Private Still Alive Beneath the Rubble

[Kaska Arden]

Ilian Kastle

The shuttle rattled and juked as the automated droid guided them through the rat race that was Coruscant during rush hour, clearly delighting in being able to skip through the normal lanes of traffic under the authority of its passengers. A happy binary weeble escaping it every time it narrowly brought them within a few meters of a deadly traffic collision only to veer off at the last second.

While hardly new to the planet, Kaska had never been below the first few hundred before. Never had reason to drop below the ivory tower that was the Temple. Judging from how quickly the atmosphere changed, with the wealth and opulence quickly fading with each successive level they descended through, she could understand why Coruscant was so quick to gloss them over in the travel brochure.

She glanced at the holopad sitting in her lap, an urgent bulletin from the Order open from the inbox she had synched from her palm communicator, re-reading the details of the assignment what seemed like the millionth time over the course of the last hour.

It seemed in the world’s constant need to reinvent itself, a construction droid had finally gone a little too far and razed one of the venerable cloudcutters that had marked the ecumenopolis’ historic Petrax quarter for the better part of a millennia. While urban renewal was hardly a normal interest for the New Jedi Order, what the ground crew had discovered when they had gone in to reassess the ancient foundations certainly was. It seemed that at some point in the distant past, some several centuries before the fall of the Old Republic, the site had once been home to an ancient and apparently forgotten Jedi storehouse. One that had survived the ensuing purge simply by virtue of having been built over in Coruscant’s eternal quest to bury the past. Presenting as an untapped treasure trove of Jedi lore and relics, unseen for countless generations, untouched and unscathed by the ravages of the Sith, it was a find hard to ignore.

A team of researchers had been dispatched. Wide eyed, eager and excited to discover what awaited them in the store room, they had descended down to the lower levels and attempted to breach the outer shell. A flurry of reports bouncing back as they made steady progress. Exhilaration building with each and every find they made, no matter how small or trivial, as they pressed further into the dusty catacomb.

Then twenty seven hours ago, all communication with the team had simply stopped.

Attempts to raise the support team had similarly gone unanswered. The line nothing but empty holo-static. Concerned, but not unduly so, the Order had seen fit to dispatch a Jedi padawan to investigate further, assuming the issue was likely to be a technical fault or interference from the surrounding renovations.

They’d never checked in.

“And that is where we come in, I guess.” The Nyriaanan voiced aloud, glancing at the other occupant to this death ride to the lower levels and whatever mystery had waylaid the padawan and the research team. Both in his more traditional choice of Jedi attire and overall outlook, Ilian Kastle served as a stark contrast to the scruffy and more brash spacer archetype that the New Jedi Order had embraced in recent years. An archetype Kaska herself certainly seemed to exemplify om spades. “What do you think we will find down there?”

She didn't really expect an answer. It was anyone’s guess, really. Before their extermination and the attempted erasure, the Jedi Order of the Old Republic had been pack rats. Collecting treasures from all corners of the galaxy and squirrelling them away for supposed safety. Although it was often unclear whose safety that happened to be.

The droid whirbled once more, this time more reserved and with a twinge of sadness as it began to slow down to a more reasonable, less terminal velocity as the researcher’s camp came into view. The speeder floating the last dozen or so meters down to rest just beyond the small village of grey tents that had been hastily assembled to house both the scientists and whatever finds they managed to retrieve from storehouse. Save for a faint rippling of the tents by an unseen wind, it was eerily quiet.

Deathly quiet.

“Guess we will find out either way soon enough.”

 

[Ilian Kastle]

Kaska Arden

Only a few months ago the galaxy had felt so small. So simple. Savareen's sprawls of sand and vast oceans were all he'd known, and though he'd heard stories of the wild worlds beyond from others in his recluse order, it all felt so detached. Even the places he'd read about in the Order's texts -- Tython, Ossus, Coruscant -- felt more like realms of fantasy than reality. He knew this was not true, of course. But from his temple nestled in the quiet mountains of the Pnakotic Coast, it was all too difficult to imagine.

That was, until it all became his reality.

From hunting gellbeast and spear fishing in the Emerald Sea, to weaving through the airways of the Queen of the Core. Much had changed. Despite his alleged skill and awarded rank, the young Knight had only ever tested his abilities on the gangsters and creatures that roamed the countrysides of his old home. This place, this endless skyline, was no countryside. And these creatures had more than teeth and claws.

Behind Ilian's stern expression as he sat in the shuttle, swaying gently with each harsh turn, he felt like a padawan all over again. He felt uncertain. The confidence he had gained in the stone training halls of his old Temple had quickly peeled away when he first set foot on Prosperity. Thankfully, the Coruscanti Temple had come to feel a bit more like home.

The shuttle made a sudden turn, forcing a strained groan from Ilian while his tired eyes snapped open. His whole body ached. In preparation for the mission he'd locked himself in a training room for nearly three days. The night before, he'd held a Center of Being stance for almost 16 hours before finally snapping from his trance to appease his neglected stomach.

He still felt unprepared.

