust sphincter. Risky, but Seroth considered the beasts capable hideaways if this next leg of their venture failed.

On the horizon, washed with sunlit glows, hovering collection platforms busied themselves in mining the Tibanna reservoirs. They were titanic constructions of dirtied steel girders and venting waste-stacks. Shivering dots, engine flairs, showcased a constant patrolling circuit. Seroth leaned into his seating, eyes glazed in contemplation. ...A hand reached and spun up a holo-board lining up the disparate atmospheric layers. The farther one ventured into Taloraan's cloud layers, the pressure multiplied to crushing immensity. Grey eyes lit up quietly.

"...Suppose if the Fringe was daring, love," He said. "Suppose if you were daring, and you very much are. Mayhap you think they've lowered this X-facility down into the sub-strata? Away from peeking locals, or even clueless subordinates?"

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

She listened to Seroth's musings her own eyes fixed on the holoboard. "Ashin is daring, but she's also arrogant. If I was her, i wouldn't hide it from anyone, i'd just double security." she sighed "Still, its a possibility. If you are right, we're going to need the enviro suits which complicates matters. Walking around a perfectly breathable atmosphere with an enviro suit on draws attention so we'd need to change into them on the way down." She tipped her head back in the seat and groaned, pouting for a moment like a child. "Why can't anything be easy?"

She rose from the chair. "The only way we're going to find out is to poke our noses around in the port. Luckily for you, I have this incredible skill called psychometry," she turned her mocking eyes on her fiance "Saves and incredible amount of guessing time."
@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

'Port' was Taloraan City. Situated squarely on the equatorial belt, stiffly anchored between two eddying pockets of cloud saturated winds somewhere on the interlinked jet-streams, they called it a Sister to Bespin's much celebrated Cloud City. It'd grown in subsequent decades. From Terminus to Phu, out to distant Rakata Beta and a hundred thousand depots in between; business hadn't relented. With vested interest from the consolidated Fringe, production demand had rocketed to nova heights. Tibanna was everything. Like carbon, like silicon, its essential characteristics was a military building block.

Their comm. wailed. The Iron Snake relayed requested ident-permits. Cautious prodding led Seroth to invest a significant portion of his savings into purchasing a chameleon's registration. Digitally camouflaging, articulate, subtle with a compact UI. He made them out into a pair of Eastward gas prospectors. Common enough, the Iron Snake's hull-scoured visuals lending extra credence. However, Fringe security protocols proved stringent, mincing. The lad let Rosa speak on their behalf; she'd a silver tongue he thoroughly lacked. At last, docking privileges were relinquished, with a customary warning.

The Snake skated on a high wind over Taloraan's spire architecture. Parched rockcrete textures, ground and corrugated by centuries of windfall abrasion, rendered the city to resemble some upright shell collection. Like the raised spine of some dessicated, segmented sail. Seroth eased their landing stanchions onto a hovering platform. Locks engaged, slaving the vessel into place. Behind, to their right, they listened to an air-lock hiss on its cycle, descending a disembark ramp with rattling clangs.

"Luckily for me," Seroth said, smiling gently, cycling the vessel to standby. "I have you."
@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa gave him a sly grin. "Leave your toys at home, love. We shouldn't need them today." She left her lightsaber where it was best, tucked in a drawer in their quarters. Dressed in plain jeans and a simple top, Rosa slid a coat on. Her mind calm despite the task ahead. With the airlock secure and her love at her side, they departed the security of the Snake and stepped into the City's docking facilities. A short walk brought them to a Coruscant-esque city. Long board walks, buildings that stretched their spires towards the stars and a sky full of traffic. Rosa paused looking up, and sliding her hands into her pockets.

She spent so much time either confined to a ship or enjoying the views on Teth that she had forgotten what a bustling city was like. Their trip to Nar Shadda had her so focused on the matter at hand that she didn't give her surroundings a second thought, now she came to realize just how uncomfortable she had become in them. A hand found hers in her pocket and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Brown eyes dropped from the sky and met grey. If anyone in this galaxy was lucky, it was her. Without Seroth she had no idea what dark hole she would have been in today.

