Sevrin may not have been there during the assault on Sullust, but he certainly read up every little detail on it. He knew about the planetary profile, learned about the industries and, most importantly, about the key people. Among them was Phoeya II, the surviving daughter of the Magistrate slain during the assault. Rumor had it that the woman had come into control over the SoroSuub factories but she wasn’t too thrilled with the Sith occupation over the planet. Her mother had been killed and the Sith offered no comfort, no reparation, didn’t rebuild anything and simply expected her to walk into the job the next day.
Phoeya’s family had been in power since before the Sith took hold of the planet. They had deep roots and working relationships with the Sullustan population. The pressure came down from above when the Sith took over and Phoeya II was expected to fall in line and move on as if her mother and her work never mattered.
Sevrin had arrived on the planet a few weeks back, having gone undercover for now. He would reveal his Jedi nature in due time, but not until the opportune moment. For now he posed as an inspections officer to get a meeting with the woman and gauge her sentiments towards the Sith. If everything worked out right, a full scale rebellion could be in the works.
The Sephi was adorned in uniform he had put together from breaking into a facility and stealing from their reserves. When operating covertly, the rules sometimes tended to blur and he would do what was needed.
He carried a datapad with him as he strode towards Phoeya II’s office, knocking on the door before entering.
Zathria was tense. Very, very tense. She tried not to let it seep through, but being this deep behind enemy lines for weeks had been stressful. Now meeting directly with Phoeya II it was coming to a head.
But she maintained her stoic face, forcing aside thoughts of what could be. Focusing on "what-ifs" and allowing fear of things that may never happen to pervade the mind was nigh akin to insanity. Instead she focused her mind on what was within her control and let the Force handle the rest.
Walking alongside Sevrin, she let him lead the way into the meeting. When he'd approached her about this plan she'd thought it was insane... just insane enough to possibly work. Who would expect something this ballsy, after all. It was precisely the level of guts that had let the Sith succeed in killing the Grandmaster.
The doors slid open to the office of the Magistrate Phoeya II and it took a moment for the woman to look up. Externally the woman was calm and relaxed, but internally Zathria noted the fatigue. The woman gave the impression of someone who lived her entire life under scrutiny.
The woman clicked several more times on her data terminal before looking up.
Please, come in. Have a seat, she said, motioning to the chairs and giving the distinct impression that she simply wanted this meeting to be over with.
You're here for an inspection, she stated, unclear whether it was a question or a statement.
The Dark Lord ordered an inspection only a month ago, Is there a reason for the acceleration of the schedule? Some concern? she asked, a hint of concern in her tone. The woman had grown accustomed to audits and inspections being ordered by the Sith and simply assumed this was another. Those Force-user were paranoid to the point of delusional, though she wouldn't ever state that aloud.
Sullust yet again. Hannibal had no fond memories of his last visit but at least time he wasn't crashing an exploding ship into the front gates of a Sith fortress and getting thrown across the landscape on a stream of lightning. Not so far anyway. Never say never, right?
The young Master had been around about as long as the other two but doing entirely different things. Chatting up factory workers in bars or diners, factory guards, supervisors, the works. Unlike when he wore the bright robes he was rather unrecognizable in civilian attire and a pair of thick-rimmed prescriptionless glasses and this allowed him to blend with the common folk and get them talking.
From what he could gather the conditions on Sullust weren't up to the same standards as some of the other nearby industrial systems. In fact they'd gotten markedly worse after the Sith takeover. They worked harder and were paid less than their contemporaries and constantly had the Sith breathing down their necks over something or other and finding something to start trouble over. Hannibal couldn't help but wonder at the terrible management but there it was, a nearly universal take on things.
He leveraged that into expanding the discussion and involving more people at once, all native Sullustans. The Eternal and their cronies weren't popular here for practical as well as emotional reasons and Hannibal made nice easily, poking and prodding the talk in the right directions.
Which was why and how he'd gotten himself into speaking to a crowd of factory workers at one of the larger facilities on the subject of civil disobedience. Work had essentially ground to a halt in the meantime. He even had a SoroSuub branded bomber jacket for blending purposes and to conceal his weaponry, although the supervisors getting in trouble for letting an outsider in were probably on the low of concern just then. It was probably a good thing he had a functioning cybernetic left arm now.
