Hi people ! I'm back sooner than I expected, but really what could I do when I got such nice reviews ?
Oh, and here's a word from Chip for jediavatar :
"Really, incarnation of a deity with Force-powers ? Are you truly deeming me with the adjective 'awesome' only now ? Well I suppose that one of your human idioms is fitting here : 'better late than never' ! With that being said, have a nice day."
As for you, 'Lui' (that's quite funny to say. For a French anglophone anyway. But I digress.) thank you for your kind hyperbole, and do not be sad on my account, for if the less there are reviewers, the less pressure I'm under.
Which doesn't mean I don't appreciate your reviews, far from it !
Wow, that was long and tiresome, so let's move on to the interesting stuff before this gets longer than the actual chapter !
disclaimer[11]
Chapter 11 :
How to get a prototype accelerator from the base of a hostile gang in three moves ?
One, get in; two, get the accelerator; three, get out.
It's as simple as that. When I spare you the tedious details of how once again Chip and I (well mostly Chip : I couldn't be bothered) cracked just about every security measures on their computers and fried every single bastard we found who might or might have not represented an obstacle; how Carth, Mission and Zaalbar (again, I couldn't be bothered) killed the rest and how we looted (this time I was in the front line) everything but the paint on the walls (there wasn't any). Naturally there were moments when it got rough but I wasn't on the receiving end so from my point of view it all went perfectly smoothly.
There were some incidents nonetheless. Nothing overly dramatic, just another occasion for Carth to prove what a good guy he is - and for me what a pain I can be - and well...the last fight.
When I say fight...
How about I tell it this way, I was bored out of my mind so...while the others were looking around the base I went to this garage. Swoop bikes were stored in there so I started examining one. The examination evolved into fiddling, and it went down from there. Before I knew it I was storming about on a very, very defective bike. Uncontrollable. Not (entirely) my fault, the screws were loose on one of the parts and when it fell it all flushed down the toilet. I very nearly plummeted into a quite surprised Zaalbar and, after a few upsettingly close calls, I jumped off just before it crashed into a random room.
Not so random in fact. It was the last one where we hadn't been so far, and it was still full of people. Live ones obviously. They didn't stay long that way. The few survivors from the crash either surrendered or were shot by our Republic hitman.
And so the accelerator was ours. Along with bags of loot naturally.
I'm whistling a triumphant theme as I follow my loyal Wookie underling whom I charged with transport of the heavy piece of equipment. Naturally I won't just hand it over to the Beks : that would be very ill-advised. Despite Mission's protests about how Gadon is supposedly trustworthy, I still have my doubts. Go figure...
Fortunately I find a powerful ally in Carth whose paranoia I piqued very easily with my listing off of all the possibilies for being stabbed in the back. And so once again I have it my way.
As we come back to the Undercity Mission sighs rather loudly. I'd have loved to ignore her completely but somehow her voice doesn't leave me that possibility. That annoying high-pitched Tarisian drawl assaults my delicate senses in the form of a totally useless comment :
«Every time I come by I can't help but feel bad for these people. I mean, they're banished from the surface but they didn't do anything wrong ! Maybe their parents or even their grandparents did but-
-Mission ? I interrupt.
-Yeah ?
-I don't care.
-But...I mean how...? Why not ? Can't you see how miserable they are !
-Let me rephrase. Please shut up.
-You...!
-I did say please, you should feel honored.
-Well I-
-Zaalbar can't you make her shut it ?
-Not a chance.
-That's too bad.
-You jerk !
-I know, you told me once already. Are you done, I need to think.
-What can you possibly be thinkin' about all the time ! That's all you've been doin' for the past hour or so !
-Well I enjoy it very much. You should try it sometime.
-Hey ! Stop being such an ass !
-Stop yabbering and I'll consider it.
-She's right you know, Carth intervenes. You could be a more polite.
-You, mind your own business ! I snap. And you, you blue wormish insignificant brat, you either leave me alone or I'll cut off your lekku, got it ?»
Seriously, how many times do I have to tell them not to bother me ?
I speed up and walk ahead of the group, still fuming. Nobody had better stand in my way. I appreciate the haste of the gate guard in opening it. I nod in his direction and storm off. I'm so engrossed in my ruminations that I don't notice the path I chose, until...
«Ah, Upworlder, you're back ! a raspy voice interrupts my line of thought. Do you have news about the Prom-»
This time I don't even bother with words. My blaster's in my hand in a millisecond and pointing at the old fossil's left eye. Point-blank. He staggers back utterly taken aback. I nod again and keep on walking.
Yet he doesn't learn, does he ?
His fingers claw at my jacket in the hopes of stopping me. He succeeds partially. A very irritating sound of ripping tears through the tense silence. I immediately freeze, lift my head and oh so very slowly turn around. Suffice to say I'm not pleased.
Were I a Sith this is where I would start belching lightning. Seeing as I'm not a cruder weapon will have to do.
This is one of the very few times I'm grateful for a warm shower. After a trip through a Rakghoul's internals, sewers, a Rancor's mouth and a greasy garage, not to mention Rukil's blood, one tends to crave for a bit of hygiene.
