The effluvia of a hundred different species wafted through the air to
meet Deathon's nostrils. Body odors mixed with the scents of various
exotic foods to create a heavy musk that hung in the air. Despite his
hunger, the smells did nothing to encourage his desire to eat. Deathon
decided to work past his cramping stomach until he found a more comfortable
place to dig into his rations. The standard food packets he carried with
him were short on taste but high in nutrition, something most of the
sentients he passed by might kill him for. They were refugees, displaced
by the voracious onslaught of the Yuuzahn Vong. Many of them where
starving; preparing to turn on each other for survival. The occasional
beggar child would push towards him asking for alms or requesting that he
purchase a small woven trinket. He politely refused each of them. It hurt
him to do so; his very existence wanted to offer assistance to these
people, to tell them that the New Republic had not forgotten them. But
that was what he was doing here, trying to help. But if he flashed any
amount of money to anyone, it would more than likely make him a target for
a street thug or worse, a gang of street thugs. Not that he wasn't able to
defend himself, it was just better to keep a low profile.
Mud sloshed up around his high boots and specks of filth flew off his heels; the specks hit the back of his legs, staining his breeches. He was going to need a month just to wash away the grime from his clothing. He felt greasy all over, partially from travelling for the past standard week, but mostly from the slimey rain that covered his body. The water did not really fall from the sky like it should. Instead it seemed to hover about and drizzle down slowly. The water worked its way past his light spacer's jacket and seeped into his shirt. The rainwater brought with it a chill. Deathon's breath puffed out in clouds of steam and mixed with the expirations of the aliens who trudged along with him. A cloud of steam emanated from the trail of refugees, dangling over them as a visual reminder of the dark cloud that hung over the entire galaxy.
A strong desire to find shelter filled him, but he there was none to be found on this side of the refugee camp. Most of the prefabricated huts that sat on either side of the path where already occupied. Deathon glanced to his left or right from time to time, peering into the makeshift huts of the shantytown. He saw Twi'leks, Rodians, a few Weequays, and oddly enough a few Jawas. Deathon didn't know if Jawas left the desert planet of Tatooine. He might inquire Master Skywalker about it when he had the opportunity. Seeing the Jawas reminded him of where he was and he nonchalantly checked for his credit vouchers and light saber. Both of the items where still on his person. It would do him no good to have either one boosted from him by a pickpocket. The Force would alert him if anyone got too close, even if he didn't see an assailant approaching he would definitely feel his or her presence. However the process required a certain level of concentration. If Deathon did not keep his awareness piqued a lucky sentient could get the best of him, and his property. A Jedi Knight with more experience and greater attunement to the Force would require less focus to perform the task. He simply needed more time to develop his skills properly. The Vong had seen to it that his training was accelerated and his graduation to full Jedi Knight was pushed forward. It filled Deathon with pride to call himself a Jedi, pride that he always kept in check. Dark Side powers lingered everywhere and come quickly to those who would yield to its temptations. Now, Jedi Knight Deathon Aestic merged with pedestrian traffic through the dilapidated refugee village, watching his back and watching for his contact.
His mission seemed simple enough, which was one of the reasons it was granted to him. Deathon was to travel to one of the ever-growing refugee camps in the Outer Rim and join with a fledgling resistance cell. Once there he would serve as an Yuuzahn Vong detector, zoning in on an absence of the Force rather than the presence. For some reason the Vong could not be detected directly through the Force. Only by detecting a void in the Living Force could they be sought out. Under normal circumstances an Yuuzahn Vong would stand out in a crowd like this, but they had disguises that made New Republic Intelligence envious. Through the use of pseduo skins the Vong could portray any known sentient race in the galaxy, within limits. They would be hard pressed to disguise them selves as a Hut. The first part of his assignment was complete, however, now he had to find his contact.
To protect the resistance cell Deathon was not given the name of his contact, or a description of the sentient. He was told only that he would be approached upon his arrival, and that he would be able to identify the contact through a challenge/response code. Deathon would like to say that the cloak and dagger aspect of his assignment did not excite him, but it did. His present situation did not meet up with his childhood impression of what a Jedi did, but it was exciting. Again a sensation he wasn't suppose to feel.
As Deathon continued through the center of the shantytown the Force tickled his mind and alerted him that something was not quite right. The next instant he found himself flying through the air, catapulted by a concussion wave from an explosion a few meters in front of him. He landed face down in the mud meters from where he was a millisecond ago. His head swam and his vision narrowed to create a tunnel effect. His arms sank into the freezing sludge that made up the road. He tried to stagger up but the mud only made sucking sounds as he struggled. A warm trickle began at his left ear and slid down his cheek. As he fought to regain his wits the trickle hit his lips and he realized that it was blood. A half a second later Deathon felt consciousness let go of him and he drifted down into the mud.
