The Winds of Change

[Ghev Dralin]

While Trenton dealt with the Iskalloni from the first fighter, Kane and his surviving squad members inched their way across the hangar, exchanging blaster shots with the enemy.
"This is no good!" shouted the man to his right, Ganner Beviin, the Mandalorian who had almost been pasted across the hangar floor by the out-of-control Bronze Five.
"Keep advancing!" Kane ordered, even though he knew Ganner was right; their shots were simply being absorbed by the Iskalloni, having no effect on them at all. Reports he'd read on the enemy at the start of the conflict had suggested that Iskalloni would become stunned by blasterfire, but it would appear they'd evolved beyond even that.

Finally, both men reached cover, and were now close enough in range to begin utilising other weapons.
"Aidan, where are you?" Kane barked into his comm, pressing a control stud on his gauntlet. The fins on his wrist-mounted anti-infantry missile sprang into place, and he took aim and fired at the centre of the advancing cyborgs. An explosion filled the hangar with dense flame and smoke, and to Kane's satisfaction, Iskalloni bodyparts flew out along with the debris.
"Right here, boss" Aidan replied, static breaking up the comm, and as the smoke cleared Kane watched the younger Mandalorian rocket up into the air over the remaining Iskalloni, his arm drawn back. From his hand, a double-ended spear extended, and he brought the tip down hard through the back of an Iskalloni's head. The shaft erupted through the cyborg's mouth, and drilled into the deck.

Kane allowed himself a smirk; the spear was, in fact, meant for climbing steep or rough terrain, such as that found in Aidan's homeland. Naturally, it doubled as a potent melee weapon.
"Not bad for a little barve, eh?" Aidan laughed over the comm, but Kane watched in horror as the distracted young man was suddenly impaled through the gap between his stomach and breast plates, hoised up into the air on the wrist attachment of another Iskalloni.
"NO!" he yelled, rocketing out of cover and speeding like a huge metal projectile toward the enemy. Ganner was hot in pursuit, but Kane was the first to slam shoulder-first into the Iskalloni. Aidan was flung free, leaving a trail of blood splattered across the deck, and Kane came up ontop of the Iskalloni that had skewered him.
"Eat this!" he snarled, pushing his gauntlet to the cyborg's face and swathing his head in a gout of flame, spewed forth from his flamethrower. The Iskalloni howled in a cacophony of organic pain and super-heated electronics, arms flailing and twitching long after it was dead.
Kane cast a glance at the HUD icon of Ganner's helmet cam, and witnessed the other man driving a wristblade up into an Iskalloni's neck, twisting and turning it while avoiding a circular saw attachment, until that Iskalloni also died.

Forcing himself to his feet, Kane looked around at the carnage; small fires from his missile still burned, and smoking holes had been blown in every surface. Iskalloni parts lay everywhere, though thankfully, they all lay dead.
No... not all of them. Out of the corner of his visor, he spotted a lone cyborg at the far end of the hangar, jacked into a terminal by its cybernetic left arm.
Ganner seemed to see it too, for both men rocketed off at the same time, and collided in mid-air. Kane hit the deck hard, his jetpack coming loose of its magnetic seal and spiralling erratically into the cockpit of one of the Iskalloni fighters. Still armed with its anti-armour warhead, it detonated, first in a small bloom of flame, then again in a sudden blast which blew off the entire front of the fighter and washed the hangar in heat.
Ganner slammed hard against a bulkhead, knocked senseless inside his armour.
"Stop that Iskalloni!" Kane roared, looking for Trenton amidst the smoke and flame. He couldn't see the Jedi, and was sure he'd cracked his head on the ground, because blood was seeping into his eyes. It was perhaps because of the blood that he missed a figure staggering by him, arm upraised and helmet discarded.

Before collapsing, Aidan took the shot, his anti-infantry missile taking the Iskalloni in the lower spine and shattering its body along with the terminal it had accessed. Whatever information it was looking for, it would be no good to anybody now......

