AN: Hello All. I'm sorry I disappeared, such is life. But a few particular recent reviews spurred me into posting this asap and as always the support of my beta's is invaluable. Thank you! Please know I read and cherish all your feedback, as this chapter is proof and the next chapter is not very far behind~
The Survival Trials
Chapter 11
The rain was pouring over the city districts on the planet Khalos. Washing and spilling off the buildings. Filling the back alleys and walkways and curtaining the bustling city strips with a grey wash, blurring the neon city lights.
Three speeder bikes dodged the main-lane traffic, taking the corner on a sharp turn. They pulled down a side alley and came to a stop. Wordlessly, the riders dismounted and pushed the bikes behind a disposal unit, hunching their cloaked shoulders against the rainfall.
One rider, a tall man, pulled away, "Lets get moving." He commanded, and the other riders gave a single, serious, nod.
They walked quickly through the streets, avoiding pedestrians in their path. Almost eight blocks from the alleyway where they'd parked, the leader stopped short at an unassuming street corner and shot down the backstreet. There were no bright neon lights on this street, no pleasure houses or loud bars, nothing to draw any attention.
No city ever truly shuts down, but unlike the main strip all the businesses on this steet were closed and no pedestrians walked the paths. It was quiet, almost residential in feel despite the blackened windows and hovering advert screens that plugged currency exchanges, galaxy-wide banking transfers, and inter-species modeling services.
Kanan studied the businesses, watched for the dimly flashing module numbers on each door panel and came to a halt in front of a non-descript un-numbered door midway to the next block. It was battle cruiser grey, blank of any memorable features, set into the ferro-crete like it was a utility access hatch. He looked over his shoulder and nodded to his companions: it was time to go to work.
Kanan lifted a fist, knocked twice and waited.
A slit opened in the door. "I'm on the hunt." Kanan drawled without waiting to be asked.
"You got credits?" Asked a narrow pair of humanoid eyes. Kanan held up his credit pouch in answer, the eyes nodded and stepped aside. The steellum door swung inwards and allowed them admittance.
Kanan, Zeb, and Sabine filed down a narrow staircase built into the wall. The bar was much busier then any had expected and the crowded air put a foul taste in Kanan's mouth. He scanned the room as he reached the ground floor. All the patrons appeared to be cut throats, bounty hunters, or people with a lot of low gotten money to flash.
He located the bar built into the far wall and, while avoiding eye contact and marched a slice straight through the crowd.
Azmorigan had been very clear, upon Hera's instance, on how to find the right bar. Appearance was everything. Sabine had changed into an older, duller set of armour and Kanan had donned an old dark cloak. Paired with Zeb's vicious Bo rifle strapped to his back and his nasty sneer, they looked more like mercenaries then the usual colourful rebels. Kanan stopped at the bar and tapped a fist against the counter, calling the bartender. The bartender was an impressive sized Feorin. He nodded, showing he would be available in his own time.
There had been much discussion about how to infiltrate the Hunt base. But it was finally decided that Zeb would pose as a late candidate addition, supped by Kanan and his bodyguard Sabine. Hera and Chopper would wait, airborne and supervise the airwaves. If they could not get Ezra out before he went in, at least Zeb would be on the inside with him. It would mean one less man on the outside to orchestrate their rescue, but if they had a choice, they would have all gone in to fight alongside their crew mate.
It was bitter bacta to swallow for Kanan. The discussion kept cycling back to: "Yes but he's my Padawan."
Hera and Ahsoka were hard put, but explained, for the eighth time, why Kanan needed to help from the outside instead of going in undercover: Kanan was too well known by the Empire, Kanan needed to lead their rescue, a human was less interesting to watch then a Lasat.
"Yes," Kanan admitted, in a tight voice. "But, I should still be in there!"
Ahsoka frowned, but her eyes were soft. "You can't help him from the inside nearly as effectively as on the outside. We need you here, to help locate him. To guide us."
He snorted furiously, pacing the room.
Hera sat back and crossed her arms. Her gaze an unspoken challenge.
Kanan came to a sudden stop, clearly unhappy, but finally admitting they were right.
"Fine. Then let's get moving. We don't have time to waste." He straightened and gave one curt not to Ahsoka, then turned on his heel to stalk from the room.
