Last Stand of Chana Otran

Two weeks after the departure of Kensei
(Co-written by Durell and Phill)

Malcolm stumbled through the dark halls of the newly named Port Boomer. While the others reached out to their networks and poured over the manifests that Lo'kas had managed to acquire from his contacts. It wasn't that he didn't care, frankly he wanted to be more involved. Get into the weeds of the planning and figure out how they were going to make this crazy scheme work. In spite of his best efforts, the events on the Demeter weighed on him. So much death and for what? Some reports for a Rebellion which sold them out? The crew of the Demeter had fought for seven months to stay alive, only to be snuffed out by the team that was supposed to rescue them. Kensei leaving had been the straw that broke the Eopie's back. The moment he saw the Arnica burning thrusters burning jets into the sky he knew it was because of him - the letter from Kensei confirmed his thoughts. He starts to do a bit of soul-searching in between bouts of getting drunk on a crate of green lum they had found in what used to be a bar but the Clones had turned into a triage center of some kind. He was coming off one of those drunken roes when he started to explore the rest of the facility.

The place was a mess. From what Bren had said and the other information he had gathered from the report, this place used to be a resort in the Outer Rim - another effort from the Mid Rim Travel Corporation called Horizon to make the Outer Rim "habitable". It was closed down after it failed colossally, despite the opulent beauty of Cirrus and the area. During the Clone Wars, the facility was taken over by the Republic and turned it into a hospital for injured clones. The reports from the Alliance said Count Dooku sent his personal assassins to take out the facility but it was unconfirmed. After a few days in the Port it was quite clear that there had been a massacre here. There were blaster scorch marks along the walls and burn marks in the floor. Lo'kas had made the connection that these burn marks were likely from lightsabers plunging into the floor - after killing a helpless clone in one of the hospital beds. Malcolm had seen similar burn marks on the old hospital beds to confirm the suspicion - he shuddered thinking about it. What a horrible way to die; helpless and alone - just like those on the Demeter that he had killed.

Bren had found the old generator room and got some basic power going for the facility. They had called some contacts and Lo'kas had said that within a few days they will have the beginnings of an armory. They had also cleared out a large open area, which used to be a pool of some sorts but the Republic had filled in for some sort of muster field, and were turning it into a bit of a sparring ground. He had seen Bren and Lo'kas fighting the other day as the gank was demonstrating some gank fighting techniques and Bren was trying to respond with his own techniques learned from CORSEC. Things were coming together for them. They were still light years away from posing any substantial threat to the Jiramma's but it was a start.

He shouldered open a door at the back of the resort. The complex itself was massive but, if he had to guess, that he had only explored around twenty percent of it. The dust in the next room confirmed that no one had come this way yet. Coughing, he stumbled forward; no clear direction or purpose other than to be - somewhere else. He came upon what looked to be a lobby area. It was dark and felt musty. he could feel the moisture hanging in the air. Although in poor condition, the fixtures and embellishments just seemed nicer than the rest of the resort. It was likely the concierge area to the VIP suites. There was a small set of stairs that led to a double set of doors at the back of the room. As he topped the stairs he cursed as he saw the pile of bodies at the top of the stairs, right in front of the door. The rest of the resort was surprisingly empty of bodies. The reports did say the assassins were killed, after inflicting mass casualties, and the Republic had collected their dead and left in a hurry. There were around ten corpses around the door, bodies staggered in a loose semi-circle around the door. They had tried to get through, from what he had seen. A lone body lay on its back with 3 vibroknives sticking out of the chestpiece of the laminate armor. He knelt down, inspecting the body. It was a woman, Mon Calamari from what he could tell from the skeleton. She was wearing a small back off her utility belt and he rummaged through it. A micro datapad fell out. It was long since dead but he slaved it to his own to pull whatever data was on it. The device was solely for text-based communication and a string of messages came through. Most were encrypted or corrupted. He realized that the back of the datapad was scorched as it had likely taken a hit from a stray blaster bolt. His datapad chimed as it finished the upload. Malcolm scanned through the messages and stopped at the last entry - it had been sent from this pad to all its contacts in its files.

"THIS IS SPECIALIST CHAN OTRAN. I HAVE SEALED THE DOORS TO THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT IN THE OLD EXECUTIVE WARD. I CAN HEAR THEM WORKING THEIR WAY THROUGH THE FACILITY. THERE IS A SHUTTLE ON PAD ZETA-FOUR-ALPHA. I WILL BUY YOU AS MUCH TIME AS I CAN. MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU."

He stared at the message. Re-reading it again and again. Looking up on the bodies he realized what he was staring at. This soldier had given all to buy her comrades the time they needed to escape. Stepping back, he considered the bodies - the ten figures in black collapsed on the floor. It had been a last stand; one where she went down fighting and took every stanging bastard she could with her. The irony was that it didn't even matter. The Republic had fallen to the Empire and all of this was for nothing. He turned away and then stopped, realization washing over him. It was not for nothing - it was everything. Who cared about what happened afterwards. She had saved her friends, her comrades, people who were relying on her and paid the ultimate sacrifice. It meant everything. 

