ACT III: Two Crimson Blades
Carth Torpoli woke up screaming.
He had sat up in his sleep again, amidst another night terror. Still panting, he instinctively panned to right, to the empty space next to him in the bed. It was still the dead of night, but now he was wide awake. Brushing back the hair from his forehead with one hand, he swiveled his legs off the bed, his feet touching the floor as he gazed blankly at the ground. He peered at the nightstand to his left - where his blaster lay, next to the face down picture frame. He briefly thought of the cold steel of the barrel pressing against his temple, but that soon passed. Not knowing what else to do, he paced the bedroom for a few minutes, full of anxiety. These feelings persisted until he decided to step out on his balcony, taking his bedside blaster and pack of cigarettes with him.
The night was brisk, and the cold air brushed across his bare, scarred chest as he peered across the glowing cityscape below him. He reluctantly opened the pack and took out a cigarette, shielding his lighter with a shaking hand as it ignited. He honestly didn't even like the damn things, but not only did he need something to do on nights like this, but the rush of calm that swept over him after smoking one sometimes helped him sleep. He inhaled deeply, followed by incessant coughing that scorched his throat. But soon, that very sensation swept across his brain, and Carth could feel himself beginning to calm down. He tried to focus on something else – anything else other than his anxiety – but he was drawing a blank. Carth tried to think about what he might do tomorrow. He could do just about anything he wanted, but none of it sounded appealing. Scratching his head with his free hand, Carth sighed before taking another drag on the cigarette. He then ashed out the half-finished cigarette before walking back inside to pour himself a drink, leaving the pack behind but taking the blaster.
On his way to the kitchen, Carth caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror, and for a few minutes, he stopped to stare at the reflection. The man he saw in the mirror was an exact clone of him, but something seemed missing – something that he couldn't quite pinpoint. An immense hatred began to bubble up inside of him, rising until he broke his gaze to continue his walk to the kitchen. In the darkness, he fumbled in his cabinets for the first spirit he could find, as well as the first cup he could grab. Setting the two down on his kitchen island, he turned the light on its lowest setting – just low enough to see where he was pouring.
That was when he noticed the cup. It once was an ordinary tumbler but had been painted over in a crude scheme of bright colors. In this mix of colors stood several black stick figures with their hands joined, resembling a strange picket fence. Noticing these details, Carth slumped into one of the chairs next to the island as his head lay against the stone. Soon enough, he forgot about the drink entirely. He then thought about the blaster once more.
Before long, he was sobbing into the cold stone, hands clenching around his head.
"What the HELL was that?!"
It was unclear if Carth Torpoli was shouting out of rage or because he had lost some hearing from the explosion – possibly both. Ziha sure felt like he had lost some hearing as he checked his robe again for embers, then stared at the now-burning starfighter about fifty meters in the distance. The cockpit had burst wide open into a ball of flames, and he could hear the remaining durasteel groaning in structural failure.
"Sir, you don't understand - that was Darth Vader in that cockpit - "
"I don't care if it was Count Dooku in that cockpit! We had a PLAN!"
Ziha took his eyes from the wreckage and faced the group. Everyone was still alive. The fire from the burning wreckage gave a dull glow to the surroundings, shading them all in orange monochrome. Rezon stood alone behind them, monitoring the blast's aftermath with a raised rifle. Carth's arms were spread wide, flailing about in expressive fury at Argo Cuneen.
The Sullustan engineer Argo had – without warning – thrown a thermal detonator inside the ship upon opening the hatch to see what was inside, leaving the group to retreat in barely just enough time to not be incinerated. Luckily, no one had caught any life-ending shards of hot metal in the back; however, the concussive force of the explosion had nearly crushed Ziha's insides, and he could feel warm blood slowly dripping down his arms and right cheek – likely from smaller shrapnel flying past them. He also noticed Carth was wincing & limping slightly, probably from his haphazard jump off of the TIE fighter in a mad dash to escape. Rezon appeared to be in no pain, clearly focused on the task at hand.
"That was some plan you had, Lieutenant," remarked Ziha, speaking up with renewed anger. "You two failed to inform either of us of what you were doing up there. The first words I heard were "run" - after the detonator was tossed!"
"I didn't know that was gonna happen!" Carth screamed, turning back to Argo. "That could've been ANYBODY in that ship! Goddamnit Argo, what were you thinking?!"
"It had to be done, sir!" he replied. "We never would have had a chance otherwise."
"What are you talking about, Argo?" Rezon queried, lowering his weapon. "Who was in there?"
"Darth Vader, Rezon," Argo repeated. Every time he pronounced the name, his mouth seemed to strain under its weight. "He was on Ryloth the day the Free Ryloth Movement tried to assassinate the Emperor. He was with Emperor Palpatine…he cut down so many of our best – even Isval…"
Ziha thought he heard rustling in the grass, but upon looking around, saw nothing. There was no wind blowing.
"As horrible as this 'Darth Vader' sounds," Carth obliged, "your reaction was still reckless, dumb, disproportionate and dangerous! We could've captured him, or if worse came to worse –"
"You don't understand what he could do – what he DID do!"
Carth was so taken aback by Argo's vehemence that he could not respond right away. Prior to now, the engineer had been so self-reserved – so quiet that this behavior seemed hauntingly wrong. Ziha studied the panic plastered across the alien face, and the vexing glare from the lieutenant.
"He wasn't just some Imperial officer," Argo went on. "He was a cyborg – a cyborg that carried a lightsaber. And he had some kind of augmented strength – he could move so fast, lift people so easily. I watched a whole squad fire upon him, and not a single bolt even grazed him. I've never seen anybody kill so many soldiers so quickly – so…ruthlessly." Argo appeared be to losing himself in thought. "I'm truly sorry I put everyone in danger, but what I did saved our lives. He would have killed us all within seconds."
Ziha's ears had perked up…"he carried a lightsaber"? He had heard legends about this Darth Vader, but legends rarely echoed true in the galaxy after countless retellings. Ziha surmised he was probably just some master swordsman that wore armor for the extra scare factor.
The lieutenant Carth echoed Ziha's thoughts. "I've heard stories about this man, but stories only carry so much weight…but you've seen him in action. Do you think this guy was a Jedi?"
"He might've been a Jedi at one point," Argo supposed, "but on Ryloth, he was something else."