******

Iskadrell
Outer Rim Territories

Darkness had fallen yet again on the Iskalloni homeworld; each day seemed to lend less and less hours of daylight, each night blacker than the last.
Azure lightning webbed across the clouded sky, as artificial as everything on the surface, spawned from the masts of the Iskadrell palace as a defensive mechanism against invading vessels. It cast an eerie pall over the twisted constructs that jutted from every visible sector on the planet. The entire world resembled a mechanical cancer, a malformed and nightmarish version of Coruscant perhaps, though it was far removed from the galactic capital.

Two Iskalloni travelled the cityscape toward the palace, aboard a hulking barge which ambled along insect-like on ten pairs of clawed limbs. Nobody took to the skies while the ion storm was active, for it was indiscriminate when choosing prey. Even though their ships could withstand it for a limited amount of time, it wasn't worth the risk.
Minutes earlier, a signal had been intercepted on a hyperwave tranceiver, and upon retrieving its data, had been granted the hyperdrive data of a retreating Mandalorian vessel, detailing its destination and likely the Mandalorian homebase. For months they'd been striking at the Iskalloni from a hidden location, a constant thorn in their side. This news was likely to tip the scales even further in the favour of the Mechanicus.

The only unsettling thought was having to deliver the news to the Autarch. Revered and despised, lauded and abhorred, the Autarch represented everything the Iskalloni hated and feared, and at the same time was an example of their triumph and the reason for their greatness. While they'd inadvertently created a monster, they'd assimilated the means to their own evolution.
It had come with a price; the Autarch had not only overthrown and demolished the Iskalloni chain of command, but he'd established himself as their ruler, forever generating new schemes for their hands to carry out, and always experimenting with new ways of carrying the Iskalloni out of the past and into a war-torn future.
He wasn't even Iskalloni himself; an imitation, originally. A mere human, saved from the weaknesses of flesh and cast into the labour sector to build ships and machines for his masters. Oh, how they'd underestimated him.

Upon seizing power, the Autarch had established the Iskalloni Mechanicus, a war machine which could not be stopped. Production of ships was increased, while his strange ways provided them with new machines of war. The Iskalloni thrived and evolved under his rule, becoming something unrecognisable from the diminutive and technologically-backward race they'd once been. Propogation had begun once the technology was perfected; injection of mutagens directly into the womb, to prepare the foetal Iskalloni for cybernetic enhancement immediately upon birth. The Iskalloni as a species grew taller and more docile, all the better to serve the Autarch's plans.

And then war had started. Those that remained of the 'old caste' were deemed unfit for battle, and witheld for the homeworld, where duties were still to be performed as normal. Afterall, somebody had to man the comm feeds, crack the proverbial whip on the slave businesses, and tend to the Autarch's needs.
Their spindly-legged barge finally came to a stop at the entrance to the Autarch's palace, and the pair of Iskalloni dropped down into the thick layer of blue mist that enveloped the lower levels of the hulking construct. Many times, Iskalloni had lost their way down here in the mists, disoriented by the effects the poisonous gas had on their nervous system. Naturally, the newer generation had been bred to be more resistant to it, though the pair that now traversed the stretch of metal walkways across the gaping ravine to the stairwell that led into the palace were of the older caste.

After what seemed an age, the Iskalloni emerged from the mists, ascending the palace steps at a mechanically slow pace, despite the import of the information they carried. After several minutes, they arrived in the entry hall, which was devoid of life except for the spider-like constructs which had wandered from the abyss which seperated the palace from the rest of the city. Many of the Autarch's failed experiments found life down there, occasionally appearing on the surface to roam free and wild.
These spider things, though... they were pests. They fed on electrical current, dismantled anything metal in order to create more of themselves, and infested any area left untended for too long.
Both Iskalloni nodded silently to one another. The first, slightly larger than his counterpart, raised a metal arm. Where there should be a hand, he had a serrated pincer-like claw. Both pincers peeled back as far as they could, and from the stump inbetween, a multi-pronged blaster attachment extended, spewing arcs of ion energy at the chittering spiders. Legs flailing, the spiders flipped onto their backs as if burned by the touch of the energy, then curled in on themselves, smouldering quietly.

