Galactic Republic Military (GRM) Service Record
Name : Veers, Taryn
Sex : Male
Age : 29 years, 4 months, 17 days (Galactic Standard)
Birthworld : Deralia
Service Length : 1 months, 4 days (Galactic Standard)
Enlistment Period : [Duration of War]
Rank : Specialist, Third Class
Current Assignment : Endar Spire, Flag Aide
Previous Occupation : Illicit Commerce
[Record Classified by request of Jedi Council]
I wake hazily from my dreams, still tossing and turning. It was not a pleasant dream; full of vague darkness, and ending with a sudden lurch of danger. The head of the narrow bunk suddenly slams into my head, jolting my eyes open. I sit up, abruptly alert. That jolt wasn't my dream; the ship feels like it's being hammered apart! A shipping accident of some kind? Or – the possibility frightens me – are we under attack? There is a war on, after all.
Without a moment to spare, I leap out of my bunk and tangle in the blanket half-draped over my body, sprawling to the floor. At that moment, the blasthatch slides open and a young man in Republic battledress bursts in with a blaster in hand.
"We've been ambushed by a Sith battlefleet!" he shouts even before his eyes find me, "The Endar Spire is under attack! Hurry, you're needed on the bridge right away."
It is an attack then, not just some kind of accident. I knew we would be heading into battle soon, but I thought I would have time to prepare somehow. How do you willingly rush headfirst into the maw of death? Suddenly I realize I'm still sprawled on the floor. Hastily I scramble to my feet, embarrassment and anger at being embarrassed mixing sourly with the fear in my stomach.
"Who are you?" I snap suspiciously.
"Trask Ulgo, Republic Fleet ensign. I'm your bunkmate," he replies, slightly taken aback.
His placating response douses my anger, and my mind races to place his face. I think I remember him: tall, muscular, square jaw, pale hair cut in a flat-top. We were briefly introduced when I first came on board ten days ago, but I've been on night watch and haven't seen him since. I seem to recall an impression of competence and confidence, despite his youth. There's a new light of anxiety in his eyes since our first meeting, but his jaw is set with steely determination.
"What's going on, ensign?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
"Four sith battleships jumped out of hyperspace five minutes ago," Trask replies, his confidence restored, "They damaged our hyperdrive and are attacking us hard. Jedi Bastila sent me to bring you to the bridge immediately. You are Taryn Veers, right?"
"Yes, I'm Taryn. Bastila sent for me? Why does she want me?"
"I'm just following orders," he says, looking at me curiously, "I've heard about your spice and weapons smuggling days, though. Maybe Bastila thinks you'll know a way to get us out of this. Regardless, Bastila is in charge of this mission, and she's one of the most important assets in the Republic. Whatever happens, we have to protect her."
"Spice, weapons…and a few other things," I mutter, then shake my head, "I don't know the first thing about battles. My usual strategy is to hide or run away."
Trask's eyes narrow slightly, "You swore the Oath of Allegiance to the Republic; you're a soldier in the middle of a battle. We need every man to help now."
"I wouldn't have sworn that oath if I didn't intend to follow it," I reply firmly. I don't think my voice quavered over that at all. Not that I really want to charge headfirst into the middle of a battle, but I mean to do what I can for the Republic, "Let's go to Bastila, then."
"First, hurry up and grab you gear," he says, his tone friendly again, "And…er…you should probably get dressed, too."
"Aw, and here I thought boxers were the new fashion these days," I quip back at him as I turn to my footlocker. He barks a short laugh, then catches himself and quickly turns to guard the blasthatch, blaster raised. Opening my footlocker, I toss the neatly folded undress uniforms to the side; they were meant for looking pretty, not fighting a battle. As another shudder wracks the ship, I brace myself against the bunk then hastily pull on a black shirt and red jacket. I'm not particularly superstitious, but I've worn this attire through many a tight spot before.
Carefully not looking at Trask, I swiftly change into fresh underclothes, black slacks and boots. From the bottom of the footlocker I pull a Republic issue shortsword and blaster that I had hoped I would never have to touch. I buckle the short sword over my left hip and the blaster over my right. Also in the footlocker are a couple medpacs and some other odds and ends that I quickly stuff into my jacket's pockets. Finally, I strap the personal communicator on my left wrist and turn around to face Trask.
"All right, let's go," I tell him.
"Let's hurry then…" he begins, then hesitates when he sees me, "Shouldn't you be in uniform?"