* * *
Deathon regained consciousness slowly. When he finally manged to open his eyes he found himself in, what appeared to be, a battlefield hospital lying on a heated cot. It was a large tent set up with folding exam tables of various sizes and shapes. Light was generated by glow-lamps attached to the tents support structure and a few fluttered, daring to extinguish their illumination. Despite being a medical facility the place was in a shambles. Aliens of all sorts scrambled about the place carrying with them strange looking emergency equipment and plastic bags full of bacta. Deathon remembered the explosion and the mud, and why he was on this moon in the first place. He looked down and found his chest wrapped in bandages and his left arm secured to his torso. He must have dislocated his shoulder and possibly fractured a few ribs, odd that he didn't feel any pain, then he realized that he must have been given a dose of pain killers. He still had his breeches on as well as his boots, but no shirt. Panic then ebbed in on him. Where was his lightsaber? If someone had found it and identified him as a Jedi then his whole mission was done and possibly him too. He looked about the cot in search of his pack and belt. The pack was not to be found, but his belt hung over the cots lower support pole. There secured to the belt was the tool compartment his saber was secured in. He reached for the pouch and felt the hard cylinder contained with in it. It had not been found, and his identity remained a secret. But has for the rest of his belongings he found only his jacket. All of his survival gear, communicator, and not to mention money, were gone. He moved off the cot and swung his jacket over his shoulders. Physicians and nurses moved among the other casualties triaging and handing out bandages. Deathon watched as the medics trained in vain to save the life of an unidentified creature with large floppy ears and a trunk like snout. With a spurt of green blood the monitoring machines screeched into life, indicating that the creatures vital statistics where cascaded towards the inevitable.
"We just don't have any compatible blood for this guy, doctor." One of the nurses spoke to the Chandra-Fan physician. She was human and appeared as haggard and bedraggled as the rest of the medical staff. Deathon could feel her despair through the Force. All of these people where suffering in some way, if not from physical wounds, but through the mental ones. He hung his head down and made a silent promise to discover those responsible for this mayhem. As he turned to move away from the now deceased alien and the doctors a human female approached him. "You shouldn't be up moving around, let me help you." She spoke to Deathon with a rich Corellian accent and slid her arm under his good one to support his weight. She must be one of the nurses, or a volunteer Deathon thought, until she whispered in his ear. "Toranga copa nich?" She questioned gently to him. Deathon lowered his head to speak to her. "Chupa copo nich. Sundo crupo Alderaan." Deathon had just met his contact.
Mud sloshed up around his high boots and specks of filth flew off his heels; the specks hit the back of his legs, staining his breeches. He was going to need a month just to wash away the grime from his clothing. He felt greasy all over, partially from travelling for the past standard week, but mostly from the slimey rain that covered his body. The water did not really fall from the sky like it should. Instead it seemed to hover about and drizzle down slowly. The water worked its way past his light spacer's jacket and seeped into his shirt. The rainwater brought with it a chill. Deathon's breath puffed out in clouds of steam and mixed with the expirations of the aliens who trudged along with him. A cloud of steam emanated from the trail of refugees, dangling over them as a visual reminder of the dark cloud that hung over the entire galaxy.
A strong desire to find shelter filled him, but he there was none to be found on this side of the refugee camp. Most of the prefabricated huts that sat on either side of the path where already occupied. Deathon glanced to his left or right from time to time, peering into the makeshift huts of the shantytown. He saw Twi'leks, Rodians, a few Weequays, and oddly enough a few Jawas. Deathon didn't know if Jawas left the desert planet of Tatooine. He might inquire Master Skywalker about it when he had the opportunity. Seeing the Jawas reminded him of where he was and he nonchalantly checked for his credit vouchers and light saber. Both of the items where still on his person. It would do him no good to have either one boosted from him by a pickpocket. The Force would alert him if anyone got too close, even if he didn't see an assailant approaching he would definitely feel his or her presence. However the process required a certain level of concentration. If Deathon did not keep his awareness piqued a lucky sentient could get the best of him, and his property. A Jedi Knight with more experience and greater attunement to the Force would require less focus to perform the task. He simply needed more time to develop his skills properly. The Vong had seen to it that his training was accelerated and his graduation to full Jedi Knight was pushed forward. It filled Deathon with pride to call himself a Jedi, pride that he always kept in check. Dark Side powers lingered everywhere and come quickly to those who would yield to its temptations. Now, Jedi Knight Deathon Aestic merged with pedestrian traffic through the dilapidated refugee village, watching his back and watching for his contact.