Whatever he was, he's sure as hell gone now. With nothing around to spread the fire, the crash site was a mere ember now, and darkness had fallen upon them walked a little closer to the wreck, looking upon it with naked eyes. The light from the fire had all but disappeared, but somehow the crimson blade of the flare still stood strong among the heap. As the Duros turned back around to the group, Ziha saw a second red blade go up in the distance …that's strange. They must have dropped the other flare.
That was when Rezon Sog started choking.
The thump of his rifle hitting the ground made everyone face him. His blue hands clawed at his neck, and his large red eyes grew even larger in shock.
"Staff Sergeant, what's happening?"
He didn't respond. He couldn't respond. His frantic mouth tried to open and close coherently – to form words – but all he could do was gag and grasp at his throat. Argo ran over to help his dear friend, but just as he moved, Rezon was jerked into the tall grass at alarming speed, zooming toward the crash site.
"Rezon!" Carth and Argo's rifles immediately went up, scanning the area. Ziha didn't see what had grabbed him – he didn't even hear it. His head jerked back and forth to look at the surrounding grass, desperately searching for the threat.
"MOVE!" Carth screamed, and the three men sprinted toward where Rezon had been dragged. Ziha's mind demanded to make sense of what kind of predatorcould have pulled him so quickly –
"AAAAAAAUGH! It hurts! GOD, IT BURNS! AUGHHHHHGHGH…."
"REZON, HOLD ON!" Argo cried, picking up his pace even more as they rushed towards the anguished cries for help. Soon, the screams abruptly stopped – as quickly as Rezon had been snatched away into the darkness. As they continued sprinting forward, Ziha could swear he saw the second flare moving -
Mid-stride, Ziha tripped over something large, and his forehead smacked the ground. The grass might have padded the blow, but he was in the divot of the crash site, so his face met with compressed earth. Pain smarted through his body, and the impact to his nose brought involuntary tears to his eyes. His right leg was still wrapped over whatever it was he had tripped over, and when he pulled himself upright, he was surprised to feel the object roll towards him.
It was the head of Rezon Sog.
His eyes had glossed over.
His gaze was frozen.
His neck sizzled.
Ziha scrambled to his feet with alarm, turning back to face the crash site and whatever creature had decapitated the Duros. About ten meters away, he could barely make out a black figure and a red blade – what he mistook for a flare. It was a lightsaber.
This is impossible. Vader survived the explosion.
How powerful is this guy?
"Open fire!"
Carth's heavy blaster barraged the figure with a rapid shower of bolts, yet somehow, they all failed to hit him, deflecting in dozens of directions. Argo threw two projectiles in the direction of the glowing sword, and Ziha instinctively covered his face. The sound of a flash bang popped in his ears, and the high-pitched whine of tinnitus overwhelmed Ziha as Argo pulled him to his feet. Clouds from a smoke grenade billowed around them.
"GET TO THE SHIP!"
In the Halo Hammer's engineering compartment, the group was on high alert. Corporal Sarna Sereta could taste blood from biting her lip too hard, and hadn't stopped yelling in the comlink since the explosion, save for updating Captain Sivora throughout the chaos. Carth must have muted her – that bastard, and in such dangerous times! In between her verbal assaults toward her comrade, she could hear the argument going on between him and Argo – apparently Argo had thrown the grenade? The name "Darth Vader" had been repeated several times –
"We've got to do something!" Jett was squawking in the background. "They obviously need help!"
"Like I've already said, Jett, we can't go out there without knowing what's happening," Sivora told her, trying to keep some semblance of calm. "I don't know what the hell Argo threw that grenade for, but even now, we can't risk leading them to our ship or the package. We have to keep it together, and we HAVE to stay put."
Sarna didn't have time or energy for Jett's childish tirades. She walked down the boarding ramp of the Hammer, peering out at the burning remains of the TIE fighter that were at least a click away, desperately trying to glean more information than her comlink was giving. Erim followed her down the ramp – presumably to survey as well - but kept silent. She hadn't said a word in hours.
"REZON, HOLD ON!" Argo's voice cried through the static.
"I think something's got Staff Sergeant Sog!" Sarna screamed up the boarding ramp. Her heart was thumping out of her chest as she tangled her fingers into her hair. "Carth, PLEASE, tell me what's happening!"
Hearing Sarna's anguish, Sivora hustled down the boarding ramp to join her. As he made his way down, the shimmer of distant blaster bolts erupted in bright streaks, coupled with smaller explosions. The sounds were slightly delayed but relayed the same information, their loudness causing clipping static in the comlink.
Sarna couldn't hide her shock. "Oh, my God! KAM!"
"GET TO THE SHIP!" she heard someone scream through the muddled noise of battle.
"What's happening?" Sivora demanded.
"It's a full-on ambush!" she shouted, turning her head. Kam slammed his fist against the hull of the ship. The torrent of blaster bolts suddenly stopped – judging by how long it had gone on, she guessed their weapon had overheated. She then heard the familiar sound of Carth's DL-18 firing in rapid succession through her receiver. Sarna turned to her captain, unsure of what to do.
PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW PYOHW!
First Lieutenant Carth Torpoli was zeroed in. This Jedi-cyborg – Darth Vader, Argo called him – was certainly no ordinary man, but neither was Carth. He had watched numerous Jedi deflect blaster bolts, and aside from the greatest of the Jedi Masters, they all had a weak point. They all got tired and could be exploited. Carth was not only an excellent fighter - he was also a patient one. He knew that sooner or later, the flare of fancy swordsmanship would fade; Vader would make a mistake, and Carth would be there to capitalize.
He could feel Vader slowly closing the gap on his barrage, so he worked harder – blasting faster, aiming lethally – but time and time again he was countered with blistering speed. It was almost as if the only thing moving on Vader was the lightsaber. Carth felt the pressure growing, but if he could bide enough time to reach his tool belt and grab his riot baton –
Carth's blaster stopped firing. He tried to pull the trigger several times in vain, until he realized that his hand was what had stopped firing – despite his efforts, he couldn't squeeze the trigger. The frozen sensation then swept across him in a constricting wave, leaving only his head free to writhe in resistance. It was like his entire body had been suddenly bound in carbonite. Vader continued his slow stride forward, lightsaber humming at his side; try as he might, Carth couldn't move at all.