"I'm just here as an advisor," I shrug, "I can't move very quickly in those uniforms anyway."
"Well, let's just hope none of our men mistake you for an enemy and shoot at you," he grunts, "There's no time."
Force, I hadn't thought of that. I'm too used to working by myself. Admittedly, operating alone is not as glamorous as the holovids make it seem; I may not have had to wear uniforms but I did end up with a lot of unwashed laundry. I'm certainly glad not to be alone right now, in the midst of a battle. Trask and I both stagger as another shock vibrates through the ship.
"Well, if you're ready to go now," Trask says, "we need to move quickly; that was a ship docking with us, not a laser blast. I've heard at least four so far, so there's going to be sith troopers on board."
Nodding, I quickly stretch my arms out and lean side to side, limbering up my muscles and trying to calm my racing heart. I pull out the short sword at my hip and making a few experimental passes with it. There was only a brief introduction to the sword in basic training a couple months ago, and it shows; even I can tell I have very little skill and less strength. I'd better stick with the blaster; I have a steady hand with that at least. Trask looks pretty well-muscled though; he could probably make better use of a sword than that blaster pistol he's holding.
"Here," I say, tossing him the sword, "I think you'll do better with this than I will."
Trask catches it in his left hand and glances up at me. After a moment he nods, then puts away the blaster and places both hands on the sword's hilt.
"Good idea," he says, "If we run into any sith soldiers, you keep them occupied with your blaster and I'll keep them off you."
"Sounds like a plan," I reply, telling myself that I don't like the plan just because it keeps Trask between me and the bad guys. I hope I'm not that much of a coward. I've been in tight spots before and been shot at more than once, but running into the middle of a pitched battle feels different somehow. How am I going to make it through this? Fear grabs me like an icy fist as I ready myself for the fight. Right alongside the fear a part of me feels almost…eager, like a lion ready to pounce. And that frightens me even more.
"Don't worry," Trask says, seeing my fear, "We'll make it. Just stay behind me and cover my back."
I flash him a brief smile, "Well I'm glad one of us knows what he's doing. After you, ensign."
It's surprising how much that brief expression of confidence reassures him. The anxiety in his eyes fades away almost entirely as he grips my shortsword and opens the cabin's blasthatch.
The sounds of battle are clearer now: blaster shots and shouts echoing in the distance, bulkheads groaning, explosions. We're in a short corridor connecting three cabins to one of the Endar Spire's main passageways. The only movement is a small, round utility droid trying to repair a damaged air line. Trask darts forward to the blasthatch at the end of the corridor and listens for a moment. Then he pushes the button to open it. Nothing happens.
"Damn!" he says, "The ship must be in lockdown because of the boarders. I don't know the override codes for this level."
"Let me see," I put my hand on his shoulder and he steps aside to let me bend over the console. Feh, this is the best security the Republic can come up with? I push the tiny reset button in the corner. The console goes dim for a moment then blinks back on, only without the red lockdown light.
"Too easy," I tell Trask.
"Good work," he smiles at me grimly, "Now step back and…"
Our personal communicators chirp up at that moment. I recognize the voice of the ship's chief pilot, Carth Onasi. His normally calm voice is tight with strain now.
"This is Carth Onasi – All hands report immediately to the bridge. The sith are threatening to overrun our position. We can't hold out long against their firepower! Repeat, all hands to the bridge!"
"That sounds pretty bad," I say worriedly to Trask, "How will anyone get off the ship if the sith have us all penned up on the bridge?"
"I don't know," Trask replies slowly, "But we have to get to Bastila. If enough of us are together, we can fight our way to the escape pods."
"Let's get to the bridge then," I nod, crouching beside the blasthatch with my blaster held ready. I hope he hurries before I start being afraid again.
Trask thumbs the door open and peers out. Blaster shots race down the corridor just in front of us. Not ten meters away I can see a lone Repubic soldier backing down the corridor and trading blaster shots with two silver-armored sith soldiers. Before Trask or I have a chance to react, the poor man screams in pain and falls to the deck as a blaster round takes him in the face.
At first I dart into the passage to try and help the soldier, but when he falls I duck behind a large canister sitting in the hall. The two sith lurch for a moment as another shudder wracks the ship. While they are recovering, Trask rushes forward with his sword in hand shouting, "For the Republic!"