They moved through the city, hand in hand using Jorus's intelligence and Rosa's instincts to find themselves a bar frequented by workers of the mine. Giving Seroth a small smile she pulled him inside, finding them a booth tucked away in a corner she removed her coat and slid into a seat. "If we're going to get any information, its here."
@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Walking in beneath the bent doorway, past a basic security screener, slapped the breath from their lips. Tibanna's pungent mixture of bromine and alkaline scents was powerfully noxious. From end to end, between four sets of grime-washed walling, tired miners sat limp in their deck chairs. At least eighteen differing species were arraigned, similarly gritted with the day's effort. Instead of coveralls they wore plastics. Sealant cuffs hung off wrists, ankles, to dangle like ostentatious decor. Conversation was kept at a broad hum. It spanned from typical articles relating to the day's bantha-poodoo, to reports of home, life, love, lust. Seroth listened a moment to the spectrum. He noted five gas miner's settled on a wide deck by the bar. Three humanoids, a reptile, and a long-billed avian. They were heavy, a little more soused than others, bantering between bickering and joking. With Rosa close, they waded against the pressed seats. They pulled up 'stumps', and leaned close over the bar counter.

"What'll it be?" Said the glass tender. She was a thickset Devaronian, quite pretty once with traces shining through hard lines and skewered facial piercings. Her hands bandied off two shot-glasses. "We've rum. And more rum. Plus, a little rum."

"We'll take rum then."

She smiled, slightly. "What brings newcommer's in here? Miner's usually scare off the timid."

Seroth flicked a gnat-fly off his nose with his thumb. "We're out east, from Bespin. We tried our hand at gas work but the unions didn't take kindly to anyone unvetted. Someone said Taloraan's opened up."

"It has. And how," The Bar maid replied. "The old lady Kaarde, and those calling themselves her 'friends', are quite busy working the sift stations for what they can wheeze up from the lower strata. S'till no guarantee."

"Damn it..." Seroth cussed. "Is there any word if new pumping stations are in the works?"

"...Funny you should ask that. Word's going around we got a new station down by the southern reaches, but nothing's shown up on paper. Don't know where all that steel and 'pulsor lifts got too, though."

The lad raised his expression. "Hmn?"

"...Folks here made some mentions. I tend to listen sometimes, if it's worth it," The Devaronian leaned close. "Accordingly? 'Couple contractors got siphoned for a hefty call of construction materials. Lift-tech, kit and all. But no workers. 'Least none that frequent here. Word's that someone got scammed, but I dunno..."

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa exchanged a look with Seroth at the mention of a new station. A station without workers was a more viable target than one with too many eyes, but before any decision could be made they needed more information. Rosa wrapped her hand around the shot glass the devaronian gave them. "That's a hell of a kick in the teeth. How long ago did this pop up?"

The bar maid shrugged "Couple o' weeks maybe." Rosa looked at Seroth but said nothing. A station without the usual workers screamed private facility, one that Ashin could be using to fuel her own ships. What better way to cut out the middle man? She drew in a breath and blew out her cheeks in frustration shaking her head. "We'll find something." she said assuring Seroth, playing the encouraging fiance, laying her hand on his "We didn't spend our savings to come out here and be told there's no work for us. We just need to dig around for something on this new facility."

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

It was a surreal moment of domesticity. Nearby, blaring, a mono holo-projector switched out its highlighted read-out, tracking on a new tune of music. Someone with a hard baritone voice began to blare out in time with the lyrics. Seroth could only smile softly, in his way, and held tight to Rosa's knuckles. Sure-in their cover was a fake, but... It offered tantalization. What if, in some fashion, beneath bawdy neon-flickered lights, they'd come to be like this? Settled on bar stools, trading stories then drink? He ruffled his nostrils at the stench of spent Tibanna gas, took a down on his drink.