An elevator descended, settling down in the centre bay. Heads bowed, the Iskalloni entered as if summoned, and rode the elevator to the summit of the steel mountain. Once the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors grinded open, the cyborgs stepped gingerly into the throne room.
As always, it was a nightmare come to life. Immediately upon exiting, the Iskalloni were surrounded by a bathhouse of experiments; tank upon tank of some grotesquerey, tubes occupied by distorted mutations of Iskalloni, sentients from all different worlds splayed open from groin to head. A veritable slaughterhouse, if there ever was one. The unnaturalness of it all was enough to chill even the Iskalloni.
Moving further into the throne room, the visual horror ended, but both Iskalloni were arrested by the sudden desire to smash their own heads against the wall until their brains were hanging from their skulls. Such was the price for disturbing the Autarch unannounced, but it was testament to the will of the older caste that they were able to resist long enough to tell the guards of their business.

And those things were another matter entirely; the Praetorian, the elite of the elite, the Autarch's personal guard. Whether they were outsiders like the Autarch or true Iskalloni, nobody knew. Sheathed entirely in armour which blended with the numerous cybernetic enhancements, each guard was masked with a blank faceplate. There were weapon attachments present, but considering the size of the phrik-alloy halberds they wielded, it was likely such attachments were for appearances sake.
"The Autarch is regenerating" one rasped mechanically through its vocal unit, as he and another Praetorian crossed halberds in the Iskalloni's path.
"We bring vital intelligence of the iron-clads location" the larger Iskalloni protested, his one black eye staring unblinking into the blank faceplate of the speaker.
"Proceed" the Praetorian instructed, after taking a moment to calculate the importance of such intelligence against the Autarch's need to regenerate.

The cyborgs passed, and weren't hindered further. After a few paces, they were brushed several times by low-hanging cables and as they passed through an opening set of thick iron doors, gazed upon the Autarch nestled in his throne.
He had once been human, but now resembled something else entirely. Flesh had long since turned pale and thin, with blue veins pulsing all over wherever skin was exposed. arms, legs, and even his spine were no longer his own, and as time wore on, more and more enhancements had been added in order to sustain him. Now, he was slaved to his own mechanics, forced to regenerate periodically and barely able to move of his own free will. The cables from outside trailed along the high walls and ceiling of the throne room proper, connected to the Autarch and his throne.
As the Iskalloni kneeled before their Autarch, many of the cables tightened, energy crackling unsheathed along their throngs and jerking the monstrosity into a standing position.
Neither one of them looked into his face, though both knew of the horrors that lurked there.
"You... disturb me" the Autarch said in a low, tired whisper. A whisper that resonated not from the figure towering over the hunched Iskalloni, but from the very walls, as if the room itself were a part of their master, or their master and his nest had grown to become one entity.
"We bring vital intelligence of the..."
"YOU DISTURB ME!" the Autarch bellowed, mechanical fist webbing with uncontained electricity. "The intelligence you convey to me... it compels diversion. It upsets order and disrupts plans already set in motion. I am now forced by imperative to eliminate a smaller threat. Do you not want to see glory for the Iskalloni?" he crooned.
His question seemed to take a while to register; then, at last, the Iskalloni appeared to understand his meaning together.
"Autarch Kroenen, command us. Your will, our fury" they chorused.
The room seemed to bristle around them. As though a part of the Autarch himself, tendril-like cables snaked around on the floor, expressing the anger that the Autarch did not.
"Come" he beckoned to the Iskalloni with the pincer-arm. "Approach" he said, when the Iskalloni faltered.
Head bowed, the cyborg scuttled up the steps to the throne, and kneeled at the Autarch's feet.
"You are of the caste that hates me above all" Kroenen observed. The Iskalloni didn't deny it. "We are above such things, are we not? Just because I was created with a certain set of cells, birthed from the womb of a flesh-crippled creature... because I was human" he rattled, the word causing the room to ripple palpably. "Look upon me" he ordered, and the Iskalloni found himself unable to resist.

