"Meetra." The woman before her smiled, flashing a set of dazzling white teeth. "It's been too long."

"Not nearly long enough." The Exile fired back, the fingers on her free hand itching to draw her vibrosword. She stilled the impulse, keeping her eyes on the woman in front of her. Experimentally she shifted her weight, grimacing. There was no way she could fight with the boy on her hip, but her conscience wouldn't let her put him down to fend for himself either. His fingers tightened in her shirt, making her stomach clench in worry.

Frack. Kriff. Di'kut.

"You missed the show." The Sith inclined her head to the East, where a plume of black smoke rose from the remainders of the Praxeum, and a few Sith Transport Ships lazily circled over the dense jungle.

Meetra didn't need the reminder of what could be done to an unsuspecting group of peaceful people. She'd seen it before. Enclave after enclave, world after world. The destruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. With a frustrated growl her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her vibrosword. She drew it, clumsy with lack of practice and off balance because of the boy clinging to her side.

Bastila laughed.

"Really, Exile?" The Sith mocked, flicking her wrist. The blade was yanked from Meetra's hand, and she stood helplessly as it clattered to the ground nearly 20 feet away. "You're going to fight me?"

"If I have to." Meetra replied, squaring her shoulders in a show of bravery that she didn't really feel. Casually she wrapped her fingers around the second weapon holstered at her side.

"Do you really think—"

Meetra yanked out the blaster, hurling it as hard as she could at the Sith, before whirling and running towards the edge of the suspended walkway.

Reflexively Bastila ignited her lightsaber, anticipating a shot that needed to be deflected. Instead, the glowing red weapon sliced clean through the oncoming blaster— raining down sparks and burning bits of metal.

The Exile could hear her own footfalls on the dense wood of the walkway. She was too slow, Meetra thought, without the aid of the Force— even if she hadn't been carrying a child. As she neared the edge of the platform she gathered herself to jump, instinctively gauging the distance between the edge and the nearest giant tree. Calin's weight was like a lead ball and she prayed she'd make it into the foliage. It was a risk, but the dense jungle below would likely slow their fall. It was, after all, a very long way down.

Her muscles bunched, pushing off from the walkway and reaching out her free hand, grasping at the air— the youngling shrieked against her shoulder.

But the drop never came.

With a horrendous lurch, they were yanked back— clattering to the ground in an ungraceful heap. The boy managed to roll clear relatively gently, but Meetra hit the walkway with a hard crack. Groaning, she tried to regain her feet— only to be slammed down again.

Yeah. Too slow, the Exile thought wryly, giddy in her sudden fear.

The air slowly came back to her lungs, but the sense of panic that came with being unable to move refused to leave. Experimentally she tired to lift her head, to no avail. The realization made the breath hitch in her throat, and the woman struggled. Or tried to.

Suddenly she was able to turn, only to come face to boot with Bastila as the Sith crouched beside her.

"Are you done?" The younger woman asked, good naturedly, an insidious smile on her beautiful face.

"No." Meetra coughed, even as her hands scrabbled ineffectively against the wood beneath her. Giving up for a moment, she let her eyes stray to the cowering boy. She had to get him out of here.

Alive, preferably.

"That's a pity."

The air around her crackled sharply, the unmistakable smell of ozone made her eyes water. There was no escape. Meetra stiffened in anticipation, fear pooling in her stomach for a split second before the electricity hit her.

The pain arced up and down her spine, making the Exile shriek. Biting her lip to hold in the sound, the woman clawed at the ground beneath her. A sharp pain stabbed at her fingers as she broke off nails in the grooves of the wood. Still she remained silent. Blood welled on her lip as she thrashed, refusing to scream. Her skin sizzled where the energy hit her, the smell nearly enough to make her gag. Her chest tightened, breaths coming in short and shallow. She tasted the blood where it ran from her split lip.

She wanted to die.

Bastila let it end, leaving Meetra shivering on the floor— still unable to move.

It had been a long time since she'd felt so utterly helpless. A cold reminder of what it meant to be devoid of the Force.

"My Master thought you were dead." Bastila mused, studying her intently.

Meetra swallowed hard, hating the feeling of things being so out of control. She was a victim. It was sickening. Another glance at Calin made her stomach clench in nervous tension. She had to get them both out of here alive. It had only been ten minutes. Bastila wasn't going to play much longer, and Meetra had no idea what she wanted. She was going to die and Calin was going to be taken to Force knows where in a matter of moments.

"He'll be interested to know that you're still alive, Exile. Even... as weak as you are"

She licked her lips, shifting her weight. Bastila didn't let her get far, before she was pressed back down to the ground by invisible hands, unable to move again. She didn't consider the idea of living long enough to be tortured by Revan as good news. "You're the weak one." Her breath was coming easier again. "What was it before you turned on your ideals. Ten days? Two weeks?" Meetra grunted, trying to leverage herself up with her elbows.

Bastila didn't react angrily as Meetra had assumed that she would, instead the blue eyed woman simply looked at her calmly— sending a shiver of doubt up her spine. She immediately regretted the momentary satisfaction she'd received from goading the Sith Apprentice.

There was a sudden weight, like someone was standing on her ribcage. The air was forced from her lungs, and Meetra struggled, unable to move and unable to breathe. The weight intensified, slowly pressing down. She gasped, like a fish out of water, unable to take in air. She could feel her ribs flexing, pressing down, further and further. Tears were streaming down her face, the lack of air making her lightheaded and dizzy. The Exile fought every instinct she had, trying not to panic. Unable to take more weight, first one, then two, of her ribs gave in with a horrific crunch.

There was no air in her lungs for her to scream with.

Meetra shrieked silently, her mouth open in a terrible grimace.

As quickly as it started, the pressure was removed. The Exile gulped in air, whimpering as the movement sent flashes of pain through her upper body. She rolled onto her side, trying to get her legs under her. Her ribs stopped her from moving further, the pain making her vision turn white.

"Is this too much for you, Exile?." Bastila asked, throwing her words back in her face. "How long do you think you'll last? Ten days? Two weeks?"

"At this rate? We'll die of old age first." Meetra said, her lungs screaming from the effort that talking took. She coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood in the direction of the Sith. It splattered across the woman's boots.

Bastila's eyes narrowed into angry slits.

Maybe there were Jedi left here, maybe someone would come for the boy while Bastila was otherwise engaged in murdering her... Maybe...

With a sharp crackle the Force lightning engulfed her body again. Meetra thrashed, despite her damaged ribs. Somewhere something was making a terrible wailing sound, like an animal caught in a trap. The noise only seemed to exacerbate the pain, and Meetra came to the dim realization that the noise was her. She was unable to force herself to stop. Her throat went raw, every breath felt like fire. Bloody fingers scrabbled for purchase as she keened. Her skin blistered and bubbled, clothing smoking.

It was sweet relief when blackness finally claimed her.