"Careful, though..." Warned the Barmaid. Her yellowed eyes seemed stiff with something unspoken. "These territories got... harsher kinds of administrators keeping watch on things. Some say the Fringe Lords keep a warship or too lurking down by the gas deposits, pinging echoes, waiting in case of trouble. Used to be that prospectors loved to take a quick dive in. Now... Well, it's a reluctant sorta thing."

"Maybe they're looking for a sort that's less nervous," Seroth winked to Rosa. "Another round, before we go."

"Roger that."

Together, they raised shots and clinked frosted glass close. Seroth paused, to watch. A peculiar shade of neon navy had struck Rosa's visage if just briefly. It was like gold and azure blending into exotic, extrinsic, just pure glamour. Grey eyes watched her lips part to drink. He envied the rum, just briefly. Soon, they rose up to pay off their tab. Seroth paused surreptitiously and looked about. ...No unfamiliar nor mean eyes were raised on them, but that didn't mean much. Though they were at the cusp of the Unknown Regions, he didn't trust not to be mingling with potential agents. He and the Fringe had butted heads, and quite bitterly.

They waded out into swampy air and faded sunlight. Aircars whirled overhead with constant repulsor roars, as engines gunned to hurry their traffic along faster. The lad adjusted the ride of his short coat. Smoggy heat washed them hotly, with vapor clouds banking off street lamps. Crowds strolled on past in a wide sea of bobbing heads. Unconsciously, Seroth's hand sought Rosa's to tug her in.

"Well now..." He smiled. "A new extraction plant at the southern strata. I think that warrants some curiosity~"
@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa smiled, resting her head on his shoulder as Seroth tugged her in close, fingers locking tightly together. "Hmn." she mused in response "A new extraction plant with mystery around it. Makes you wonder what she's up to." By she, she meant Ashin, yet the more Rosa thought about it, the more she came to realize that Ashin and Spencer ruled together. This was not 'Ashin's Empire', things were not as they were before. This was a civilization they had built together. She lifted her head from Seroth's shoulder, a frown creasing her forehead. "Hmn..." she said again, but did not expand further.

They would need to go down, and that required environmental suits and a way in. She sighed and looked at Seroth. She was a diplomat in nature, capable of dealing with personal matters and settling disputes between nations. She was not, and never would be a strategist. She might have taken the steps to call Jorus, but here, aside from helping get information and actually supporting in the task itself, she was most certainly not the brains. "I assume you have a plan," she said with a smile "Because I certainly don't."

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Strategists and paranoiacs would blanch at their juncture. Lighyears deep past the Fringe dispute zone, aboard a gas world floating with living, pustule islands and suspended city-platforms, at a lack of situational intelligence beyond mere word of mouth. Operators preferring guile to overstatement would be coolly panicking to set up a half dozen extraction contingencies. Rosa asked her lad if he'd plotted together a course. Pushing through a long bank of trailing vapor upon the sidewalk, seeping up from a sewer cauldron, Seroth considered. Aircar horns trumpeted overhead. Someone leaned out of a thickly tinted speeder cabin to loose a colourful adjective stream. The lad looked around. Taloraan City, labyrinthine, vertical maze, towered high all around the pair. Banners bearing the Fringe 'Arms' trailed in strong cross-drafts from light-poles.

Risk trembled his blood. Thumbs stroked over the back of Rosa's knuckles. Calling an air-taxi down, credchit palmed through a windowed payment slot, Seroth skated them inside. He talked half-and-half to the Cabby and his to-be-wife. "Game hunts are equal portions of planning and opportunity. If you're hungry enough, barring everything, you improvise to gain your catch."

Anxious, the cabby kept asking for a destination. Seroth had pilfered a travel brochure from a backseat in-line pocket, leafing. His fingers scrolled over laminated pages, thick with greasy aurbesh fonts. There looked like close to a hundred highlighted locales; bars, hotels, clubs, sites, tours, getaway destinations. Even Taloraan appreciated subsistence through tourist traffic. Grey eyes anchored on one locale in particular. Seroth leaned forward and rapped hard on the protective glasteel casing separating passenger from pilot. "Hey! Southside docks, then the Prism, quick as you like!"

