The Weaving Force: Chapter 16 (Patreon)

Chapter 16:

Satine Kryze:

It was less a bolt of blaster fire and more a lance, bright and yellow. It struck like lightning, felt like a hammer blow, and had enough power in that single shot to disintegrate her entire torso.

Her personal shield flared bright, the generator growing hot at the small of her back as she stumbled, nearly falling before it the sheer brute force power punched through the shield like a needle through a bubble, the heat of the plasma scoring across her left shoulder as the last of the shield’s power diverted it just enough to be a near-miss.

She heard Merrick scream behind her.

Her body hit the floor, head whirling around to look, finding her old friend on the floor as well, the shot seemingly having knocked him around to land facedown on the floor, a bloody, burnt hole in his upper collar bone.

Her Royal guard moved quickly, surrounding her, Beskar shields and full plated suits of armor now between her and the sharpshooter as calls rang out through the comms and harsh voices barked orders.

An alarm blared through the spaceport, yellow warning lights and loud klaxons telling everyone that there was an emergency.

“Duchess Satine!” Commander Cadera was at her side in an instant, bodily interposing himself between her and whatever might slip past the guard through the barely there cracks in the formation. “Delta! I want confirmation that you have that shooter! Now!”

“Merrick!” She gasped, thorns of pain snaking across her chest and arm, radiating out of her shoulder. “H-Help Merrick!”

He’d only come to help her… if he died-

Cadera didn’t move from his place, reaching down to coil an arm around her waist, pulling free a backup shield generator to place right at her chest, its power-core shining bright as the tingle of energy raced up her flesh, indicating that she was now within its protective envelope.

“I’ll get to Tal once I get you to safety, Duchess.”

“N-no!” she snarled, but her head of security ignored her protests, damn near carrying her as he stood, dragging her to her feet.

Another shot rang out, loud as a thunderclap- the yellow bolt crashed into a Beskar shield with enough force to send her guard stumbling back, where he stood, grunting in surprise as he reeled before taking up his stance again.

“We’re moving!” Cadera snarled into his helm. “Back into the hangar! Break Line of sight!”

Her honor guard fell around her like a living shield curtain. One of the men whirled his shield onto his back in order to grab hold of Merrick’s arms and drag him along even as her friend screamed in pain.

Another sound made itself known, and it made Satine’s stomach drop.

“Why are those hangar doors opening!?” the Captain roared into his comm link. “Close them immediately!”

Satine, in spite of her relatively young age, had lived long enough to trust her instincts and her feelings when they spoke to her. And right now they were screaming in her ears.

If we go into that hangar, we die.

She grabbed hold of Captain Cadera, planting her feet onto the ground. “Stop!”

Her instincts were proven right.

As the hangar doors howled open the one way ray shielding flickered off, the howling desert sands beyond sending grit and heat through the bay as a civilian transport  swooped in front of the doorway.

Its passenger deck opened behind it, and Satine didn’t need a Jedi’s foresight to know Mandalorians in Jetpacks would be swooping out of it.

Captain Cadera unholstered his blaster in one hand, vibrosword drawn in the other.

“Defend Duchess Kryze!”

(X)(X)(X)

Miss Militia:

The soldiers moved like a well drilled, well practiced unit.

Once… Alexandria’s… helmet was removed, they wasted no further time. The ship lurched and swayed as it moved at speeds whose sheer inertia caused notable stresses on the hull and the occupants in the gravity well of the planet as it banked. The sharp turns and hard accelerations had Miss Militia quickly becoming queasy with air sickness.

The soldiers barked out orders and phrases in a language she didn’t understand, rough and harsh. It reminded her, perhaps, of Russian, or Romanian.

There were ten soldiers here, and eight of them moved quickly towards the passenger bay ramp as the ship lurched to a stop. They never stumbled or lost a step, either, no matter how the ship moved. Magnetic boots? Some kind of stabilizer in their armor suits?

The ramp door opened, the howling winds swallowing up the panicked and alarmed screams of the passengers as the soldiers did last minute weapons checks before stepping off, wings of fire from screaming jetpacks.

Two of the Mandalorians stayed behind: one pilot, and the other watching the passengers with a blaster rifle at the ready.

“Can you handle them?”

The question is a whisper, nearly lost amidst the sound of screaming winds and panicked people.