The sith level their weapons and open up with their blasters again. I pop up from behind the canister and start firing at one of them while Trask attacks the other. The fear is forgotten now, there is only the battle. I fire several shots in rapid succession to spoil his aim, then duck back down and jump out into the middle of the corridor. Both hands griping the blaster, I take careful aim and fire. My shot hits the sith's left arm and he shouts in pain, but continues firing. Meanwhile, I see Trask assail the other sith out of the corner of my eye. Trask's opponent drops his blaster rifle and dodges back, trying to avoid Trask's blade and draw his own. He only lasts a few seconds before Trask buries my short sword in his stomach. As I continue to duel with the remaining sith, Trask turns and decapitates him with a single stroke. It's all over in just a few seconds, and Trask and I both stand there in the corridor, breathing hard.
"Well done," Trask says, massaging one of his shoulders, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I reply, then notice the black mark on Trask's uniform and hiss angrily, "You're hit! Here, I have a medpac on me."
"No, don't bother. Blaster shot just grazed me; I think it's only a slight burn," he protests breezily, "Save those in case one of us really gets injured."
Ignoring him, I seize his arm and look at the wound. It really is just a burn, but even minor wounds can fester if left alone. I put the medpac away, then tear off a strip of cloth from my shirt and quickly bind up his shoulder.
"We'll take care of that properly when we get out of here." I tell him. He looks a little embarrassed at the attention, but I'm not going to let him die on me.
"Yes, well, we need to get moving to reach the bridge before the sith do," Trask replies, "Let's see if those two have anything on them we can use."
We check the bodies, but their weapons are damaged and they don't have much else on them. All we find are a grenade and a handful of credits, for all the good credits will do me here. Maybe I can throw them at someone. We look around to see where to go next, and I'm shocked to see the extent of the damage to the ship. Down one end of the passageway, the bulkheads have buckled and collapsed, completely blocking it. Down a side passage, a destroyed utility droid lies next to a fuel line it was trying to repair, which is now slowly leaking burning fluid that blocks that corridor as completely as the other. Fortunately, the passage leading to the bridge is still usable.
We hurry from the smoke-choked corridor to the next blastdoor. Trask listens at it for a moment, then signals to me that there are enemies on the other side. I raise my weapon, heart now pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and fear. Trask opens the door to reveal two sith soldiers who appear to be looting the arms locker in the passage. They look up when the door opens, grasping their blaster rifles. My first blaster round takes one of them full in the chest. His armor takes much of the blast, but he curses in pain and fires wildly down the passageway. I dance to the side and follow up with several more shots until he finally falls dead to the deck. Meanwhile Trask attacks the other sith, and fells him after a short exchange of sword blows. Trask did not escape unscathed, though; a short cut under his ribs is slowly oozing blood.
"Maybe I should go first if you're going to keep getting yourself hurt like this," I comment jokingly as I pull out a medpac. This wound is enough to justify using it. He tears open his uniform a little and presses the two halves of the wound together so I can spread the medpac ointment over it. The gel quickly clots up the blood and seals the gash tightly together. There's enough left over to spread some on his shoulder burn as well.
"And get your jacket dirty?" he kids back, wincing slightly as I press on his wound, "That's better."
"Well fought, by the way," I tell him, "You're quite good with that sword."
"I was decent during training," he says, looking at his blood-stained blade with surprise, "but I've never fought in earnest before. Somehow, it's not as tough as I thought it would be."
"Tough enough," I say, glancing at his wound, "But I'm glad to have you with me."
"We're not really equipped to repel a boarding action," Trask says abruptly, looking away from the evidence of violence in his hands, "Maybe we should see if that arms locker has anything useful."
Surprisingly, it does. On top of the arms locker lays a brown vest of combat armor. I pick it up, examining it carefully. It's a fairly standard issue, made of good fibers that are surprisingly flexible considering its thickness and strength. I hand it over to Trask.
"You had better use this," I tell him, "You seem to need it."
He shakes his head, "No, you wear it. I can put up with a few cuts, but my job is to get you to Bastila in one piece."
"You're the one up front," I reason, "So you're the one who is going to be shot at all the time. Just take the armor."
"Put it on, Taryn," Trask raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking in what almost looks like a smile, "Do I have to make it an order, Specialist?"
I roll my eyes, but I don't think I'm going to budge him and we don't have time to be arguing like this. I'm rather impressed with Trask's determination to do his duty, though he does have a youth's disregard for danger. Sighing, I acquiesce and pull the vest on, fastening it on tightly. It's a little large, but it fits rather well.
