The transport was not very large at all. It consisted of one long room and a small airlock on the other end with a door leading to it. The lighting from above was tinted red. In the walls were small screens bristling with activity, lights and icon appearing and disappearing rapidly. On the opposite end from the airlock was the main console and viewport, where a clone trooper sat at the helm, a steady hand gripped around the control yoke and easing it lightly in different directions when needed. The remains of a Federation Battle Droid bumped against the viewport. The pilot's chipped, battle-worn armor reflected little light. On the right wall, just a few paces from the pilot was another clone, this one's armor almost gleaming with an simple pattern on his helmet, one line going perfectly down the middle with another going across. He sat in front of a small, communication's server, a hand against where his ear would be. But she was sure he was doing it for her benefit.
And there was May, her back leaned against the only remaining seat behind the two with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs.
There was a soft bleep. The communication's trooper's head tilted a little and one of their fighter escorts drifted pass the viewport, swaying through debris in a single, swift motion that their clumsy transport could only dream of achieving.
"I think something's out there." The communication's trooper said.
"Droid?" Pilot trooper asked plainly, not looking away.
"Maybe." The other's hand was no longer on his helmet, now typing at the small keyboard on his station. "Something is interfering with the signal. Probably all these pieces of hull. . ."
May's attention drifted away from the clone's explanation and to the viewport. Wreckage surrounded them like great stone walls. The same fighter came up into view again, this time beginning to roll from one side to another.
Until it exploded in a brilliant blaze of flame of metal.
"Contact!" The pilot pushed the control yoke sharply down, and the ship followed, causing the ball of fire to be replaced by the broken bridge of a Star Destroyer.
May's stomach wrenched as the transport was thrown back up to its original course, now filled with long bolts of green energy screeching toward them from all sides. The second escort fighter was frantically dipping and weaving for his life.
"Get the shields up!"
"I'm trying!" The shuttle buckled horribly. The blue, long winged droids causing the blasts were now in sight. The shaking grew worse, and this time wasn't stopping. May's teeth clenched as she held the rests of her seat with all she had. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Blood pumped at twice the speed.
And it was suddenly over.
Her mind didn't relax as she looked out the viewport and saw a thin veil of purple around them, absorbing the green bolts like a sponge. Above them, the lights flickered back to the normal yellow. May unclipped the strap around her waist and stood, taking a moment to find her balance before walking up behind the pilot's seat. The shield held strong, despite the ongoing bombardment, a muffled pang sound being the only thing to get through.
"Repeat!" A synthesized voice called out from her right, making no attempt to hide the fear in his words. "Need assistance! Scanners are blown and surrounded by unfriendly's! Repeat!"
May glanced over the communication trooper's armor-plated shoulder and saw the main scanner view-screen. In the center of the green grid-work was a blue dot. Clumps of black, empty space—the debris, she summarized—surrounded the picture as the blue dot moved through the thin path in its center. The blue dot remained in the middle while the rest moved. In the corner was a bright dot with waves coming off it repeatedly. Red dots swarmed like insects on the screen.
"REPEAT! NEED ASSISTA—" The voice was cut off by static.
Eye widening, May whipped around and focused in on the corner of the viewport. And her heart sank. Far from them, between two burnt pieces of hull, was a bright ball of orange flame. The man's death hit her like a wave, and the new Jedi Knight could only look away helplessly. Please, find peace.
Looking back at the scanner, though, she wondered someone was going to say the same for them.
The droid approached Grievous slowly, his stiff, single-joined arms quivering as he did.
"Sir, the Vulture's have reported with two Republic fighters destroyed and are in the process of pursuing the last." If it could breath, it would have held every breath for his response.
"I will not let them escape." The general turned, and the droid realized how small he actually was. "Warm up the turrets. Set them for auto-fire on the field. Maximum sensitivity."
"But general, our fighters are out there with them!" But Grievous did not hear the pleading, turning his attention back to the debris field. The droid left him, attending to his appointed task, weather it liked it or not.
