Panic on Pallaxides

[Vega Van-Derveld]

"On behalf of TaggeCo, welcome to Pallaxides: the galaxies most exclusive resort and the jewel of the Outer Rim."

The message had started to play even before the Star Breeze entered orbit. The words were ones that the Mashtin family had heard before, but no one made any attempt to silence the voice of Gallus Tagge as it filled the small confines of the ship. There had been a giggle of excitement when the transmission had started, followed by calls for quiet and patience. The sleek bulk of an IPV-1 System Patrol Craft loomed large at starboard, the angle of its hull - painted with the gold and black emblem of House Tagge - guiding the Star Breeze towards the radiant surface of Pallaxides.

With a touch of the dashboard console, secure landing codes were transmitted to the patrol vessels. The codes verified that the Mashtin family had received a prized invite to Pallaxides. The invite hadn't come cheap, of course. Joth Mashtin had put away every spare credit he could to buy passage for himself and his son Brent. The timing of the trip couldn't have been more perfect, with Brent's time at the Imperial Academy about to begin.

"This is where hard work gets you, son," Joth had said, smiling across at the co-pilots seat where Brent sat. Though he'd tried to hide his excitement, the boy couldn't keep the smile from wriggling onto his lips. As the surface of Pallaxides grew larger before them. The ships autopilot had locked onto a planet-side signal, which brought the Star Breeze on a slow, scenic descent. The world was vast and almost entirely unspoiled by industry, covered in more green than either of them had ever seen.

"Your mother would have loved this," Joth said, unable to pull his eyes away from the beautiful view. The two of them would be among a mere few hundred other visitors to the planet, and would experience the kind of freedom and solitude that was almost entirely unknown throughout the rest of civilised Imperial space.

"Where will you go first?" the voice of Gallus Tagge went on. "Hunting in our lush rain-forests? Hiking through our magnificent canyons? The world is yours to explore - or simply to enjoy from the comfort and tranquility of our luxury resort where you can find true peace in relaxation."

Something tickled at Brent's senses, distracting, a strange sour smell.

"Peace," said another voice, closer and colder, "is a lie."

The cockpit flashed with lurid blue light. Screams were silenced in the seconds that they formed on lips. Heads hit the cockpit decking and rolled underneath the dashboard console as the Star Breeze made its final approach, gliding with automated ease into the star-port. His armor creaking as he hunched over the ships controls, Vega Van-Derveld did not near the continued prattling of Gallus Tagge. He did not see the beauty of Pallaxides - but he did see it's potential.

There was barely a shudder as the ship landed. Vega turned from the cockpit without a second thought for the still smoking bodies of Joth and Brent Mashtin. He stalked through the small ship and with his one remaining arm, he shoved the exit portal open and emerged into the sterile silence of a private docking bay.

Before him, projected large on the far wall of the bay, the faces of House Tagge's leaders smiled down at him. Gallus and Sanya Tagge spoke in unison.

"However you decide to spend your time on Pallaxides, we're sure it will be a trip to remember."

[Gallus Tagge]

The glass shattered. "Another?"

Though his smile was sheepish, there was a glint of excitement in Gallus's eyes. A laugh rippled around him and an attendant stepped forward to clear up the twinkling shards that had moments ago been a tumbler of brandy in Baron Tagge's hand. For Gallus, the mess was already forgotten, as he looked almost transfixed at the source of it. From elbow to the tips of his fingers, the entire length of his left arm was wrapped in a dark corded substance, almost metallic but with a fibrous flex that hinted at an organic origin.

"It is... easy to forget one's strength," observed a figure standing at the edge of the table where Gallus sat. Doctor Shevarin's austere appearance was at odds with the subdued luxury of their surroundings. The Domino Lounge was a place of soft hues and sleek curves, each seating area an oasis of privacy interrupted only by the discreet arrival and departure of the serving staff. The only one of the gathering who had elected to stand instead of sit, Doctor Shevarin inhabited a peculiar spot on the line between welcomed guest and hired help.