"Oioi," Said their driver. He bent all six of his elongated arms in to the complicated control-yoke scheme, and sent them skittering high into repulsor-traffic. Long transport buses sloughed past. In their company seemed a dozen smaller sedans, air-coups, paired air-bikes, of exotic make harkening to their remote status. Seroth slipped Rosa the flier, pointing to a pictured advertisement. The Prism: A CQC venue and sporting den.

"It's... reaching," Seroth admitted, staring on. "We'll need our kits. The Fringe hosts a mess of combat officers. In their off-time, it could be safe to assume some patron or even participate in off-duty fight spectacles. If we can catch a said-officer and rip him or her off for their ident-chit, we'll have security clearance to advance with. Somewhere in this city has to be a reserved dock for unloading hitched tibanna gas pressure vessels. With emergency dive-suits, I hope. We just need a pair, and something reinforced to pilot down to the lower stratas... But we'll not get anywhere trying to bluster without something to needle us through the chain-of-command."

Her lad smiled, lightly. "Even faced with your brand of unstoppable charm..."
@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

It was a good plan and she nodded slowly studying the leaflet in her hand, looking up with a small smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Once we get the ident-chit I'll be able to find the dock. Assuming of course that our choice of officer has the right clearance." All she needed was an object that had seen the docks, form the she could garner the memories in order to locate the dock. Beyond that, it was simply a case of acquiring transport and the necessary equipment. A mischievous look crossed her eyes and Rosa took the moment of quiet in the cab to distract her beau with a fierce kiss.

The driver cleared his throat when they reached the docks, unsure of where to look. Rosa hopped out with a light laugh as the moved to the Snake to gather their tools. For Rosa, this meant nothing more than her lighsaber which she slipped into a small satchel that she slung over her shoulder and waited at the foot of the landing ramp for Seroth to gather his own collection. The force was Rosa's main weapon. Oh, she was well versed in shii-cho and ataru to defend herself with a lightsaber, but that was not where her strengths lay. Kits gathered, they bundled back into the cab and the driver set of for the Prism. Rosa did not steal kisses for this journey, she closed her eyes and centred herself, finding focus and brightening her senses.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

The Prism was a five sided and highly raised pentagonal structure, with each side fluted with jazzy electrum-gold paneling, streamed over by massive cloth-rolls of royal indigo factory stitched with silver filigree. Search-lamps spiraled tall light buttresses from the roofing across to neighboring entertainment offices. Site owners had sunk fantastic degrees of wealth in ensuring their promotion venue laid nestled in Taloraan City's busiest stretch of Entertainment Zone. Holo-board advertisements, as large as building faces, flashed an ever diversifying array of local attractions. Go-Go dance clubs. Grav-board trial dens. The latest in live performance shows scoping from small, personal theaters to an absolutely titanic, dwarfing auditory stadium glinting like shaved diamond. It was an overwhelming assault of media simply trying to make it to the Prism.

Rosa's touch took the edge of tension out of his shoulder's. Seroth's throat looked taut with concentration, looking from the backseat cabin windows out into windswept air-car canyons. Traffic whisked too swiftly overhead, beside, and beneath. It felt like flying into the face of needle-bee nest. Between them laid a small duffel bag carrying their tools; Seroth's mostly. No taxi-pilot would accept armed occupants. Not obviously. Ahead, through a dimmed haze of local pollution cloud-columns in between towering commercial skyscrapers, red glares off the setting sun milked through the gas-atmospheric upper stratas. Then, the air-taxi dipped and came to a smooth halt. They'd arrived.

"Won-twenny creds, if y'don't myne," The pilot leaned over to tap at the separating cabin glass. Seroth anted up their funds and ducked outside with Rosa close in tow.

