RPlog:Commute, part 2

As Enb'Zik adjusts the thermal devices to set up the delaying decoy, Snarl sprawls in apparent laziness on her belly about fifteen feet above his head on a sturdy branch. "A shame that they will almost certainly destroy this tree," she rumbles quietly. "Its years have been many," she glances upward along the trunk before continuing, "And its residents numerous." Her only response to his comment about sleeplessness was a simple, "Will not be the first time."

Having little trouble navigating the thick vegetation despite her size, Snarl is indeed not far behind Enb'Zik when he comes to a halt." Ears swiveling forward and whiskers bristling with an active nose, the massive feline pads up beside him with her head and shoulders held low. "What is it?" comes the barely audible question as she turns her head slowly to scan for any sound that seems out of place.

The mind of a droid is a methodical thing. Linear in most aspects, but capable of making those leaps of associations that lead to the thought of artificial-intelligence. at what point does random programs, bytes of unexpected data, become the bitter motes of the soul? Perhaps not an argument best used around and-or applied to Sith battle droids. Let alone ones as tough as these. They move in even numbered groups, quartering and dividing the search area in measured segments, the search radius steadily widening around the city. Thus far they have located and retrieved several dozen citizens who thought to object to the change of administration. Or thought to hide out 'in the hills' until things settled again.

Equipped with sensor equipment and telemetry, the droids link to a central unit to relay data, shared knowledge and processing power at it's best. The heat signatures the droids are tracking are, unfortunately for the droids, not unique in this jungle. For there are several large signatures that could be their quarry, or could be native animal life that would need to be dealt with. Unlike sentient hunters, the droids have no interest in pelts or animal trophies, but in their search parameters are the guidelines to scan for heat signatures and doing so they are, from sheer logic, moving steadily towards those heat sources.

Enb'Zik is quiet for a moment in the wake of Snarl's question, looking with his eyes and reaching with his senses. He slowly shakes his head, "I'm not sure yet. But be alert." Having left those false signatures so far behind now, he realizes it's been awhile since they last paused for breath. He chooses to do so now, turning his eyes toward the city's glow again. He ponders a moment longer, then begins to describe the plan that's been forming in his mind as they've moved along. "Tof Soren is an old penal colony from Old Republic times. Pre-Empire. The whole city is built in layers, on bluffs. It's not easily penetrated, so I've been trying to figure out how we're going to get in. We're approaching from the west... there are some pretty steep bluffs straight ahead, and at the top of them, a district called Khorma. Or Khoma, depending on who you ask. On the other side of that, more bluffs, and then Old Soren." He glances aside at his wife, "Old Soren is where we have to get to. I think we can find storm drains to get us past the first set of bluffs. The second set... I'm not so sure about yet."

Although listening to the Sullustan's explanation, Snarl's keen senses are still mostly directed to their surroundings in a constant scan for incoming threats. She nods a couple of times once he's finished, swallowing against a mild sore throat caused from prolonged heavy breathing. "Any chance of scaling it?" she asks, lifting one massive hand with five three inch claws splayed suggestively. Her first finger then shifts to indicate some thick vines that seem to be draped over a massive branch some thirty feet above their heads, "Or perhaps with 'rope'?"

The faint buzz and whine of speeders can barely be heard through the canopy, through the murmur of animal sounds and the constant rustling of greenery in the so subtle wind. The air is heavy with moisture, heavy with humidity that would make most humans sweat and think - longingly - of cooler environments. Droids, however, are relatively impervious to the variance of climate extremes, to a point that is. Above the canopy, several groups of speeders are piloted by droids that search the canopy for any telltale signs of disturbance and passage. The hole in the canopy that was created by the landing of the vehicle that was 'allowed' planet-side was marked and a team is en route to do a thorough search of the crash site. The things that are left behind leave clues, as well as any potential tracks that might have been left. The droids are no slouches when it comes to tracking, even if they lack instinct, theres enough programmed into them that they do a more than adequate job. Still, the droids on foot continue their approach towards the heat sources they are tracking.