Settling back in his seat, his partner's voice caught him before the weight of his eyelids.

“What do you think we will find down there?”
​

He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

Once more he found himself glancing over his fellow Knight's attire. He struggled to find the words "Jedi" when he looked her, or most of the others in the New Order for that matter. He could just as easily mistake them for the same backwater spacers he'd run off Savareen with his saber in-hand. He-- the unspoken words faded from his mind as he reminded himself of their kindness thus far. Jedi respect life, in any form; he could practically hear the line coming from Sen-ro's mouth.

By the time he'd really processed the question she'd asked, their transport had touched down amid the desolate remnants of the research camp. Ilian scans the scene carefully as he unbuckles himself and thumbs the button to open his door.

"Strange," he mutters as he steps out and rises to his feet, breaking the eerie silence. His eyes break away from the tents and scattered tools to cast a glance to his short companion, "I don't see any obvious signs of a struggle. For the amount of people who have gone missing that's, well," his brow furrows as he shifts his gaze toward the alleyways and overlooks surrounding them, "strange."

He lifts his left hand, projecting a small holo-image of the coordinates they'd been given just above his palm. The red marker at the center is overlaid with two blinking green lights. This was the right spot.

"The padawan that was dispatched before us, did you know them?" Ilian asks as he moves cautiously toward the campsite. Most people in the New Jedi Order were still strangers to him. Of the few he'd interacted with thus far, the name hadn't rung any bells. He glances to Kaska after posing the question, then returns his focus to scanning for anything that might point them in the right direction.

 

[Kaska Arden]

Ilian Kastle

"Eisen?" Kaska shook her head as they continued towards the camp. Like Ilian, she had grown up away from the Core and the New Jedi Order, having only recently found herself welcomed into the fold and accepted a place amongst their ranks. Even then, she had spent most of her time away from the trappings and confines of the temple itself, swinging through once every few weeks or so. Enough to learn the names to a few of the more prominent faces, but Padawan Eisen was sadly not one of them. "I think he and his master were on long term assignment until recently, being called back after Byss. Never had the pleasure of meeting them."

Hopefully that would change today.

The grey plastithread coverings continued to slap against the tent's durasteel frames as the wind continued to pick up, heralding their entrance into the ramshackle camp and giving the illusion of movement where none was to be found. The Nyriaanan Jedi ducked her head under the entrance flap of the nearest just to confirm all the same. A scattering of grime covered trinkets, powered down datapads and half-finished cups of caf. All their clothes and personal belongings still boldly on display where they had been left, the speeders all accounted for. Ilian was right, there was no signs of foul play to be seen here and nothing seemed out of the ordinary - or nothing she assumed was out of the ordinary for an archaeological dig - save for the lack of people.

Missing people and...

"No tools," She murmured softly, her brows riddling with confusion as she raised her voice to call out to Ilian "Left all their supplies and research in the open, but they took their tools."

She doubted there was much of a call on the black market for archaeological tools in these parts. The lack of ransacking and general signs of violence further ruling out a local swoop gang looking to make a few quick creds. Her dark eyes shifted towards the fissure like opening to the storehouse that had been accidentally uncovered by the construction droid. The lights that had been attached to hastily constructed supports dimming and fading, the shadows ebbing and flowing to make it seem much more foreboding and sinister than perhaps it really was.

"The generator." Kaska blurted as she took a few steps towards the ruins, ignoring the instinct that welled up with every footfall to turn back. Her skin feeling like it was crawling in response to something that lurked within the ruins. Unbidden, her hand strayed towards the comforting presence of the saber on her belt. "See how the lights flicker? Camps like these run off a series seven, series eight, Omnipower Fusion generator. No way would it become that overdrawn without some heavy use."

She glanced to Ilian, "Someone is down there."

 

[Ilian Kastle]

Kaska Arden

Eisen.

As expected, the padawan's name fails to ring a bell. Nevertheless, Ilian's eyes narrow with suspicion and his right hand rises to his chin, tapping at it with his thumb as he drifts into thought.

"No tools."​

The sudden statement prompts Ilian to turn his head to Kaska with a brow cocked, but his skepticism quickly fades as she continues. He takes a second, then third glance at the scene around them, confirming what his companion had already concluded with confidence. Now that he was aware of it, the emptiness seemed impossible to have missed.

"Then they've gone willingly and with purpose," he responds quietly, taking several steps to stand at his fellow Knight's side.

While Ilian's own suspicions naturally shift toward the site the researchers had come for, his inexperience with technology makes him slow to realize that the mechanical whirring of the generator offered them a clue. Ever since he'd arrived on Coruscant the terrible droning of the planet's endless electronics and machinery had become a dreadful white noise, barraging his senses at every waking moment.

Only the temple's meditation chambers offered some brief respite from the static pulses of Galactic City's electric heart. Perhaps it was because of this that he'd found himself drawn to them more and more, or perhaps it was that they were the only places that felt like home here.

Quiet. Still.

