They'd spotted him. He cursed under his breath and dove his starfighter downwards in a spiral, avoiding the distant Star Destroyers turbolaser fire. They must have caught him on the scanners, there was no way they could have spotted him. He was simply going too fast. The slug thrower bought in a second hand store, you were good to hope it would travel 1,200 miles per hour, his star fighter had reached it's maximum peak of 7,456 miles per hour. The only way he was able to control the vessel was through the instinctual movements that overcame him. It was a trait among all force users. R9 beeped wildly, Hasjo was unsure if the astromech was excited or terrified. Either way, he kept the accelerator down hard. Barreling through the void of space, lasers as fast as lightning shot past him. He pulled up hard, performing a series of rolls, narrowly avoiding death. He was closing in on the Star Destroyer, but had no idea on how to get inside, for a moment. That was to say, if he even made it. He was but a single person against a Star Destroyer of thousands. He thought on the heroes he had learnt of in his history lessons at the Jedi Temple of Coruscant. He had forgotten their first names, but their last names had stuck. Kenobi and Skywalker had infiltrated an enemy ship, rescuing a forgotten Supreme Chancellor. During the fall of the Republic, so many hundreds of years ago, another Skywalker, and the same Kenobi with a group of roguish devils had infiltrated a Star Destroyer successfully, somewhat. Hasjo was the Exotic Weapons Master, he excelled in close-quarters combat, and that is exactly what a ship was. Full of lengthy, thin corridors and hallways. His moral reformed. He then heard something in his mind, Maya, "I...please ...I ...my..son...I had ...to search for...him..."
He had faltered momentarily. The message from Maya had distracted him from what was occurring before him. His Delta-7 rocked dangerously, his deflector shields went offline. He glanced over his shoulder to see a large crater in the ships hull where his former astromech and long time companion, R9-LH had been. A pang of sadness overwhelmed his senses. He snapped his head to attention. Alerts and emergency messages flooded his dashboard. The twin ion engines were leaking. They were running out of power, and the star fighter was decelerating, and fast. He was almost upon the Star Destroyer. He wasn't going to make it, he was too slow for him to dodge any further incoming fire. He unhooked his harness, tossing it aside. Armoured fingers flicked a series of switches, the hatch slid away. The cockpit was instantly depressurised, but Professor Sukh'Al'Lee had made Hasjo's MLSS pressurised. He had an oxygen tank of sixty minutes. That was more than he needed. As the starfighter continued to glide through the turbolaser fire, Hasjo climbed onto the hull. In a powerful surge of the Force, he leapt off the head of his starfighter, mere two-hundred meters away from the Star Destroyer. He floated, a strange sensation overcame him. There was a deafening silence as he tumbled and twirled. The calm before the storm. Like swimming the surface during one of Glee Anselm’s mammoth hurricanes. He glanced over his shoulder to see his spacecraft blown into a million pieces. Nothing remained. He wondered if they believed he had died with the vessel or not. That vessel had been with him since he was nineteen, a Padawan and newly left Ossus. So very long ago, and R9 had gone with it. He looked back to the behemoth before him. He was no longer that young ambitious Padawan, but a middle-aged and versatile Jedi Knight. He knew if he slammed into the ship at this speed, he'd be a bug on a viewport so-to-speak. He held out his palm, allowing the Force to flow through him.
He slammed against the hull with a thud, feet first. He bent his waist and reached out with his hands, grabbling onto the very infrequent footholds. They were nothing more than creases between plating and outcroppings. Twenty meters ahead was one of the many designated escape pods departures located on Star Destroyers. He pulled himself towards it, his body wanting to float out but his iron grip did not allow it. As he got closer, he loosed a free hand and gripped his Lightsaber Pike in his right hand. He hovered over the pod, feet tangling into the void of space, left hand gripping the pod. He slid his thumb over the ignition of the lightsaber. Cerulean plasmatic light burst to life with a familiar hiss. Hasjo made an incision in the durasteel. It was an incredibly strong metal, but against a full powered lightsaber, it would relent. He cut a crude oval in the pod and climbed his way in, and likewise, the pod had been depressurised. He floated there, moving to the first door. He slammed his fist against the key latch, the door opened. He climbed into the small room that was used for pressurisation. He pulled the door closed behind him with the motion of his hand, and the concentration of his mind. He raised his hand to the door before him, and likewise he reached out with the force. That extension of himself began to pull away the door. The hallway had not been depressurised, but the oxygen was relatively thinner due to the small vacuum in the pressurisation room. His left hand slid to his holster, taking out the AB-1 Marshal Heavy Blaster Pistol. His right hand remained curled around the activated Lightsaber Pike. Now, he need only find Maya. He took a step into the hallway, unknowing of what he would be faced with.
@[member="Darth Veles"]
@[member="Maya Whitelight"]
