Metal Tide

[ADM. Reshmar]

Independance-class Battlecruiser INdependance.
Sanctuay System

The massive form of Independence dropped out of hyperspace above the water covered world of Sanctuary. Below small island chains littered the otherwise blue field that was the surface of the world. It abundant sea life fed much of the Calamari sector just like Mon Cala and until lately it had been and other wise calm and uneventful world. The attack nearly a year ago by the sith spawn had torn the world apart. Much of its population had died in an instant as the vile sith killed the much of the world to draw out a foe. Reshmar had no idea if the two had found each other as he had watched the dark forces as they left the world just out of his reach. He had sent Directorate team to the world to help what was left of its population make a new start. Now months after his first visit he returned to a new thriving world that had somehow found a way to survive.

His being here was something of a surprise to many who accompanied him. His involvement with the world had been kept out of the news and to an extent any intel leaving the system had been intercepted and edited to keep his involvement secret. The Directorate had been visibly helping the world but the leaders had gone out of their way to keep their open work secret. The fact was, Reshmar had been to the world many times in the last few months establishing what will be the first MCS droid and robotics technology facility.

The shipments and construction of the underwater facility had been kept as secret as possible. The fact that the facility had been dropped into the water almost intact unnoticed was a feat of Counter INtel magic. It had cost more to keep the project secret than it had to build it. Now with the last of the facility finished the massive Independence ferried the staff that will man the facility.

"Admiral, we are in orbit above the designated co-ordinates" said the helmsman as he finished setting the massive starship into a geosynchronous orbit. Reshmar nodded to the man as he swam from the station to his command podium. The warm, pure water made him feel at home. All but the hanger and assault complement decks were filled with pure water and manned by Mon Calamari and Quarren crew. The decks for the assault complement, flight crew, and visitors were located near the hangers and housed any nonaquatic personnel attached to the ship and the project.

Reshmar pressed in a command to his console and the image of a man appeared on the screen. "Doctor, please meet me in hanger three in an hour. It is time to get you moved into your new home."

 

[Thomas]

Thomas sat on the bed in the visitors section of the Calamari cruiser, his face taught with conflict and concern. The Directorate had promised him that he would not be working on military machines. He told them he would never work on military machines again. And yet here they were. A secret underwater base. It didn’t sit well with him.

One didn’t need a secret underwater base to work on irrigation droids, or construction robots. Secret underwater bases were for black ops projects. The sorts of projects that you could smother in the depths if they got out of hand. He knew that that sort of thing wasn’t something the Directorate was known for, but ever part of his mind screamed at him that this was going to be a trap of some kind.

But he needed the credits too badly. The equipment. He couldn’t continue his work without it.

It wasn’t like he could leave now, anyways. He wasn’t the type who would be able to blow their way out of a cargo hold and tear off like some swaggering smuggler from an old holovid. At this point, with the costs they incurred for this level of secrecy? If they did plan to kill him? They’d just move up the schedule.

That was the way of the Galactic Game.

How many worlds had been drilled to the core and had their contents vaporized in some far flung space battle? How many people had been killed in the name of egos and glory? How many people had been killed in the name of the greater good? And here he was, back into feeding that cycle. Almost the entire Galaxy had been fed into the process, turned to it. Stocks were weapons. Banks were armies. Credits were lives.

Thomas couldn’t change that. Not yet, anyways.

His contemplations were interrupted by the beeping on the console. It was Reshmar, one of the Mon Calamari and a ranking member of the Directorate. It was on his kindness and honesty that Thomas’ survival depended on. "Doctor, please meet me in hanger three in an hour. It is time to get you moved into your new home."

“I will see you soon.” Thomas said, with a thin, forced smile. He pressed the button and the screen went back to black.

It was time to face the music, whatever the band was playing.