Slowly, the transport passed by another group of broken ships, its shield still being pounded from all fronts. Inside, nobody spoke, instead watching the pilot twist and lightly turn the control yoke. The other, in the mean time, contacted the Redemption and informed them of the Vulture's prowling the area. May wasn't sure what they were doing to prevent from being seen, but she reached out with her senses and felt the weight deep in her shoulder blades lessen as she felt Commander Motti's presence.
The console on her right beeped.
She and the other trooper turned in union. The trooper with gleaming armor flipped a switch close to him and the beeping ended. On the very edge of the sensor view-screen, past the clumps of black, was empty space.
They were almost free.
"How far?" The pilot asked, not turning to look.
"A hair's breathe and we'll be out in the open,"
"Then prepare to make a run for it."
May turned on her heels to face the back of his seat. He did not return the gesture. "Why? As long as we have shields—"
The pilot pointed at a certain spot of his wide console. May peered closer to find a three multi-colored bars with a small plate that read: Energy/Power Reading. The bars, while not parallel to each other, were very far from the top. May grew cold inside.
"Get ready," The pilot instructed, setting up the power convergence. "Everything we got goes into the engine. Everything. Shields, main power, even life support. Got it?"
The other did not reply, simply nudging himself closer to his console and beginning work. With nothing she could do to help, May turned and headed back for her seat.
And stopped dead halfway.
It hit her like the starfighter pilot's death did. The ends of her finger tingled horribly and a nervous shiver ran down her spine. The air became thick. The cold knot in her stomach grew. Carefully, she turned to the viewport. The end was in sight now, a small opening in the closing distance. But something was wrong.
"Ready on my end,"
It felt dank, grim.
"Switch over . . . now." The lighting plunged into blackness, until the familiar red-tinted light flicked itself on. In the viewport, the thin violet veil dissipated.
At its heart was . . was . .
The pilot slipped his hand around a large lever with red on its side, stretching his arm out to reach it. His gloved hand gripped the leather tightly.
At its heart was death.
"No!" He was pushing the lever forward when she reached out to stop him, locking the gears of it in place beneath the thin layer of metal of the console. He tried two more times, then craned his head back to see her arm extended at the him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Blue droids were everywhere.
The inside of the transport buckled, but May held her intangible grip on the lever. Her eyes stayed glued on the viewport, counting the seconds and chewing her lower lip as the end inched closer. When the shaking did not cease, the communication's trooper swung back around and almost slammed on his console with his fingers. The glowing veil reappeared outside.
The trooper was still yelling at her, she knew, but she blocked the sound and him out of her mind. Almost there. Just a little further. Gaps in the shield were forming, usually where enemy lasers had penetrated. The shaking resumed.
But it didn't mater. They were at the end, and with a heavy exhale, May released her hold and the lever was thrown up in a single push. A loud roar echoed from behind them and the veil shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Without a seat to contain her, May was flung back, her back popping loudly in her armor as she hit the large, metal airlock door. The troopers clung to their seats. All while the Malevolence grew larger in the viewport, the three didn't pay heed to the blizzard of red death they narrowly missed.
Grievous watched in despair as the Vulture Droids he'd dispatched were destroyed in wave after wave, trying to change course—as their programming suggested—only to die in red blaze.
Killed, by his very turrets, no less.
It eventually ended. "How many were caught in the blast?" He asked the droid he knew was beside him.
"Four squads," A small pause. "Sir."
He tore himself away from the floating wreckage at the end of the field, all still bearing the Federation insignia under their belly's, to where the bright speck that escaped the maelstrom had been a moment ago. Now there were only stars.
Grievous abruptly turned and strode briskly away from the poor droid, the ends of his claw-like metallic feet clanging against the floor. "Which hanger did they land in?"
"Section twelve, sir."
"Send all active droids in the area to slow their movements."
"But sir, what if they're armed—" His question went unanswered as the lift door the general passed through closed.