The droids continue marching through the jungle, impervious to the surroundings beyond the beads of moisture that adhere to their metallic skins. The thump of each footfall is measured, even, unperturbed. They proceed forward with the same easy going gait that they would use in any terrain, after all - they don't get tired or hot or sweaty or insect bitten. The sound of the communication chatter is conducted almost entirely in binary, making it all that more difficult to discern what is being transmitted as information sharing is nearly instantaneous. The droids that were angling towards the plotted trajectory continue at a steady pace.

Having explained his thoughts, Enb'Zik considers Snarl's suggestion. "We could probably scale it, but doing so would leave us exposed on the sides of the cliffs. That's an awfully bad place to be if those droids find us and decide to attack." He pulls a small, handheld holoprojector from a pocket in his environmental suit and activates it to display a miniaturized map of the city. It floats in midair a moment before he points to a spot on the west side at the base of some high bluffs, "We're here." He lifts his eyes and his hands, motioning to the same, rocky citadel about one-hundred meters ahead of them, "That corresponds to this here." He points the map again, just to help establish where they are. "Now, with three burroughs surrounding the old prison, they had to have some way of getting rid of waste and storm water. I'm not terribly interested in waste disposal, but if we can find their water outlets, I'd much rather be underground than on the side of a cliff."

Golden eyes studying the hologram presented with perhaps surprising calmness, Snarl says nothing at all for about two minutes and instead devotes her time to consideration. "You /would/ rather be underground than anywhere else," the massive feline mutters, although the sideways glance shot at her mate is one of amusement rather than ire. Huffing softly through her nose, she nods slowly. "I suppose that would be the best way up, barring any sudden downpours that could cause the drains to flood." Jungles can be quite damp and subject to heavy deluges, and the Horansi casts an eye upward as though hoping to miraculously find an opening in the canopy overhead through which she can view the sky. Of course, no such window appears in the vegetation, causing her to shrug at herself as she instead samples the air with her nose, testing the humidity.

There is something to be said about hunting their quarry afoot or a-speeder. There's something to be said about doing this 'by the book'. But 'by the book' has never been a particularly strong suit of the officer in charge of this little bit of search and retrieval. The speeders hover above the canopy for a few moments before the droids suddenly stop mid-stride, holding position with that unflinching ability that only something not living can maintain. Silence stretches out, the sudden cessation of movement of footfalls, of speeders stirring the air currents is unnerving and, for a moment, the jungle too is hushed by the lack of the sound they brought with them. With a whir of motors and machinery the droids suddenly begin to move once more. From above it would be seen that the search party is dividing into two flanking units, north and south of the projected search area. The speeders are peeling away as well, and high above in the atmosphere is the faint rumble that accompanies a faint glimmer of light.

Zik glances aside at Snarl as she makes her remark. His face is unreadable for a moment, and then he breaks into a quiet laugh and playfully whacks her arm with the back of his hand. He shuts the hologram off and stows it in his pocket, motioning toward the north, "Cliffs are higher this way. Any engineering sense would dictate they wouldn't want a natural pouroff that high, so we'll look that way first." He's still grinning as he stands, but abruptly the expression fades as Zik looks up into the canopy. He can't see the flashes of light in the upper atmosphere, but he is starkly aware of the forest's sudden silence. And of the intense feeling of danger buzzing at his senses. "Frack," he breathes, "SNARL! RUN!" He knows her well enough to know she won't tarry or ask why. The Sullustan crashes forward into the underbrush, heading in the direction he'd just been suggesting, "Run!!"

Snarl had already glanced upward for another reason and found the canopy above them quite dense enough to prevent viewing the sky, but her sensitive ears do pick up an unusual noise. A faint rumbling that is especially clear given the sudden silence otherwise... a frown is already tugging at the edges of the Kasa's mouth and a furrow forming above her golden eyes when Enb'Zik starts yelling and takes off at a dead run. Although she doesn't hesitate more than a fraction of a second, there is just time for a mental sigh... damn. And then she's off, one distance-eating leap carrying her from the clearing and into the thick foliage at its perimeter as she literally gallops after Zik.