He'd emerged from his cabin after several hours, and demanded they get to work. Sabine just huffed. She had already begun work on several prototypes designed to bust in or out of prison structures. Zeb and Chopper had sourced and powered up some rather severe upgrades to the Ghosts defense systems and upped the power on the front guns. Hera, and Kanan debated the entire hyperspace jump the finer points of their plan. It had all lead them here, to what the crew hoped would be the first stop on the mission to recover Ezra.
The Feeorin bartender arrived and he looked at them down his snout, "What's your poison?"
Kanan pushed a large numbered credit stack across the counter. "Who can I talk to about adding a late candidate?" he nodded over his shoulder, where the Lasat stood at fierce attention.
The bartender looked Zeb over and then up at the holo-screens above his head. "The line up has already been decided. Your just in time to see the final candidate call."
Kanan felt his heart constrict. Too late? The bartender went to serve another customer. Kanan reached out and gripped his arm, not tight, but firmly holding him back. The Feeorin looked down at the hand and then up into Kanan's face, his own none too happy.
"I was told the line up would not be decided for another week." Kanan insisted. "Surely there is Someone I can speak too."
"I don't who you spoke to, but the line up was decided a few days ago." The bartender nodded at the holo-screens and Kanan's eyes followed. "I think you should accept that your fighter- will not be in this round and recall your bets."
Kanan looked up to the holoscreen. It showed a revolving crest shaped like two black daggers crossing in the centre of a ring with the words: Only one will survive. But as he watched. The logo disappeared, and the screen went dark.
The bartender removed Kanan's hand and snorted. "Looks like you're just in time to see the opening credits. Now, order a drink or place bet because this bar is for investing customers only."
Kanan snapped his gaze back, his bones burning, just as Sabine stepped up and noisily slapped another pallet of credit tokens on the bar.
"We'll start a tab." She shot back. "Spiced Pulkay—three rounds." If the bartender cared that the voice under the Mandalorians helmet sounded young, he didn't show it. Instead he nodded and moved away to source the bottle.
Kanan unhooked his fingers from the edge of the bar, turned and swept his eyes over the room. The lighting was kept to a bare minimum, a dark amber glow that put everyone's face into shadow and in some corners hookah pipes and cigars made the air too thick to see through. Species from every planet crowded at the tables and screens, an urgent bustle filled the space. With each passing second the crowds murmur grew quieter. Kanan followed the eye line of those faces he could easily see and found everyone was watching the screens littered on every available wall surface. The air in the room was simmering with anticipation.
No.
The bartender returned, and shelled out the drinks with a stoney glare and disappeared down the other end of the bar. The glassware clacked against the stone surface and Kanan took a glass. Feeling the chill against his fingers. He stared into the drink, ice melting in the viscous liquor. His mind a battlefield.
"We're too late." he murmured, the horror dawning over him.
Sabine jerked around and Zeb stiffened beside him.
"Kanan?" she breathed, her grip slackened on her glass.
"You... know? For sure?" Zeb demanded suddenly, his voice growing in volume.
Kanan felt their shock pulling them away, and realized his mistake.
"No! Not... Not that." He choked out, nearly dropping his drink. Patrons at the two tables next to them side-eyed the trio.
Zeb leaned against the bar, slowly deflating. "A little more clarity then next time, would you?" He shook his big head and took a long swig of his whiskey.
Sabine leaned back against the bar, inclining her head towards the jedi. "What did you mean then?" her voice was sharp.
Kanan saw they still had an audience-a pair of large Duros and an Uganaught seated not far away. Pushing off the bar, he cut a path through the bodies to a small round table in the back, knowing his crew would follow without needing to be told.
The pressure in the air was still rising; drinks orders were being made in bulk; and the general displacement of the bar crowd was starting to funnel towards the holo-screens. Kanan navigated the room, never once peeling his eyes off the vid display and its empty grey portals. He sank down in a chair and took his first long sip of his drink as Sabine and Zeb sat down on either side.
"The Trials." Kanan hissed over the lip of his glass. "Something is about to happen."
Zeb whipped his Bo-rifle over his shoulder, a move which conveniently made the few stragglers standing nearby put another foot between the crew's table to avoid being struck. "I thought this crowd seemed a bit edgy for a weeknight brawl."
Sabine settled her shoulders and rolled the full glass in her hands. "What's our new time frame then?" As if on cue, the dim amber lighting filling the bar went out, and the holo-screens along the walls lit up. Every face and feature became visible under the white blue glare, and every eye snapped towards the light source.