She turned her head ever so slightly, looking to… Alexandria…  who stared back at her.

Her expression was so stoic, so grim-faced, that it was like she still had that helmet on, and Miss Militia realized that whatever talk they would have - and they would indeed have one - would have to wait for later.

Alexandria could do more outside the ship. If it might crash she could help there too, keeping the Brute inside to help deal with these two was less risky to Militia herself, but perhaps more risky for the passengers overall.

Miss Militia turned her eyes back towards the soldier. She didn’t recognize the material of his armor. But like all armors, it had weaknesses: gaps, places she could exploit with a knife, or with a gun if it came down to it.

She didn’t know what training he had, what martial arts if any they practiced here for CQC. But he didn’t know her training either, and she had Dennis as backup…

She nodded.

Her former mentor didn’t need any further confirmation.

“On my mark, we move.”

That whisper Dennis caught, his head turning from the soldier towards the two of them, darting quickly between them, as if asking with his eyes alone what his role was.

(X)(X)(X)

Satine Kryze:

Blaster fire burst through the air around her; blue, green, red and yellow bolts scorched the oxygen and sent the stink of ozone into her nostrils as she ducked behind the shields of her honor guard.

The Deathwatch, for that’s the colors she recognized in the armor, fell on her outnumbered guard with howling jetpacks and sharp blades. Blaster bolts bounced off beskar plate harmlessly on both sides

She had four of her honor guard, with Captain Cadera as a fifth. She counted eight attackers.

Even with possible reinforcements on the way, these weren’t odds she liked.

“Inside, Duchess!” Captain Cadera barked, opening a maintenance closet and shoving her inside, as he took cover at the doorway and returned fire with his blaster pistol.

“Get Kryze.” She heard the shouted command echo through the hangar, the hail of blaster fire rounding on her hiding place with enough ferocity to tear the walls down bolt by bolt. “Nothing else matters!”

It was always this way, she thought. Always she was the target- When her father was alive; it had been him.

She could carry on her father’s work.

She had no one to do the same…

Distantly, she wondered if Korkie would do for her what she had done for her father after his death. She felt a cold dread coil in her stomach, reaching around and strangling her at the thought.

She couldn’t die here!

“Tossing thermals!” a female shouted this time, and Satine felt her heart drop.

Even if the blast or the shrapnel didn’t kill her, the concussive force from a thermal grenade very likely would.

“Gods damn it!” Cadera seemed to realize it too, rounding the doorway and opening fire even as his armor was scored and glancing hits punched through the Beskar, keeping him suppressed.

“Get back, Duchess!” he shouted, all but shoving her to the far wall in the hopes of diminishing the force of the blast. “Make yourself small! Fetal position! Hands over your head! Mouth open!”

The orders were a rapid fire staccato, reminding her of countless drills and previous experiences as she struggled to keep her breathing under control.

She heard the clatter of something bouncing across the floor.

Cadera all but threw himself over her.

Time slowed, she felt she could almost count the seconds .

Then there was a sound, a muffled whump and a blow that felt as though her whole body had been walloped by a rubber maul as it knocked the air out of her.

Did they miss?

A dud?

She wasn’t sure.

One eye cracked open.

For a moment, she thought a Deathwatch enemy was at the door; the armor wasn’t one of her guards. But then, she realized that the signature helm of the Man’do’a was absent, leaving dark hair exposed even as she - and it was a she - turned around with the metal remains of something falling from her fingertips.

“Who the hell are you?” Captain Cadera coughed, audibly struggling to suck down a full breath of air.

“Stay here,” the woman said rather than answering before she marched out of the door.

The shouts of alarm and confusion reached her, sending a thrill of confusion and concern down her spine as she stood up.

“Duchess!” Cadera protested, grunting as he moved too quickly, aggravating something broken or bruised in her guard captain.

“We need to know what’s happening,” she insisted. Were her guards dead? Was the woman part of the attack somehow?

Cadera grunted, clearly displeased even through the helm. He forced her behind him and inched his way to the door.

By the time they dared to look around the corner…

(X)(X)(X)

Miss Militia:

“Go!”

It wasn’t a shout, Militia needed the element of surprise, not Alexandria, the command was a whisper; but she heard it all the same.