The rumbles of sound, the gleams of sparkling off of the metallic skin of the orbital rounds streaking towards the jungle with unerring speed. In form, they are quite beautiful. Sleek. Aerodynamic. Streamlined. Beautiful. In function they are deadly, weapons of ultimate ship to surface blunt force determination. The first round arcs through the air with a tail of cold fire burning after it and a few moments later it impacts back along the projected trajectory of the shuttles flight path. the impact is not heard at first, a rumble of sound that's more a sensation to be felt than not. The resulting crush of the canopy, the shockwave of heat and dust and flying debris and the charred ground in a precise circle from the impact site. The next one is angling more along the flight path, the gunner programming the coordinates and releasing the weaponry is precise - the second hit is just as devastating.

As Enb'Zik runs, the first impact falls, sending a rumble like thunder through the air. But it's distant thunder. The Sullustan pulls up as abruptly as he'd started running and turns, glancing first to make sure Snarl's not going to collide with him, then looking back toward the west. His brow forms a line. "They found the ship," he murmurs, "but... orbital bombardment. They want us to /know/ they found it." Zik looks thoughtful for a long moment, then begins to move again. This time he walks, but quickly, "We've got to find that storm drain. Time is short now."

Honestly, Snarl is surprised that the impact is so distant from their current position. Extended claws leave shallow furrows in the leaf litter and rich loam soil of the jungle floor as she comes to a quick halt just shy of Enb'Zik. Turning her head, she looks back the way they've come with her ears canted out to the sides in worry. As he turns away, the Horansi moves to follow, growling lowly. "Listen for an echo," is all she has to say as she moves out from directly behind him and shifts closer to the cliffs.

Unerringly, Enb'zik's assessment is spot on. The ship has been located, or at least within a reasonable measure of error for it's most probable location. And the next streak of light indicates the incoming orbital round that will strike even closer to the ship. The droids that have moved to flanking positions begin to march inwards, closing the net so to speak as the speeders move through the choppy air currents to sweep over the first blast site and will move to the next. The city itself may be the only safe refuge. The sound of droid moving through the jungle is almost synchronized as they move in unison ever closer.

Ikihsa glances at Snarl, not sure of the purpose for listening for echoes. They won't sound from a tunnel unless the pair are right at the entrance already. Nevertheless, she knows what she's talking about. He's known her long enough to trust her on that count, and he therefore does listen.

What Enb'Zik hears with those Sullustan ears has nothing to do with a tunnel, though. Speeders. And marching. /Maker,/ he thinks, looking around and sinking himself now into the Force for direction. Searching his instincts, Zik changes direction slightly and lowers his eyes. He scans the ground and begins to walk somewhat bent over as if zeroing in on his target. Close now. Come on, where is it?

Given the silence around them and the sensitivity of their ears, a drainage tunnel would likely project sounds like wind from above or loud noises like the boom coming from the orbital bombardment in the distance. She glances at the Sullustan as he walks along stooped over, but doesn't speak. Instead, she simply moves forward with twitching, slowly swiveling ears as she analyzes any and every sound that they pick up.

Another rumble of thunder that shakes the ground, another charred ruin of jungle from which smoke and steam slowly rise. Trees destroyed, exploding in a shower of shredded wood and foliage. Countless trees leveled in a circular pattern around the blast radius, this last strike just near enough that trees crash down near the ship, thudding against the hull in a crush of limbs. The droids move closer, marching steadily inward, holding position only for as long as it takes for one zone to be marked - cleared - and the speeders to approach and sweep.

Don't think. Use your instincts. Go with your feelngs. Those words had been a major thrust of one of Luke Skywalker's first lessons to Enb'Zik as a nascient adept. Right now, Enb'Zik's feelings have the Sullustan on the very verge of discovering the passageway he needs to get into the city far above them. And then he spots it.