"Now this, I will use," Trask says, pulling a large sword out of the locker. It's almost a meter long, and when he picks it up it looks quite deadly.
"I hope you're not just trying to compensate for something," I chuckle, taking my short sword as he hands it to me and slipping it back into its sheath. Trask laughs back, but his face reddens a little. We continue to pull things out of the locker: another shortsword, some grenades, and a couple of medpacs. Trask won't have much use for grenades if he's up close and personal with that sword, so I strap them to my belt.
We don't waste too much time, as the ship continues to rock with explosions and the sound of fighting echoes from distant corridors. When Trask opens the next door, we see a small squad of Republic soldiers about thirty meters away engaging twice their number of Sith soldiers at the junction of two passageways. Half a dozen dead bodies already lay scattered on the ground. Even as we watch, two more of the Republic soldiers go down in the blaze of blaster fire and flashing swords. I rush forward, Trask right behind me, to help the remaining soldiers who are locked blade to blade with a number of the sith.
Suddenly, I feel Trask's arm around me and his weight pulls both of us to the deck. Why in the galaxy did he do that? We have to help our crewmates! There's a loud boom and I look up to see the last of the Republic soldiers collapsing painfully to the ground from the grenade that tore off half his face. The same grenade blast has killed the rest of his squad, as well as the handful of sith in melee with them. Furious, I pull one of the grenades from my belt, without even standing up, and roll it across the deck. The squad of remaining sith is just noticing us when the grenade goes off in their midst. Trask jumps to his feet, sword in hand, and charges the only survivor. Between my blaster and Trask's longsword, the sith trooper doesn't last long.
Trask and I walk slowly toward each other, both of us breathing hard.
"Nice toss with that grenade," he says approvingly.
"I wasn't even thinking," I reply, "I was just angry that we got here too late. And they were so callous! They didn't care that the grenade would kill their own men, too."
"I'd heard the sith were cruel, but…" Trask shakes his head, looking rather shocked, "You'd think even sith would care for their own."
"I owe you my life," I tell him, "If you hadn't seen that grenade and pulled me to the ground, I would be dead too. I just wish we had gotten here in time to help them."
"There's no owing. Neither of us would make it alone. If I'd tried to charge half a dozen sith at once I would be dead as well," he looks sadly at the fallen men, then grimaces at one of the faces and whispers, "So long, Saraad."
The ship shudders under a particularly violent blast, recalling both of us to the situation. There's no need to say more; if we stay here much longer we'll both be joining our fallen comrades whatever we do. Quickly, we search the sith bodies and find a few odds and ends, but little of their equipment is still serviceable. Neither of us can bring ourselves to search the Republic soldiers' bodies. Down one of the branching corridors is a damaged utility droid that apparently was hit by blaster fire while trying to repair the door beyond. That door was the shortest route to the bridge; we'll have to go around. I grab some salvageable parts from the droid, then Trask and I jog to the only other accessible passageway. Trask thumbs the door open and we peer through.
The first thing I notice through the haze of smoke is the lights, red and green. The haze clears quickly, revealing a man and woman locked in combat with lightsabers. The woman is wielding a green lightsaber and wearing the brown robes of a Jedi with her head shaved except for a long, thin pony tail. Her opponent is an arrogant looking man swathed in black with metal plates sewn in, and swinging a brilliant red blade. I raise my blaster to take aim at the man, but Trask grabs my arm.
"It's a dark jedi!" he hisses at me, "This fight is too much for us. All we'd do is get in her way."
Reluctantly, I lower my blaster and simply watch. Trask is right, though; this fight is too much for us. Trask uses his weapon competently, and those sith troopers know how to swing a blade as well, but these jedi make them look like children playing with sticks. It's less of a fight and more of a dance; both jedi one with their blades. They dance gracefully around each other, lightsabers moving so fast they're almost a blur. There's something beautiful about it, almost seductive; something desperately calls me to glide forward and join in that deadly dance.
I can scarcely follow the patterns of the swift swordplay between the two, but clearly the brown-robed Jedi gains the upper hand somewhere, for her emerald blade suddenly blossoms from her opponent's back. His eyes widen and he drops his lightsaber, crumpling soundlessly to the ground. The victorious Jedi turns slowly from his corpse, hands tightening again on her lightsaber's hilt. She looks tired and wounded, but determined. Suddenly another violent blast rocks the ship, and the bulkhead behind her collapses in a cascade of sparks and groaning metal. When we can see again, her lifeless body lays crushed beneath several tons of buckled steel.