"The prototype has been field tested extensively, though it was not designed for..." Her voice trailed away, as her solid-white eyes shifted imperceptibly around the circle of four gathered before her. Scions of wealth and industry, one of whom literally owned the planet under her feet. She chose her words carefully. "It was not designed for delicate application such as this."

The broken glass was gone, and another round had been delivered along with trays of finger food. "It's fantastic," said Gallus, electing this time to pick up his glass with his uncovered hand. Shevarin tried not to think about the fact that there was potentially still traces of brandy on the Q-8 gauntlet, that she would have to spend time scrubbing out later.

"I didn't know you had this in development," ventured one of Tagge's guests. "I thought the Pallaxides research centre was all nips, tucks and reconstructions."

"My aunt got her eyes replaced here last season," chipped in a younger man that Shevarin recognised as Karim Redrish, a Kuati noble. The other two joined in with similar stories of their own. The thought of her lasting legacy in the Galaxy being a generation on face-lifts made Shevarin's skin crawl somewhat, but she shook off the feeling as quickly as it had come. She did not need the praise of the uneducated. The work she was doing would change the face of the Galaxy as they knew it.

"Our work has many facets. The Q-8 exoskeleton prototype is one of our most advanced developments to date. It would not have been possible without the funding provided by Tagge-Neuro Saav. Our research into rybcoarse-based cardio-muscular augments has numerous medical applications which are complimentary to the... resorts , but we anticipate the Q-8's primary market will be the military."

"The military? Haven't you heard, the war's over," Redrish said, smirking. The look of sneering self-confidence began to slip away as Redrish glanced around the table, the last trace of bravado slipping away as his eyes met Doctor Shevarin's. There was an unspoken agreement between everyone when it came to the war. Especially on a planet like Pallaxides, where the people of the Empire came to rest and relax, the last thing any of them wanted to be reminded about was the uneasy truce with the Alliance. Shevarin opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated as Baron Tagge looked side-long at her.

Flexing his fingertips, feeling the artificial strength of the exoskeleton, Gallus smiled.

"For now."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Galactic Empress Miranda Tarkin was wise and powerful. Time spent in the service of the Empress was time spent undertaking the most sacred of things, even if such tasks did not outwardly seem significant.

Tasks such as this. The protection of the Empress's breeder male.

Were someone lesser asked to perform this task, their pride might make such protection seem beneath them. Matatek Sel Vissica had no such pride to wound. The Queen of Her Queen's word was law. She had spent years defending the lives of Queen Matatek's breeders, and Vissica would apply herself to keeping Gallus Tagge safe as well. And she would do so with discretion. The Queen of her Queen saw fit to impose Imperial rule with human faces. Humans were her advisors, her governors, her grand admirals. This was their Caste. Lady Vissica respected the distinction, and she interacted with the powerful people on Pallaxides only when necessary.

For now, that meant to protect from a distance. Lady Vissica patrolled on foot around the Imperial Palace grounds, negotiating the open spaces of beautiful fountains, statues, and topiaries that served as a buffer between the walls of the palace and the aesthetically pleasing wilds of this resort world. Occasionally, her path crossed with a lesser member of nobility, but Vissica discretely moved along. It was more efficient to patrol on four paws than two, which further helped her to remain invisible to most. Those that took time to notice the long figure of the prowling Selonian may have mistaken her for a manner of large domesticated pet. The only thing that may have disabused them of their prejudice was the vest of armor around her torso, the armored skullcap on her head, and the baton-shaped item clasped into a scabbard on her back.

Lady Vissica paused at the approach of a pair of conversing members of court, winding the air with her nose as she changed direction in a staccato beat of padding paws and claws against marble tile. Only when she was out of sight again did the Selonian Knight rise to two feet, appearing as statuesque as the literal statue she now stood behind.

"This sector is clear. Report."

[Khoovi Wan]

The Shistavanen stared up seriously at the Security officers.

"If you're quite finished—" he started, only to have one of them kneel down and coo while scratching behind his ears. He stepped back and growled, which only made the Officers smile wider and titter.

"If you're quite finished, get back to your stations. The Empress's Consort is here, remember. If something happens because you could not control yourselves because of my appearance, the punishment would be I imagine quite severe."

