Note: Inspired by a game of Star Wars : Battlefront, wherein I got stuck on a map by myself with Darth Vader. This story ends a hell of a lot differently than that match, let me tell you. This cross-posted at AO3.
There were some corners of the galaxy left untouched by the strife that had fueled the Clone Wars, worlds deemed unimportant to the grand clockwork design of the universe. The Old Republic had ignored them, caring more for population density and production outputs than enforcing their laws on systems so distant as to never be assigned a formal name. Such disregard allowed an expansive network of criminality to develop and thrive without consequence in the farther reaches of space.
The status quo didn't change much when the Empire took the place of the Republic.
The Imperials were a bit more brazen in their patrols along the rim to be certain, but they also bought the services of a number of mercenary groups in areas where extending their reach would require more resources and manpower than they wanted to invest. It tended to balance out in the favor of the mercenary companies the majority of the time. After all, most of them knew blunt opposition and refusal wasn't smart. The buyouts kept them alive in the long run, so as long as the Empire approached them openly about such contracts they left well enough alone.
Then one day in a far off sector a group simply known as the Lancers detected a lone Imperial scout ship in their territory. It hung in orbit above a planet they had been using as an outpost, inspecting the hull of a long abandoned shuttle. They did not know why it was there, nor did they care much where the ship had come from. All they knew was a strange ship in their territory, and so they acted accordingly. Outnumbered, the Imperial ship was shot down and the Lancers flew off as it seemingly burned up in the atmosphere of the planet below.
They did not notice that a single escape pod had managed to detach itself from the wreck.
Return to consciousness was agonizingly familiar - five years of existence within his suit had him accustomed to all its quirks and pains. There were error messages on the HUD in his helmet and one of the lenses had a crack across it. The most concerning alarm, however, pertained to the left leg components. The warnings showed that it had been completely detached. This was concerning, especially as it appeared that he was no longer in the escape pod.
Had impact been great enough to toss him from the pod?
Possibly.
It had been damaged upon ejection, a quarter of the control thrusters had pinged back damage just before all had gone dark. Atmospheric entry may have caused further deterioration. It had been a turbulent descent, enough to throw even him off balance. Elsewise, he would never have been knocked unconscious.
He was not alone.
Not only was there a presence evident in the Force, but he could also hear them. The noise was muffled - faint movement and the clink of metal, like someone rummaging through a toolbox. He could sense no malice, though that alone told him little.
Some people were good at hiding it.
He waited, stilled and simply mapping out his current surroundings with the Force. The room he was in was not truly enclosed, but merely a sectioned off portion of a much larger chamber. The walls of this section looked to be made of large shipping containers. The ceiling, what little of it he could see, was just a tarp stretched over the containers. The door was much the same.
There were smaller boxes, arranged as improvised furniture. One sat near the cot he had been lain out on like a makeshift end table. On it sat a small canteen, what looked to be nutrient bar, and his lightsaber.
He considered this information.
He had not been disarmed - not that it mattered much if he had been.
The tinkering sounds he had been hearing stopped. Heavier sounds followed - drawers first being pushed shut and then footsteps, alerting him to approach of his 'host'. They echoed, supplying auditory confirmation that there was indeed a larger space beyond the makeshift room he had been placed in.
The tarp acting as a door was pulled aside. The figure that approached was human - average height, average weight. Short black hair and an over-sized jumpsuit masked more identifying characteristics - a young woman, maybe twenty years of age judging by the Force. She was carrying his leg, though the sleek black armor that had once covered the cybernetics was gone. Instead it was shielded with a crudely shaped dull grey replacement.
He kept still as she approached and set the leg down on the cot. It was more than apparent she did not know he was awake. Perhaps she did not even know who he was - else she would never have dared come near.
She reattached the limb and the warnings that had been flashing across his HUD disappeared one by one. Once done, she glanced up, as if expectant of a reaction.
He remained still.
After a moment of watching him lay there, she sighed and moved away to rummage in a box near the makeshift door. Pulling out another nutrient bar, she peeled the wrapper back before vanishing once more through the tarp.
He waited until her footsteps had diminished before moving. Carefully, he sat up, making as little noise as possible. He took a moment to inspect the leg she had reattached. It appeared to be in working order, though the replacement covering did not fit quite so well as the original. He then picked up his lightsaber and clipped it back in place on his belt. He regarded the canteen and nutrient bar for a moment before dismissing them. Sustenance wasn't what was needed at the moment.
Standing, he made his way to the door, pushing the tarp aside to look beyond. The crate walls making up this makeshift room were actually two crates thick. There were more on either side, arranged similarly to section off portions of what appeared to be a massive cavern. Lights were strung between the crates - not strong enough to illuminate the entire space but enough to navigate by.
To the right the crates extended enough for one more makeshift room before ending sharply at stone wall, while on the left the floor sloped upwards with the stone rising up on one side and the crates lining the other. There were a number of metal grates set against some of the crates, acting as ramps to the top. Straight ahead was an improvised ladder - it looked to be one that had once been embedded into a wall, now torn free and haphazardly drilled into stone to provide access to a higher ledge. That ledge, in turn, allowed access what looked to be the steps of a metal catwalk.
He followed the catwalk up with his eyes, taking note of the cables securing it in place at the bottom. The top of it was attached to the hull of a ship - specifically, it appeared to be of the retractable kind used by older model freighters to allow ease of equipment movement. The airlock it would have normally regressed into was open and seemed to be providing a way in and out of the makeshift encampment.
However, it was not the way his host had gone - he would have heard it.
Ignoring the ladder, he turned left. There were several more rooms with similar furnishings to the one he had woken in, though oddly no personal effects. The last makeshift chamber held what looked to be an improvised kitchen. There was a fold out table, but only one chair set at it. The rest were stacked off to the side with a tarp draped over them. Several boxes sat nearby, holding various cooking implements.