Carth tried to see Vader's face, but it was far too dark; he could only make out the profile of a tall, imposing man wearing a long cloak and some form of a helmet, with a few colored lights on his torso. He couldn't see much of anything else, but he could still hear, and what he heard coming from his attacker was not a sound any man would make. The closest thing Carth could liken it to was an engine pumping pressurized gas from one chamber to another, rising from nothing and falling back to such.
KOHHHHHH PUHRRR…KchhOHHHHHH PUHRRR…
Carth desperately tried to gain control of his hand – to pull the trigger while Vader's guard was down – but he stayed stuck in place. A ferocious anger was overwhelming him.
"You place much faith in your ability to commit violence."
The voice materialized from the darkness itself, a vocoder-enhanced drone of bass notes. It spoke slowly, and methodically.
"Perhaps this faith is less in your abilities," the voice went on, "and more in your weapons."
Carth wasn't moving his blaster hand, but he could feel it turning – see the blasterturning – towards himself.
"What the hell is this?" Carth demanded. "What have you done to me?"
"Your question is misplaced," the voice answered. "You should be more concerned for what is to come."
"I'm not telling you a damn thing, you hear me?" Carth was alive with rage. "Nothing!"
Carth's hand was still gripping the blaster, which despite his loss of control, was now aimed at his right leg.
"Pity," the voice lowed. "I was feeling generous."
PYOHW!
Carth's kneecap vaporized as quickly as the blaster bolt itself. He gritted his teeth trying to hold in screams, but the searing pain was so immense that he let out a tortured howl – part suffering, part wrath. His breaths were ragged and shallow, constricted by the invisible bind holding him in place.
"Perhaps you've had a change of heart?" The voice hummed. Carth could still hear the mechanical gas chambers hissing, compressing.
The lieutenant let out a mirthless laugh. "Not a chance, you piece of shit."
"Good," the voice buzzed with appraisal. "I prefer a fight to the end."
PYOHW!
Carth's left leg didn't move, but if it could have, it would have folded in a soft heap of seared muscle and bone. His head lolled and twisted – the only part of himself he could move – in the purest form of agony he had ever known. The smell of burning flesh reminded him of his years in countless battlefields turned mass graves and made him sick. Vomit crept up his throat.
"GODDAMN YOU!" Carth roared defiantly.
"God can't hear you," the voice replied calmly.
*PYOHW!* The blaster sounded through the comlink again, and Carth screamed again. Louder.
"Kam, you BASTARD!" Jett was yelling at the top of her lungs. "We've got to HELP THEM!"
The captain didn't know what to say. He stared past the wall of the compartment, into his thoughts. Things had fallen apart so quickly – so unexpectedly, despite his best precautionary efforts. His firm resolve to avoid being surprised had clearly bitten him in the ass, and now he was possibly paying the severe price of losing four lives – one of which belonged to two of his closest friends. Rezon was right – I should have just sent a scout. NOW look what has happened. Rezon - the medic, the navigator, and the enthusiastic glue of the Halo Hammer's crew - was now dead. And Sivora wanted nothing more than to forsake this whole mission and potentially risk losing more lives just to save First Lieutenant Torpoli, and would have if he had known how grave this would become. Unfortunately, the realist in him knew that Carth would be dead long before they arrived, as whoever had assaulted them did not seem interested in taking prisoners.
Sivora could feel his mind unhinging, his body stiff and catatonic. Suddenly, his impulses kicked in. Screw the odds, you idiot – go save your friend! You have to at least try – maybe even DIE trying. With this revelation, he turned to Sarna to relay orders for their suicidal rescue mission.
And then he felt a fist hit him across the face.
In a normal fight, he should have been able to take on Jett – he was much larger, and formally trained in combat – but he was so disoriented, so confused…and she was fast, and angry. She had pinned her knees into his groin, and was furiously bashing against his face and chest.
"I'll take this ship and save them if I have to!" Jett snarled amidst doling him a flurry of blows.
"Get off him, you bitch!" he heard Sarna scream, followed by the click of her blaster holster.
PTSHEW!
Jett stopped swinging her fists – stopped moving entirely. When Sivora looked behind her, he saw Sarna aiming right at Jett's back.
But Sarna hadn't fired a shot yet.
Turning his head to the left, he saw Erim Getchell. She had drawn her pair of WESTAR-35 blasters - a unique model. One was pointing inches from Sarna's head, and another skywards, towards a fresh burn mark in the ceiling. Her first spoken words in hours were bold ones.
"This is going to stop. Right now."
"And who are you to say what's 'going to stop?'" Sarna challenged. "You shouldn't be here, either! NEITHER of you should!"
"There are two possible ways for this to go," Erim spoke dryly. "One: you holster your blaster, YOU stop wrestling on the floor, and we figure out what to do next. Two: your blaster goes anywhere but your holster, and I fire. Which is more likely to save your friend?"
Everyone's eyes were on Sarna now. After an acidic glare, she conceded, holstering her weapon.
"Okay," Erim started, sliding one blaster into her jumpsuit. "What do we know? We know that a TIE fighter has crash-landed here two days before our scheduled rendezvous. We know that no other sentient beings arrived at the crash site before our scouting team because we monitored it continuously. We know that a TIE fighter can fit hold no more than two people, and that is just based on space, so it's most likely one sentient being."
Everyone's silence implied agreement. Erim's gaze fell upon Sivora. He could now feel the blood running from the corner of his mouth.
"We know that Rezon was your smartest scout, Argo was your sharpest tactician, Carth was your best soldier, and Ziha was a…uniquely qualified enforcer. We also know that whoever is out there right now eluded Rezon's eye when he expected someone to be there, outmaneuvered Argo's prepared plan, neutralized Ziha - the guy we saw fry ten people with his bare hands - and is currently subduing & torturing a seasoned, practiced killer of other seasoned, practiced killers. All by themself."
Erim paused to let this information sink in.
"I don't know who is on the other side of that comlink, but whoever it is, they are smarter than us, stronger than us, have a sharper eye than any of us, and are unlike anything we've ever seen. Tell me Kam, from a military standpoint, what do you do if your enemy has you outgunned, outsmarted AND has an unknown edge?"