The holo-screen faded to black again, and the emblem of the Hunt, two crossed daggers, returned. A swell of drums and blow horns rose up from the speakers and the bar crowed ceased to speak.
A Nikto appeared on screen, dressed in a tight black suit. He wasn't large for his species, but sat quietly on a steelum bench, watching the camera droid circle him through narrow calculating eyes. The audience couldn't see where the Nikto was from the angle, the walls were bare of any defining features. The camera droid pulled out, and a computerized voice began speaking as if it were reading lines of code. "Number one, Nikto. Threat level, Beta. Survival skills: category One."
The image of the Nikto vanished, replaced with a Rodian with a crooked antenna. He turned his head and the crew now saw the two thick lines that read 'two' in Aubresh. "Number Two..."
The voice continued to count down, numbering and assigning classes to each candidate as they flashed on the screens. The rodian was followed by a Shimshaf, a Narrl, and an insectoid creature that was given no species title, instead labeled as 'un-classed'. They all wore black jumpsuits and if they had feet, a pair of boots, but they had no weapons or accessories except the thick slave collar sized for each neck. They were all numbered with a blocky tattoo.
It became hard to hear the holo-screens over the throng of voices that were slowlly building in the bar. Kanan saw several making notes and speaking with hushed voices into comlinks. They were getting organized, but for what? Was this an early announcement of the Trials?
An skinny Aqualish approached the table.
"I see you have already finished your first round," he spoke fast, clearly ignoring Sabine's full glass in favor of glancing at the screens. "Can I get you another round before the Review ends?"
"The Review?" Sabine repeated, probably not meaning to sound so sharp.
"Number five..." Number five appeared on the screen, a wide set Gran with dark orange skin. He flexed for the camera droid and growled menacingly into the barrel. "Gran. Threat level, Beta. Survival skills.. ."
"What is this?" Sabine hissed, swinging her hand between the screens.
"The selection. The final candidates. They were ready a whole week early!" The Aqualish turned away pointing at the nearest holo-screen, both annoyed he had to explain and yet clearly way too excited to be serving.
"Number Six."
The next candidate was human. He was much thinner and shorter then the first five, in fact it was clearly a boy, not a man. He was dressed the same as the others but his face was turned away.
His head was completely shaved and a blocky blue number Aubresh six was tattooed into the sides of his skull.
It took half a beat for the recognition to hit home. Even then, it was only after the figure turned and bared the right side of his face showing two whisker streak burns across his cheekbone and pining big electric blue eyes on the camera barrel. Kanan felt his eyes widen and his grasp on the world siphon away. The boy blinked, and as blue eyes turned to face the camera straight on, he scowled viciously and flicked them away. A sleek black collar bounced on his collarbone.
Kanan knew that scowl. He knew those eyes.
Number Six was Ezra.
Kanan felt Zeb tense next to him. Sabine fisted her fingers into his sleeve, and he realized he was literally shaking with fury.
Sabine quickly turned and gave the Aqualish a wave, "Yes, refills." He moved off with a nod.
"Human. Threat level: Delta." the voice-over informed them. "Bare handed combat, short range fire and single blade. Survival skills, category 4."
The image of Ezra disappeared and Kanan felt his heart sink. The holo-display was replaced by a skinny Xexto boy that looked even younger the Ezra. These children were expected to fight their way through this? This was Madness.
A cheer went up from the table next to them. "Bringing out the Fodder early in the set, aren't they?" The heavily armed duro was pointing at the screen. His friend punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't get attached, Dreg. I've got 4 creds on the Fodder going down at the drop in."
Kanan felt his blood run cold. Fodder?... Fodder for what?
"Number seven. Xexto. Threat level: Omega-"
Zeb growled viciously. "What are we going to do, Kanan?"
Kanan didn't answer, still struggling to draw in a single steady breath. He'd known Ezra was going to be a candidate, he knew the boy was going to suffer some hard treatment before they could get to him, but this?
"At least we know he's still alive." Sabine put in quietly, her tone flat.
"Number Eight. Trandoshan." A cheer went through the bar crowd.
All three heads whipped back up to the screens and took in the holo-screen image of a large Trandoshan with a thick scar running down one side of his jaw. His yellow slitted eyes were narrowed. Something about the gleam in those eyes set Kanan's teeth on edge. Even without the Force, he knew Sabine and Zeb has sensed it too, as both set their shoulders back and made fists of their hands.