"Damn!" Trask exclaims, moving out from the doorway. As he does, two sith trooper similarly run out from behind the door on the far side of the half-collapsed passageway. Trask rushes toward them, longsword raised. Both of the sith drop their blasters and draw their own swords, dashing at him. I lift my blaster and fire at one of them, but the shots hit only glancingly and bounce off his armor. He turns from Trask to charge at me. Backing off, I continue to fire at him, but my shots go wild. Panicking, I back off faster. The sith swings his razor-sharp blade toward me and I desperately dodge his blow. I barely twist out of the way of his follow-up thrust. On his next swing, the tip of the sword is only turned back by my combat vest. I know I can only keep this up so long before he gets me. I'm just about ready to panic and try to run, when a blood soaked blade bursts from the sith's chest.
I sag with relief and lean against the bulkhead as Trask pulls his longsword free from the corpse.
"I don't know how much more of this I can take," I tell him.
"We'll make it," he assures me, quickly picking up a couple medpacs from the fallen sith soldiers, "The bridge is just on the other side of that blast door."
Sighing, I stand back up and move forward. A small, square object lies on the ground near where the jedi fell. Moving carefully around the buckled bulkheads, I scoop it up and look at it curiously. I'm not sure what it is, but I tuck it in my belt pouch and turn to Trask.
"Let's go then," I say, trying to sound determined, "I hope they haven't made it to the bridge yet, but I don't want to be too late again."
"You should probably use your short sword now," Trask suggests, "There isn't much room on the bridge and it's suicide to use a blaster in close quarters."
"As I just discovered," I grimace, "But what if they have lightsabers? Won't they just cut up these metal blades?"
"No, the cortosis weave these swords are made of can catch even a lightsaber without shattering. Rather necessary when you're in a war of jedi."
Putting my blaster in its holster, I pull the short sword free. I swing it back and forth a few times. I wish I had a quarter the skill of those jedi, but I hope I'm good enough to stand up to a sith trooper.
"Ready to go now?" Trask asks me.
I hesitate; we've made it this far, but I don't know how I can keep rushing straight into danger after danger. Despite the rush of adrenaline, I feel tired and afraid. If we're lucky, Bastila and the remnant of the crew is still holding out on the bridge, but they could as easily all be dead by now. Trask is taking slow, deep breaths and staring intently at the blastdoor as if he can see what is beyond it and planning his next moves. After the chaos of the minutes since I awoke, all I can see beyond the door is the real possibility that we will soon be dead.
"If this is as far as we get," I tell Trask slowly, "I'm glad to be fighting alongside you."
Trask looks surprised, but instead of responding he raises his sword in a silent salute. I return the gesture, then turn toward the hatch and punch in the override code.
Our first view of the bridge dashes our hopes for finding a Republic holdout. There are only a handful of Republic soldiers cornered in the front of the bridge and fighting desperately against three times their own number of sith troopers. Through the wide windows of the bridge is a nauseating view of the planet Taris spinning drunkenly before us as the Endar Spire plummets toward its surface. Sith starfighters glitter as they dart back and forth, strafing the ship. Two of the sith soldiers are apparently guarding the door because they attack us with swords raised as soon as the door opens.
Trask and I each face off against one of them. The sith confronting me takes a quick swing at me with all his might. I bring my sword up to fend him off; he is stronger than I am, but I manage to deflect his blow if not stop it. He tries again and I barely deflect him again. This time I try to follow up with a quick attack of my own, but he sidesteps it and thrusts at me while I'm off balance. I twist out of the way, his blade scratching my combat vest. Damn, this isn't going as well as I'd hoped. He's not very fast, but I'm too inexperienced to react quickly or effectively. We exchange a few more blows, then he makes a strong swing from shoulder to hip. Jumping back I bring my blade up as quickly as I can. I manage to deflect it away from my chest, but sudden pain bursts through my leg like fire and I let out a scream of agony. Sensing his advantage, my opponent lifts his weapon for a final blow.
Trask brings his longsword cleanly through the neck of the sith poised to finish me. Engaged though he was with his own fight, on hearing my cry he ducked a blow from his own opponent and pivoted to kill my attacker in a single stroke. The remaining sith is thrown of balance by his own attack, giving Trask time to turn back and block his next blow. I glance down to see blood soaking my pants from the deep cut in my left thigh, but I raise my shortsword in both hands and try to find an opening to help Trask. It is unnecessary; after a few more parries, Trask finds an opening and with two strokes finishes off the second guard.