Thomas grabbed the few things he’d brought from his shuttle, and made his way down to the hangar. The Mon Cal designed all their ships with water in mind. It was their natural habitat, and what they were comfortable with. Even the hangar was designed with water in mind. Reinforced atmospheric shielding due to the added mass it would place against the shields. Enhanced filtration systems to keep the water clean, and to add or remove it as is required. The verticality of work stations, as compared to the primarily horizontal designs of those trapped to a single level.

His shuttle was in one of those bays, doors locked. The security team had been allowed to sweep it. It was a condition to having this job. But he didn’t enjoy letting anyone snoop about his workspace. He knew in the lab he’d have better facilities but still. That shuttle had been home for a decade.

 

[ADM. Reshmar]

The lift vibrated under Reshmar's feet as ti slowed and came to rest on the hanger access level. The eight hangers of Independence were all on the same level separated by hundreds of meters but still connected to the same access corridors and maintenance hallways. The doors slid open and Reshmar walked out into the dry air which was filtered and habitable for none aquatic races. He much preferred the water, it was home after all. The benefits of having pure water throughout out the ship was something the Mon Calamari could not deny. Besides it being home it had several positive benefits to the survivability of the ship and the aquatic crew.

Reshmar walked out and into the hanger and noticed the doctor standing next to his shuttle. Reshmar would have preferred using one of the newer shuttlecraft available but the doctor insisted on his shuttle being the ferry for him and his team. Reshmar understood the man's need for familiarity and his desire to keep his property with him. The Independence herself could have made planetfall and submerged if needed but she would make too much of a scene coming into the atmosphere. No Reshmar would go with Thomas and his group down to the landing platform.

Reshmar walked across and to the shuttle flanked by his two attendants. He looked over the old shuttlecraft a bit before walking up Thomas and greeting him. Ah Doctor, A fine ship. when ever you are ready to depart I am." said Reshmar watching the curious man as he reacted to Reshmar standing there.

[member="Thomas"]

 

[Thomas]

The Mon Cal stood before him, a proud man. A storied man. He had never met him face to face before. Commander and engineer. The much vaunted ‘Arsenal of Democracy’ in some circles. There were many before him, and likely many to come after him. But this was the one he had to deal with. He carried himself with all the rigidity expected of a fish out of water.

“Good day, Admiral.” Thomas said as warmly as he could muster, hoping he didn’t appear too out of place himself.

“No need to be polite about this old thing.” Thomas said as he patted the centuries old plating of the vehicle. He had found it in an old scrap pile years ago. The thing was a mass produced model from the Empire of old. He chose it not because it was pretty, or fast, or even some fascination with the past. He chose it because it was innocuous. There were literally hundreds of thousands of these things made, and even at a one percent survival rate it would’ve left thousands of these things still in the Galaxy.

An old beater like this was something that would go below notice.

Too small to move any cargo. Too slow to move anyone of value. Too underarmed to be a threat.

There were much bigger and tastier fish to fry.

“I’ll be ready to depart as soon as you and your men are in. Though I will need some idea of where we’re going.” Thomas said as he keyed his passcode into the pad at the back. With a hiss, the ramp on the back lowered. Inside was a dimly lit compartment. The seats stormtroopers used to strap into had long been stripped, replaced with work benches. The laser and ion canons replaced with a better power plant. Parts of different droids and machines hung from the rafters. Only a few creature comforts denoted it as a living space. A hammock hung in one corner. Another had a curtain draped around it, a latrine and shower within it. For the most part, this space was dedicated to nothing but his work. His singular task.

Thomas grabbed a few straps from the ceiling and made sure they were tight and secure.

“Your seats.” He offered, pointing at the straps. The aides gave Thomas a incredulous look. He didn’t pay them much mind.

His craft was designed with the needs of one in mind. Not really ferrying people back and forth from secret bases.

The cockpit had only one chair. The co-pilot’s seat had been torn out years ago to make room for an automated co-pilot. Delta didn’t say much, but it did its job and did it well. Self-contained like how he liked his droids. He had learned from his past, and the damage that could be done if a Droid Controller was compromised.