He turned around while the Officers returned to their chairs, still murmuring to themselves about him. He honestly couldn't wait until he grew up; then he would be taken seriously at first glance instead of constantly having to prove himself more than just a pet to the myriad people he came across.

"Set up patrols with intersecting areas staggered by no more than three seconds," he said, ignoring how the officer holding the datapad in front of him scratched his head and ran his fingers through his fur. "Maintain communication at all times. Four man squads. This area, this area, this area, this area, and this area."

He straightened and nodded, keeping himself looking at the teams and their performance records instead of paying attention to the coos and idle hands touching him, though every time they did he straightened a little bit more and his shoulders tensed. In this way, the sudden call from Knight Vissica caught him by surprise. He glanced up at his companion, and nodded at him to respond.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Some months ago, Abari Loki had asked him what was the best place he had ever visited in the whole galaxy. At the time, Hal had answered Alderaan, as he has been there before it was destroyed, and it was a wholly accurate answer. But were he to be asked today, without hesitation he would say Pallaxides. From the moment they had landed, everything had been simply splendid. The air was so fresh it seemed he was breathing sparkling artesian water, and the sky... talk about blue! Though he had not been granted the ability to go explore, the vast greenery which surrounded the luxury complex brightened his spirits in a way that even a stack of dirty magazines would find difficulty rivaling.

But Hal, excuse me, "Kyle Rayner," was not on Pallaxides to enjoy himself, or to unwind or refresh his soul or any of the garbage from the video brochure. No, he was on official business in his first real assignment since "joining" the Imperial Knights as a cadet. His uniform and armor did not speak anything of still being a cadet, however. Instead it was a full fledged Knight's uniform simply lacking rank insignia. Hal felt a sort of pride in wearing it - not because he found joy in serving the Empire, or in professing himself as one of their most elite agents - but because he found the deep blue with its silver accents set off his yellow fur perfectly, and the dark charcoal gray armor was just the right shade to look badass without looking emo mallcop. Even if he really was a mallcop, by official standards.

He and a handful of other top cadets had been selected to accompany Knight Vissica on an important mission, and after two months of being cooped up in what once was the old Jedi Temple, Hal was itching for any chance at some sort of freedom. It had been afforded to him with strict orders to casually patrol the grounds of the amazing pleasure palace he now found himself within, and to protect some guy who had something to do with Empress whats-her-name, Hal couldn't be bothered to care enough to actually remember all the details. Protect the Empire, blah blah blah. Were he not hatching a scheme to get a few things done back on Coruscant, he'd be spending half his time trying to figure out a way to escape back to Ossus from Pallaxides. Running from here would be easy enough, but it wouldn't do the damage he needed to the Empire, nor would it help the Jedi in the way he wanted, so for now, Hal was the dutiful security guard, on the alert for anything out of the ordinary.

And on the alert for passing snack trays. The hors d'ourves, finger sandwiches, and little fruity drink thingies were each in their own way vastly better than his recent diet of nothing but meal cubes, and when opportunity presented itself, Hal would sneak one from a passing tray. A security guard had to be properly nourished, right?

As Vissica's voide broke over his comm, Hal hurried to chew and swallow some sort of vegetable sandwich thing before clearing his throat. "My sector is also clear. Nothing to report." It was the same message he'd already delivered countless times, that day, and Hal sighed as he knew he'd be saying it countless more.

[Reikkel Orgern]

"Duty stations." Captain Orgern reminded his security staff as they mobbed the youngest of the newly-minted Imperial Knights. The Shistavanen could be distracting by how unsoldiery he looked, but what Khoovi Wan lacked in being physically imposing, he made up for in a serious commitment to his work. In a way, he reminded the 79th Legion Captain of Matatek Sel Vissica, though certainly less of an intimidating presence. Given some years, Khoovi might even narrow that gap.

Speaking of Lady Vissica, the comm activated. The Selonian was as punctual as she was honest. Likewise, they didn't have to wait long for Knight Rayner to report from his sector. The Nehantite's progress had been impressive, transitioning from a rebel accomplice to a capable operator in the matter of a few months.