Before either of us can move to join the melee in the front of the bridge, the deck vibrates with the impact of a starfighter's laser blast just overhead. Brilliant white light fills the room as electricity arcs from the tracking consoles on the ceiling to the pilot's seat in the front of the bridge. The heat of the shock is almost palpable, and for a moment I fear I've been permanently blinded by it. Slowly vision returns, and Trask and I are left blinking through a purple afterimage at a score of burned corpses littering the deck of the bridge. We're getting awful lucky today; if we had been a few seconds sooner, we would have been caught in that arc as well.
There don't appear to be any more sith remaining on the bridge. As the danger fades, the pain in my leg goes from a throbbing ache to flaming agony. I drop to the ground to take the weight off my leg, groping for a medpac. My leg is almost covered in blood now. Trask rushes over, dropping his sword and taking the medpac from my fumbling hands. With gritted teeth, I close my eyes and just try to stay sitting up. Pain lances through me when Trask presses the two halves of the wound carefully together. Then he spreads the cool gel from the medpac over the length of the cut. The pain starts to dull almost immediately; it's still there but fades to a sharp ache.
"Are you all right now?" he asks sharply, "Were you injured anywhere else?"
"No, I think I'm alright," I open my eyes, shaking my head slightly to clear my mind.
"See? We're still alive," he grins at me, helping me to my feet, "Just think, if we can make it through this, we can make it through anything."
I gingerly put weight on the leg, and am surprised to find barely a twinge. Those medpacs work extremely well. Too bad I can't clean up the drying blood, though. Sure that I'm steady on my feet, Trask turns to pick up his sword. I grab him by his arm.
"Thank you," I tell him simply.
"Hang in there," he says, "Let's focus on the job at hand and we can sort out thanks afterward."
"Sure thing," I reply, "Where do we go next? Where's Bastila?"
Trask glances around the deck of the bridge, scanning the corpses, "Well, she's not on the bridge, so they must have retreated to the escape pods, down the starboard side of the ship. If she's evacuating we really need to hurry; the only reason the sith would board instead of just blasting us apart is to capture Bastila. Once she abandons ship, they'll have no reason not to just vaporize us where we stand."
"Let's move out then," I say, scooping up my fallen weapon.
We don't pause at the bridge's second blastdoor, but hurry through into the passage beyond. Several corpses and blaster scoring on the bulkheads indicate a battle passed down this direction a short while ago. We come to the door leading to the escape pods, when a blastdoor to the passageway ahead of us opens without warning. A bald middle-aged man swathed in dark black robes looks up, mild surprise flitting through his condescending expression. He fingers his black goatee with one hand while the other casually reaches for the long silver object hanging from his belt. A dark jedi.
"A pair of survivors, eh?" he says to himself, then speaks commandingly to us, "Tell me where the Jedi Bastila is, worms, and I will make your deaths swift and painless."
Fear paralyzes me. I saw how well those other jedi fought; there's no way Trask and I together could last three seconds against this man. Terror grasps my lungs like a plunge into ice-cold water. All for nothing - I am going to die. This is it. Hope is already dead. My shortsword drops from my useless grasp. I hear the clatter of Trask dropping his weapon, too.
"Well?" the man sneers, then his gaze rests on the epaulets of Trask's uniform, "I'll get answers from one of you. Perhaps if I slowly cut your friend here to pieces before your eyes, you will loosen your tongue, dog. Where – is – Bastila?"
From the corner of my eye, I see Trask breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at death personified. Suddenly, Trask hurls himself at the black cloaked man with a wordless roar. The two of them fall through the door the man just stepped from, surprise evident on the jedi's face. Trask is abruptly flung through the air by nothing I can see to land just in front of me. The dark jedi is standing up now, fury on his face as he ignites the twin red blades of his lightsaber. Trask scrambles to his feet, snatching up a sword from one of the corpses.
"Run, Taryn!" he shouts, "Get to Bastila. I'll hold him off. Go!"
Trask leaps through the door, smashing his sword into the console as he goes. The blastdoor seals quickly behind him, shutting out all noise.
I just stand there, staring at the sealed door in horror. Trask just…the fool! Why did he do that? We should both have just tried to…or I should have…I can't think straight. A blood-curling scream of pure agony penetrates the thick blastdoor. Suddenly fear fills me again, this time spurring me to action. Trask's last word – "Go!" – echoes in my mind. I snatch up Trask's fallen longsword and flee from his dying screams.