What he saw beneath the black folds of the Autarch's cowl, he never told, for everything stored in the cortex which functioned his brain was leeched dry for the Autarch to process, which he did in a nanosecond. By the time the husk of what had once been a living Iskalloni crashed to the floor, he had analysed the information retrieved from 'Iron Fist', and formed his plan of attack.
And it made him tired. So very tired.
Snakes of metal twisted from the floor and penetrated the remaining Iskalloni in every possible orifice, seeking out connection nodes and power points, sucking him dry and feeding Autarch Kroenen and reviving him better than any regen-cycle possibly could. His gait straightened, and revitalisation allowed him to flex his limbs and raise his head and shoulders like the triumphant leader he was. Red eyes pulsed brighter beneath the hood of his tattered robe, and as the Iskalloni shrank and shrivelled, the Autarch's veins protruded in the thin shroud that covered his metal bones.

And then, after the Iskalloni had faded completely, he ordered the purging of Achiron.

[Trenton Vinh]

Trent aided the Mandalorians with the task of moving bodies and injured to the infirmary. He himself had only minor injuries; a few scrapes and bruises. He was one of the lucky ones. He had seen a Mandalorian impaled, one with an arm severed at the elbow, and worse.
He sighed heavily, feeling tired.
Trenton was not an old man in terms of age, but as far as warfare went, he had seen more than his share.
But he would not stand down, not give up, not lower his weapon. He would stand resolute, with allies at his side or entirely alone, until he was slain, or until he would not need to fight anymore.
He had the feeling he would never stop fighting, and that to fight was his purpose. Perhaps he was destined to hold the darkness at bay for as long as possible, until he could hold it no more.
Until he was too weak and old and tired to continue.
But then what?
There will always be others to keep the darkness at bay. Because there
needs to be others to hold it back.

He had arrived in the Medical Bay, and he deposited a Mandalorian onto one of the beds and turned to leave.
He suddenly wished he could go and meditate in the deepest depths of space. He had always felt secluded in space, peaceful.
Odd how I feel most at peace in the places where there is no life but my own.
Trent thought of the future. Of the days many years ahead, when he was an old man, jaded or wizened by war. Scarred and creased.
He found himself wishing he had someone to pass the torch to someday, someone he could mold and shape, to stand in the place he had for so long.
A person to carry on the legacy. Not Trenton's legacy, but the Force's legacy. An Apprentice that he could take on, to teach him to view the Force the way the Jedi or Sith refused, to look upon it the way one inspected a multi-faceted crystal.
An Apprentice... He frowned.
He had never taken on a proper student, he had spent time with young and impressionable Jedi, and some days he wondered if he had hindered their training more than he had aided it. He had mutual learning relationships with Force-Users many times over the years, Tylera being the most recent.
The purpose of these relationships was for two people to learn each others abilities and beliefs, for the betterment of both.
He had never fully trained a student of his own. He had come quite close to taking Ben Joreth on as a Padawan after Jet's death...

Jet's murder.
Trent stopped, in the middle of one of the cruiser's hallways, uncertain of where he was or how he had gotten there. So lost in thought had he been.
But he had not thought of Jet in a long time. The man had taught him the ways of the Jedi. While he did not agree with the Jedi in many was, he did not hate them, and he had begun his long journey of The force with them. Many of their tenets he continued to live by, many of their sayings and quotes helped him get through the tough times.
But he did not miss being a Jedi. He did not regret leaving their ranks.
Jet had crossed a line, in that cave, almost ten years ago. He had threatened Trenton, and had drawn his blade first. Trent would not back down from such a challenge, nor would he be treated like a child. Jet had barred his path, and one of them would have died in that cave.
Trenton had ensured that he would be the one to leave.

He felt his comlink beep, and withdrew it. A familiar voice said in his ear spoke, "Trenton, please meet us at the hangar bay as soon as possible."
Trenton responded, "Roger that." and returned his comlink to his pocket.
He sighed slowly, and decided it was, once again, time to stop thinking and start acting.

