"A city planet of one trillion beings and the Head of Intelligence wants us to find a few hundred we've never even seen before? Hope he has a hell of a timeshare on Alderaan."
- Task Force 00's Sergeant Sythe, on hunting down confirmed and potential rebels in the Imperial capital
The sun had begun to rise on Coruscant, and Ezra realized how long the transport had been moving since the Ghost crew had arrived on Coruscant; they had been moving for hours now at least. He sat up in his seat and called for Obrim. "Where are we going? Are we getting close?"
"Not much further," the man replied. "We're just taking a bit of a detour to throw off any potential trackers. If we're found out, or if Stock is located, the Whiplash cell is done for."
"What's so crucial about Whiplash anyway, if you don't mind my asking?" Zeb inquired.
"This cell has connections within every branch of the Imperial Army," Jaller replied. "If we were found out, the Rebellion would lose its intel edge. We wouldn't be completely destroyed, but it would set our efforts back years."
The airbus began to decelerate, indicating that the rebels were close to their destination. "We're the longest-running cell in the Rebellion. When the Clone Wars ended, we started."
"That's nearly fifteen years of effort," Hera remarked, impressed. "How have you remained hidden for so long on one planet?"
"Trade secret," Obrim replied, half-serious, half-jesting. He went up to the pilot's cabin to check on something, and turned back to the cabin. "We're arriving at Stock now. Brace yourselves; it's a little jarring for first-timers."
Ezra reached for his fastening strap and tensed his muscles as the shuttle bus began to shake. His teeth chattered as the vibrations became more and more violent, and suddenly, stopped. He looked outside of the vehicle, and noticed the outside was now pitch-black, which didn't at all help with his jet lag.
The hiss of hydraulics indicated that the landing gear had been extended, and the Specters began to stand up. Jaller and the other Whiplash agents stood as well, and began filing out when the door on the shuttle opened. When the were outside, Ezra couldn't believe what he was seeing; it seemed as though they were inside a giant, hollowed cylinder, the top of which couldn't be seen from where they were.
"Welcome to the Stock," Jaller Obrim announced. "Our headquarters for our cell, hiding in plain sight of the Empire."
The Phoenix rebels were dumbstruck at the sheer size and scale of the base; they could see speeder bikes and hovercars flitting back and forth across the diameter of the interior, with multiple levels undoubtedly housing dozens of operatives.
"It's so...big!" Ezra stated, at loss for words.
"It's a big planet kid," Obrim replied. "For every 1,000 patriotic Imperials, there's going to be at least one Rebel at heart amongst them. And we're only ever finding more who are willing to join our cause and fight for their rights. And with so many people, we need a whole lotta room to fit them all."
"And you've never been found?" Ezra inquired.
"Well," Jaller replied, "I wouldn't go so far as to say that..."
"There is a cost for our secrecy," a new voice said. The Phoenix rebels turned, and saw a nearly forty-year-old man approaching them, who stood tall and proud, but had a haggard look, stress lines outlining his face, his hair drawn and looking rather thin.
"These the new recruits?" the man asked Jaller.
"Yes, they are."
The man sized them up with a quick one-over, then extended his hand to Kanan. "Welcome to Whiplash, Caleb."
Kanan did a double take at the man so casually using his birth name. "You know who I am?"
The man chuckled dryly. "I'm disappointed, Caleb. I thought Fulcrum told you I was here."
Kanan's jaw dropped. "Jax Pavan?"
The man spread his arms. "The one and only."
"You...you look so..." Kanan hesitated to speak further, lest he offend his ally that he ought to remember from days past.
"You don't need to be soft with me, Caleb, I know how I look." Jax insisted. "It's the price I pay for keeping this little secret secret." He looked at Jaller. "Do you think I can tell them? These two anyway?" he pointed at Kanan and Ezra.
"I dunno," the other man replied, scratching his neck, thinking. "You may have to clear it with the Head."
"Right," Jax nodded. "Well, until then, how about I show you guys around?"
*
As Jax guided the crew of the Ghost through Stock, each member was awestruck by several sights they saw along the way; hundreds of dozens of Humans, aliens and droids busy about a number of tasks, ranging from reprogramming the transponder codes of hijacked TIE fighters to escorting "undesirables" off-world. They never stopped to talk to each other though, making the environment seem almost Imperial in behavior. It was fitting in a way; if one was going to live on Imperial Center, it was best to make oneself as inconspicuous as possible.
So why not make your home like there's? Live like the enemy, understand the enemy. Understand them, defeat them.
"That's how we've survived," Jax summarized as they drew near to where they had started before. "Besides our little secret, which I hope to show you two," he said, pointing at Kanan and Ezra, "before you go to your bunks. Talking of which, here are your IDs."
When Jax didn't extend his hand to give them a badge or any other means of identification, the Phoenix rebels were confused, then shocked when they felt a sudden sting at the bases of their skulls. As they rubbed their necks, some Whiplash rebels walked by them from behind, holding some now-empty syringes in their hands and looking cheekily pleased with themselves.