Both the outer and inner sectors so far reported clear. That left himself and Knight Khoovi as the reserve, overseeing the balance of the best of the 79th Legion's hand-picked troopers to be placed sparingly where they were needed. This wasn't the job of an overt security apparatus. Their presence needed to be subtle, lest it appear that the Empress doubted the sanctity of her inner court.

"Our patrols are standing by, my knights. No sign of unusual activity so far."

[Gallus Tagge]

It was not long before the Domino Lounge became tiresome, but on a world of such plenty there was no need to be bored. A dozen or more suggestions were made as to where the foursome should go next, but the unspoken agreement was that Gallus should decide. The trip had been at his recommendation, after all, and the others were keen to see why TaggeCo – and it's admittedly somewhat sozzled CEO - were so proud of Pallaxides.

“I'll show you something you've never seen.”

The swaggering claim was met with whoops and cheers, as Gallus swayed to his feet – steadying himself on the back of a chair with the hand still encased in the Q-8 exoskeleton prototype; that, at least, had not lost it's novelty. At a modest distance, Doctor Shevarin watched, her expression not betraying a hint of the irritation she felt. When the Imperial blue-bloods spilled out of the lounge and into the cooling evening air, she followed at first, their pale shadow, and not the only one following their progress.

“I'll bring it back in one piece,” Gallus said, turning his head just enough to see the white-haired Arkanian over his shoulder. “I promise. You must have work to do?”

Shevarin halted without a word. What had been voiced as a question, she knew to be anything but. Whether he had intended to command her or otherwise, she could read the second-meaning into Gallus Tagge's words and was left watching him as he strolled away. The four of them were heading towards a circular pavilion, from which paths extended like spokes on a wheel, apropos of the Imperial emblem. Each path lead to another increasingly more extravagant distraction that they might indulge in.

Gallus gestured the Q-8 prototype towards the northern most path. It lead to the vast hunting plains, where guests could stalk almost any manner of creature at their leisure.

“We've imported animals from all corners of the galaxy,” Gallus explained, needlessly echoing the claims emblazoned on the signs that pointed the way to the hunting grounds. It was the breadth of the ecosystem that they had simulated that made Pallaxides offering unique among it's ilk.

“You don't have to kill them, of course... but there's a good chance that they won't give you any choice.”

[Vega Van-Derveld]

He left their bodies on board the Star Breeze and left the docking bay by a maintenance exit. While the docking bay had been immaculate chrome, this corridor was uneven plaster strung with bare light-bulbs, stripped of the illusion of luxury and wealth. The hallway lead into other hallways and as he lurched onward, voices reached Vega. Snatches of conversation somewhere above him, or in rooms that branched away from the corridors. Conversation muted by doorways, moving figures obscured by dirty glass. At times, the Lupine clung to the walls, a shadow among shadows, when wandering employees had the misfortune to cross his path. He could smell their breath and sweat, could taste it, as they came within arms reach, and his tongue danced over his lips and teeth in a squirming dance - but it was not time. Not yet.

He slipped out of the star-port, into the open air. All was still, only the sound of his breath coming with a dull metallic whine through his vocaliser. His pale eyes tracked upward to the sky, but there were no ships swarming over head. He reached into the pocket of Joth Mashtin's flight-jacket, too tight across his shoulders but with the left sleeve hanging limp and empty. He pulled out a flimsi: a map, that shimmered and shifted in the light. Darting eyes took in the length and breadth of the resort, picked out the points where the greatest congregation of life might be found, but also noted where the paved paths did not go, where the Tagge Company, whatever they thought, had not tamed wild Pallaxides yet.

Laughter drifted to him on the warm afternoon air and the Sith stretched into his senses, crawling his awareness out from the confines his own skull across the web of the Dark Side...

Vega pulled the peak of the Team Tagge swoop-racing team cap low over his eyes, and stepped out into the trickle of foot-traffic.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Lady Vissica's head turned at movement from the lounge as Mr. Tagge and his entourage left the confines of the Domino Lounge. She half-raised from her all-fours stance, dropping her back legs to her haunches as she raised up into something of a "sitting" position. Her comm stick found its way to her hand.

