The cold weather gear felt bulky and uncomfortable as he held himself still, his gaze burning through his macrobinoculars as he watched the Republic encampment. Little change, but Zyten'ykala'miurani was patient. It had only been three hours, and he was actually enjoying practicing the mental exercises he'd been taught to go more-or-less unnoticed by Jedi. This mission was his first opportunity to practice it in the field. After spending so much time on a ship, it was occasionally pleasant to get some fresh air and real gravity beneath his boots. Besides, though he was out of his element, he went where the Aristocra sent him. He was on-planet, and he intended to make himself invaluable.
Two more hours passed, and from what he could lipread, there was some Imperial activity, though it didn't seem as though the Jedi were particularly concerned. Four troopers on speeder bikes passed a little closer than he was comfortable with, actually grateful for his gear now, just in case they were using thermal scanners as they traveled. He couldn't see the Padawan, but he had blind spots in his field of view,
The proximity sensors placed at his rear pinged shortly afterward. However, before the Chiss could even spin to face whatever the threat was, the snap-hiss of a Jedi activating their lightsaber preceded its owner leaping into the small trench he occupied. The other spotters had no doubt seen what was happening, but they couldn't fire without giving away their positions.
He was afraid, but he didn't panic. He couldn't outrun or likely outfight the Jedi. So he rolled, grabbing his weapon as he did so. All he needed was a single shot, but even as he brought his rifle to bear on his enemy, her lightsaber seared through the rifle's midsection, a squeeze of the trigger rendering it useless. Rather than the pistol at his hip, the Chiss unsheathed his knife. He rose to a crouch in the snow, the whine of speeders appeared from the rear.
The Jedi saw them too, and her reaction told Nyka that they weren't her allies. Blasters fired at targets he couldn't see, and the Jedi's gaze flicked toward them. He leaped forward, his body weaving, just as the Jedi launched into the air to intercept him.
He dashed to the side, just as a tiny missile whistled over his head, the detonation tumbling the Jedi into the snow, sending Nyka onto his backside. A red blur threw itself from one of the Speeders at the Jedi, and the second stopped calmly beside him, his armor identifying him as a member of the Mandalorian clans. Mercenaries. He felt his lip begin to curl but suppressed the urge. They had saved his life, after all.
The first Mandalorian was going toe-to-toe with the Jedi, without having even drawn his weapon. The second stretched out his hand to the Chiss, lying unceremoniously on the ground. He hauled himself to his feet on the other's arm.
"I'm Kelareth, that's Corey." The Mandalorian's voice was a growl as he looked over Nyka's uniform. "Your superiors tasked our team with taking out this base, didn't bother to inform us that they were sending anyone else."
Aristocra Saganu sent them? No, that can't be right.
"Shabla Imperials." He grumbled, answering the unspoke question.
Ah. Nyka realized why the Aristocra had chosen this particular gear. Though it wasn't identical to Imperial standard and bore no insignias, it was very similar to the Imperials' equipment. It would likely be mistaken as such by friend and foe alike. Once again, he marveled at the thought Saganu put into these operations' small details, without compromising his view of the bigger picture.
"I appreciate the... pest control." Nyka's voice was a mask of smooth composure as he addressed the Mando, looking at his compatriot, who was laying the Jedi gently in the snow. "They call me Nyka." He nodded. "There are about two dozen troops, and at least one Jedi left in the base."
"The Master," Corey noted. "It does work better when you take the Padawan first. Puts the more experienced Jedi off-balance." The Mandalorian's demeanor and tone sounded like he possessed an education at odds with the whirlwind of violence he had been, only moments ago. Trudging back to the fallen troopers, he picked up a rifle, gave it the once over. Apparently satisfied, the Mandalorian tossed the Chiss the weapon, who tested the unfamiliar design for balance.
"A warrior uses every weapon at his disposal." He murmured, he thought too quietly for them to hear, but the Mandalorians both nodded agreement. Keying his comm, he spoke in a quiet, yet authoritative tone. "This is Lieutenant Zyten'ykala'miurani. It seems that the observational portion of our mission has reached its natural conclusion. Let's ensure that our allies complete their task, that they may assist us again." A series of affirmatives echoed through his comm, and he offered a nod to the Mandalorians. "Which is your clan? I would like to commend your success to my superiors."
"Corey and Kelareth Black, of Clan Black." The Mandalorian who spoke was grinning beneath his helmet, the Chiss thought. They enjoyed this.
"May a warriors fortune find your clan and kin, Mandalorian." His face hardened, aiming the rifle towards the base. "Shall we?"