With a sudden burst of motion, Enb'Zik leaps forward two meters and lands on his knees, hastily beginning to clear leaf litter away from the ground. His gloved hands sweep aside humus and earth and the tiny roots of budding grass plants to reveal a massive, round disk of ferrocrete. "Snarl!" he calls to his wife, "Come help me lift this!" Squatting on the edge of a covering that must weigh seventy kilos, Zik searches the edge until he finds a gap intended as one of several handholds. He slips his hands in and pauses, beckoning the Force itself into his muscles.

Some five meters distant with her head down, Snarl looks up quickly as Enb'Zik calls out her name. Bounding toward him on all fours, the Horansi's golden eyes flick over his crouched form and the vegetation in various stages of decomposition strewn all around his position. Her gaze alighting on the ferrocrete obstical, she nods and moves to the edge opposite him, her extended claws helping her to wiggle her fingers into decent gripping spaces. Gathering powerful legs beneath her massive form, the big feline tenses in preparation for lifting, becoming in effect a living spring waiting to be released. "Say when," she grunts, nodding once to signify her readiness.

Sunlight filters in thick streams through the leafy canopy. Birds have taken flight, small animals and rodents and all manner of wildlife scurrying away from the Noise and the rumbling. The ground itself again shaking as another precise strike impacts, destroying more jungle, laying waste to the area around the city, each strike a precise line and space away from the first. Marching a line of fire towards the city.

Sunlight gleams off of the Sith battledroids as the units continue to move through the trees. The sound of their movements ever closer, steadily closer. Soon enough the two lines of droids with convene in the center of the search area and begin the march towards the city.

"Don't throw it," Zik asks, watching the way his beloved his crouching, "We're going to want to pull this back over us once we're inside. Keep them from following." He looks across at her, making sure she's heard, then nods, "Okay, now." Zik glances up, then back at Snarl, urging, "And quickly!" With that, he begins to exert effort of his own, grunting and pushing with his legs to lift and slide the immense disk. Time is working against them now -- Zik WANTS this disc back in place with them under it before they're seen. And, Force willing, he'll have time for another little trick before the droids realize what's happened.

Understanding that Zik wants the cover to follow them down, Snarl nods at him once. "Jump down and I'll make sure it falls back into place," she rumbles. When the signal is given to lift, the Horansi still gives a powerful heave, directing the drain cover straight up as she steps beneath it to guide it down again. She's counting on the Sullustan to understand that she wants him to just drop into the drain and get out of the way so she doesn't have to risk injury preventing the ferrocrete from crushing him if he's not quick enough. The eternally stubborn cat isn't going to waste time /sliding/ the drain cover. She's going to let it drop right back down where it came from, ready to land in a crouch in case the drain isn't deep enough for her nine-foot frame to fit standing. The motions are surprisingly fast if all goes well. Snarl following less than a second behind Zik when he leaps into the drain, her back and arm muscles straining briefly to keep the ferrocrete aloft and directed properly before she drops down below it and it settles into place with a crash.

The exchange of binary directs the droids to narrow the margin even more, continuing at an steady pace without haste. Without rushing. Without tension or excitement. No adrenaline rushing. No sweat beading their brows. No blood pumping through veins and channeling through arteries. Just cool methodical execution of one step after another. Weapons at the ready, scanning the lush underbrush as another burst of light gleams in the upper atmosphere, a steak of pale fire trailing behind. Another rumble of sound, the ground shaking even more as the precision strikes are closer with each impact.

Pitch black darkness settles as Snarl drops the heavy covering back into place over the two of them. Zik's eyes adjust quickly, but for a moment, he leaves himself and his wife in the intense, inky blackness as he begins to draw upon the Force for a different purpose. What he does now is something he's tried to do -- and done -- many times before. But this attempt comes at a larger scale than past ones. Less than a minute before, leaf litter, soil, and decomposed plant material had covered their escape route in a fine, natural disguise that now lay brushed, tossed, and scattered above ground. Their descent into this hole would be too obvious to anyone or any droid who looked even halfway attentively.

Closing his eyes, closing out his ability to see even /in/ that complete lack of light, Enb'Zik now reaches into the Living Force, seeking the vital essence of the rainforest above. As he calms himself, slows the racing of his own pulse, he reaches into the life of the jungle and blends his own life with it. Zik's world becomes silence and peace, and he begins to beckon, to /will/ the disturbed ground surrounding their escape to /grow/.