On the other side of the room was a staircase composed of several metal containers stacked atop one another and welded together. The steps led up to the top of the crates, which were stacked in such a way that they provided an alternate route up into the ship. This looked to be a bit more stable than the catwalk.
He went up the stairs, only pausing a moment to glance at the pathways set up atop the crates before turning away. He did not sense her anywhere as he had passed by. No, she was up in the ship itself.
It was an old model freighter, designed so that the crates attached to the exterior. There was actually very little comparable space inside the ship itself. Enough for a crew and a few extra passengers - a total capacity of twelve at the most, as he recalled. It was remarkably in shape for having crashed. These types were not meant for atmospheric entry and yet the forward compartments were hardly touched.
He paused, thinking on this.
After a moment, he reached out to touch the wall.
It was faint, but he could sense a remnant of the Force permeating the ship. Someone, most likely one of the Jedi who had escaped the purge, had slowed the ship enough to ensure a relatively gentle landing. Whoever it was had been powerful. Very powerful - at the very least a Jedi Master. Not the one he had been tracking, though it mattered little.
The ship creaked and he continued forward.
His host was in the cramped space that had been the bridge. The forward view port had a number of cracks in it but was otherwise clear. She was perched in the navigator's seat, gaze very pointedly facing the view port. Outside was naught but dark clouds and the distant snap of lightning.
"Pod's there," she said, voice scratched and so dry sounding that it barely qualified as a whisper. She seemed to repeat the words again, mouthing a continuation to herself before nodding out the view port and speaking up again. "In the storm."
He studied the horizon.
The storm itself was far more turbulent than it had first appeared. Instead of simply handing in the sky, the clouds were raging and whirling against the ground itself. The immediate area around the ship was somewhat clear, though the sky was dark enough to be considered night. Judging by the wind, the grounded area of the storm was headed straight for them. The ferocity of the lightning was such that most delicate equipment would be fried just being anywhere within radius. Attempting to reach his pod would be fruitless, as the beacon was most likely damaged beyond repair.
As his ship had been destroyed, it would be a while before a recovery team would be sent. The very last ping anyone would have received would have been from the pod deploying.
"No one's gonna come."
He glanced at the girl.
She was still watching out the view port, half eaten nutrient bar in hand.
"Signals can't...can't get out," she shook her head an almost frustrated expression appearing on her face. Again she seemed to mouth at silent words, as if struggling to figure out which were the right ones to say. Lightning snapped across the sky, followed swiftly by the rumble of thunder. He saw her eyes darting across the horizon, frustration turned to calculation. "Storm blocks signal. 'Cept on the mountain. Mercs got the mountain. Can't get signal out."
Another snap of lightning punctuated the end of that haphazard explanation, the boom of thunder near instantaneous. From what he understood, it seemed that there was a group of mercenaries holed up in a bunker with a transmitter strong enough to bypass the atmospheric interference. The way ahead was clear, though venturing out into the storm would be more than hazardous. He would have to wait until it had passed. Then he could set out, find these mercenaries, dispose of them and call for a retrieval team.
"Your crew?"
Only now did her gaze flick to him, unnerved maybe, by the way his helm and mask distorted his voice. It was a common reaction among those who had never heard it before. She recovered quick enough, though.
"Dead," was the answer she gave. He had guessed as much already, as she was the only presence he could sense. The silence after that answer was filled with creaks and groans as the wind picked up and tore at the outer hull of the ship. After a moment, she seemed to realize that a more complete explanation was needed. "Not...not all in the crash. Some before. Some after."
She paused, frown forming on her face alongside another silent search for the proper order for her words.
"Hyperdrive malfunction. Dropped early. Mercs came. Shot captain. Shot pilot."
She coughed then, voice having gone drier and drier. There was a canteen set on the console in front of her, which she picked up to take a few gulps before continuing.
"Hauled here. Tried to land. Crashed instead."
"There was a Jedi aboard."
A statement, not a question. It didn't seem to phase her.
"Toyn," she said with a slight nod. There was a note of irritation in her stating the name, though it was not directed at him. "Didn't talk. Didn't...help much, 'til..."
She trailed off, frown returning deeper than before.
"He stopped the ship from breaking apart," he stated with a certainty. "What happened to him?"
"Dead. After crash. Doc...doc said...all his...blood vessels, just...burst."
She trailed off, but he had no need of further clarification. Over-exertion in the Force had characteristic features. Burst veins and arteries were just one facet, and an extreme one at that.
"His lightsaber?"
"Merc took it. Ran off."
He considered this information as she took another swig of her canteen. She wasn't lying, that much he could tell. There was an earnestness to her tone even if her speech was somewhat broken and rough. It was obvious she had been alone for some time.
Even more obvious was the fact that the crash had evidently happened years before the foundation of the Empire. Jedi Master Toyn had gone missing just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, and only a cursory search had been made to locate him.
That was near ten years prior.
The storm was just about on top of them, with ship creaking more and more under the strain of the wind outside.
"How long until the storm passes?"
She didn't answer right away, but looked back out the view port at the maelstrom outside.
"Wind's quick," she said after a moment studying the clouds. "Not much lightning. Three hours."
"Then you have three hours to gather what you wish to take with you."
She looked back at him, expression akin to alarm. It faded quickly, morphing into determination as she hopped to her feet and darted out. He listened as her footsteps faded, considering the situation.
He could simply set out on his own. There was no doubt that would be able to find this mercenary stronghold by himself. It would, however, take far longer than he would like. Better to make use of the resources at hand to expedite things. Most likely the girl would die in the crossfire that would inevitably occur once they reached the mercenary compound.
If she somehow survived…
Well, he'd deal with that problem should it arise.