He turned back to the body and kneeled beside her. His knee knocked a metal pole which was in the Mon Calamari's hand. He gingerly picked it up and inspected the item. It was of simple craftsmanship. Something from the Mon Calamari homeworld no doubt. He had heard about these weapons, crafted from some sort of incredibly durable coral found only on Dac. There was a simple inlay of metal for a handle and a small actuator. He thumbed it to life and the staff hummed to life, blue lights flickering in a webbed design over the staves' length. Another press of a small button collapsed the staff into a baton with another press extending it again. He whistled, a stun staff. He looked back at one of the bodies of the attackers and inspected it quickly; a massive crack in the skull confirmed his theory. These assassins, with their blasters and poisoned vibroknives couldn't make it past one lone warrior - with a staff. 

A noise from behind, a low guttural growl. Malcolm turned, staff pulsing in his hand. A hulking mass from the shadows crept forward on its distended knuckles, yellow eyes gleaming. It growled, a low chittering pur of hunger, and barred a mouth full of wicked razor teeth. It was some form of grey lizard. It had a large spiked scales on its back and moved with an almost feline grace. Malcolm stood poised, staff glowing and held in front of him, parallel to the ground. In a flash, the creature lunged forward, razor claws raking forward.

(AVERAGE Melee Check - YYGB/PPS= 1 Success/1 Crit/1 Threat)

The creature lopped forward. It was anticipating an easy kill. Ducking, Malcolm dogged the rake of claws for his chest. Swinging the staff behind his neck he grabbed it in his off hand and brought the full length of it across the creature's face. It howled in pain and the stun staff flickered - sending a current through its body. It staggered backyards, yellow eyes enraged. Roaring it lunged forward, this time approaching from his opposite side of the staff in a wide arc. He realized his attack, although successful, had left him in a poor position, giving the creature a wide vantage on his flank.

(AVERAGE Melee Check - YYGB/PPS= 2 Success/1 Threat)

Malcolm backed up and squared off with the creature. It growled again and he stumbled as he backed into a crate. Placing his foot on the crate behind him he waited till the creature lunged forward and then vaulted over its gnashing teeth. As he sailed over the creature he delivered another blow to its side. It roared again in pain and he rolled to the floor slamming into a pile of chairs. On his hands and knees he groaned and looked up at the creature. It was limping, the stuns nodes on this rod were doing a number on its stamina, but it was still up and quite angry. He had to finish this. 

(UPGRADED AVERAGE Melee Check - YYYB/RPS=3 Success/1 Crit/1 Advantage)

The creature let out a bellowing roar and surged forward. Malcolm, still on all fours, hurried to his feet. He realized he was standing beside the body of the Mon Calamari, Chana Otran, the former owner of this staff and the ardent defender of this point against the attackers who sought to kill the weak and wounded. Malcolm let out a deep roar - matching that of the oncoming creature and charged forward, staff raised over his head, leaving his chest completely exposed. The creature fell for the trap, as he had anticipated. As the creature lunged forward he skirted to the right, letting the creature crash into the door behind him and crushing the bones of the attackers and Chana. It was a narrow dodge but it left him with a complete view of the creature's side. He slammed the tip of the staff into the creatures side and heard the satisfying crunch of bones cracking. The creature let out a whimpering cry this time and stumbled backwards. It rolled onto its side and then tried to stand up. It howled in pain and fell down again. 

Malcolm ran forward and lifted the staff over his head for the finishing blow. He met the creature's eyes and saw not anger or hate but instead pain and fear. He hesitated, breathing heavily, staff still held above his head ready to beat the life from this creature. It sat there with laboured breathing and stared at him with a wild fear in its eyes. Malcolm roared again and with a swish of the staff brought it down to his side, flicking the actuator and collapsing the weapon at the same time. The creature stared at him, confused, and then began to nervously move back, limping on the ground. Malcolm just stood there, panting, and watching it crawl away. About halfway across the room it was able to climb to its feet and looked back at him warily. After convincing itself that Malcolm wasn't going to chase it, the creature limped out the door. A hail of blaster fire erupted from the hallway and Malcolm stumbled back cursing. The bolts caught the creature in the head and it lifelessly crumbled to the floor, writhing in its death throes. A moment of silence passed and then footsteps. Bren and Lo'kas walked into the room, weapons drawn, Bren's blaster barrel smoking. He looked confused and scanned the room cautiously. Seeing Malcolm with the baton in his hand and clothes covered in dirt and grime he smiled and holstered his pistol.

"Enjoying the other guests? She seems nice," Bren said and motioned to the form of the creature behind him. Malcolm rolled his eyes and stepped forward. It was time for him to step up and be the leader these people deserved.

"Let's get out of here. We have work to do".