The Prism was even more breathlessly monstrous when in close person. It soared a keen 87 meters overhead. Local winds fluttered relentlessly at the strung banners and advertisement flags locked to the pentagonal faces. To their left laid crowds speared through by guarded entry red-carpets. In flew fleets of limousine speeders, chuffing silently, lean, long, sleek, designed by mean eyes to evoke war like patterns. Apart from the hollering spectacle, Seroth and Rosa watched the combatants emerge. They were tall, ranging from human specimens to rolling Herglic fighters weighing in for the Ultra-Heavy Titles. There was one... There he was. Titled 'The Commander', a noted Fringe troop-leader moonlighting as a successful ring contender in his off time. Strapping, bolstered with thickened muscle beneath his fashioned suit trim. Tanned, long hair ringed back and dyed platinum-bleach, dimpled with metal piercings on his cheek bones and chin.

"That's the one. He'll have his ident-chit on person," Seroth whispered to Rosa's ear. He began to maneuver them into a swift walk around the Prism's engorged perimeter. They needed access to some side-entry: a catering doorway into the kitchens, a maintenance portal, whatever would allow them inside the Prism's inner corridors. Time with Qae Shena taught him to be wary of electronic trouble; surveillance, infrared, heat and weight sensors, bio-metric tripfalls and the like. At best, he'd have to make doors were there were none in case subtlety failed.

And it would. Tonight would require the pair to move with blistering speed before Fringe forces on Taloraan woke up to any conspiracy. They rounded on the third building-face. A mono-eyed camera kept a glaring watch over a single lit maintenance hatchway. Seroth casually kept his arm looped around Rosa's waist. They strolled past, him leaning close to tickle her throat with his breath. An innocuous couple. And he did part with a kiss that surprised her with wide, brown gold-flecked eyes. Then he was running fast up the ferrocrete wall behind the camera, his shirt-cuffs ripping. Out snapped a pivot-blade. It fitted to his fist and drove down once, twice into the seams behind the plasteel covering. Sputtered clouds of soldered smoke and guttering spark-arcs jumped at the protective bubble.

"Love?" He said by the doorway now, motioning to an palm-lock. "...Could I bother you to melt this for me? Please?"
@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Snap-hiss

The violet blade came to life in her hands flashing up as he bade, melting the palm lock before hissing out of existence again and disappearing back into her satchel. She pressed herself against the door, extending her senses beyond it, listening for the soft murmurs of security guards, the fluttering of calm hearts. She raised three fingers, dropping each one as they drifted away from the door. She took a step back, glanced to check they were not being watched before landing a well aimed kick below the handle. It swung open clanging against the wall, the noise echoing into the alley and through the building. Rosa winced, someone had to have heard that. The deep thrum of a heavy base line reverberated through the corridors, barely drowning out the cat call and shouts of a rowdy crowd that greeted their entertainment. The fights hadn't started yet, else the music would have stopped.

Rosa took the lead, opening her mind to her Seroth as she did. Everything needed to be seamless, each move done without verbal communication. They key now was to look like they belonged. as they rounded the corner the found themselves face to face with a sullustan gaurd. Rosa did not hesitate, she flashed the guard a smile. "Which way do the contestants need to go?" she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at Seroth "Knucklehead here is lost." the sullustan eyed Seroth before looking back at Rosa. "Whadda you, if 'ees the knuckle'ed."

"I'm the poor woman who has to patch him up when he loses. Have you tried telling a man he's wasting his time?" The sullustan guffawed and shook his head, clapping Rosa on the shoulder and giving her what she could only call a pitied look, he pointed down the corridor. "Secon' door on righ'." Rosa flashed him another charming smile and shot a dark look at Seroth over her shoulder and jerked her head in the direction the sullustan had pointed in. "Move it dunderhead."

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

They passed with swift assurance through hallways choked tight with packed personnel. The Prism hosted every event match, from Flyweight to Heavyweight, as multi-media excursions seen across the Unknown Regions and deep on into the Core. Resource directors, mid-way staff directing one flow of process into the other, barked unapologetic into collar comlinks and passing faces. Besides them were the fighter's propper: idling, preparing, socializing, bragging. Seroth couldn't recognize even half the species present; each was taut with skin stretched across training forged musculature. There was certainly bluster. Seeing the lad being led on brought some torrents of heckling abuse. Despite his apparent pounds and smooth gait, they'd rip him asunder. Throw him to the crowds where his lover could collect him later.