She lunged forward, the green, ‘novelty lighter’ hanging from her belt becoming a shotgun filled with beanbags as Alexandria rushed behind her, diving out of the passenger bay door.

The lone guard swiveled around, rifle at the ready. Militia could almost see his confusion as Alexandria simply leapt out of the door. This distraction meant that he didn’t realize that she, the woman hiding behind the row of chairs, was the actual threat.

It was only as she stood up, bringing her weapon to bear, that he started to turn to shoot her.

She was faster.

Two Bean Bags boomed out of the weapon, at point blank range the sheer blunt force would be felt through almost any armor on earth and she hoped it proved to be so here.

The rounds struck, one in the chest the other on the helmet, the soldier was sent reeling, sputtering out a strangled cough as the beanbags bounced off the steep to ricochet into the bulkheads of the ship over his head and behind him.

She was moving before the bags hit the ground.

What little distance had existed between them in the tiny ship passenger bay was swallowed up in an eyeblink, the gun in her hands shifting to a shoulder mounted shield, like an oversized battering ram as she crashed into the soldier’s stomach, lifting him off his feet.

Men and women screamed, scrambling to get out of the way as the soldier and her crashed and tumbled over various civilians. She could hear the other one cursing behind her, she had three seconds tops before he undid the straps holding him to the seat and rounded the corner behind her.

In the first second her fist came up, spiked knuckles coming down over the T-shaped visor.

The metal held, the impact thrumming up her arm. The visor didn’t.

Glass broke, hundreds of pounds of force cracking through the visor with a crack she felt in her teeth, she saw the spurt of blood heard the scream of pain.

But he was trained, experienced, not a green recruit. There was urgency in his response, but no panic as his training kicked in, one arm rising to grab at her bicep, arresting a follow up punch before it even got started, his other fist rising to try and crack into her ribs.

She realized, as he moved, she was straddling him too high, a result of their fall, sitting almost on his chest rather than his waist.

He realized it too.

Straddling him as she was she had no defense when the kick rose up, slammed against her shoulder blade sending a bolt of white hot pain down her whole body as something cracked.

She gasped, her left arm losing all strength as she tumbled over him, rolling before her back crashed into several passengers, the soldier scrambling to his feet, reaching for his rifle as her own weapon transformed again, from knuckles to an armor piercing handgun, freezing as she remembered the people around and behind the soldier.

A little boy, he couldn’t have been more than eight, yanked himself out of his mother’s grip, much to the woman’s horror, before he kicked the rifle away from the reaching hands of the soldier, sending it clattering under the aisle seats.

The second soldier finally emerged from the cockpit.

His handgun was already raised, taking aim square at her before Dennis crashed into him.

The soldier stumbled an elbow cracking into the top of Dennis’ skull to send the boy straight down into the deck.

But his gun didn’t move.

“What in the frackin hells-” The pilot cursed, struggling to budge his Blaster even a single inch where it hung in the air.

He didn’t even look as Dennis touched his armored boot.

The boot froze.

The soldier stumbled, now panicking in his confusion but Militia didn’t have the luxury of watching because the other one, now left without a rifle drew a knife, backhanding the poor boy, sending him flying across the passenger aisle with blood and broken teeth as his mother screamed.

That was enough for the other passengers to wake from their stupor.

The first to act was an alien, a bird of some kind, leaping onto the soldier’s back, a second grabbed at his wrist, lizard like mouth with needle teeth trying to bite through the armor into the bits of flesh in his hand to force him to let go of the knife.

Militia moved, the pain of what must have been a cleanly broken shoulder blade stealing the breath from her lungs before she forced herself to ignore, it the armor piercing gun becoming the most high powered taser she felt comfortable using before she lunged at the man and jabbed it into his throat.

The aliens struggling with him yelped, yanking away as the soldier spasmed, his body convulsing before Militia yanked the weapon back, hearing a gut wrenching crack and an agonized scream immediately beside her.

She turned, finding the Mandalorian with the frozen boot and gun … on the floor.

The boot was still frozen.

One of the passengers shoved him or tackled him… Either his knee or a time frozen boot would give way first.

The obvious won out.

She, Dennis, the Passengers and others lingered in the silent tension after the fight, broken only by the agonized whimpering of the former pilot and the sniffling cries of others in the bay.