Sivora was lost in a swirling torrent of guilt, anger, confusion and fear. He was quiet long enough to notice that Carth's screams through the com link had stopped. There was now another sound coming through – a strange one…the audio quality was muddled at best, but even so, what he heard was distinctly mechanical and rhythmic.
KOHHHHHH PUHRRR…KOHHHHHH PHRR…KHHOHHHHHH PUHRRRR…
His eyes met with Sarna's, and thoughts of their shared past came rushing to his head that filled him with emotion – of surviving near-death brushes with Carth, of meeting the eccentric brilliance of Rezon Sog, and the unmatched technical skills of Argo Cuneen. Clarity came rushing back to the captain, and as he climbed to his feet, his answer to Erim was as confident as it was clear.
"I'll tell you what we would do – what we are going to do. We assess the situation, we prepare for the worst with the best of what we have. We suffer the hard loss, but we regroup, and come back stronger - together. We take out the enemy and recover what's ours, or we fight to the last man."
A voice spoke in the white noise that was not Carth's; it was deep, synthesized, and menacing.
"Yes - come to his rescue, because that's what he would do for you."
Sivora noticed a shiver jolt through Jett's spine.
"Your master has taught you that there is power in loyalty and unity, but what you will soon learn is there are no substitutes for TRUE power. You all are alone and weak - like your comrade is now. And the sooner you come to his rescue, the sooner I can teach you your final lesson."
Then, the signal cut out.
Although Ziha Ridal and Argo Cuneen had ran for quite some time before stopping, they were not ignorant of what had happened to First Lieutenant Carth Torpoli. They had heard the blaster fire. They had heard his screams. And they could still see Vader's saber shimmering in the distance, long after the embers of the TIE fighter had died out. Residual smoke from Argo's grenade had settled a low fog over the surrounding grass, chilled by the night air and giving Vaal's plains a swampy appearance. The saber's blood-red glow suddenly disappeared, and immediately Argo dragged Ziha to the ground, laying them both flat on their fronts in the tall grass.
"Listen very carefully to me," Argo whispered. "The ship is about a click or so away. We're going to have to crawl most of the way there to avoid detection - "
"No no no, you don't plan on running away, do you?" Ziha interrupted, trying to get up. "We have to KILL him! We can take him - I can take - "
"SHHH!" Argo shushed urgently. "Stay down! You won't last two seconds fighting him."
Has this fool forgotten my power? "I will show you the power of the Force is NOT to be underestimated - "
"Look, I know you're not a Sith Lord, okay? Stop this or you're going to get us both killed."
Ziha was enraged. "I should destroy you right now for even suggesting that – "
"When you passed out on Atzerri, I helped Rezon carry you into the Hammer. While we were setting you onto the table for medical examination, I propped your arm up and got burned by your hand. I thought maybe your fingers were just hot from the lightning, but then I smelled a very familiar smell…burnt circuitry. So, on a whim, we removed your gloves and I analyzed them. You engineered them to make that lightning. Your eyes aren't even that color – we examined them during our diagnostics too. They're contact lenses."
There were a few moments of silence.
"Who else on that ship knows about this?" Ziha asked quickly.
"Just Rezon. Honestly, I wanted to confront you about it, but Rezon said there was no point. The group wouldn't trust you if they found out you deceived us, and since you had just saved our lives, he thought the least we could do to pay you back was help keep your secret. So we did."
Ziha didn't say anything.
"Look man, even if you were a Sith, I don't know how much of a chance you'd stand against Vader. None of us do. Legend has it he is what remains of the galaxy's most powerful Jedi Knight, turned into a machine to serve the Emperor after the Jedi betrayed the Republic. And I've seen him fight firsthand - I know what he can do. Even if he's not as powerful as they say, is it really worth your pride to find out?"
The silence continued for a little while longer. Finally, Ziha spoke up.
"What's your plan, engineer?"
"We escape. But it's not going to be easy. The Halo Hammer is our only chance of getting off this planet - aside from the shuttle at the outpost, but the Hammer is the only option close enough for us to feasibly make it. We have to move covertly, but still fast. Carth had our only comlink, so we can't communicate with the others…and it's likely they think we're dead now, so if they decide to leave, we'll be stuck here - with him."
Spidery limbs of fear tiptoed up Ziha's back.
"These plains are virtually flat, so we can't run or there's a good chance he'll see us. And we can't use a flare to signal the remaining crew, lest we risk attracting Vader, OR leading him to our only means of escape. And we sure as hell can't face him head-on."
"So, what – we're gonna crawl our way back to the ship? They'll be long gone before we get there."
"Do you have a better idea?"
If Ziha did have a better idea, he certainly didn't share it.
"I know it's a long shot, okay? But it's our smartest – no, our only chance at getting back. We don't have to crawl, per se – just stay low enough to be covered by the grass. I'm also going to shift a few meters or so to the right so we're not making so much noise together. Remember, no lights, no sound, no sudden movements…also, stay low, don't get turned around, and no matter what happens, don't run."
Ziha nodded, and Argo began shifting off to the side, but suddenly stopped. A spark of fear pinged Ziha's skull – he must see Vader. Argo slowly turned his head back.
"One more thing…you can't keep using those gloves. They're wreaking havoc on your body. Your vitals were going crazy during our diagnostics, and it almost looked like you were going to lose your sight. I had to take off the gloves to analyze them…I saw your hands. You've got to stop."
"I've got it under control," Ziha growled defensively. "They just need a few tweaks."
"Well, you better make those tweaks before you use them again. The tech you made for those gloves shows me that you're brilliant, but one thing about brilliance is that if you're not careful, it can blind you."
After a final nod of acknowledgement, Argo shuffled away into the grass, out of sight.
"I think that was the last tweak, Fifteen. They're finally ready!"
Ziha removed his goggles – goggles that once dwarfed his face as a child, now barely fitting on his face as a young adult. The circuitry draped across the hand-shaped molds in his lab might have looked like mere cobwebs to the plebian eye, but Ziha knew he was looking at his future – at a chance to finally become great. MD-15 – Ziha's repurposed medical droid turned lab assistant - helped him gingerly slide a pair of black gloves over his work, and then the painstaking process of unifying the two began. It took Ziha about two more hours of staring through his lenses, making surgical adjustments until the touch sensors were fully functional and every loop was closed. Satisfied, he attached the palm-sized power cells to the gloves, aiming them at a small block of magnetized durasteel that was situated on a metal workbench, in front of a large sheet of rubber.