If a rebellious attitude amongst the workers and the ear of the magistrate could both be attained this could quickly snowball into something far more than the poorly managed local Sith could properly handle.
Sevrin played the role quite coolly, drawing up his datapad and surveying over it.
“Recent reports have suggested that the factory workers are largely complaining about Sith management and this is impacting productivity,” He didn’t say anything that wasn’t technically true. This was all intel he had gathered from Hannibal while he worked the other angle of this operation. The Councilor had direct on the ground intelligence to pass for Sevrin to use as leverage.
“As the operations manager overseeing all of the factory supply chains, it falls within your duty to,” He leaned forward slightly, eyes piercing into hers, “Keep your people in line. As requested by the Dark Lord.”
Sevrin could see Phoeya’s jaw tighten. Her fingers curled into the desk and she bristled with rage, “They have not been fairly compensated for years and they are working like dogs.”
“The idle sentiments of simple workers are not the concern of the Dark Lord,” Sevrin said with a casual wave of his hand, “Why have you not taken action to remove workers that are not performing?”
Phoeya II slammed her fist on the table, “Because that’s not who I am!” She hissed.
Sevrin paused then, eyeing her curiously. He said nothing for a moment before his gaze flicked down to the datapad again.
“The Dark Lord is also seeking to expand Sith presence in the factories,” He said curtly. There was a hint of embellishment here, but it was still largely corroborated intelligence from Hannibal from speaking with some Sith operatives at the plants, “It can be assumed you will be terminating your direct reports to allow this organization structure shift, yes?”
Zathria did her best not to flinch at the outburst of the Magistrate or Sevrin's words. She knew the Sith were squeezing the workers here, and the fact that this was simply standard fair for the Magistrate spoke volumes about how the planet had been functioning for the past several years.
It also meant that this idea had a chance.
The Magistrate was beginning to wonder how her mother had ever managed this. Granted she'd died shortly after the Sith took over, murdered by those Jedi psychopaths, but she'd seemed so capable in that time. She always knew how to handle every situation.
Filling the factories with spies isn't going to improve results, she replied, barely keeping her voice in check in frustration.
More workers - trained workers - is the only way you're going to get better results. Further cutting staff isn't the answer, she said, though she assumed this would fall on deaf ears. She was fairly certain this was no less than the fourth time she'd had this conversation with one of the cronies. @Sreeya@Mr. Teatime
"I mean if ya think about it they kinda need ya, right?" Hannibal had the attention of the crowd now, and with his particular collection of talents this was where he was most dangerous to the Sith as a whole. His connection to the living Force gave him a strong sense of empathy. Combined with his learning and experience in figuring people out and handling emotions he could play a crowd and get them all on the same page, finding what worked and what didn't in the leading conversation.
In short, Hannibal was both persuasive and compelling when he tried to be.
"Without you workin' they don't get anythin' done. Corps don't exist without employees and the government doesn't get their stuff without the corps doin' the building! Least they could do is pay yeah fairly, hire enough people for it, right?" His statements were echoed in mumbles and muffled mutterings amongst the crowd as if it was a new and revolutionary concept, but Hannibal had gathering as much sentiment from people for some time. He was really just giving words to their thoughts and feelings and making them consider them up front amongst their peers.
"And what's the deal with these Sith floatin' around makin' it all worse, anyway? I'll tell ya why; 'Cause they can." Hannibal wagged a finger disapprovingly, tutting a little. "They push ya around and make things difficult 'cause nothing's stoppin' 'em. What's this Eternal character gonna do next?" He let that last question hang in the air for a while as they considered, several suggestions as to what further restrictions could be levied on the Sullustian people wafting up from the crowd. The Jedi was right after all.
"But what if they don't listen to us?" a middle-aged Sullustian woman warbled from the front. Hannibal looked down at her with a knowing grin. This question had been arranged beforehand, a speaker's trick. "What can we do?"
"There's more Sullustians on Sullust than Sith, isn't there? Give 'em the trouble they're askin' for."