It was to Rosa's credit that she never gave up a hint of unease: eyes forward, sharp, terribly frigid, a professional's pro and keen to see her services paid. And then one oversized Welterweight reached out. His hand didn't manage to touch a thread of her shoulder. The lad simply saw her gaze snap aside, to freeze the being where he stood leaning. There was an apology, mumbled in fits, the creature rifling his pockets for a quick iho-stick smoke. And then Rosa struck him with a look befitting an apex predator dragging along its poor omega-mate. ...Seroth was in two-minds: spousal fear and tensing arousal.

'The Commander' held court on the eighteenth floor. The 'Stars Gangway', they heard murmured from either envious or awed fighters. Supposedly it was an unspoken rule to keep the Stars Gangway cleared for all save high earning warriors rounded by each division. Totaled, the pair mapped out an approximate collection of sixteen dressing and rehearsal rooms. Again Rosa's powerful bluster, frigid command of voice and body language, laced with diplomatic supremacy, had them waiting in a short turbo-lift ride. With no one to notice, they risked a brief hold of hands.

"Hmn," Seroth murmured.

It was the smell. Stars Gangway was rife with a choke of narcotic spice. Low smoke-clouds barred across pit-lamps glaring unkindly from tall rafters above. It seemed indicative of the image: privileged warriors with proven records being relentlessly favoured with habits that ordinarily would see them dropped from any drafts. Somewhere, in the Bantamweight dressing quarters, women were giggling, laughing, one loosing excruciatingly graphic sounds, while a too-young voice cussed drunkenly. Rosa lead on swiftly. According to their estimate, the Commander would be stationed in the Human Division for Light Heavyweight. He kept an exotic digital-lock job fastened to his auto-door. Seroth walked in over Rosa's shoulder and flexed his right hand. Attached to his forearm rested a tried, true Denon pivot blade. It shot up between his knuckles, gripped steely. She watched him drive its point through the polished glass keypad; with a wicked hiss, the door shot upright.

...The Commander was only half dressed and being serviced by a knelt Biituian. His hand snatched away his half-dragged death-stick. "Oh what the hell??"

Seroth let him have his brief consternation. Then he was a blurring shape few eyes could track, hurling forward. The Commander was a noted, practiced brawler. Reputation told he could take a Zabrak through eight rounds. Short on time, the lad saved the issue with a single curt blow. His forearm cracked through the Commander's nose-cartilage, his teeth, ratcheting stunning force up into his skull.

"Ohhh..." And he fell back, snapping an aluminum clothes chest into rubble behind him.

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa clapped a hand over the biituians mouth before she could utter a scream. "Sleep." she said softly, nudging the girls mind in the force. She went limp in her arms and Rosa laid her gently on the floor. "Do you have to be so noisy?" she mocked lightly "...and messy." She eyed the broken clothes chest before rummaging around for the ident-chit. She picked up a shirt, picking reluctantly through the pockets, finding a small plastic bag containing a glittering substance. She threw both aside, clicking her tongue in disgust and moved for the trousers, pulling the ident-chit free of a pocket. "Gotcha." she said slipping it into her satchel.

"Alright, that was the easy bit." She paused, thoughtful for a moment, checking beyond the walls of the room for any signs that they had been detected, or if anyone was suspicious. So far, so good. but that would only last as long as the pair that lay unconscious on the floor remained undetected. She slipped back out into the corridor, Seroth in tow, closing the door as best he could behind them. She looked along the corridor, pondering the best path. To go back would raise suspicions, it was better that they simply disappeared. She moved away from the crowds further along the corridors of the dressing table till she reached the end. A transparisteel window gave views to the glowing promenade below, she closed her eyes as she slide the window open and peered down a sudden wave of nausea washing over her.