[Ghev Dralin]

Kane and General Adenn were in each others faces. Again.
"I'm telling you to leave it son, we've already had enough drama for one day" the General was saying, his voice all measured control. Kane wasn't buying it, nor was he about to drop the matter just because the good General didn't want any drama.
"And I'm telling you to run a full system sweep and see just what the hell that tin-head accessed while it was jacked into our ships' systems" Kane snapped tensely.
"Oh for crying out... there's no need" Adenn growled, finally losing his steely resolve. "Whats-his-name blew the karking thing back to the hell-pit it spawned from"
"Aidan" Kane breathed, murder showing in his eyes. "His name is Aidan".
"His name doesn't matter" Adenn spat. Silence fell in the hangar.
"His name does matter" Kane assured the General. "All our names matter. Its what we fight for, isn't it? For our families, our clans? For those who gave us our names and those who will one day bear them?"
There was a general upcry of "Oya manda!", and Kane rounded on the General again.
"So, now what, son? Gonna mutiny, start a revolt?" the General asked in a low tone.
"No" Kane shook his head. "But I'll speak with Dralin the moment we return".

With that, he turned to leave the hangar and the General along with it, and noticed Trenton hanging around, trying not to interfere.
"Ner vod" Kane nodded, clasping forearms with the Jedi. Or dar'jetii, as the case may be. "Sorry you witnessed that. Adenn needs a good kick up the sheb and when the time comes, I'll be the one to do it".
He steered Trenton to a quieter section of the hangar, though he could feel Adenn's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
"You're pretty handy to have in a tight situation" Kane chuckled. "Showed us Mando boys how its done". He sighed, and indicated his bandaged head, which was still seeping blood. "Maybe next time, we'll stop rolling around on the deck and give you a hand".

By the time the hangar was cleaned up, the ship had almost reached Acherin, the temporary base of operations for the Mandalorians. Most of the injured had returned from the medbay, either too hardy or too stubborn to stay put. Even Aidan, stripped of his armour and sporting some hefty bandaging, made his way gingerly onto the deck to assist where he could.
"Alright people, we're coming up on home base" Adenn yelled, slotting his helmet over his head. "Those of you who are staying, carry on with clean-up duty. The rest of you, get to the dorsal shuttle bay and prep for take-off. Kane", he added, "a word please".

Kane detached himself from conversation with Trenton, and made his way across the hangar to the General, expecting another showdown.
Instead, the General was quite cordial for a man in weaponised armour.
"Kane, you're our best pilot" he said. "I want you in the surviving Iskalloni fighter. Dralin's gonna want a full diagnostic of the thing, and any spare metal-heads we can salvage from this mess". He was speaking in a low voice now, obviously not wanting to be heard. Kane considered putting his helmet on, so they could talk in complete privacy, but decided not to afford the General such courtesies.
"What's he hoping to find?" Kane asked. "I don't think the answer to all our problems is gonna be found in one fighter".
"No, me neither, but it might put us on the right track" Adenn agreed.
"Fine, I'll pilot the thing to the surface. But I want a sanisteam as soon as I'm done, I feel dirty just thinking about doing it" he curdled, bristling at the thought of flying anything Iskalloni-made.

Heading to the heavy fighter, he instinctively drew his side-arm, holding it pointed to the ground in two hands as he boarded. The passenger bay was empty, though the weapon racks were still full.
Funny, he thought to himself. I thought all their weapons were permanantly attached.
Heading through to the cockpit, he stumbled across a dormant Iskalloni; the pilot, he reckoned. He prodded it once with his pistol, and when it didn't react, he heaved it from the pilots chair and sat in its place.
Maybe it deactivated once its function was complete, he thought to himself.
Familliarising himself with the controls, he waited for the all-clear to launch, and meet with Dralin on the surface.

[Trenton Vinh]

Trenton nodded darkly to Kane in response to his words, but his eyes on the General.
He said quietly, "I find that those in command tend to keep away from direct combat...and because of it, they tend to lose perspective on war."
He felt a touch of a smile on his face and added, "The Iskalloni are dangerous, but there's something familiar about them to me. They remind me of the Vong. Your men did well, it must be difficult to battle them when your blasters don't seem to have much of an effect."