Here was a planet that Isen couldn't say he had fond memories of. For some reason, the Jedi thought it wise to make him, an inexperienced pilot, provide air support in their semi-successful rescue mission. As it was, he got blown out of the sky and never actually got to engage the Sith in hand to hand combat. Which was a shame, because just about every other Jedi got the chance to take the fight right to the Sith. It had driven the Kiffar Jedi Knight crazy ever since. It wasn't the plan, really, but he had a sliver of hope that he would get his chance now.
And of course, Isen drew the short manual labor straw. He actually liked hard, body intensive work. He liked the getting tired, the breaking of sweat, the feeling of accomplishment. And it didn't take long for a young, strapping, and strong Kiffar to get a job at a scrap metal recovery factory. It didn't require skill. The job was embarrassingly simple. They took scrap metals from the other factories and put them in massive furnaces that melted it down. They didn't even separate the metals. The Sullustans once did because the output was purer, stronger metals. The Sith, however, decided they could maximize their profits by not wasting their time with such foolery and just mixing them all together. They would use the fairly week alloys for odds and ends. Essentiallyi, they turned scrap metal into crap metal, but the Sith weren't interested in safety standards or quality.
He had to answer some questions of course. The Sith controlled factories didn't just hire anybody.
Where are you from?Kiffex.
Where did you live last?Suba.
Why did you leave?It wasn't my home planet. Not my civil war. There wasn't a side I was willing to die for.
When can you start....
He worked with with an old, crazy Sullustan named Gen Jurr who hated the Sith intrusion on their planet. Before their takeover, he worked at a factory that built power coils for spaceships, but he became more and more convinced that the the new regime had planted bugs in the factory to spy on the workers. "Those kriffing Sith are paranoid, I tell ya!" he told Isen more than once. "They know the natives don't like 'em...And, oh....if we had the firepower, we'd...we'd...well, we'd do something about it!"
Isen asked him why he was so convinced that the furnaces here weren't bugged, and he said they only put the dregs down in the furnaces and laughed and laughed about it.
It was a good job for Isen. He could walk around freely in his flame resistant uniform with the fake name that he gave them on the left side of his chest. They were just coveralls with tons of thick, padded pockets that sealed up to keep gloves, hats, goggles, and all sorts of gadgets and gizmos. Isen took advantage by keeping two gizmos of his own tucked away and hidden in those pockets- two hilts full of cyan kyber goodness, and right or wrong, Isen was itching to use them. The Sith had put the screws to the Jedi for so long, he was ready to repay the favor...if nothing else, just to let the Sith know that resistance would be something to expect from here on out.
Isen kept his commlink on his wrist at all times. The others were busy setting the stage. Isen's only real purpose was to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. When they gave all green, he would be more than happy to release the hounds.
The quip about spies caught Sevrin’s interest. He stared in silence for a moment, observing Phoeya. She was seething with rage, and he could see the hatred directed his way clear as day. Her body language, the tone of her voice, the lack of fear all pointed to the fact that she was backed into a corner. She had nothing to lose, and she wasn’t afraid to stand up to the Sith. The only thing stopping her was the wellbeing of the natives. The native she genuinely cared for.
“Well, I believe that leads to the next part of our dialogue,” He said as his hand waved casually. There had been cameras fixed in different points in the facilities by the Sith, cameras Sevrin spotted right when he came in. Phoeya’s office had one, and it just so happened to crack in half and begin to smoke. The woman whirled around to look and then back at Sevrin who still had his fingers raised.
“You’re a god damned Sith bastar-”
“No,” He cut her off calmly, lowering his hand as he continued rather politely, “A Jedi that knows what he's doing” He continued with a louder intonation before she could interject, “A Jedi that may be your only ticket to see the Sullustans liberated and with the full autonomy they and your family had before. I don’t much care for your opinions on the Jedi, but you’ve seen what the Sith can do. And you know which side of the war we stand on.”
Sevrin’s gaze drilled into her, not easing off even for a moment. It was clear he wasn’t here to offer any warm words. She had revealed her cards, and it was his turn, “We will make this happen with or without you because it's the right thing to do. It will be far simpler with you.”
He was not a warm and fuzzy Jedi. He would have no qualms with ensuring she took a nice nap if she didn't cooperate.