Ziha slipped a welding mask over his face. "Stand clear Fifteen – I don't want you to catch any potential crossfire."
The droid obliged him, shifting its black body behind his master.
"Clear, Master Ridal," MD-15's metallic voice relayed.
"Alright – in 3…2…1…now!"
Once Ziha toggled the connecting switch, the display of power that ensued was magnificent. Pure, raw electricity sprayed from the gloves, immediately funneling towards the block of steel. He could see the metal superheating, softening under the current. When Ziha released the button, the gray block had become a red oblong shape, and there was a slight bow in the table where it was sitting. A childlike joy spread through his insides.
"YES! Yes, Fifteen – it WORKS!" he shouted in triumph, tossing his welding mask to the side.
"Extraordinary work, master – you've done it!"
"We've done it – there's no way I could have figured out the micro-circuitry so quickly without your ingenuity. You've done a great thing, helping me with this."
"It is why I'm here, Master," MD-15 chirped. The droid made his way over to the power cells, which were glowing as brightly as the block of durasteel they had helped to heat. "It looks like there's a need for a tremendous amount of cooling before the gloves can be cleared for personal use."
"Nonsense!" Ridal said defiantly. "That test was well over half of the max capacity for output, and judging by how much the steel heated, I'm not going to need even half of that on any natural sentient species. Remember, the goal is not to kill anyone - just scare the target with a little pain."
"Very good," Fifteen responded. "In that case, I'll create a kill switch that prevents overloading it past dangerous levels - to protect you."
"Perfect – thank you, my friend." Ziha began to clean up his workstation, pride beaming from him.
"Also master, I feel I should warn you once more…even with a failsafe in place, use of these devices by an organic life form will likely not be without a cost. I predict there will be considerable side effects, not to mention the unpredictable results of prolonged exposure to the - "
"I'll be careful – don't worry. I'm well aware of its volatility. Besides, it's never going to get that out of hand. I'm not an actual Dark Lord, you know – I don't lose control of myself."
Sarna was losing control of herself. As she sat in the engineering compartment, head buried in her palms, memories of Rezon and Carth swirled around her mind's eye. Rezon was more talkative than Sarna cared for, but he had been there for her incessantly, and she had admittedly grown to care for him. Overrun by her grief, she refused to accept their demise as a reality – it couldn't have happened, especially not to Carth. After all she had seen him do – all he had survived – it was inconceivable that one man could have taken him down; in her mind, Carth was all but invincible. She imagined him out there with the unknown killer, feigning death until he had an opening to strike and take control again…yes, that's it – he's not dead, just gravely injured. And he needs our help - NOW. Why haven't we already left? Kam seems more concerned with protecting that stupid cargo than -
The cargo.
Sarna jumped out of her seat, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes as she briskly walked toward the crew lounge, searching for Erim. Her search stopped her en route to the lounge - in the ring corridor – where Erim was kneeling down over the open floorboards. She had removed a storage unit from the compartment – one that must have belonged to her, as Sarna didn't recognize the unit or its contents. The top half of Erim's jumpsuit was peeled off, exposing a half-sleeve of bright tattoos on her right arm that started above her elbow and ran up her shoulder, into the cover of her vest.
Next to her, was the large briefcase – the "package" for Han Solo.
"What's in that case?" Sarna asked fervently, her eyes signaling down to it.
"I feel like that's hardly of concern now," Erim replied flatly, continuing her rummaging.
"Be that as it may," Sarna persisted, "you've been very secretive of its contents. Why is that?"
"The contents of the case is highly-sensitive," Erim said, as if reading a script. "Not only that, but the handling of it by you and your crew does not require that you know what's in it."
"Perhaps not," Sarna obliged. "But, given the circumstance – as you put it, it's 'hardly of concern now' – why do you still insist on not telling me?"
Erim abruptly stopped her search. She did not look at Sarna. "The gravity of our situation does not negate my direct orders to – "
"Is it because what's in it is the cause for all hell breaking loose – for whoever the hell is out there killing our men - my FRIENDS?"
NOW Erim was looking at her. "The only people who know what's in that briefcase are myself and my employer, and Solo's buyer. No one else."
"Then why not tell the middleman, too? Even if you don't trust me, I feel like it's hardly out of the question to inform Captain Sivora."
"For the very reason you are attempting to incriminate me now." Erim's words dropped like a hammer as she stood up to face Sarna. "There can be no loose ends for information to escape."
Erim's blue eyes were unmoving, stark - emotionless. For one reason or another, the corporal's gaze involuntarily darted toward the briefcase again.
"You're thinking of taking it from me – of looking for yourself."
Sarna's blaster hand itched.
"Before you do something that would give me cause to kill you, allow me to grant you one tidbit of information, Corporal. The only way to open that case is by typing the decryption code into the keypad. You get one try to type it in correctly. If you fail, or attempt to do anything else to open the casebesides typing in the code, it will atomize itself. And you. Along with this ship."
Erim stepped closer to Sarna. Since they were already close, the threat rang clear.
"And I'm not telling you one single number of that code."
It was the most human Erim had sounded to her.
Sarna didn't think twice about her next reply.
"Then it leaves our ship. Now."
"That's hardly your call."
"I'm making it."
A few moments of silence between went by, filled by the sounds of Jett and Sivora gathering their weapons. The two women refused to waver their position, their stubbornness rooting them deep into where they stood – literally and figuratively. Finally, Erim spoke the last words she would speak to Sarna Sereta.
"You can make that call when you're the captain of this ship. Until then, don't come back to me unless you're looking for a fight."
When Erim said 'fight,' it carried such an acrid tone that Sarna could practically feel the word punch her in the gut. But she wasn't scared. She had no reason to be. Luckily for this overconfident bitch, she had bigger concerns – namely, she had friends to save. And with that, Sarna continued down the corridor to find her captain.
Ziha was seconds from a heart attack. His paranoia increased with each inch they shuffled forward. Every sound he heard – every brush of the wind was Vader in his mind, coming to cut him down or torture him into oblivion. He didn't know exactly what happened to Carth back there, but in some ways, not knowing made his anxiety worse. He knew the ship stood in the distance – a tantalizing beacon of hope at best – but now that the fire from the crash site had faded, there was no way for him to see it – to see anything.