She breathed, struggling to keep the pain from overwhelming her as she gasped out her next words.

“Does anyone… know how to fly this thing?”

There was a moment of silence.

The familiar babbling of Rugess came behind her.

She turned, finding the Bith hesitantly raising his hand.

(X)(X)(X)

Torald:

They had it. They had her! Stuffed in a corner and trapped like a rat! The woman that wanted to geld the Mandalorian people was finally about to meet her much deserved end.

Ten thousand years of culture, history, tradition, pride. Ten thousand slights against all of it would finally be avenged and their world and people set to rights.

Her royal guards were trying to push through, to reach her, but Argavald was pinning them down with his heavy repeater. Beskar armor or not, the sheer force of the heavy weapon would be enough to break bone and tear limbs out of their sockets even with glancing shots.

“TOSSING GRENADES!” Darae howled, and Torald could hear the glee in her voice as she primed the weapon. She’d have the place of honor tonight at the celebration for delivering the killing blow. He couldn’t help but be jealous. Though a pacifist was hardly fitting prey to take pride in, it was still an enemy that needed to be killed, and she was gonna be the one to do it.

He watched as the grenade primed out the corner of his eye, adding his own suppressing fire to keep the royals pinned down before Darae tossed it.

The explosive sailed through the air, arcing perfectly as he saw it hit the edge of the doorway and bounce inside.

Mission accomplished.

Torald braced himself, knees bending, lowering his center of gravity ever so slightly in preparation for the force of the blast.

Only… it didn’t come.

He heard the sound, saw the flash but the force, the blast, the power, was missing.

He shared a look with the others, and even through the helmets he could see the surprise, the confusion. Darae started swearing up a storm, firing bright yellow plasma bolts from her blaster as she howled in wordless anger

A dud grenade?

Now of all the frakking times!?

“Cover me!” He shouted, moving to get a better angle. Maybe the room had been small enough that even the dud caused damage? Possible. She wasn’t wearing armor, the fracking moron. It would be almost… ironically fitting for Kryze to die at the end of a broken weapon.

He started to move, booted feet pounding across the hangar bay when he stopped cold.

There was a woman standing at that doorway…

A woman he very much recognized.

Torald had to blink, his head actually swiveling up to the transport ship hovering above like a blithering idiot as he tried to reconcile the fact that the woman he’d left, helmetless and as a member of the hostages on that ship was somehow here, standing not five feet in front of him, glaring with a level of contempt you wouldn’t even look on a shit covered mongrel with.

“Who the f-”

Darek’s voice cut off, the woman quite literally vanishing from view in little more than a blurr. Torald whirled around, eyes frantically searching for his target where he found her, twenty meters away grabbing Darek by the throat and lifting the Mandalorian in full beskar plate off the ground with one arm.

Darek kicked and twisted, choking and struggling in surprised panic before he remembered his training, boots striking with force and precision into places that should have left the woman if not injured, at least hurt enough that her grip would let up.

Apparently she didn’t get that memo.

The woman took the blows like a solid block of stone, unflinching and unmoving. When Norvos lined up a shot beside her she suddenly turned, Darek flying off of her hands to sail across the room before crashing into Norvos in a tangle of limbs, beskar and weapons.

“What in the Corellian shit is going on back there?” Argavald roared his heavy repeater glowing red hot at the barrels as he kept a constant fire up. The weapon would overheat soon. They needed to end this now.

“Take the schutta down!” Torald ordered, he and the four others raising up their rifles to shoot.

The flash of blaster fire was all that was needed for him to lose sight of her.

She was there, right in his goddamn sights, but then a flash of green and she wasn’t. She was ducking, her fingers – her damn fingers – digging into the metals of the hangar floor before she ripped it straight up, holding it as a shield before she lunged forward.

That shield served as a damn good battering ram too.

Scian took the blow, right in the front. Torald saw the rifle get crushed between the woman’s sheet of metal and Scian’s own beskar plate, his repeater rifle breaking into so many component pieces and his wrists snapping under the sudden impact, his body scraping across the floor.