Before he had walked into Phoeya’s office, Sevrin had sent a quick message to both Hannibal and other Jedi at the factories to find ways to remove Sith operatives from the scene. The cameras and any comms back to Sith HQ also needed to be dismantled in preparation for a large-scale attack.
Zathria watched as the drama unfolded. She could see the shock on the woman's face at Sevran's revelation, followed by a wave of indignation and fury that hit Zathria in the Force like a hammer.
Jedi? the woman sneered. You murdered my mother. Now you're coming in here to tell me about what'll happen to my people "with or without me"? she said, getting angrier with every word she said.
And if I refuse you just kill me too. You're no different than the Sith. You two deserve each other, she spat angrily. She wished the two bands of psychos would simply kill each other off and be done with it.
It was only now that Zathria finally spoke up.
No, we're not going to kill you, she said, her voice as kind as she could manage.
We want to help you and free your world. We have no intention of occupying it like the Sith have done. We want you to be free to govern yourselves again. To be able to set your own hours, to be paid for your work, and to not have to live in fear of the spies in your factory, she said. She had no idea if she would get through to the clearly angry woman, but she could only hope the appeal to the lives of her people would temper her rage. @Isen@Sreeya@Mr. Teatime
Not all missions are flashy, life or death battles of wit and will. While those are thrilling, and memorable, and by The Force do they make a good story sometimes, sometimes a operation is just about waiting, and listening.
Sullust had been the site of repeated battles over the centuries of galactic history. First, during the Clone Wars a century and a half earlier, and then again during the subsequent Galactic Civil War. The blasted out hulks of capitol ships had long since been towed away for salvage and reclamation but there were many smaller, less lucrative fragments of starships that remained in orbit, overlooked and forgotten.
To this day the slow grasp of gravity pulled the lingering remains of scores of shattered starships down to Sullust’s volcanic surface below. The size and frequency of the debris had increased in recent years, as the orbit of objects that had been trapped in Sullust’s outer gravity well had finally degraded. Every few days, another chunk of debris would come screaming down from the stars, and either explode on entry or impact harmlessly on the barren surface below. Any other planet may have created some sort of observation and defense system; but Sullust’s subterranean cities were already well protected against the occasional impacts. This gave the operation a unique chance.
Vahn was always one to spot an advantage where one existed, so he took it. He’d had the freighter; one of several that the Order kept around for operations, drop in out of hyperspace behind Sullust’s moon, just enough cover for a ship of its size. Then, he’d given his starfreighter enough thrust that he could coast in zero-g towards his destination; one of the few large clusters of star junk. He didn’t need a large fragment, just one large enough to eclipse his vessel.
The answer came with a shard of an old Separatist warship’s hull. Perfect. The freighter latched on with maglocks, and a gentle thrust encouraged the debris towards Sullust’s surface. After a few hours, the makeshift re-entry shield hit atmosphere and drew a sharp line in the sky as it descended. For a few moments Vahn held his breath; even a century and a half after the conflict the chunk of the hull held firm against the heat of re-entry but there was always the chance he would have had to do some tricky flying. All it took then was breaking off low enough to the ground that he could escape into the furrowed canyons of the planet and find somewhere safe and inconspicuous to land. Simple stuff for someone with Jedi reflexes.
“All that, and just so we have a clear escape route if something goes wrong. We probably won’t even be needed,” Vahn said out loud, kicking one boot up over the front of the speeder he’d parked under the cover of one of the sloping, obsidian plateaus of Sullust. He’d found an uninhabited point equidistant to each of the Jedi, and slid in quietly in case he was needed to give support.
Another fun bonus to clueing in Hannibal to this plan of theirs, you ask? He had loads of experience working in urban areas controlled by a hostile element. Much of his knighthood was spent in the rotting alleys of Nar Shaddaa and he was no stranger to lookouts, surveillance, or avoiding trouble.
Oh yes, there were cameras on the factory floor. The problem was they were facing the wrong direction, shoved aside and disabled with a relatively simple if detail-oriented trick of the Force. Emerald eyes continued to sweep over the crowd. Hannibal wasn't actually looking for what he was looking for with his eyes exactly but he was certainly searching. Operatives were known to snoop around and keep an eye on things and if there was one in the crowd something was likely to give them away.