They were crawling through pure darkness.
Ziha moved blindly and slowly, at a pitiful pace. With each movement came the fear that it was too loud or too quick. And no matter for how long he slinked forward, the ship was never any closer. He imagined it moving further back as he neared toward it, forever preventing them from closing the gap to safety.
And then he heard a sound.
It was nothing living – not an animal or person - but very machine-like. Ziha's ears strained to make sense of it in the blackness, combing through years of engineering experience to draw some kind of correlation, but nothing surfaced.
Kohhhhhh puhrrrr…khhhohhhhh puhhrr…khhohhh puhrr…
Part of Ziha wondered if he was just imagining it. The internal noise he was sifting through was beyond manageable at this point, between his pounding headache, likely concussion and probable ear damage from the multiple explosions. Perhaps he was just disoriented. Argo hadn't reacted in any way obvious, though Ziha could only just hear the engineer crawling through the grass. As Ziha's headache swelled in another wave of pain, the noise swelled in volume.
KOHHHH PHRRR…KCHOHHHHHH PUHHRR…KHOHHHH PUHRRRR…
He longed to peek his head above the grass – to turn around and see where their attacker was, but he wouldn't dare risk being seen, plus he himself would have seen nothing. Ziha tried desperately to ignore the sound – to focus on something else – but in the silence of Vaal, it was all that existed, forcing itself into his mind. Vader had surely started his search for them – either that or he had seen their ship in the distance, their only means of escape. He wondered what would happen if Vader saw the ship; would he trot over to it, and kill the rest of the crew as well? Then Ziha's only means of escape would become yet another path to death.
KCHHHOHH PUHRRRR…KOHHHH PUHRR…KHOHH PUHRR…
This time, Ziha was SURE it was getting louder. Frozen by fear, he dare not move another inch. He couldn't tell if Argo was still crawling, but prayed that he too had stopped, lest Ziha get left behind to this monster, this literal killing machine. If the noises were somehow Vader, moving might mean risking detection, but not moving would mean being left behind. Conflict ripped his insides apart, urging him to scream. Part of him hoped that Vader would notice the engineer first and choose to go after him instead. This thought prompted some relief – a dim light at the end of a long tunnel.
Maybe if he gets distracted with killing Argo, I could make a break for it. I could get away.
"I can assure you, I am not so easily distracted."
Dread and fear exploded through Ziha's chest – a sickening mix of emotions. He whipped around in time to see the lightsaber ignite, lining the killer's face in red – rather, his mask. Vader wore a black helmet not unlike a stormtrooper's, yet its features were much more pronounced. The angles of the mouth grille were sharper, more menacing. He somehow appeared less human than stormtroopers did.
And far more evil.
"Your thoughts betray you." Vader patronized, his vocoder-shaped voice booming with power. He sounded like a king who had caught a red-handed vandal. Ziha could feel himself trembling.
"Th-th-there are others. There is another HERE – I can show you where he is - "
"I am aware of your comrade. You would do well not to turn on him so easily."
He glanced over to his right to see Argo beholding Vader, eyes wide with terror. Neither of them even tried to draw a weapon. It was pointless. They were at his mercy, or lack thereof.
"Now, where is your ship?"
Jett sat silently in the crew quarters, palming those familiar Adegan crystals as she considered the fate of the ill-destined search party Sivora had sought out. The severity of the situation crept over her like a dark shadow, and the cool sensation of the crystals was the only thing keeping that shadow from swallowing her whole. Rezon – the one person in the crew who seemed to have some sort of handle on himself – was gone now. She was sure of that, almost as if she had heard his final breaths through the comlink too. She thought about her talk with him on the Hammer a couple of days before, and the impact of what he had said to her.
"I know it may seem like the galaxy is against you," he echoed in her head, "but remember that people CAN be there for you – they can support you and provide a sense of understanding to you."
Rezon had been there for her. He was but a stranger to her not long ago, but somehow had supported her desire for revenge, and provided a keen understanding to her innermost fears.
Now he was dead.
Just like Carth. Just like her parents, and all the others who had played a similar role for her.
Except for Kam. And how much did that really count for?
"The fact that you still wrestle with wanting to kill Kam after all that he has caused you shows me that you have an enormous capacity for love – for those you care about."
And look how her caring was rewarded: with loss, and pain.
"The hard part here is understanding your pain, and not letting it define who you are. Otherwise you're allowing those who have scarred your past to continue damaging the life you have now."
Jett became increasingly frustrated by the voice that had developed in her head. How could pain not define who she was? Anybody would crumble under what she had suffered. Only a fool who hadn't a care for anyone could go through that kind of life without wanting revenge.
"When you go and get those bastards out there that hurt others, you can do it without getting lost in your own demons."
You can do it for the right reasons.
Go save the others.
Suddenly, Jett Elleon felt a huge mental shift. In that moment, she knew that Ziha and Argo were alive. Not only that, but it was almost like she could feel them – practically see where they were as she turned toward the direction of the crash. Despite the fact she was staring at the wall of the crew lounge, she knew where they were, and knew they were in trouble.
Vader was with them.
She could feel his cold presence, as well as her own unnamed fears. Jett had yet to even lay eyes on him, and yet he had become this concept of dread, an icy specter hovering in her mind that brought with it chills from the void.
She could feel something else, too. Other presences drawing near the darkness of Vader, and his newest victims. She didn't know what they were or how many they were, but they were closing in.
Fast.
Time had slowed when Argo Cuneen heard Vader's horrible voice. For him, in moments of severe stress, time always seemed to come to a near-standstill. It was a phenomenon that he often used to his advantage when he would study for exams as a child, or when he evaded enemy capture in covert operations. And now he was using it to stare his executioner in the face. Part of him was furious that rat bastard Ziha would have sold him out for a chance at escape, but given the amount of fear he was feeling – that he had felt about Darth Vader – he supposed he wasn't completely invulnerable to crumbling under that pressure either.
He knew Vader would kill them both, regardless of what they told him. Anything Ziha said at this point was just buying them time – time that was now expanding for Argo. Facing certain death, he became hyperaware of his surroundings in the nigh-pitch black darkness, only lit by the haunting lightsaber. He felt the last moments of cool evening air on his face, and the sweet smell of the prairie grass. And above the lightsaber's fearsome hum, another sound came from the masked man – a rhythmic chorus of mechanical air that pierced the veil of night with vivid horror.
