15 BBY
Outer Rim
Lubang Minor
The black Kom'rk class fighter-transport settled into the forest clearing with predatory grace.
Personally commissioned and heavily modified, the Mandalorian craft was larger than standard vessels of its type. Extra armor plating overlapped its flanks; shield projectors hummed beneath the hull; upgraded engines ticked as they cooled. Stealth systems and sensor jammers allowed it to slip past single and even double-layered detection nets.
It looked like a menace made metal.
Matte black plating drank the light while a blood red transparisteel viewport stared out across the jungle like an unblinking eye.
The ramp lowered with smooth ease with a hydraulic hiss venting atmosphere from the pressurized hold.
And from it five figures descended, shrouded in black.
At their head stood a tall warrior wearing a unique helm an "Eradicator" pattern reminiscent of masks worn by Sith acolytes in ages long past of the old republic. Metallic gauntlets encased his forearms, and in his right hand he carried a long obsidian haft crowned with a silver vibro-voulge. His boots were sheathed in metal as well; each step struck the ramp with a heavy, resonant thud, as if some portion of him was more machine than flesh.
The man knelt and scooped up a handful of soil before rubbing it between his armored fingers as if gauging for something only he would know.
He then lifted his gaze to the tree line.
Behind him, his companions waited in silence. Their helms were customized, each unique in their own way and each concealing whatever humanity lay beneath. They carried personal sidearms, but their grips rested more comfortably on vibroblades, concussion mauls, and electro-staves respectively.
Only one bore a rifle and the weapon was long, lean, and lethal. It was fitted with a complex scope and a folded bipod near the barrel's end.
A 773 Firepuncher.
Manufactured by Merr-Sonn, it was a multipurpose sniper platform with a wide-beam burning mode and ablative coating. It could fire ricocheting bolts, deploy grappling lines or homing beacons, and switch ammunition to tripwires or electro-darts. In skilled hands, it was less a rifle and more a toolbox for ending problems at range.
"He's here," the leader said, his voice grated and distorted by the helm's vocalizer.
He took a pause.
"Find him and remembers that he is to be brought back unharmed."
Adras watched them acknowledge the order with silent nods before they split off into pairs and moved into the jungle.
Their advance scanners had confirmed a human heat signature within this section of the planet.
Clone CT-1707 aka Able.
Their master wanted the clone brought into the fold. But of all possible recruits across the galaxy, he had chosen a soldier cursed with accelerated aging and from a shuttered era. Clones were volatile things and they could never be trusted to act right around force sensitives especially after they were mainly responsible for the destruction of the jedi.
Still, the Baron had spoken and he relayed the Master's will , and the master's will was absolute.
He exhaled slowly and opened himself to the Force, letting his awareness bleed outward through root and stone, through insects and mist. Life glimmered in faint embers all around him.
-—————-
Able had already seen them.
From a camouflaged perch high in the trees, he watched the vessel settle like a hunting beast claiming territory. Five disembarked, and two remained with the ship.
' Not friendly looking' he thought.
No markings he recognized. No Republic transponder. No pirate colors either. But he couldn't trust them to approach.
Three years stranded on Lubang Minor had sharpened his instincts to razor wire. He knew predators when he saw them.
But maybe…..just maybe...this was his chance to leave.
Steal the ship. Punch atmosphere. Broadcast on every frequency until someone answered.
It was a good dream.
But the tall one at the ramp worried him. The way he stood—perfectly still, weapon grounded, head angled towards the forest as if he already knew where everything was.
Able slid down from his perch and moved.
He carried a salvaged DC-15 carbine patched together from wreckage and miracles, a vibroknife at his thigh, and a lifetime of training. The jungle had tried to kill him every day for three years.
But he was still here.
He set a charge along a narrow approach, then circled wide, boots silent in the mud. If he could thin them out, chaos might give him a path to the ship.
A whisper brushed the edge of his thoughts.
'Impossible', He thought in fright.
'How could they possibly move so fast they were just over there',
Too late.
A dart cracked past his cheek and sizzled into the tree behind him, spilling blue electricity. He rolled, came up firing. Red bolts slashed through foliage, forcing two black-clad figures into cover.
"Shit!" He exclaimed as he saw another two emerge in front of him.
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