"The Priority is moving into my sector. Headed to the hunting grounds. Maintain inner patrol discipline."

The Selonian clipped her comm stick to the neck of her armor as she again loped on all fours, following the wealthy holiday-goers from a discrete distance.

"Kyle Rayner, I am following the Priority. Take my place on the outer patrol."

This was always the plan. A Knight within short distance of Gallus Tagge and his party at all times, moving as they moved, but with concentric layers of security at the compound to prevent an infiltration. As Tagge moved, the plan would be changed accordingly. It was up to the Knights to adapt.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The outer patrol? Really? If it were acceptable for Hal to be seen leaning his head back and rolling his eyes in dismay, he would have been doing so with even more overacted gusto than a family sitcom teenage girl. But he was an Imperial Knight Cadet, and such displays would be highly frowned upon, not to mention rewarded with push-ups or some other method of torture, so the Nehantite limited himself to the satisfaction of a disappointed sigh before lifting his own comm stick.

"I copy. Be right there."

So much for the snack trays, the passing rounds of drinks, the strange little munchies on carts, his stomach lamented. Mindful not to cross paths with Tagge and his drinking buddies, Hal circled around to take up Vissica's beat. What it lacked in nosh it made up for in scenery, and he prayed that it would be enough to hold his interest. At the very least he wasn't stuck in some boring command center closet like Khoovi was. All kinds of fun things to smell, out here, and all. With that thought in mind, Hal took a deep breath, then suddenly paused. There was something on the wind - not a scent per se - but something that simply felt wrong. Hal's pink eyes scanned his surroundings, attempting to locate the source of the sensation, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Perhaps the outer patrol would need him, after all.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

"Sector six, this is Paddock Control. Do you copy?"

"..."

"Repeat: sector six, this is Paddock Control. Systems are showing a power surge in your sector. Report."

"..."

The channel hung open, static bubbling into his headset.

Brack, the on-duty controller at Paddock Control, tapped a white-gloved hand at his monitor, magnifying the map of the Pallaxides Paddock, it's hunting grounds. Carved up into sections divided by glowing lines, the map was crisscrossed by dashed lines representing fences, power lines, walk ways and more. Each section represented a particular hunting experience for the resort's guests. Each section was also skewered by ten pulsing dots, representing the patrol points throughout the hunting enclosure. Right at the southern edge of the map was Paddock Control, where Brack currently sat on his ass playing whack-a-womp-rat with the park's daily litany of problems.

Another tap, a disinterested sigh, and the controller could see the roster for the patrol points. He'd given up the glory of the Imperial Army for this? Babysitting animals? He cycled through the names marked against the current shift, eyes drifting lazily back up to the enclosure map.

"Paddock Control to Lieutenant Graffo requesting sector six sitrep."

The lights flickered over head. The lights on the Paddock map rippled, as if surges were sweeping across all sectors. That couldn't be true, of course. If it was, it meant all of the enclosure's in the Paddock would be opening, releasing their captive creatures into the Paddock together, instead of in the single controlled releases that they were designed to. If that happened, that would almost certainly mean the on-duty controller would lose their job and for all his complaints, Brack needed the credits more than the headache of finding another job.

Two of the ceiling lights went out. A third quickly followed. "Oh for frack's-"

Brack narrowed his eyes at the ceiling tiles, then frowned as a fourth light died. It wasn't the light that caused the frown, though, but the way that the ceiling rattled just a moment before. He kept watching as the blackout moved across the room, moved... towards him. His face twisted. Was something up there? There was a hiss and Brack could smell burning.

"Is this... a drill?"

In the instant before all the lights died, Brack saw something failing from the ceiling. He fired in the general direction he'd seen the thing and the blaster bolt illuminated the cramped confines of the control room with dazzling light. With each bolt loosed, he saw a grotesque flash-bulb glimpse of the thing.

It was ten feet away, to his right. Head low.

It was four feet away, to his left. Teeth bared and strung with saliva.

It was a foot away, in front of him. Holding the muzzle of his blaster.

"Tarkin's teeth!" Brack swore.