Such as that one leaving the group in a hurry toward an office door and pulling a commlink from his jumpsuit, the yellows and reds of angry fear following in his wake.
"Hey man! You alright?" Hannibal called after him with a flicker of the Force that nudged people's attention toward the wandering fellow. He started, turned, and then started to run- and promptly tripped over his own feet. Or so it seemed. The man was quickly surrounded by angry factory workers who quickly piled onto him and removed him of his things.
Hannibal leaned in toward the floor supervisor he was next to.
"Y'mind if we check out your security room right quick? I think they've got the idea." The supervisor did not, and so they headed off, with some hangers-on, toward that very same door. Mr. Operative meanwhile was busy being tied up with his own pants and gagged with a factory worker's socks. Poor guy.
It was easy for Isen to stroll around any factory he wanted. He was wearing the uniform of a scrap metal guy and every factory always had scrap metal to get rid of. He walked on the bottom floor of the factory with all of the pistons churning, the gears turning, and waste bins burning. All sorts of things could make a factory go up in flames down here. Turn the heat and steam regulators off some of the machines that have the potential to go kaboom and you could create a blast bubble in this underground industrial zone big enough to fit a Hutt's ego inside. But, that was not his job. He had gotten the message. Take out cameras and remove any Sith operatives.
Because of the security risks posed here, Isen knew the Sith would have some spies in the area. One was not particularly good at hiding his intent. He was dressed the part of a worker alright, but never did any work. He was right in the view of one of the cameras, and if he was nothing more than a lazy employee, he would have been taken to task already. Figuring that this poor acting job correlated to a probable lack of intellectual fortitude, Isen approached him and waved a hand as he said, "You want to point out all the security cameras to me."
The operative looked at him strangely for a moment but said, "I want to point out all the cameras to you." He did. There were five that needed to be taken care of. Isen had spotted three easily, but he was glad to get a bead on the other two.
Then Isen, with a slight wave of his hand, said, "You want to point all the other spies too."
The operative nodded and said, "Yeah, you know...I think I want to point out the other spies too." There were two more in the area.
Isen started to walk away, but stopped himself. He turned back and asked, "Are you married?"
The Sith operative found the question curious, but he answered. "Yes. Why?"
Isen tutted and added another slight wave as he nodded toward one of the operatives pointed out to him just moments ago. "That spy over there...You found out he's sleeping with your wife when you work different shifts." Isen lifted a brow and watched as he could see the fury rising in the weak-minded operative. Then he watched him take off at a sprint and tackle his poor, unsuspecting peer. He starting hammering the guy with his fists and slamming his head into the concrete floor. The Sullustan natives backed away, but right on cue, the other operative ran over to try to break it up before he killed the guy.
Isen laughed to himself as he pushed the cameras out of view with a slight Force push or used the Force to get a piece of debris to get "caught in the wind" and block the view of the cameras. He could hear the operative getting beat up yell, "Jorja, we always work the same shift, damn it!"
Soon, the three of them would be taken to the back for a stern talking to and try to figure this thing out. Isen's job was done. The operatives were off the floor, and the cameras were dismantled.
Sevrin wasn’t entirely surprised by the dramatic response, and he remained silent. Phoeya was intelligent enough to know the difference between Sith and Jedi. He knew she was lashing out simply due to her own trauma. However, the Jedi simply didn’t have time to do the usual coddling and appeasing routine. Zathria took the lead in that while he sat with his gaze still fixed on Phoeya.
She whirled around to look at Zathria, glaring at her. For a moment it looked as if she would snap again, but she bit back. The magistrate closed her eyes and sighed after a moment, composing herself. She slowly opened her eyes again to look at Sevrin.
“My hands are tied,” She said calmly, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but all the facilities have Sith operatives that oversee them. If anything is amiss, it’ll be reported directly up the Sith chain.”
“What kind of Sith military forces exist on the planet?”