As the Force student sinks slowly further into the life above, his essence merges with the living organisms of the surrounding forest. This is life. This is nature. Wars happen. Blood is spilt. Lives are destroyed. But in almost every case, the sun or suns rise on the horizon each following morning, whether there is war or peace, death or health, poverty or wealth. No matter what the case or what the cause of sentient creatures, trees and grass and vines and birds and mammals continue to do what they were born to do: grow and reproduce.

Enb'Zik breathes. He hears the silence. He becomes aware of the slow pulse of life, largely indifferent to the actions of the Sith, or the Jedi, or the droids, or Snarl or Enb'Zik. But Enb'Zik now imposes himself upon that pulse, now takes it in figurative hands and begins to encourage it.

Above the ground, the disturbed soil seems to move of its own volition. Within moments, the reason becomes clear: seeds, tiny, invisible among the dirt, break open and begin to grow. Tiny buds of green begin to sprout forth, reaching, stretching toward the sky as if an entire month had been placed on fast forward. Fingers of grass push up through the soil, grasping at the forest canopy. Tendrils of vines curl and coil, projecting chutes of new growth and unfurling leaves to gather the sunlight, putting down roots as if the plant had been there for weeks and weeks.

The Sullustan watches this, simultaneously in control of it and awed by it, until the /Force/ beckons /him/. It is enough. It must be enough. There is more to be done, and he and Snarl must be going. Taking a breath through his mouth, Enb'Zik slowly opens his eyes, withdrawing from the immense wonder and beauty of being that intimately connected with the living world above. He looks toward Snarl, and with a faint tinkling sound of metal on metal, he unclips a glowrod from his belt and activates it to light their passage.

She'd recognized the strewn leaf litter and debris for the tell-tale sign of intrusion that it was when she first saw it, but they'd had no choice if they wanted to reach the drain cover. Knowing Enb'Zik to be observant and thoughtful, Snarl hadn't thought it necessary to point this problem out. As they crouch in utter darkness she respects the relative silence (distant booming and the vibrations accompanying the orbital assault not withstanding) and waits for her companion to signal that he is ready to move on, or at least to speak again.

The sudden light from the activated glowrod causes Snarl's pupils to contract drastically in an instant and she blinks twice, rapidly adjusting to the new light level. Perhaps surprisingly, the large cat did not flinch in surprise. Perhaps it was the sound of the metal clinking that warned her.

Metal does not sense life. Metal does not sense life. Metal does not feel the Force. Metal and circuitry and binary pathways and silicone filaments do not amount to life, do not equate to life. All the intricate programming, higher logic, random bits of binary.. the bitter mote of the soul? does not amount to life for these droids. The two lines of droids converge in the center of the target area and pause for a moment. Sunlight again gleams and reflects off of these droids. Again, silent. Motionless. Commands are issued, data is collected, analyzed, collated, filtered. Silently they stand there as one last orbital strike hits close enough to kick up a veritable whirl wind of dust debris and charred leaves and soil. But still they remain, unfazed. For it requires emotions to be startled, to be fearful, to flee from such destruction. Precise devastation.

In unison, moving as one, for they are 'One' of many, and many are all one, they start the march towards the city with the speeders skimming the destruction points and bringing up the rear guard of the search team while the droid units standing ready in the city continue to pacify the civilians.

While the droids converge on the position where Zik and Snarl had been such a short period of time before, the Sullustan stands still and now gives closer inspection to their surroundings. The tunnel is a synthetic one, lined with more ferrocrete. The bottom runs with barely a few centimeters of water, not nearly enough to be an obstruction to their journey -- so long as no rain falls on the surface. Not one to willingly risk any more time than necessary in such a place, Zik looks at Snarl, then at the darkness beyond the light of his glowrod. "Well, then," he comments, "Guess we'd better get going. Thanks for holding that up, Love." His words and the smile that accompany them are fond and sincere, and then he starts to walk.