The air is positively buzzing with hostility. This'll make concentrating a bit trickier. Apparently 'he had it coming' isn't a fair argument for shooting the brains out of a hugely annoying madman by Republic standards, Mission liked the geezer, and Zaalbar doesn't approve for whatever reason.
No matter, I have work to do. And Chip's still my friend. There is one destination they can all go to as far as I'm concerned.
«Well well, hello there prototype accelerator ! I greet the piece of mechanism. Let's play !»
No answer, I guess he's timid. My tools in hand, Chip chiming in every so often, I start fiddling.
I'm left in peace for about eleven minutes and twenty-four seconds. Unlike what my -still ticked off- companions might think I neither missed the hiss of the doors swooshing open nor the sound of battle that ensued after a very quick exchange of words.
I merely chose to ignore it. Or to try to. After all what I'm doing is far more important than whatever brawl they got themselves into.
Even so it's getting harder by the second. Blaster shots are ending up far too frequently near me for my liking and their shouts are creeping on my nerves. I'm having trouble tuning them out and it's highly irritating. Add to it the fact that for the past ten seconds I managed to undo what I've been doing for about twenty without realising it and you'll have a glimpse of how frustrated I'm becoming.
Eventually I can't bear it anymore. I fish out my last grenade and toss it in their general direction.
«SHUT UP !»
The blast is satisfying. The pained yelp even more so.
And finally the wished-for silence ! I sigh contendedly, flex my fingers and get back to the accelerator with renewed enthusiasm. Welding, connecting, cutting, every action is sped up considerably.
When I'm finished I put down my screwdriver and look up, only to find a deserted apartment. Some smudges of blood are decorating the entrance, but certainly not enough for a lethal wound. Gone to Zelka's I presume. Excellent. I have the rare oppurtunity to experiment on my previous theory. I make sure to lock the door, well, as locked as the wreck of a metallic panel can be, and face the room. I spot a seemingly useless ornament and decide to try and...do something to it. With the Force. Preferably.
Time to dive into my mind again it seems. I need to dig out every bit of information I have on the Force. Level one : common knowledge. The Jedi as well as the Sith wield this powerful tool as if they had been born to it. Which they had by the way. Jedi talk of control, peace, patience, centering oneself, knowledge, distancing oneself from emotions. Sith say the opposite, minus the control bit. I suppose that's the key. All the rest is merely a point of view, a way to grasp the power. Still, it's all about the individual. One's emotions, one's peace, one's center, one's envies. All about the wielder. Know thyself it is.
Next level. Deeper memories. There's the interesting case of the middichlorians, no matter how the name is spelled. Apparently they are little...things present everywhere and their network constitutes the Force. So using the Force means influencing those middichlorians. Communicating with them maybe, if they're intelligent in any way, or manipulating the network however I need. Works with me.
Ouch, I bumped into somthing hard ! Wait a sec, since when has there been a wall here ? There's never been one ! What's behind that ? I will the wall the disappear, but no matter how hard I try, there's no way I can make it budge. That's puzzling. And what is that ? This...symbol ? Seal ? There's a leonine creature printed on it, it's howling in pain because of the spear in its side. However it's tearing a ship apart in its gigantic paws. Curious, yet faintly familiar. I can't determine the kind of ship it is, the picture is slowly blurring. Maybe I could go around it through a deeper level ?
I go down a set of stairs, and force a door open. Navigating down here is quite harder. The air itself is thicker, the ground stickier. I stroll down a corridor and make right. I nearly fall into one of my unsolvable paradoxes - I got trapped in there once, it wasn't pretty - and go on cautiously.
After a bit of wandering around I find the same wall, this time on the ceiling, preventing me from accessing a part of my mind. It's a box I suppose. Hm, so either I put it there and don't remember how to access it, or someone definitely messed with my mind. It makes my experiment all the more interesting.
Back to business then. Centering myself, fine, but I'll need to see what's happening while I'm doing this. After all neither Jedi nor Sith are unconscious when they pick on poor non-sensitives because they can. I'll need some sort of control tower. I summon one and take the elevator there. You might find it difficult to follow my story in here, and if that's the case, don't interrupt and cherish the glimpse of my mind I'm giving you. It doesn't need to be understandable to be pretty impressive.
So, up it is. I quickly design the furniture, the windows out, the computers on every wall. And my armchair. That's very important. Satisfied I sit in it and take a look around. In front of me there's what my eyes see, the other senses fill the room. On my right, my vitals. They're fine, as always. On my left, a database from my memory. I smile. Excellent. I let myself go against the cushions and relax. Middichlorians. Center. Control. Every computer starts working on the problem. A wave of new information hits me in the face. Smells, my thoughts, stranger thoughts, a presence. This sort of...mantle all around me, and in me ! I'm linked with it, and if something tugs on it I'm tugged as well. I reach for it. It doesn't shy away. I stroke it, it's soft, it's fleeting. Like steam. I want to take a closer look but before I manage to do it I sneeze.
All alarm systems are going off ! My body is in danger. My heart rate is elevated, my adrenalin levels jumped all of the sudden. I check what's going on out there.