“The main base that the Jedi attacked houses the bulk of the ground troops,” She explained, “There are also a number of assault vehicles and a smaller base with reinforcements, but most of the air forces have left to support some Sith expansion efforts elsewhere,” She shrugged, “There are hundreds of troops garrisoned at the main base, you’ll never crack it.”
“Not with a direct hit, no,” He agreed, “How deep do the subterranean levels go?”
Phoeya’s expression changed when he asked that, her eyes growing wider. She paused for a moment before speaking, “Very…very deep. The Sullustans specialize in it.”
“Enough to be able to identify structural weak points beneath the base?”
“There are tunnels that lead underground, yes,” She said, but sighed, “However they are manned by Sith. Only maintenance workers are allowed and need to show identification. They then go in and check for structural integrity for the base from underground.”
Sevrin leaned back slightly in his seat, rapidly typing all of this up to fire away to the Jedi on the ground. He would let Zathria take lead in speaking while he did some quick coordination in the background. As this was a covert operation, it was clear the Jedi would have to pose as workers and locals to set the stage for a massive collapse of the base from below. Furthermore, a secondary operation would need to take place to sabotage any assault vehicles and delay the arrival of reinforcements.
Drow himself had been present during the Jedi's fateful rescue mission there. He'd been in a bomber and had acquitted himself well; shooting a Sith down, taking the turrets out of the fight and even taking the fight to the Eternal itself. Unfortunately the Eternal had batted away his barrage like it was a couple of fruit flies but Drow was back and he was different. He loved the Order and he loved their ideals but he has just made peace with the fact that violence was the only thing Sith knew. And he was more than content to do some dirty work for the Jedi now so that future generations never had to.
His cover was in the same positing as Isen's; the scrap factory. He had found some peace there - the work was simple and repetitive but Drow had always liked being on his feet and it had been a nice little workout this past couple weeks. But now was the time to strike. Drow saw Isen make his move with the spies and decided to take care of the other two Sith in the facility; the guards. Wanting to keep his status as a Jedi under wraps for now, he kept his lightsaber hidden in his coveralls.
One guard patrolled the catwalk above the furnaces, keeping a rifle trained on the workers as a living reminder to behave. It was a simple matter for Drow to walk up and push him off the walkway and into one of the smelting pits below.
Next up was the guard at the door. That required getting a bit more up close and personal. Since the guard was focused on stopping people from getting in, he wasn't at all prepared for the Ishi Tib to sneak up behind him and put him in a chokehold. Drow kept the hold going until he was sure the guard was dead. Then he moved his corpse to behind the dumpsters out front glGrim work and not a task he relished but the Jedi were at war and Drow knew how to act in a war. This was all for the good of the Order...
"Guards are taken care of." he whispered to Isen. He'd worked with the young Knight several times before and he trusted him and knew how to collaborate with him. He didn't even need to ask if the Kiffar had dealt with the spies - he trusted him to have taken care of it.
Caught in a security office cell in a Factory Complex on Sullust. Not precisely the future that he thought he'd wind up with, but it was hard to argue with the facts of one's reality, especially the unattractive points of it. One moment someone could be flying as high as the local sun, the next they were deep below the dirt awaiting an early grave.
Why was Vako on Sullust in the first place? An occupation meant money. He'd been there for some time, stowing aboard a cargo ship through port authorities to link up with some associates who were somewhere between friends and enemies of the new regime. Crime and corruption was tolerated among the Sith in a similar fashion to the Republic, as long as it benefited the right person or persons.
But it never lasted. And while Vako was doing what he would do to ensure his own personal pocket was full, he had gotten caught up by security, ironically very close to where he was at that moment. When he was being pinched, he knew he couldn't shoot his way out, so he stashed his weapons in a refining vat electrical system. He sent a signal for help... but that was not likely to be heard. His last ditch attempt of claiming to be added security fell to nothing with the access key he had for the wrong side of the facility. And so he was stunned, put in binders, and put in the cell while he awaited authorities to take him over.
It was likely he was going back to prison... though a Sith prison would be a first for him.
He'd been in the security office cell for some time, but his hunger was not the best indicator of how long.
"Gat'rat ok vot'a" He muttered in hutteese to himself considering his situation.