"Congratulations," Jax said, betraying no laughter. "You're now registered in the Whiplash cell. Those bio-markers will identify you to our security teams, so you'll never have to go through the hassle of checkpoints."
"THAT HURT!" Zeb roared.
"And it would have hurt even more if I'd warned you," Jax replied flatly. "Now come. Let's get you set in for the night. You've many days ahead of you, and you'll need all the rest you can get before taking part in any of our operations." He gestured with his hand for them to follow him, and they did. After ascending a few flights of stairs, they arrived at what appeared to be the barracks of Stock.
"Your bunks will have your names at the feet," Jax told them. "Chopper will have his own spot down in the workshop."
The little astromech buzzed apprehensively. Jax eyed him.
"You'll have more than sufficient space. And if it doesn't work for you, too bad." he replied sternly. "We have a lot comparatively to your little ship, but here we maximize our resources, including storage space, to the best of our ability. Just don't be surprised if you wake up next to a crate full of medicine. Or mistaken for one."
Chopper warbled something that Ezra would've blushed to translate, but in the end wheeled away towards the other end of the barracks quarter, where several other droids of various make and model were plugged in or being treated to a lubrication bath.
"Rest up well," Jax said kindly. "You'll find yourselves at home sooner than--"
His comlink blinked once, then twice. He pressed the "receiving" button and held the speaker close to his ear. He nodded once during the message, then glanced at Kanan and Ezra.
"Clearance from the Head. You two come with me. Hera, Zeb, goodnight."
With that, the former Jedi turned on his heel to leave the barracks, leaving Ezra and Kanan to hastily bid their comrades good sleep as they followed him out.
"A little warning next time would be nice!" Kanan said hotly.
"Sorry," Jax replied unapologetically. "But the sooner we get through this, the better."
The trio stepped aboard a turbolift, and descended downwards dozens of levels at a quick speed. When the lift stopped, it was so jarringly quick Kanan and Ezra almost fell to the ground. The doors hissed open, and Jax led them out as the doors sealed shut behind them.
Almost immediately Ezra felt cold; where the room had been plenty warm before, without the door to the lift open, the temperature had dropped to chillingly cold. The room was pitch black, save for a single column of light in the center, in which was a small elevated platform, upon which stood a small, pyramidal holocron.
"Is that what I think it is?" Kanan asked apprehensively.
"Yes," Jax replied slowly, walking towards it. "A Sith holocron. Once property of our beloved Emperor, now arguably one of the most potent weapons against him in his capital. It's our little secret of staying safe for all these years. Why we've never been caught or exposed."
He brushed one of the edges of the holocron, and Ezra could've sworn he heard a blood chilling voice whisper from the shadows, Hands off.
"It allows us to travel through time." Jax stated bluntly.
"That's impossible!" Ezra dismissed skeptically. "There's no such thing." He looked at Kanan, hoping he would back him up here. "Right?"
"If it's Sith," Kanan replied, "I wouldn't be surprised if it could."
"Is my aging body not proof enough?" Jax asked, extending his withered arms, his veins becoming more visible against the stark white light. "I'm not even forty years old, yet the doctors say I have the health of a sixty-year-old. The price I've paid for the safety of this cell."
"That's a rather steep price," Kanan replied, while Ezra was silent, gazing at the holocron with a new sense of awe.
"A price worth paying." Jax replied. "A price which you may someday have to pay, though I hate the thought. If I am to die at any time, you will become its new keepers. So, just so you can know what to do, I'll be showing you how it works tonight."
He reached into a bag he had slung over his shoulder, then pulled out a plastic bag full of blood. He opened the top of it, scooped out a handful, and smeared all the faces of the holocron with it.
"The holocron only reacts to the blood of one strong in the Force. Anyone else, and it's merely another holocron, and a bad waste of blood. And if I die, it'll need to be your blood, since the gatekeeper will sense when I'm dead."
"Who's the gatekeeper?" Ezra asked.
"It's not a who, so much as a what; a facsimile of the creator of the holocron, in this case, the Sith Lord Darth Ramage. It's neither alive or dead, it merely is. It acts as its creator would, responds as its creator would, but is not its creator. We'll see it when we go in."
Jax's bloodied hand laid upon the holocron, and he extended his non-bloodied hand to Kanan. "Take my hand, then have Ezra take your other. He will place his hand on the holocron, and connect the circle."
The two obeyed, and Ezra was mildly horrified when he felt how warm the blood was. "This feels...fresh," he said slowly.
"Another condition," Jax added. "The blood you place on it must not only be your own, but it must be at least a few hours old. Preservatives won't fool it or the gatekeeper, so regular extracts will be needed. Now, close your eyes. Open yourself to the Force, feel it flow around and through you. That's how we'll get in."
"Get in?" Ezra asked, but now Kanan hushed him.
"Just do as he says."
Ezra nodded, and closed his eyes, quieting his mind as best he could.
In his mind's eye, he saw a grey mist ahead; not the grey he usually saw when he closed his eyes, no. It was distinct from the darkness of his closed eyes; in fact, it seemed to grow, to steadily consume the the darkness and blot it out, until his sight was completely engulfed by the mist...