Where's the thing I used as a practice target ? I look down a bit. Oh, there are the remnants of it, reduced to a little pile of broken ceramic. I did do something then. Pushed it apparently. Very hard. Hm, fascinating. As for my vitals, they're due to the fright it caused. Purely instinctive, nothing to worry about.
I'll need to practice that feat. Should come in handy. Besides, it's kind of cool.
I'm exhausted. And overly smug. I managed to learn how to push and pull things by meddling with the Force - I suppose it's the Force anyway - and to choose the amount of power I put in the push or the pull. After a while it all came naturally to me, like I was walking a familiar path. Which I probably was : I'm fairly certain that guy I keep seeing in my dreams is actually my real self. I was brainwashed or something, or my mind was so damaged by that blast that somehow in my healing process memories were mended with stories or fantasies, either way I used to be a Force-user. Sith I suppose seeing as Bastila herself was sent to kill me. So who was I ? One of Revan's lieutenants ? Seems the most reasonable hypothesis at the moment. Revan himself ? Hm, the timeline doesn't fit. Revan would be older than I. I'm pretty sure there are no treatments or healing processes that could have made my body younger. Lieutenant it is then.
This knowledge doesn't bother me at all in case you're wondering. I find it interesting more than anything. I like my identity as Firefly, and the fact that most of my memories may not be real doesn't rattle me in the slightest. They're real enough for me, and even so I highly doubt that anyone could have created them with the amount of detail I have : there is at least some truth to it. I'm sure of it.
Anyhow I notice the sound of three sets of footsteps closing in on my position. I recognize Zaalbar's light and slow walking pattern, Carth's military stomps and Mission's animated chatter. I make the effort of getting up and opening the door for them. As soon as he sees me the Commander fixes me with a glare.
«What ? I ask irritably.
-Don't push it Hopkick, he growls.
-Grumpy about the grenade I see, I comment while re-entering the room. Regardless we're ready to go. The prototype is restored to its full capacity. You wouldn't believe how clumsy those Vulkar mechanics are. They even made it so unstable it wouldn't have lasted more than, say, three heats.
-And you fixed it ? Mission asks hopefully.
-Naturally, I need to live up the end of my bargain : return the prototype fully functional.
-That's fantastic ! she exclaimes. The Beks' best mechanics couldn't figure out the problem and now it's solved ! Boy you're genius !
-Wait, are you actually telling me it was originally deficient ? Then I stand corrected : while I admire the ingenuity of the accelerating device I must say this was sloppy work. The Beks have competent engeneers but really, really sucky mechs. Oh, and thanks by the way.»
Even if you're still blatantly stating the obvious.
«Now if you all agree I suggest we go deliver the goods and get ourselves our 'hope' back.»
That was directed at Carth and he mirrors my eagerness to get this done. So we set out.
«What do you mean I'll have one more thing to do ! I explode. A deal's a deal, one prototype for one prisoner ! Nothing more, nothing less !»
My outburst is cut off by the unsettling sight of the barrel of the mean-looking rifle Gadon's Twi'lek bodyguard is much too eagerly shoving in my face. I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms, waiting for an explanation. Meanwhile Chip's calculating an escape route should anything go downhill.
«Bastila will be put as the winning prize of the race tomorrow, Gadon says. In order to get her we'll have to win the race. I need you to ride the swoop with the prototype.
-Oh really ? I frown. Why ?
-That's insane Gadon ! Zeardra objects also. We need our best riders on that bike, not some stranger rookie whom we can't even trust !
-Rookie yourself, pinkie ! I shoot back. I'll have you know I practically lived on a swoop in my childhood and won thrice the great race on Nar Shadaa among others. I was called the 'daredevil on spice' for a time !
-Why on spice ? Carth whispers.
-Because of my unique style of disposing of adversaries, I smirk.
-Have you ever run the Tarisian Season opener ? Gadon asks, interested.
-Don't think so, I shrug. Why, is it any different ?
-You run your heat alone, for one.»
What ? No backstabbing, no colliding at a precisely fatal angle with an unsuspecting opponent, no convenient negligence in the maintenance of another's bike ? Where's the fun in that ?
«So it's only about running the best time ? I deflate with disappointment.
-Yes, he confirms. And surviving the heat of course.»
That perks my interest.
«What do you mean ?
-There are traps and obstacles on the track, he explains. At the speed you're going dodging them is pretty hard.
-Are there often casualties ?
-Far too much.
-Any other danger I should be aware of ?
-Well...he admits reluctantly. The prototype isn't exactly stable. It might explode during the race, we figure it can sustain about five heats before blowing up.
-That explains the need for fresh blood, I comment while secretly rejoycing.
-I'm sorry but I really can't risk any of my people.
-Right. In that case, I'll need a bonus.
-What's on your mind ?
-I want the bike once the race is done.
-The bike ?! Do you have any idea how expensive that is ?!
-I certainly do, that's why I want it. And this accelerator of yours intrigues me. Besides you have the plans, I won't give it to the Vulkars, and it'll be pretty banged up after the race anyway. So what do you say ?
-Fine, but only if you win.»
A grin spreads out on my face.
«Oh, I will.»
And this my friends is how you con someone.