"Ugh." she protested at her own idea. She had never been good with heights, yet she found herself conquering them more often than avoiding them. Ensuring satchel was secure over her shoulder she climbed out, finding careful handholds between gold panelling. Once Seroth was out, she used the force to slide the window shut quietly leaving no clue as to where they had gone and began the arduous climb down.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Resting below, the promenade rioted with pulsed collections of gyrating sonic discharges. There were lights, backlit with a thousand neon pixie bursts, framing passing bodies in halo outlines. It akin to staring at a circuit-board in macroscope; the ground a scaled pattern plate, upraised sidewalks weaving like freehand conductive traces, darkly lit buildings standing for electrical components, as parked air-speeders resembled oblong, flattened vias. Taloraan winds picked up and buffeted them against the electrum siding. From the eighteenth floor, estimating docked their climb at around a heady hundred-twenty or so meters. The sheerness of the Prism walling seemed so treacherous it was mocking. It was a juxtaposition: Seroth freshly likened it to any number of cliff-faces he'd scaled in the past years, while Rosa was between pale and green pallors.

Their fingers clenched to raised rivet-bolts. Cautiously, with superlative care, boot-toes felt for clefts left over between the siding plates. Here and there, gold-flecked paints had been drawn over nasty weals inflicted by careless weld-technicians. These they wedged their hands and feet against and exerted enough opposing pull, scaling down swiftly as Rosa's pacing dared. Now and then, she'd look up to see her beau paused. The cold sting of warmthless metal reminded him of the Blade; it was Contruum's finest mount, scaled into a white flint hooking back against arctic winds. He'd left Guenyvhar Gunn behind for the ice and snows to claim her. The only way down had been tackling hoarfrost walls, over bulbous curtains of devilishly slicked, frozen waterfalls. Seroth blinked his haunt away, and swiftly resumed their vertical crawl for the ground.

Another fifteen minutes and boot-soles dropped the last six meters. Lithely, they bounced off their toes, the balls of their feet, rolled forward against striated ferrocrete and came up to standing. The lad refastened his duffel bag, stowing away their smuggled kits. All around, promenade crowds refused to take notice of the idling, lonely pair. Pausing, just to watch, they glanced over a hundred couples, wildly mixed, strolling to and fro along the bricked causeways. Bright eyes. Brighter smiles. Oblivious and happily so. They'd not the weight of free space challenging their sensibilities every morn. Most would have been brought up short longing after the displayed fun and fancy-free. Rosa's hand simply felt Seroth's clench in bold affirmation.

He wouldn't have this life any other way. A hailed air-cab whistled down on stream-lined repulsor plates, parked and waiting. Together they squeezed into the cramped passenger cabin. It smelled stale with CO2 scrubbers, iho-cig ash, and discarded contraceptives. Rosa briefly held up the stolen ident-chit between them. Seroth considered it a moment, then tapped the dividing plasteel glass. "Where's the nearest docks?"

"...For, specifically?" The cabby asked.

"We've some friends getting off from cargo shift," Seroth explained. It was frightening how smooth the lie woke up in his imagination. "They said to meet out by the docks 'at the Prism' but weren't exactly - "

"Yeah, yeah," The pilot waived. "Only facility near enough for that is Taloraan-Hyde, big memorial dock. Crawling with Fringemen though."

A credit chit passed through the cabin receptacle. "If you'd please."

"My chariot is at your command," She soldered a bladed smile to her lips. The air-cab rose up and away.

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa was still trembling slightly as the cab moved them from the ground she been so glad to feel beneath her feet. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans and let her eyes slide shut drawing focus away from her fear and to her breathing. She remembered the first time she had realised her fear of heights. Forever wishing to test his daughter, to push her to her limits both mentally and physically, Gareth Mazhar had dragged his fourteen year old daughter out of the comfort of their home and to the canyons on Kuat. Rosa always went along with her father without protest, she had liked his challenges, she had liked the way his eyes lit up when she completed them. Two days into their hiking trip they were faced with a sheer cliff face in their path. Young and fearless, Rosa had followed her father and began to scale it. One hour up and Rosa looked down to see how far they had come and froze. It took Gareth another hour of climbing with Rosa sobbing the whole way on his back before he could console her properly. Never before had she known fear like it, and never again would she ever allow it to freeze her like it had.