But outside the cell he thought he heard a struggle. He was not sure what. He simply moved to the front of the durasteel bars which held him, and looked about wondering what the commotion was.... or if it was time for his transfer with any other dissident workers he may be locked in there with.
Zathria could feel the array of emotions flowing through the magistrate. She was angry and wanted to lash out, but then she calmed. There was a realization of what exactly the Jedi were proposing, and then there was a sliver of hope. It was only the smallest glint, but it was enough.
Zathria watched as Sevrin began to type the information up to send to the rest of the strike team.
Manned by Sith, she repeated what the woman had said, turning her attention back to the magistrate.
How many Sith? How long would it take to disrupt that integrity? she asked. It was their best bet by far, but she was under no illusion about needing to clear out the Sith. Or else getting good enough disguises to get under, but that was likely to be difficult.
There are usually five to six soldiers at the tunnel entrances and they know most of the maintenance workers. Inside the tunnel the numbers vary. They send patrols down there but I'm not sure even the maintenance workers know the schedule, she said.
That could complicate things a bit, but it should still be quite doable. The strike team could provide protection and the maintenance and factory workers could work on dealing with the understructure.
Things seemed to be going well enough. Hannibal pulled out his datapad on the way to the security room to check for updates and grinned wryly on the information. An infiltration and a delaying action were on the table and the young Master would have to agree. He could participate in either but since he figured the latter was more likely to draw direct attention from Sith forces that was his personal preference. If he moved quick he could make any armour crew very unhappy with their vehicles.
Or just set the vehicles on fire. Either/or.
The supervisor escorting him swiped a card to enter the security room and they were met with a very unhappy looking operative. His cameras had stopped working at the other office guy who'd gone out wasn't the one who just walked in through the door.
"Hey! Stop right there!" the man shouted while drawing his sidearm. Very awkwardly it seemed to slip from his fingers and flew in an arc away from him, then he panicked and drew his stun baton to charge directly at the young Jedi. He swung the rod and it was blocked by Hannibal's cybernetic left arm, the other hand coming up to grab the weapon arm. With a twist and a heave he threw him over a shoulder and delivered the operative directly to the ground. Hannibal pulled the rod free, poking him with it for good measure, before handing off the rod to the supervisor. Deactivated, natch.
"So anyway- hey is that a prisoner?" He abruptly interrupted himself on the way over to the security console, looking over at a Toydarian locked in a cell. "'Sup dude?" he greeted breezily while opening up the console itself and rifling around inside. His right hand took a tool out from under his jacket meant for prying and, using it and his metal arm, disconnected a netwatch circuit from the inside of the machinery. "Watcha in for?
The information that Isen was getting seemed to be pretty straightforward. It was going to require some sort of uniform to gain entrance into the tunnels. He was glad to have met up with Drow once more. As a team, they could probably wreak some pretty amazing havoc. When together, they just looked like a pair of galactic drifters, hired to do the mindless manual labor of collecting scrap metal at the factories under the Sullust surface, taking it to a furnace, and tossing it in. Isen and Drow stopped about twenty meters away from one of the tunnel entrances, pretending to look at a big, rusted piston that had been replaced and set to the side.
"Seems to me, we need maintenance uniforms now." Isen watched as the maintenance workers came in and out, in and out, worker after worker. The overwhelming majority of them were Sullustans. Every time one of the big-jowled natives came out of the tunnel, Isen just shook his head. The Jedi was over 6 feet tall, and a Sullustan that hit 5'8" was tall, dark, and handsome....well, tall anyway. "How am I going to fit in one of those?" He watched over and over as Sullustan after Sullustan came out. The occasional random species would pop out, but Isen could not catch a break. They were all short. Some would work for Drow, but none of them were near tall enough to work for the Kiffar.
But, fate had its way of smiling down on those in need. He heard one of the guards, a human with a similar body type- in fact a few inches taller at 6'3"- say, "I gotta go take a leak." He left the group of guards to make his way to the little Sith's room. Isen smirked and looked at Drow. "Found my ticket in. After you get yourself a maintenance uniform, try not to kill the Sith guard with the dreadlocks, alright?"
Isen patted Drow on the shoulder and filed in behind the guard in the direction of the staff restrooms.
