Star Wars episode 3.5.6: Flashes
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .
By the time he reached the library, Crirac Jeth had a group of ten sleepy, confused younglings in tow, ranging in age from eight to twelve years standard. They'd run through the corridors in silence, many only semiconscious and all intimidated by the fear they felt sparking off the boy that led them. When he skidded to a stop before the curator droid, the oldest – a green skinned twilek male named Grendo'al – grabbed Crirac by the shoulder and spun him around to face them.
"Crirac." It wasn't a shout, but it was close. The young human was Grendo'al's best friend at the academy, but he saw a fire in those green eyes that made him take a step back and drop his hand to within easy reach of his weapon. "Calmly, my friend. You're scaring the little ones. What's going on? Where's Master Kai, or Master Yaddle?"
Recognition dawned, and the storm passed. The fear, which felt like a layer of ice over Crirac's sense in the Force, remained. "Greenie. You've got to help me, we don't have much time. We're under attack. Master Yaddle said we have to get as many as we can to the landing pad and on to a ship; she said the Masters were going to stay and defend the Temple."
"But if the Masters are staying here, then who's going to . . .?" He trailed off as the fear in the boy's sense suddenly spiked, answering his question. He swallowed his first response, took a moment to center himself, and then forced a smile and double-clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
The fear that radiated off the younger boy suddenly broke, and he looked at his friend with a smile on his lips and gratitude in his eyes. "Yeah. Right."
Simulated starfighter battles were the preferred recreational activity at the Temple, and the two had been paired since their first run. A double click was their private comm. code for "Go ahead, I have you covered."
Of course, the opposition had been the other Padawans, not combat pilots.
"We'll be fine." Gren returned the smile, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. "You realize, of course, that the landing pad is downstairs, on the other side of the temple. What are we doing up here?"
"Wasting time." Jedi Master Gurliss emerged from the data stacks behind the droid, carrying a small, ornately engraved cube in his left hand. "The enemy approaches, and the two of you stand here chatting like Kowalkian monkey – lizards."
He held up his free hand to forestall their stammered apologies. "We must away, and quickly. Here is the object you were sent for – I charge you to keep it well hid."
Crirac accepted the cube and dropped it into a pouch on his belt. It was large enough – about 10 centimeters per side – that it made a noticeable bulge. "Master, what is it?"
Master Gurliss opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short as the sound of blaster fire echoed through the Temple. "The temple is breached. There is no more time. Padawan Kirny has taken a group of the others to the landing pad; we may hope that she has found an astromech, else yours is like to be a very short trip."
They stepped out into the corridor with Gurliss in the lead, listening to the sounds of battle that came from the Central Chamber below – a second wave of blaster fire, followed by an explosion that shook dust from the walls. As they reached the stairwell, there was a second, smaller explosion; the silence that followed was somehow worst of all.
Though they all felt the jolt that accompanied the last detonation, it was Gren who recognized it. As they reached the bottom of the stairwell, he turned left and would have run to his Master if Gurliss hadn't put a restraining hand on his chest.
"But Master Kai is in trouble!" the young twileks tone was perilously close to anger. "He needs our help!"
"Your Master is beyond your help, now." Falleen's voice was hard, uncompromising. "He did his duty, as you should be doing yours. Unless you would have his life spent in vain?"
"His life . . ." Gren staggered as if slapped. He pulled his lightsaber from his belt, and for one panicked moment Crirac thought he was about to attack. Then their eyes met, and the young twi'lek said only: "Yes, Master."
Crirac wanted desperately to say something – anything -- but at that moment a childish voice spoke up from the rear of the group.
"Hey, who's tha --?" The question was cut off in a hail of blaster fire that came down the intersecting corridor, killing four of the younglings and wounding two more before they could react. Suddenly the air was filled with the stench of ozone and cooked meat.
"Gren, NO!" Crirac reached out to grab his friend, but too late. The twi'lek was five steps down the hallway before the first body completed its graceless fall, lightsaber blazing.
Two of the Padawans had reacted slightly faster than their companions and were suddenly betting their lives on their Form 3 skills. One of them made three consecutive deflections, the other didn't. Her timing was thrown off by the heavier impact of the live fire -- not much, but enough – and she staggered with a smoking hole through her abdomen. Her smoky, bloodshot eyes met Crirac's, and he saw something in the girls fading awareness: Outrage. Shock.
Betrayal.
An eight year old girl fell to the cold stone floor. A Twi'lek Padawan leapt over her with his blade and his song .
I didn't even know her name was the last thought Crirac would later remember; after that, his next clear memory was stepping onto the landing pad. Between was a single, lunging step and a blur of blue and red.
To Be Continued . . .