I don't know how long I run like that. It can't be long, the ship is only so big after all, but it feels like hours with the horror of Trask's death and the fear of that dark jedi filling my mind like a cloud. I'm brought out of my mindless flight by a voice calling through the personal communicator on my wrist.
"…Onasi; I repeat, this is Carth Onasi, do you read me?"
Numbly, I finger the button on the communicator and reply, "I read you."
I hear a sigh of relief through the communicator, but his voice is calm and direct, "I've been tracking your position through the Endar Spire's life support systems. You're the last surviving crew member of the Endar Spire."
"What about Bastila? I have to find…" I'm supposed to find Bastila. I know I am. Why do I know that again?
"Bastila's escape pod is away," he assures me, "There's one remaining pod that we can use. I'll wait for you as long as I can, but you need to get to the escape pods immediately."
"Yes…yes sir," I say. I firm my grip on my sword. Trask's sword. He sacrificed himself to let me escape; I have to make sure I do. A lone sith soldier wanders into the passageway, blaster held nonchalantly. Without thought, I hurl myself toward him.
The man appears unprepared for the sight of a man with a blood covered leg holding a longsword over his head, screaming in rage and charging straight toward him. He stumbles backward, taking wild shots in my direction. Without pause, I swing the blade with all my might. Wounded, he tries to pull free his own sword, but I pursue him relentlessly. After a few moments of frenzied attacking and dodging, I hold my blade poised over his lifeless corpse. I quiver with the urge to take out my fear and anger on this dead man; to cut at his corpse until I'm too tired to lift the sword, too tired to be afraid. Something, though, whispers to me that this is not right. For a long moment I stand there, struggling with my emotions. Ever so slowly, I lower the weapon, my fury dimming with it. I pause to check the scratch the man left on my arm, but it is not serious. I look around to get my bearings, then head for the blasthatch that leads toward the escape pods.
I stop to listen at the blasthatch. I don't know if I can take on many of these sith at once, so I had better be careful. Moving quietly, I duck to the side of the hatch. I thumb the button, then grasp the longsword with both hands and press myself up against the bulkhead, listening.
"Who goes there?" comes a gruff challenge, muffled by the sith soldier's helmet.
There's a long moment of silence. I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as the Endar Spire continues to shudder around us. Slowly, there's a sound of footsteps moving toward the open hatch. As soon as I see the snub of a blaster rifle poking through the opening, I whirl out from behind the bulkhead and bring the longsword up through his gut with all my might. He doesn't make a sound as he crumples to the deck.
In the small chamber beyond a second sith trooper stands on the far side of a low table, shock evident in his posture despite the face-covering helmet. He gives a shout and starts firing his blaster at me. I feel a searing pain in my right side, but continue to pull my blade free from the fallen man. I roll across the table and swing my sword toward him. He jumps back with a cry, but not soon enough to keep my blade from wounding him. Shakily, he draws his own sword and tries to fend off my determined attacks. He lasts only moments before I put the point of the blade through his chest.
Panting, I sit down on the table to look at the blaster wound. It doesn't appear immediately life-threatening, but it is almost as bad as the cut in my thigh I received on the bridge. I carefully pull out another medpac, when Onasi's voice comes through the communicator again.
"Be careful there. Do you read me? Be very careful. There's a whole squadron of sith troopers in the chamber just ahead of you; they're trying to break through into the escape pod bay where I am."
I wince, pulling my combat vest open and tearing my shirt so I can get to the wound, "How am I supposed to fight past a whole squadron?"
"I saw a damaged assault droid in that chamber on my way past," Onasi replies calmly, "You might be able to fix it up with a little bit of work. Or, if you can hack into the computer console near you, you might be able to turn the Endar Spire's security systems against them."
I just might be able to do that. This medpac gel feels like a cool bath on my blaster wound. I slowly stand and look around. There's a set of lockers which, when opened, reveal a large stockpile of usable parts and disposable computer spikes. How convenient. I log on to the console, but it only takes a few moments to discover that the security systems are damaged. I can only get a camera feed showing me the six sith troopers trying to blast their way through the far door. One of them has red armor and a heavy sidearm; an officer perhaps. There's no way I can take on six at once. I could use a grenade, but if even three of them survive, the odds are still stacked too high. There are no guarantees against even one at a time.