He squeezed the trigger, but the thing whipped his hand up so quickly that he felt his wrist snap as the stray bolt sizzled into the ceiling.

"End your worthless life," said the thing in the darkness.

The words seared through Brack's brain and cried out in protest and horror, but it was too late. The next shot he fired wasn't wild; the blaster muzzle burned the cropped hair at his temples and blackening his skin. He hit the controller console like a falling bantha. His headset clattered to the ground.

Vega crouched low, listening to the chaos spewing from within.

"Paddock Control, we have a situation..."

"...perimeter defenses in the Corellian Sand Panther enclosure no longer active..."

"... getting reports of adult Nexu loose..."

"-I can't get the gundark gates to shut!-"

"-oh god, the arachne! They're all over him!-"

"...the rancor has breached it's pit. The rancor has breached it's pit!"

[Gallus Tagge]

The prospect of a walk had been quite a thing when they'd set off from the lounge, but by the time they realised how far it would be? Half of the group had revolted. There was a maglev train encircling most of the resort, but that too seemed far too... common. Nevermind that the entire resort was populated by the well-to-do of Imperial society; the maglev simply would not do. Naturally, TaggeCo had other options available for their discerning guests. A vintage open-top speeder came out on top, chosen more for its looks than the off-road capability that had been discretely built into it. The four of them piled in, ready to go on safari.

"Father says that we're going to spend the latter half of the year on Spira," the Kuati yawned, as he lounged in the back. "We have a chalet there."

"Doesn't everyone?" countered Cecilia, whose Core accent was more nasal than the rest. She snorted at the preposterous idea.

"We don't all like to brag about it," said the third, Tarquin, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I rather think I prefer Pallaxides to Spira. The beaches were filthy the last time I visited. You know they employ xenos to clean them? And I've heard there are some of them in the hotel kitchens. No wonder the food is so... colourful."

Gallus sat in the passenger seat, beside the robotic driver. He let his head fall back against the upholstery and closed his eyes. In spite of the chatter going on behind him, it was peaceful outside. Whether through good fortune or good design, the ped-way to the hunting Paddock was almost entirely clear. Clear road, clear skies, the distant cries of...

He opened one eye, and held up the hand encased in the Q-8 prototype against the light of the sun.

"I say, do you hear that?" the Kuati asked, sitting up and craning his neck. The sound was getting closer. Gallus cocked his head to the side, watching the sky. There hadn't been any cloud there a moment ago, had there? The cloud was coming closer and what had at a distance looked like something soft and fluffy soon appeared anything but. Hundreds of purple-grey wings beating in unison.

Cecilia stood up in the back and the robotic driver began to chunter: "Please keep your head, arms and legs inside the speeder at all times."

- but it was too late. A huge hawk-bat with a two-meter wingspan swooped down from the sky, plucked her out of the speeder then soared back up towards the beautiful blue sky, with a pair of stylishly dressed legs sticking out of the end of its pincer beak.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

As the hawkbat lofted away with it's blue-blooded prize, the tall grasses near the pedway burst apart in a blur of motion. A lithe, tawny-furred predator raced low to the ground, directly on course for the speeder.

"Oh my!" Tarquin cried with a suddenly ashen face, looking somehow reserved even when aghast.

The tawny blur bounded, bunched, and then leapt. Four clawed feet dented into the forward-positioned boot of the speeder, rocking it severely with the beast's impact while leaving deep scratch lines in the veneer.

"Keep your head down, Highness." the beast spoke in a harsh but clear timbre. It became clear to Tarquin and Gallus alike that this was not another wild beast set loose from the paddocks, but rather a sentient creature, made more apparent by the vest of Imperial armor it wore on the upper half of it's long torso.

Lady Vissica's muscular tail lay low along the boot as she crouched, counter-balancing her against any possible changes in momentum the speeder may face. A second hawkbat swooped down towards Tarquin. It was there for only a moment. A flash of growling white light later it was in two places at once, falling away from the speeder on each side in smoldering halves.

"Return to the palace!" the Selonian Knight ordered the droid driver, holding her greatsaber over the front of the speeder in a guard position.

[Khoovi Wan]

"What in the blazes is going on?!"