After his conversation with Kane, he returned to his X-Wing. He ran some diagnostics and checked for damages, but aside from a few new scratches, the sleek starfighter was in excellent condition. Sitting at the controls in the cockpit, he felt more at home than he did anywhere else in the Galaxy. He had been a pilot since he was a boy, and was one of the best X-wing pilots this side of Vortex Squadron.
He took a slow breath and reached out in The Force, sensing for Roth. He felt the man's presence out there...somewhere. The only feeling he got was the grim determination that seemed to radiate from Roth all the time.
Trent hoped Roth could convince his contacts to defend the Marcol Void; it would be a crucial first step to holding back the Iskalloni.
But he had a mission of his own to accomplish. After meeting with Dralin, which would happen soon, he would need to head to Coruscant, and somehow convince the Jedi and the Senate that they were at war.
There was no way the military didn't know about the colonies being massacred, but why were they playing stupid? With countless lives at risk, they appeared to turn their heads the other way. Hoping the problem would disappear.
but they were blinding themselves, fooling themselves. Deluding themselves.
they would no doubt feel the sting of their mistakes if they continued down that path, but he would do everything he could to convince them to make them see the light. Make them open their eyes, and pick up their weapons.

[Ghev Dralin]

Acherin
The Red Twins System
Wild Space

Local Time: 0620 Hours

The Mandalorian encampment on Acherin couldn't have been more at odds with its surroundings even if the Mandalorians who'd built it had tried; shadowed by the city of Eluthan atop its plateau, the Mandalorians had erected a drab pre-fabricated hangar and operations base, and built several submerged huts which they called vheh'yaime. It was very practical, very minimal, and compared with the adjacent Eluthan, with its multi-hued buildings and grand walls and gates, very unassuming.

The multi-coloured city passed beneath Kane's stolen fighter, and at this low altitude he could see locals peering to the skies, probably trying to identify the unfamilliar ship. Like the walls of their beautiful city, the residents of Eluthan were radiant, dressed brightly and some bizzarely, each one a veritable artwork in his or her own right.
Kane still marvelled at the Acherin's hospitality, though when he thought of the small populace and their seclusion from galactic affairs, it made a little sense. Allowing the Mandalorians to use their home as a temporary HQ would bring in trade and cultural exchange which was normally uncommon.

They'd also expressed their fear of invasion more than once, too, since learning of the looming Iskalloni threat. Despite assurances that Acherin held no tactical or material value to the Iskalloni, Dralin and the council had eventually conceded and promised their help in defending the planet if the Iskalloni decided to invade.
Landing in the hangar alongside his squadron, Kane exited the Iskalloni heavy fighter, and turned to take another look at it. For something so crudely fashioned, she was a dream to fly.
"Captain Kane, you're needed in the briefing room" a voice said, barely giving him time to enjoy the feeling of being on neutral ground again. Kane turned to see a Mandalorian he vaguely recognised, one of the younger Beviin's, if he recalled correctly.
"On it" he nodded, strolling toward the pre-fabricated operations centre. "Trenton, you better come too" he called across the hangar, where the dar'jetti had landed his X-Wing.

*

"We need to be taking more action against the Iskalloni, not cleaning up after them" growled Mren Shendo, slamming his fist hard on the table, spilling his ne'tra gal and not bothering to mop it up.
"What, fight them on our own terms? Di'kut, we tried that at Galtea" Devyn Atmo retorted, his clipped tones barely heard over the general uproar.
"Yeah, we're losing this war, its time to kick the hu'tuune where it hurts!". This was Aki Murka, one of the two women on the War Council, which was comprised of all the clan heads and a select few warriors chosen by them.
The chaos continued, every man and woman throwing out ideas without even thinking them through, and replacing them with even more ludicrous and vague plans.