On a sudden inspiration, I use a couple of the computer spikes to hack into the Endar Spire's maintenance programs. Sure enough, there's a significant power conduit in the far chamber feeding a number of different systems. I quickly disable all the safeties and begin reconfiguring those systems to short circuit. I switch back to the camera and watch the conduit slowly being to overheat. The sith are so focused on the far door they don't even noticed. There's a sudden, blinding flash, and the camera goes blank. That should have taken care of most of them, but just in case any are left…
I head over to the damaged droid Onasi had mentioned. It looks a little old, but undamaged. The poor droid just hasn't been properly maintained in a long while. It only takes a couple minutes to find and replace the bad parts, and the droid is up and running. Grinning, I give it the order to patrol for hostiles and duck beside the door. The droid walks up to the door and opens it, then walks through. There is no sound to be heard. I peer through the opening, and see the droid proudly patrolling around the chamber already littered with half a dozen corpses. Oh well.
I quickly pick up the undamaged equipment from the corpses. The red-armored leader of the squad had an ion blaster and a very modern looking vibroblade that will likely come in handy. Speaking into my communicator I report to Onasi.
"The sith on this side have been cleared out, sir. You can open the door."
Moments later the door grinds open slowly, catching on the spots where the sith had tried to blast through. Carth Onasi steps through, wearing the orange undress uniform of a ship's officer. He's in his late thirties, with short brown hair and a stubble of a beard on his tanned face. From the little interaction I've had with him, he's an experienced officer and excellent pilot, but still friendly with the crew. His face looks haggard now, but there's genuine relief in his eyes when he sees me.
"You made it just in time! Let's get moving before the sith blow us to bits. We can hide out on the planet below."
Onasi walks over to the small cylindrical pod nestled in its tube along the wall and opens its hatch. He stands there, gesturing for me to get in. I check briefly to make sure I have everything. I carefully sheath Trask's longsword, then climb in the small pod. The interior is tiny, to say the least, but heavily padded. The pod is designed for two people to recline feet down on the curve interior, with several belts and restraints to strap in. I slide into the rightmost position and fumble to buckle myself in securely. Moments later, Carth slips in beside me.
"I hope you don't mind getting a little friendly," he says as he seals the hatch, trying to lighten the mood a little.
It is very snug, and Carth jostles me a bit as he squeezes into and tightens his buckles, leaving us both pressed up tightly against each other. I'm too exhausted and drained to care or respond, though. I think Carth understands, because he doesn't make another sally. He reaches up and pulls a couple levers.
"Here we go," he warns me, "Brace yourself."
There's a sudden jolt, and the straps dig into me as the pod is launched violently away from the dying Endar Spire. After that first burst of speed, there's only the feel of drifting. I feel a little a little woozy as blood drifts to my head in the sudden weightlessness. After a few moments, I glance up through the thick glass portal in the hatch of the pod and see the shrinking form of the Endar Spire. The ship sparkles with the orange laser blasts of the sith's relentless attack and orange-white explosions. Even as I watch, a series of bright white flashes flicker from the stern of the vessel, and then the Endar Spire explodes into flaming fragments. I hear Carth curse quietly beside me and turn to see him looking through the portal as well.
"Sorry," he says apologetically a moment later, "I hate losing a ship."
There's another pause as we silently watch the Endar Spire's burning remains fade into the distance. Then Carth speaks up again.
"There's no way they got all their own people off before she died," he mutters angrily, "Even after all this time, I'm still surprised by those sith bastards' complete lack of mercy."
"I saw the same thing earlier," I say quietly, finally breaking my silence, as I remember the sith tossing a grenade at their own men to take out our shipmates. Carth looks at me, the anger slowly fading from his face.
"Don't worry," he says, "It's not over yet. We're still alive and the sith haven't caught us. As long as we're alive, we can keep fighting them."
I don't feel much fight left in me at the moment. And Trask…there's no fight left for him at all. Not for Trask or any of the dozens of other men and women who I worked with for the last ten days. I'm still not sure why he sacrificed himself for me like that. A brave soul determined to accomplish his mission no matter the cost. The galaxy needs more people like him, not less. The pod starts vibrating slightly, and my fingers tighten around the restraints.
"Just relax," Carth advises, "We're moving into the atmosphere now. Just relax and we'll be safely on the ground in a few minutes."
I close my eyes and try to relax my grip, but tense back up again as the vibrating gets more turbulent. Gravity returns as the pod begins bleeding speed into the atmosphere. Now I just hope it bleeds enough speed before we make it to the ground.