"I'll do my best." Drow quipped darkly as Isen made his way to the guard who was going to the refresher, leaving behind two other guards. With how short in height the individuals on this planet was, it seemed unlikely that he or Isen would find a better uniform that fit the Kiffar than the tall guard. But, it'd be a bit hard to explain to these other two guards why one of their coworkers had suddenly shrank and grown some dreadlocks after having gone to the bathroom. Drow figured he could help on that account.
Drow tried his best to live up to the ideals of the Jedi since joining up with the Order. Use the Force to help people. Don't seek out revenge. Only use your saber to defend others; never to attack...
Well, Drow loved the Order and wanted to be a good Jedi but he also wanted to beat the Sith so he was willing to play a little fast and loose with the definitions here. The Sith were here occupying the planet - officially or not - and were exploiting the populace for their own ends and they were using these guards to do so. In a roundabout way, one could say that these guards were already the aggressors just by standing at their post. And that's exactly what Drow did.
Waiting until the ebb and flow of Sullustan workers had subsided, Drow made his move. Now alone with the guards, he used the Force to reach out and snag the E-11 blaster rifle out of the hands of one of the guards. It was an old familiar weapon to Drow from his mercenary days so it didn't take may shots for him to get a headshot in; leaving just the now-blasterless guard remaining. Fortunately, the loud noises of the surrounding factories and the depths of the tunnel meant that the blasterfire was disguised. Not going down without a fight, the remaining guard withdrew his sidearm; a neuronic whip and swung it Drow's way. One lash. Two lash. On the third lash, Drow stopped sidestepping and charged, tackling the guard and strangling him with a chokehold until he died. Done with combat, Drow clapped his hands off, stood up and saw a Sullustan worker, having come up from the tunnel looking agape.
"You saw nothing unusual here. Go about your day." Drow said, waving his hand. The Sullustan looked a bit stunned but then nodded. Mind tricks were never Drow's forte but it seemed to do the job well enough. He stripped the dead guard's uniform off and placed it over him quickly, eagerly trying to avoid running into another guard going up from the tunnels. The thing was a little baggy on him but it'd do the trick for now. Holstering the blaster rifle and the whip, he looked at the smelting pit and saw a golden opportunity to dispose of these two bodies. This is all for the Order, he reminded himself.
Sevrin heard the exchange, knowing at once they would need to meet up with the other Jedi to coordinate this.
“I imagine you have explosives to help form new levels and paths?”
Phoeya nodded. She paused for a moment before opening a drawer and taking out a datapad. She typed a few things before sliding it over to Sevrin, “A map of the facilities. Block T houses the controlled demolition equipment. Block T also has a central terminal that gives you access to all of the facilities since it's a restricted zone. I can provide you key cards to get in,” She said with a bit of a strain in her voice. It was obvious she was very uncomfortable about this.
Sevrin eyed her for a moment before speaking, “I understand that you are afraid. You have every reason to be,” He stated frankly, “Which is why you should call a meeting with all of your high level managers - both Sullustan and any Sith upper management in the same room. Inform your mid management of what is happening so the workers begin to rally."
Phoeya looked at him suspiciously.
“This will get them out of the way and your presence, along with the Sullustan leadership, will allow you plausible deniability should anything go sideways. We will contact you through this datapad.”
She sat in silence for a moment before sliding the keycards over. Her heart pounded against her chest and her knuckles were white. She breathed in and out slowly to steady herself, knowing she would have to put on a front for her people.
Sevrin rose to stand, knowing that Block T was their next stop. Phoeya stood as well, looking from him to Zathria, and then back again. She fixed them with a long, hard look before she spoke, “M-May….the Force be with you..” She said weakly.
The Sephi flashed her a rare smile before he turned and strode from the room, putting on the gas mask that usually came with the uniforms. He sent the map to all the Jedi on the ground to better assist them. He especially sent Drow and Isen a message to meet him and Zathria for the explosives. Drow and Isen would need to commandeer a vehicle to bring over to Block T to load up all the explosives. Sevrin and Zathria would have to clear out Block T of anyone in their way and prepare the explosives and get into the central terminall. Block T was located directly before the tunnels.