The doors at the back of the room slid open, and in strolled Tarn Kane, helmet tucked under his arm, someone holding back in the shadows behind him.
The only silent figure in the room was slouched in his chair, one fist propping up his helmeted head. One foot was on the floor, the other perched on the seat of his chair, and even with a helmet covering his face it was obvious he was waiting with ebbing patience for the noise to fade.
The moment Kane entered, he rose, holographic light bouncing from his forest-and-brass armour, and threw a concealed tri-sided dagger into the centre of the table. The resounding thud, as beskar split wood, caused every man and woman in the room to fall silent.
"And now, to business" said the man, his gravelly voice gone husky with thirst. Behind him, a screen illuminated, showing a sizeable Iskalloni force orbiting an unknown planet. The ships, now familliar from months upon months of fighting, ranged from fighters to cruisers and destroyers, with three discernible fleets and the beginnings of a fourth.

Ghev Dralin went straight to business.
"Four months ago, I dispatched a probe to the Iskadrell system, to ascertain their home defenses" he explained, gesturing behind him at the screen. "The images relayed back to me were something of a relief".
"So why don't we just attack Iskadrell and be done with it?" Aki asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
"Because this was four months ago" Ghev shot her down, voice raised before another argument could begin. "I was going to gather the council and formulate a plan of attack, except..."
He pressed a switch on the screen, and it began cycling through images. Every time, the fleet grew larger and larger, blotting out more of the planet beneath. In some shorts, a large construct could be seen overshadowing the fleet, and in other shots it was missing. Whatever it was, the image wasn't clear enough, but it was clearly bristling with weapons.
Finally, the images came to a halt.
"This is thirteen days ago" Ghev said. The size of the fleet had noticeably decreased again, though there were still far too many ships to mount any sort of attack on the Iskalloni.

"Why show us this now?" asked Devyn, drumming his gloved fingers on the crimson helmet in his lap.
"Yeah, I don't understand ner vod... if you knew the Iskalloni were building more ships, why wait til now?" Mren concurred.
"I don't think the Iskalloni were building, I think these ships were already out there" Ghev said, and the tension in the room upped a notch. "They've been called home".
"Called by who?" Devyn asked. His finger-drumming had ceased, his face noticeably paler than usual.
"I don't know, but their fleet movements seem to suggest invasion. Imminent invasion. Even with half the numbers at their disposal, the Iskalloni would stand a good chance of success" he sighed, sitting back down.
"Hold on a second..." Mren said slowly, rising to his feet and moving to the screen. He cycled back a couple of months, then re-watched the slideshow carefully.
"What is it?" Ghev asked, when the image returned to the latest date.
"The only time the fleet gets smaller is here, thirteen days ago. But we've been fighting constantly, and they've been attacking constantly, this entire time" Mren pointed out.
"Which means they likely have factories set up throughout their sector, churning out more ships every day" Aki said thoughtfully. "Maybe that construct we saw on a few of the images?"
"I've had that thing analysed, nobody can tell what the hell it is, nevermind its purpose. I've heard everything from mobile factory to battlestation" Ghev explained, "and cross-referencing reports from Captain Kane's SAR mission near the Lowall Nebula, and the mess left at Shadowville according to General Adenn, I'm inclined to think it's a weapon of mass destruction".

There was a general murmer of agreement, then Ghev stood back up, palms down on the table, and leaned forward.
"This war isn't personal for us anymore, gentlemen" he said. A simultaneous cough from Aki Murka and Sal Vizsla made him hastily add "and ladies".
"Mand'alor, if I may interrupt?" Kane said, from the back of the room, where he'd remained standing the entire time.
"Of course, Tar'ika" Ghev said. Kane visibly bristled at the affectionate name, and for good reason; even though he was 25 years Ghev's junior, he wasn't a child anymore.
"We made contact with aruetiise on Shadowville. A pair of former Jedi and their ally. Roth Fenix and Trenton..."
"Vinh?" Ghev asked. He peered past Kane to look at the figure behind him.
"That's right. Fenix has gone to make contact with a few allies, to fight the Iskalloni with us. Trenton here wishes to return to Coruscant, but..."
"He can't" Ghev said. He didn't explain why, for it wasn't his place, but he'd been an ally of Trenton's for a long time, and was still counted among his friends when Trenton was exiled.
"If he can get the Senate to listen..."
"Fat chance" Devyn snorted, but Kane ploughed on.
"...then he may be able to persuade them to dispatch forces to stop the Iskalloni before it's too late".