Khoovi glared intently at the security officers, pushing his irritation and annoyance into their psyches with his Force connected abilities; while he was only a new Cadet, he had studied and practised long and hard to attain even this small mastery of his gift.

"All the fences are down, Knight. It... it looks like Paddock Control is dark. All the animals are loose."

"I told them to put locking mechanisms on the vehicle doors!" shouted one of the security officials, walking in wearing a dark grey wide brimmed hat with one side folded up. Khoovi turned to him.

"Name."

"Maradun. I'm the Beast Warden around here," he said, glancing at the Knight-Cadet in consternation. "Wait, why am I telling you this, someone take this child somewhere safe—"

"I am Knight-Cadet Khoovi Wan, here to coordinate security and the Knights which are here to protect the Imperial Consort. Until otherwise notified, Warden Maradun, you answer to me."

Maradun blinked and looked around at the suddenly silent officers in the Resort Control Room, silently asking anyone in the room to contradict the tiny Shistavanen.

"He's right, sir," one of the other officers said quietly. Maradun turned to Khoovi, a look of resigned insubordination on his face.

"Make sure security and all power to the palace's defences and gates are still functioning. If there is an area without power, block it off immediately. All security teams within the palace grounds are to be put on alert; if they are not within the grounds, have them converge on the Knights and the Consort to defend them. Warden."

He turned to the bemused human after listing off his orders to the officers sitting in front of him, and ignored the vidscreens which showed some security and patrons of the resort being eaten by a swarm of arachne. Even the small glimpse he'd involuntarily taken twisted his gut.

"What are the most pressing dangers to the Consort at the moment?"

The Warden gave the preteen Cadet another measuring look before nodding and opening his mouth to speak.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Back and forth, back and forth, Hal made his lonely patrol of the outer ring. Oh, yes, the grounds were pretty, and the air itself came infused with the fragrant scents of expensive, exotic flowers that were sure to give him a dreadful case of allergies within the hour, but compared to his previous post watching the main party, it was dullsville.

Rounding the far edge of the perimeter, the Nehantite allowed himself to pause, rocking up and back on his booted footpaws, heel to toe, toe to heel, heel to toe. There hadn't been any new word over the comms since he'd taken up his new patrol, so Hal sighed and resumed his beat walking ever further away from the chaos he and his immediate surroundings were wholly oblivios to. He even allowed himself to whistle a light tune before remembering that "Imperial Knights do not whistle, Kyle Rayner!"

Pallaxides was boring.

[Gallus Tagge]

“We'll be there in a jiffy!” intoned the droid driver, mere moments before a hawkbat mistook his ovoid head for a large delicacy and collided, jaws akimbo, with the automaton. There was a screech that was part tearing metal, part tearing hawkbat. Carried onward by the inexorability of momentum, the wounded hawkbat hurtled low enough over the speeder that a rope of dark blood lashed Tarquin across the face. He shrieked - “I can't wipe it on this jacket! Don't you know how much this cost me?!” - and so did the hawkbat, as it ricocheted off the back of the speeder and into the ground.

Meanwhile in the car, sparks shot out of the droid's empty neck like a firework on Empire day. Temporarily awestruck at the sight of not only Cecilia being carried away but half a dozen other sets of legs waggling out of the mouths of leather-winged monstrosities, Karim flinched back from the sparks and narrowly avoided jerking his head right into the fly path of another low-flying hawkbat.

In the front seat, Gallus ducked low beneath the dashboard. He peeked up just long enough to see the figure on the speeder's boot, swinging a blazing blade at any hawkbat foolish enough to swoop within her reach.

“I-i-i-in aaaaa j-j-j-jiffy!” the driver's voice box glitched as the speeder rolled on further towards the hunting grounds.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Lady Vissica assessed the dynamic situation at hand. The hawkbats had made short work of the driver as well as half of the Consort's hunting party. The remainder had the doe-eyed look of useless, soft-handed people who couldn't even be counted on to save their own skin. With a growl, the Selonian ripped the remainder of the droid free from it's seat, throwing it over her shoulder head-on into another swooping avian.

If they remained where they were, people would die.