Argo could hear something else, too: rustling in the grass – all around them.
Then he could hear the growls – a full chorus of them. He suddenly realized what was coming.
That lightsaber drew them here.
Almost immediately, two snarling shadows leaped for Vader, latching onto his right forearm and left leg. Argo couldn't see them well, but he knew exactly what they were: hyenax, and starving ones at that. Vader threw the one attached to his forearm with tremendous strength, sending it tumbling into the sea of grass, but from that same sea of grass came several more, just as determined to tear him to pieces. They were so focused on Vader that it took them a few seconds before any of them noticed Argo and Ziha on the ground.
But soon, one of them did…then two, then four.
Argo noticed Ziha running away as he pulled out his secondary blaster. He caught one hyenax in the side, and another in its rear leg as it prepared to leap for him. But a third one leaped onto him, and his forearm against its neck was the only thing keeping its snapping maw from tearing away his cheek. His free hand snatched another sidearm from his belt, jamming the pistol in the creature's chin before firing. Argo felt the warm grey matter splatter from the new hole in the monster's skull, and then shoved the carcass to the side before sprinting away from Vader and the pack of ravenous felines. He dare not look back, but from the sound of it, there was a massive horde of hyenax making efforts to bring down the fearsome warrior that was Darth Vader. Argo then wondered exactly how much of Vader was flesh and bone, and if the creatures would bother with killing the cyborg after attempting to chew through hard armor. He could only hope that somehow, somewhere on that suit of blackness, there was a weakness.
But for now, he could only keep running as far as his legs would carry him.
Ziha had gotten a decent head start on Argo, but it wasn't going to last long; he knew the Sullustan was a mercenary, and probably in better physical shape than he was. In his desperation to see something again, Ziha had turned on a light he grabbed from his belt; he normally abhorred blasters and thus rarely carried them on jobs, but for the first time, he wished he had one to defend himself. He was too afraid to use his lightning in such dire straits, considering that he still didn't know what caused him to faint on Atzerri. He anticipated that it was related to the intensity of the power it required to kill those men, and since he knew he was in a 'kill' scenario, the risk of trying again wasn't worth it – not until he could run some further tests in his lab…if he could ever make it back to his lab.
Ziha was huffing by the time the Halo Hammer became visible, but the sight of the ship was enough to spark a renewed vigor in him. He picked up his pace, closing the distance as fast he could – no such thing as 'too fast' now! Relief washed over him like a glorious rain of mercy as he made his way out of the wretched grass, and onto the cleared landing zone. Relishing the ease of being able to move his legs again, he trotted to the Halo Hammer and began climbing the boarding ramp, toward the darkness inside. Jett was the first one to rush out from the ring corridor. Ziha watched her eyes find him, then search the void behind him.
"Where's Argo?" she asked him. "What happened?"
"Vader," Ziha panted through his exhaustion. "Start the ship…we've got to get out of here…"
The name Vader seemed to strike Jett with a strange ring, but it didn't distract her for long.
"We're not leaving here until Argo is back. He was with you, wasn't he?"
"He was, but Vader got him…I'm the only one left…now let's get out of here!"
Ziha stumbled up the ramp, but Jett barred his entry, still looking out into the void.
"Foolish child," Ziha growled. "Get out of my way!"
He went to shove her, but Jett grabbed his forearm before he could move her. He could feel her grip touching the power cell against his wrist, and anxiety shocked his brain. The captain and corporal came running to the entryway, and his anxiety dissipated.
The captain was surprised to see him. "Ziha – you survived. Our assailant is dead?"
"No – he's still out there," Ziha panted. "I was the only survivor. Listen, we've got to get –"
"Woah woah, I don't understand – you didn't fight him?" Sivora's eyebrows and tone both raised.
"I couldn't fight him – I was incapacitated –"
"So you decided to RUN?" Sarna blurted out, emerging from behind Sivora. "You left my friends to DIE?!"
Ziha felt shame growing inside him, but he fought it down. "No, it wasn't like that – I WANTED to fight him –"
"Then either you would have killed him or died trying," Sarna interrupted again. "That's your JOB!"
"To hell with the goddamn job!" Ziha roared, fed up with her disrespect. "That bastard had a lightsaber and deflected every fucking shot that was thrown at him. He survived an explosion at POINT BLANK RANGE! He is a REAL Sith Lord!"
Oops.
"What do you mean, a 'real' Sith Lord?" the captain questioned, latching onto Ziha's Freudian slip. In this moment, the transporter Erim Getchell walked up behind Jett. Ziha realized for the first time since walking up to the Hammer that he was outnumbered four to one.
Jett looked upon him, appearing to ponder something. "You're not really a Sith, are you?"
Ziha was too rattled – too mentally mixed up to answer quickly. By the time he responded with an angry "Of course I am, you brat!" he knew it was a lost cause.
"But I don't understand. How could you have done what you did in the starport without any powers?"
Ziha tried to maintain some form of dignity. "Power comes in many forms, child."
"Apparently not, if you couldn't face whoever killed those men," Jett fired back. "You're a fraud, then."
He sure felt like one in this moment. The shame he had tried to ignore was now taking him over.
"God-damnit," Sivora exclaimed, slamming his fist on the hull. "Your lies cost me good men – good PEOPLE!"
"I could have taken him!" Ziha pleaded for the respect he could feel slipping. "I was caught off-guard, disoriented by the explosion and earlier –"
"You had no better of a chance than they did out there." Sivora handed down his words like a death sentence. "The only difference between you and them is that you ran."
"And now they're all dead because of that," Sarna added in.
He could feel them turning on him by the second.
Amidst the quarrel, Jett continued to gaze out into the void, apparently distracted. "I don't think they're all dead yet…I think Argo is still alive. If there's a chance he is, we have to go save him!"
The captain's gaze stayed on Ziha. "Is this true? Is Argo still out there?"
Again, Ziha couldn't respond fast enough…but this time, he didn't even bother answering.
"You left him behind?" Sarna looked as though she might shoot Ziha right now.
"No – there was a pack of hyenax that attacked Vader, and we made a break for it."