Ilian can only blink as Kas reads the ambient noise as easily as he might an ancient text. His focus shifts to a light, catching it just as its fluorescent glow fades and swells. Unknowingly, the same sense of discomfort washes over him. Before the goosebumps even fade, his fingers are already wrapped tightly around the leather binding of his still-fastened saber. But, with a slow exhale he pushes back the welling urge to draw the weapon.

"I don't feel the padawan's presence in the Force," Ilian states, closing his eyes and holding his breath as he reaches out with his mind to probe the area for any sign of the missing boy.

"Wait-" his expression twists slightly. Several muscles across the Knight's face twitch as he tries to thrust his senses farther, farther, farther...

"It's not just the boy," Ilian's eyes open to stare at the ruins ahead of them. His breath returns to him, heavier now from the strain, "I- I can't feel anything beyond this point at all."

Hand still firmly on his saber hilt, Ilian runs a finger along its songsteel crossguard. Something wicked waited for them in there, tangible or otherwise, he knew. It was certainly no gellbeast.

 

[Kaska Arden]

Ilian Kastle

Her expression darkened as Ilian spoke up. The wavering shadows cast by the flickering lights causing her frown to appear deeper than it was, but not by much. It wasn’t just her comparatively weak ability to sense within the Force, then. There really was just an empty, endless void before them. An indecipherable blank space within a super city otherwise teaming with life on all sides.

“Nullification resin, perhaps? It was a storehouse.” Kaska offered quietly, her eyes never leaving the entrance as if she was waiting for something to appear from the dark recesses that lay beyond. “And maybe why it has remained undisturbed until now.”

It was certainly a possible answer, but one that did little to ease the sense of foreboding lurking in the pit of her stomach. The old Order had used nullification resin to secure dangerous artefacts, more often than not of Sith origin, but she had never heard of it being used so liberally to the extent that an entire structure was shielded like this. Whatever had been stored here must have been exceedingly important, exceptionally dangerous or both.

The Archaeologist team had believed that the storehouse had survived due to records of its existence being destroyed during the Galactic Empire’s purge, but Kaska had to wonder if it had instead been intentionally buried. Out of sight, out of mind, on a world that was happy to bury the past under thousands of levels of duracrete...

“I will go first.” The Nyriaanan stated, chewing the corner of her lip thoughtfully. Her offer born more from simple practicality than any real sense of bravery. She might have had few qualms headlong into a one sided combat, but the unknown was something else entirely. “My eyes are more suited to the dark than yours.”

She glanced around, eyeing the tents as she continued, “There should be some extra glow packs around here, but I would not...”

Those dark eyes flickered towards Ilian and then the hand on his lightsaber, taking solace in the fact she wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable about this whole affair. “Object to you using your saber for light instead.”

 

[Ilian Kastle]

Kaska Arden

Nullification resin. He hadn't considered that, but it made sense. Surviving all this time undisturbed was no small feat. It was unlikely to have happened without aid in some form. Unknowingly, Ilian's thoughts tread close to Kaska's unspoken words: With such great lengths taken, what must have been hidden here? And why, after all this time, has it resurfaced?

"I will go first."​

Ilian jumps a bit as his internal musings are interrupted by Kaska's voice. He nods in response. The Force would not be able to aid his senses here. Accepting this, he falls in a few steps behind her. As the duo move toward the uncovered entrance of the storehouse he glances around the remnant camp site, but fails to spot any glow packs in plain sight.

Reluctantly, but with no alternative, Ilian unclips the hilt of his saber from its belt loop with a fluid motion of his fingers. He takes the weight of it into his hand, tightening and releasing his fingers around its kodyok leather grip.

"Hopefully that'll be the extent of its use," he answers, confidence lacking in his tone.

At that, the sharp snap-hiss of the cyan blade of plasma ejecting pierces the silence, fading to a silky, reverberating hum. Ilian holds the blade up and to his side away from Kaska, angling it horizontally to allow its soft glow to light the path ahead of them.

Were it not for the persistent thrum of the lightsaber, the silence inside would be deafening. Ilian's eyes wander the darkness around them, trying to spot threats in the shadowed corners and crevasses as they pass them. The quiet of their surroundings was eerie, but it wasn't what bothered the Knight. It was the silence in his mind that made his heart beat at the edge of panic.

The Force was blind here and, were it not for the short-stretching blue glow of his saber, he would be too. The river was dry -- there were no currents flowing to guide them. No strings. The Jedi pair were completely untethered. This was something that Ilian, at least, had never experienced.

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff," he whispers, trying to distract himself more than anything, "the generator. Nullification resin."

Still doing his best to remain focused, the Knight's eyes jump from tracing the cracks in the old corridors to the side of Kaska's face a few steps ahead of him, cast in a cyan hue. He'd learned quickly that many of the new Order's members did not share his orthodox upbringing. A large number of them came from other backgrounds across the Galaxy, and joined the ranks of the New Jedi long after the traditional age of acceptance for new Initiates.

Swinging his saber to light a sudden off-shoot hallway, he speaks back quietly over his shoulder, "Were you always a Jedi?"