Ghev nodded, more to himself than anyone else. The obvious answer would be to send a detachment along with Trenton, to ensure he wasn't arrested on arrival. It could be seen as an act of conflict, though; the Mandalorians weren't currently high on the GA's list of favourite people. Then again, if Vinh couldn't convince the Senate, Ghev doubted anyone could, and their luck couldn't get any worse than it already was.
He decided to risk it. He had the feeling Trenton would turn down his offer, in which case, he wouldn't press the issue.
"Long time, old friend" he murmered, taking off his helmet. His hair was graying at the temples, his skin beginning to pinch with age and the stress of running another war, but he was the same Ghev Dralin who'd hacked Vong apart years earlier with the Jedi, Trenton Vinh. "You need to get into Coruscant? I could do with getting off this rock, bringing a few men and women with me. Y'know... harmless visit to the capital, stretch the legs, spend the creds..." he winked.

Now the ball was in Trenton's court. Whatever he decided, it needed to be done fast.

[Trenton Vinh]

With all eyes on him, Trenton knew he had to make a decision; and take a risk.
"I am not legally allowed in Galactic Alliance space for another four years, but this threat is worth taking the chance of being arrested."
He walked around the room to clasp forearms with Ghev Dralin, meeting his eyes and nodding darkly, "I hope you're presence will be enough to keep me from being executed on the spot. The Jedi may not hold any grudges, but the Senate will remember me well, and I suspect some may still wish to see me dead."
"With enough evidence, we may be able to convince the G.A. to aid us. My friend Roth has gathered some allies and will attempt to hold off the Iskalloni in the Marcol Void, but he has limited numbers. Time is running short, and he won't be able to hold them for long. We need to get a fleet out there to reinforce him. Once the Iskalloni are past the Void, our chances of catching them disappear, as they will have access to several Hyperspace lanes, and millions of defenseless worlds to choose from."

[Ghev Dralin]

((OOC: Sorry for the delay, had a busy weekend. If there's nothing else to do on this thread after this post, shall we close up and move onto another thread?))

Ghev had suspected such a move was imminent from the Iskalloni, but hadn't realised how urgently action was needed. Still, at least they now had allies, no matter how small their number.
"If Roth and his friends can keep the Iskalloni occupied until the GA decides to stop talking and do something, it'll help. First things first, we need something to show them which will make them see reason..."
"Mand'alor" Kane piped up. "There's a heavy fighter sitting in the hangar which belongs to the Iskalloni. Maybe once they see it..."
"Good" Ghev nodded, catching his drift. "Kane, gather your squadron and get them back to Iron Fist. Devyn, Mren, you're coming with me to Coruscant. Bring anyone you think is necessary, but remember, we're not going there to invade" he warned, having visions of an entire army of Mandalorians appearing on the Senate doorstep.
"And what of the fleets?" Aki asked, rising to look Ghev in the eye. "Should we converge on the Marcol Void, or wait for your signal?"
Ghev looked to Trenton, giving him an apologetic look.
"We can't afford to throw everything into the pot right away. If our fleets start taking punishment before the GA arrives, we won't be able to supplement their forces".

He turned to Trenton, and gestured to the doorway. There was little else to say or do; everything the Mandalorians needed, they were wearing. The rest of the council would be able to oversee things here on Acherin, though if the Iskalloni were indeed making their move on the larger galaxy, then the Mandalorians wouldn't be needed in the Outer Rim for much longer.
Time was of the essence now; to reach Coruscant, avoid Trenton's arrest, make the GA see reason, and avert disaster before the Iskalloni pummelled those attempting to hold the Marcol Void.
"Ner vod, this is gonna be close" he said to himself.