Again, hearing Vader's name seemed to somehow ping Jett's interest.
"Then he IS still out there," Sivora realized. "Gather every kind of weapon you can carry – Vader or not, we're going to save our man, and then we're out of here. We're done on this planet."
"You can't go out there," Ziha began. "He'll kill all of you – he's unlike anything I've ever seen!"
"Maybe so," Sivora responded. "But if he's as powerful as you claim, I can't leave Argo to face him alone."
"Perhaps we should leave HIM behind," Sarna suggested, drawing her pistol on Ziha. The four of them looked down upon him, now a weakened shell of his former confident glory. "Let this 'Vader' deal with him."
"Please – you can't leave me here with that, that thing out there! Please – I'll do anything!"
"You know something, Ziha?" Sivora said. "Sith or not, the worst thing about you isn't that you have no powers…it's that you have no honor. Sarna, stand guard on the ramp until we come back and are ready to go. If he tries to come into the ship, light him up."
Captain Sivora and the others marched up the ramp, leaving Ziha at the foot of it with nothing but Sarna's fierce gaze and her pistol aimed at his head.
Ziha Ridal was now trapped in the bottomless pit of self-loathing. He had lost his allies in the Hammer's crew. He had also lost something much more important: his sense of pride, and thus self. He slumped to the ground, resigned to his position.
"Maybe I should kill you anyway," Sarna growled at a volume just loud enough for him to hear. "I can tell them you made a move – who are they gonna believe? Me, or the traitor?"
Anger gave him a small second wind. Maybe I should kill HER first. I'm as good as dead, anyway.
"While I ponder this, don't you DARE make a move," she barked. "If you do, it will be your last."
Ziha believed her fully. But when he heard rustling in the grass, he instinctively whipped around.
Jett knew the name "Vader." She had heard it before, and something told her he was in close connection to the Empire…but she couldn't quite remember how or when she first heard of him, and every time she searched her thoughts for more, there was nothing but mental fog. Pacing the ring corridor, she relentlessly thought through years of memories. Perhaps he was some sort of Imperial commander? She pondered the possibility of capturing or killing him…if this guy's important, it could be a serious blow to the Empire.
But then she remembered how dangerous he was – what he had done to Carth and Rezon, and how Ziha apparently feared his skills. If he was truly that good, there was little chance of them bringing him down. How can we do this?
In her internal debate, she remembered Rezon's words - words that somehow had cemented themselves into her brain. "You can do it without getting lost in your own demons," the voice echoed. And it was right – Yavin 4 wasn't far, and if they could get off this planet quickly enough to leave Vader stranded here, that might be enough time to bring the Rebel Alliance here to capture him. IF the Rebel Alliance really is on Yavin 4 – Jett had only heard rumors, and despite the fact she felt them to be true, they were only rumors.
Deciding she had packed every weapon she could reasonably carry, she tossed the shoulder strap of her trusted A180 over her head and made her way down the ring corridor. As she stepped down the boarding ramp, she heard rustling in the grass and immediately grabbed for her rifle, but when she looked down its scope, she saw something she didn't expect.
It was Argo Cuneen, running full speed toward them, his light bouncing in front of him. He IS alive! Relief warmed her heart - their rescue mission was over before it started. Thankful to see the quiet engineer, she lowered her rifle…but then she noticed that something was chasing him.
There was a dim red light in the distance.
She felt the cold again.
"START THE SHIP!" Argo screamed, not stopping his sprinting stride.
"It's Vader – he's here!" Ziha wailed. Despite their clear distress, Sarna did not put down the blaster aimed at the false Sith's head; instead, she merely stared past Argo in a frozen gaze, trying to make sense of the red aura from afar. It was sword-shaped, and thirty meters away, closing in steadily – not quickly, but indeed deliberately. The light from it was a morose beacon in an inert sea of silence. Jett could barely make out a figure behind the glow before a strong feeling of iciness washed over her body. She felt like she had been dunked into a freezing bacta tank.
It's him – LORD Vader. She had suddenly remembered where she heard his name.
"GET ON THE GODDAMN SHIP, YOU FOOLS!" Argo yelled, furious at their inaction. He finally crossed the threshold of the wide landing zone; and slipped – he had gotten used to running through the grass. His boots scrambled for traction in the dirt, frantically trying to close the gap to the boarding ramp. It was at that moment that Vader, still twenty meters away, tossed his blade – his lightsaber – toward the ground. Initially, Jett thought Vader was frustrated with not catching his victim and had thrown his weapon in a manic fit…but the blade somehow did not touch the ground. Instead, it spun tightly and progressed in a low beeline, slicing through the grass effortlessly as if clearing a path for its owner. She watched it pass the threshold of the landing zone, heading straight for Argo before she realized what he had done.
Holy shit…he AIMED that throw.
Time slowed down for Jett, but even then, there was nothing she could do. She could only watch as the lightsaber blade caught up with Argo, praying he somehow could run faster or avoid his fate. But it soon closed the gap and passed through him with a brief sizzle. Argo's upper body kept traveling, but his legs stayed where they were, severed above the kneecaps. Its task completed, the lightsaber boomeranged back to its master, who caught it without a sound as the maimed Sullustan cried out in shock and terror. Seeing this, Sarna immediately opened fire, but the possessed blade easily deflected her bolts until the blaster was mysteriously snatched from her hand, seemingly drawn to Vader's presence. He cut her weapon into sparks with one fell swoop, continuing a steady executioner's march that was made even slower by Jett's current perception. Sivora ran out in response to the blasters; the captain was ready to fire, but his weapon was also ripped away by the invisible hand of fate, met quickly by Vader's laser sword and reduced to molten slag. Jett couldn't even draw her own weapon – she was too terrified, too gridlocked by the sight of the fearsome specter. Not that it would have mattered.
With a mixture of horror and sickening terror, the worst sight for Jett Elleon to behold was that of Argo Cuneen. He was now pushing his palms against the dirt, legs still cauterizing as he desperately tried to make it closer to the Hammer, eyes on his attacker. It was not the violence in Argo's dismemberment that most terrified Jett, but rather the fact that despite losing both his legs and likely being in excruciating pain, the terror in the young engineer's eyes made clear his only thought:
That he HAD to get away from Lord Vader.
But it was too late to get away now.
Lord Vader is here.