By the time her eyes opened again, the trembling had stopped, her breathing was even and she was calm again. "Let's not do that again." she said softly, her hand finding Seroth's and giving it a gentle squeeze. All of this was for the sake of keeping their own peace, of keeping their freedom. They were bound only to those they chose to be bound to, giving aid to anyone that needed it, offering shelter to those that asked regardless of there affiliation. This was just another piece of insurance to make sure that they kept their life the way it was.

The cab dropped them but a five minute walk from the docks, grumbling something about the fringe being uncomfortable with traffic coming to close to the docks. When pressed for a reason she offered them a cocky grin. "They like their secrets." Rosa watched the ascened once more into the traffic lanes above and marvelled at the stark contrast in atmosphere. People were few here in comparison to the promenade and everything was stiff. There was no joy, no fluttering moments of laughter, just the cold clinical minds of soldiers and workers to beaten to the ground to know what happiness was any more. She drew closer to Seroth instinctively as they moved along the walkway. "I don't think my sweet talking will get us in here" She said softly as the entrance, flanked with guards, came into view ahead of them.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

"Some hearts are too thick to be charmed," He comforted her.

It was the Taloraan-Hyde On-Station Gas Dock. The designation said so in a wide, highly graded steel sign-plaque welded against the tall durasteel-fenced perimeter wall. Compared with the lively if sickeningly commercial Entertainment Strata, the piece of industrial zone the pair explored down was subdued. Immensely so. Engaged architecture gave way to brutalism: every second building stood in harsh relief from drowning flood-lamps, composed of yellowed ferrocrete, corner edges ground dully or left in a hard knife's edge. Windows were reinforced plasteel composites. Tall, greyed, and impossible to take a peer through. Holo-signs designating street-drives, avenues, and local hose-fitting and instrument businesses, were all lit in stark neon-red. It lent a hellish undertone to every matte-black shadow and long back alley. Say what they would: Seroth would never believe industry was a growth of culture.

The dock itself was a utilitarian marina, composed of repulsor moorings arraigned in a precise heptagonal star. No small multitude of containment-delivery freighters and converted barges laid at resting anchor, gently swaying in constant aeronautic bobs. Mono-eyed watchtowers held court from every raised point along the outer, raise fencing. Against the evening shadows greyed over by a darkening sky, they could make out with faint detail a small army of posted guards. Up high from the apex of a raised pole hung the fluttering colours and insignia of the Lords of the Fringe. Every detail was stark, harsh, grating on the eyes whilst the stench of tibanna gas soured every breath. Watchers, and their hefted firepower, laid in calm, monolithic wait at every conceivable entrance. Holo-cams, motion-trackers, heat-sensors.

Seroth hefted his duffel: only his own relatively crude tools by comparison.

Yet, fiercely he reasoned the facility must have possessed a weakness in the chain-link. Some bothered guard with a penchant for lazy detail. Buildings undergoing a renovation and revealing exposures in the tall ferrocrete-ribar fence-walls. Sections of faulty sensor-fields, requiring recalibration, or replacement. Routing waste-tunnels below; though he admitted certain cliche in descending through sewage pipes to make an infiltration.

"What then?" He murmured aloud to himself. They'd passed the entrance checkpoint and kept it behind them while strolling east and then south. Ahead was a parked air-van. Its pilot was busily arguing a point with a standing officer, parked nearby with his patrol-speeder. On its siding read emblazoned advertisements for 'Trent's Hoarfrost Ice: Cold, Rude, & Tasteless'. ...Seroth perked up. He paused them to a dead stop, more silent than a pair of grass-mice. The air-van was bloated enough to offer some protection from either its pilot or haggling officer to notice their presence. So he hoped. His fingers palmed the stolen ident-chit...

"It's going to be freezing," He promised in a hoarse whisper. His breath was tickling Rosa's ear. "But we can steal in amidst the ice-blocks. It'll foil, hopefully, any sensors waiting to trip at unwarranted heat-signatures. If the ident-chip doesn't go bust from the cold, it'll handle shaking off any unforeseen security protocols. ...I'll warm you afterwards."

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]