If they dismounted, people would die.

Lady Vissica could only protect so many of these nobles. And while it was preferable to save them all, her mandate only explicitly fell to Gallus Tagge. Her gimlet eyes fell on him with an appraising bent. He did not seem as weak as the rest, though he hardly seemed like a warrior. There must be a quality within him that the Empress found pleasing, and if there was any constant in the universe, it was that Lady Vissica trusted Empress Tarkin.

"Highness, can you drive?"

A hawkbat took the momentary lapse in Vissica's attention as an invitation to attack the large target. The beast swooped down with it's open jaws, only to have those same jaws severed from each other in a casual flick of her wrist.

If she could cajole the remaining hunting party to move, she could perhaps buy enough time to signal the palace and alert them of the danger.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Walking a beat had to be one of the most boring things in the galaxy, Hal surmised. Perhaps even more boring than trimming your toeclaws, or watching daytime holovision when you stayed home "sick" so you didn't have to go to school one day. It was with great consolation that Hal reached the end of his beat path and was afforded the true luxury of the simple act of turning around.

The heel-turn should have been the highlight of it all, the quick shift of momentum, feeling the wind wash through his tail as he spun, and his body adjusting to his change in direction, but even after all that was over, there was excitement to be had! Before him - which had previously been behind him - the resort teemed with life, and not rich, pompous, spoiled twit type that it normally boasted, but instead the skies were alive with strange beasts which resembled both hawks and bats.

I shall call them... hawkbats!

Good enough for me. Can we ride one?

Highly doubtful.

His pace continuing on mechanically toward the swarm, Hal studied their movements, certain that he'd not seen them from his previous station near the actual clubhouse, or whatever it was called. They swooped and dived like predators at some unfortunate prey upon the ground, and at fist he thought it might have been some sort of trained animal show, until he saw what was a distinctly humanoid form danging from one of their mouths. In a heartbeat Hal broke into a sprint toward the swarm, raising his comm stick to his mouth.

"Ops! We've got some action to the east! Hawkbat swarm, do we have intel? Should I move to investigate?"

[Gallus Tagge]

"Highness, can you drive?"

"Obviously!" Gallus spat, as if it was indeed the most obvious thing in the Galaxy and an absurdly stupid question, in spite of his apparent lack of intention to drive the speeder until the very moment that Vissica had suggested the idea.

While his ermine savior fended off another swoop of hawkbats, Gallus maneuvered himself into the drivers seat. The jagged remains of the droid driver still in their place, the Baron grimaced as he settled himself in front of the speeders controls. Without the input of the droid, the speed was rolling to a halt.

Gallus took the controls – and elicited a sudden grind of metal as, not quite recalling his own augmented strength, he partially crushed one of the steering arms with the fist coated in the Q-8 exoskeleton prototype. Tarquin ventured a peek out of the back seat and made a noise that could have been mistaken for one of the hawkbat's squeaks.

"Just - stay down back there," Gallus ordered and Tarquin was once again cowering in the foot-well.

Feet fumbling for the right pedals to activate the speeders manual override, Gallus slammed one in-step against the accelerator and the vehicle lurched forward.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Brack left Paddock Control via the rear entrance. He pulled his cap - bearing the logo of the Team Tagge swooping racing team – lower over his face. He zipped his TaggeCo issued bomber-jacket - turned inside out, the lurid yellow lining exposed and the blood-splatter on the chest concealed - up to his throat. A handheld comm radio was tucked into one pocket of the jacket, a wire running from the device up to an earpiece, pumping a steady stream of chatter from the park into his ear. Into the other pocket was tucked a conspicuously empty sleeve.

“No response from Paddock Control.”

“Copy that. We're on route now.”

Not far from the Paddock Control entrance, there was a map of the resort. He stalked to it. His eyes, the colour of sour milk, searched the picture. Within a moment, he found what he was looking for: the Tagge-Neuro Saav clinic and research facility. Quickly, he slipped into the cover of the trees and bushes that lined the resort walkways. However much he might have wanted to stay, to drink in the shock and horror that soon would roll out of Paddock Control in waves - there was no time to waste.