His mission seemed simple enough, which was one of the reasons it was granted to him. Deathon was to travel to one of the ever-growing refugee camps in the Outer Rim and join with a fledgling resistance cell. Once there he would serve as an Yuuzahn Vong detector, zoning in on an absence of the Force rather than the presence. For some reason the Vong could not be detected directly through the Force. Only by detecting a void in the Living Force could they be sought out. Under normal circumstances an Yuuzahn Vong would stand out in a crowd like this, but they had disguises that made New Republic Intelligence envious. Through the use of pseduo skins the Vong could portray any known sentient race in the galaxy, within limits. They would be hard pressed to disguise them selves as a Hut. The first part of his assignment was complete, however, now he had to find his contact.
To protect the resistance cell Deathon was not given the name of his contact, or a description of the sentient. He was told only that he would be approached upon his arrival, and that he would be able to identify the contact through a challenge/response code. Deathon would like to say that the cloak and dagger aspect of his assignment did not excite him, but it did. His present situation did not meet up with his childhood impression of what a Jedi did, but it was exciting. Again a sensation he wasn't suppose to feel.
As Deathon continued through the center of the shantytown the Force tickled his mind and alerted him that something was not quite right. The next instant he found himself flying through the air, catapulted by a concussion wave from an explosion a few meters in front of him. He landed face down in the mud meters from where he was a millisecond ago. His head swam and his vision narrowed to create a tunnel effect. His arms sank into the freezing sludge that made up the road. He tried to stagger up but the mud only made sucking sounds as he struggled. A warm trickle began at his left ear and slid down his cheek. As he fought to regain his wits the trickle hit his lips and he realized that it was blood. A half a second later Deathon felt consciousness let go of him and he drifted down into the mud.
* * *
Deathon regained consciousness slowly. When he finally manged to open his eyes he found himself in, what appeared to be, a battlefield hospital lying on a heated cot. It was a large tent set up with folding exam tables of various sizes and shapes. Light was generated by glow-lamps attached to the tents support structure and a few fluttered, daring to extinguish their illumination. Despite being a medical facility the place was in a shambles. Aliens of all sorts scrambled about the place carrying with them strange looking emergency equipment and plastic bags full of bacta. Deathon remembered the explosion and the mud, and why he was on this moon in the first place. He looked down and found his chest wrapped in bandages and his left arm secured to his torso. He must have dislocated his shoulder and possibly fractured a few ribs, odd that he didn't feel any pain, then he realized that he must have been given a dose of pain killers. He still had his breeches on as well as his boots, but no shirt. Panic then ebbed in on him. Where was his lightsaber? If someone had found it and identified him as a Jedi then his whole mission was done and possibly him too. He looked about the cot in search of his pack and belt. The pack was not to be found, but his belt hung over the cots lower support pole. There secured to the belt was the tool compartment his saber was secured in. He reached for the pouch and felt the hard cylinder contained with in it. It had not been found, and his identity remained a secret. But has for the rest of his belongings he found only his jacket. All of his survival gear, communicator, and not to mention money, were gone. He moved off the cot and swung his jacket over his shoulders. Physicians and nurses moved among the other casualties triaging and handing out bandages. Deathon watched as the medics trained in vain to save the life of an unidentified creature with large floppy ears and a trunk like snout. With a spurt of green blood the monitoring machines screeched into life, indicating that the creatures vital statistics where cascaded towards the inevitable.
"We just don't have any compatible blood for this guy, doctor." One of the nurses spoke to the Chandra-Fan physician. She was human and appeared as haggard and bedraggled as the rest of the medical staff. Deathon could feel her despair through the Force. All of these people where suffering in some way, if not from physical wounds, but through the mental ones. He hung his head down and made a silent promise to discover those responsible for this mayhem. As he turned to move away from the now deceased alien and the doctors a human female approached him. "You shouldn't be up moving around, let me help you." She spoke to Deathon with a rich Corellian accent and slid her arm under his good one to support his weight. She must be one of the nurses, or a volunteer Deathon thought, until she whispered in his ear. "Toranga copa nich?" She questioned gently to him. Deathon lowered his head to speak to her. "Chupa copo nich. Sundo crupo Alderaan." Deathon had just met his contact.