“You-”

Whatever Darae was about to say never left her lips, as the “shield” was tossed like a spinning disc in the air, the edge of it ringing Darae’s helmet like a bell, and it was probably only the fact that her helmet hit her high shoulder guard that stopped her skull from snapping right off her goddamn shoulders. Her body flipped end over end and she ended up slamming into the hangar floor, limp like a dead fish

The woman’s boot kicked up the broken, discarded rifle at her feet, she herself rising up into the air, before she caught it in a single smooth motion and, in that same motion, whirled around, arm already halfway up before she threw the rifle, with all the speed and power of a goddamn turbolaser. She caught Agarvald square in the back, his cousin’s shocked scream emerging as a pained breathless gasp as something broke, his heavy repeater falling silent as Agarvald hit the ground, writhing in obvious agony.

Torald turned, his eyes returning to where the woman should be only to find her there, her fist punching into his chest with all the power of a Corellian bullet train that made the air burst out of him, and his heart feel like it exploded in his chest.

He was vaguely aware of his body tumbling, end over end as he tried to consciously remember how to breathe!

The muscles in his chest jerked and spasmed, breaths starting and stopping halfway through as his lungs refused to work, his chest refused to expand.

He felt like he was sucking air through a straw when the armored boot cracked down on his helmet.

Even if he had the strength to move, he doubted he could; it felt like a titanic Zakkeg was pressing down on his skull.

“I liked that helmet.” He heard her, her voice seeming to bounce around his skull, even as she spoke so very softly.

“Do you like yours?” She hissed.

(X)(X)(X)

Satine Kryze:

It was over.

Just like that.

The attack began with no warning. It ended with less.

The attackers, were indeed, deathwatch. Seven were injured.

Three were dead.

The sniper, the one with the illegally modified rifle that had nearly taken her life outright and would have punched through her personal shield if not for its recent upgrades- had escaped.

But Satine had other things to concern herself with, seeing to the injuries of her guard, her friend Merrick, helping the citizens directly affected by this horrible attack.

And she realized, with so much frustration it almost brought her to tears- she likely had no choice now… she would miss Korkie’s presentation regardless of what she tried.

Whatever emotions currently tore up her insides now, must’ve been visible in her expression-

“Madam Duchess… are you alright?”

She nodded though her voice… failed her.

She swallowed down the tears, the frustration and anger.

“I want the guard on Korkie doubled captain.” She made herself whisper.

“Already done Duchess” He affirmed.

“Merrick?” She asked.

“On his way to the medical station. His shoulder took a bad hit, but he’ll recover.”

“That bolt nearly killed him.” She lamented. “The one meant for me…”

Gods… she calls him for a favor and this happens.

“Not your fault ma’am.” Captain Cadera reassured her then shifted somewhat nervously before clearing his throat.  “... We’ve ahh… gathered witness statements, preliminary reports. There are certain people of interest amongst the passengers.”

“The woman.” It wasn’t a question, not really. Whoever that woman was, Satine needed to know why she was here, and who exactly she was or was working for, very few people could simply rip through a squadron of deathwatch singlehandedly.

“She wasn’t traveling alone my lady.” Cadera nodded. “We’re… detaining them for now if you’d like to speak to them.”

“As prisoners?” She asked, genuinely curious, Captain Cadera was competent but perhaps… overzealous at times.

“They’re cooperating for now- so no need.” He shrugged.

Satine nodded.

Pushing back the sadness, the guilt, the despondency, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and once again became the Duchess of Mandalore.

“Take me to them, if you please captain.”

Her guard nodded. “Yes Ma’am.” Before he turned to escort her.

Marching past the police, the emergency responders, the lingering civilians med droids and space port security, Satine stood at the top of the small flight of steps.

The armored woman caught her eye first, stern and scowling at the world, standing beside another woman with what seemed like a shoulder injury, a Bith and a young man.

The woman turned her head, and though Satine couldn’t see her eyes beneath the helm, she got the very real impression that she was being watched.

(X)(X)(X)

Short little fight to get the last bit of setup. This chapter was gonna be a bit longer, but it was getting to be *too long* so it kinda had to be split because the aftermath of this isn't just about Satine meeting our intrepid heroes, but also Militia confronting Alexandria about her civ ID, Dennis talking to Militia now that his "knowledge" has been corroborated because Rebecca's civ ID turned out to be correct, the Deathwatch prisoners, Merrick and a few other things.

So it was best to keep the fight contained (I feel) and tackle the aftermath seperately.

Anywho, hope you enjoy :)