"Threat level: Alpha..."
"Not for long." Zeb muttered with a hard wince.
"We need a new plan Kanan." Sabine turned back to the jedi.
Kanan closed his eyes and looked away from the screens, trying to block out the noise and the eerie chill that was picking his nerves. He needed to focus, he needed to think. "We need to find out when the candidates go in, we should establish how much time we have. Then we need to find out the location."
"Too late." Zeb breathed, "I don't think this was just a preview. The betting pools are open." He pointed to the bar where the Feeorin was accepting a small case of credits from an Ugnaughts and tallying the bet in a data-reader. He nodded absently and handed the Ugnaught a slip of film-plast.
"You mean it's starting now?" Sabine hissed, horror clear in her voice. She must've been louder then they realized as the two Duro's at the table beside them stopped talking to look at them.
Zeb slung a heavy arm over the girl, a faux display of ownership but in reality a gesture of comfort. He nodded his head, eyeing the duros, and they turned away.
"Reel it in, Spectre five." Kanan demanded in a low voice.
"The kid will be okay. He's as slippery as a droid in an oil bath." Zeb added in a soft tone. She didn't reply, eyes turned to the screen.
The bar continued to buzz quietly as the automated voice read off the remaining candidates, applying stat's and betting odds. Kanan ignored the numbers and classes, instead keeping track of the candidates themselves.
The candidates were only visible for a short time, a rotation of the camera and then a single long shot. Almost all the candidates flexed or glared menacingly into the camera. But there were only a two that sent a ghost of warning down Kanan's spine like the announcement of the Trandoshan had.
The first was a Dug, labeled as candidate fourteen. His long snout was twisted in a sneer and he cracked his long front toes as the camera droid circled. He was assigned as an alpha level threat.
The second was candidate eighteen: a huge Massassi that nearly filled the small frame of the vid. Even though the holo-screens gave everything a blue haze, his skin was clearly the colour of fresh blood. His large head was bowed as the camera droid circled, he had the air of a warrior before a battle and Kanan reflexively found himself reaching for his lightsaber. It was no surprise the Massassi was classed the highest level threat of all the candidates.
The rest of the line up was a flood of faces, teeth, and talons, but the force didn't zero in on any of the others. The last candidate was one more humanoid, a pale thin man who rocked on his heels and was given the lowest scores of all. The bar was hum of activity towards the end, data readers and credit transfer cards began to appear on the tables and the air took on a darker tone. And then the worst happened, the bar went quiet.
The screens began to slowly lighten from black to a blinding white. The spinning dagger logo returned and a male baritone voice began to speak.
"Greetings, and welcome to the eleventh round Survivalist Trials. I am, the Master of Ceremony."
A general cheer of appreciation went up through the crowd and a few drinks were toasted.
"As you have seen, this season's candidate selection is high caliber, as this has been our most successful batch of applicants yet."
The disembodied voice was smooth, deep and completely charming. While no one else in the room had much of a reaction, the tone of those words brought something to the forefront of Kanan's mind. A familiarity that made him uneasy.
But there was no time to dwell on it, as the voice continued speaking, the screens began to change.
"The feed is live. As always, all preliminary transactions must be completed from three minutes from now. All gambles are final until the next betting round begins..."
At the words, there was a bustle of activity at the bar as patrons rushed the counter to complete their bets.
The crew's attention was instead focused on the holoscreens.
The logo remained superimposed, but the whiteness had lifted and was now scanning across a strange collection on treetops that stretched far into the horizon.
It was no planet Kaman was familiar with. There was a mixture of colours and flora species and even seasons. Gold and green leaves growing beside red and purple thorns. A branch with bright lilac flowers brush against a tall wilting fungus tree.
The sky was bare of any visible solar bodies that might help identify the location.
Then the camdroid turned the barrel downward and a wide circular clearing came into focus. The center of the clearing was a steep sunken pit, filled with a pile of crates. Twenty feet out another perfect circle of small silver dots glinted in the light. Even as they watched, the camdroid moved inwards, and the glare moved off the odd circles...
"They're platforms." Sabine muttered "Kanan, there's twenty four of them. This is the ring!"'
Kanan didn't reply, trying instead to focus on the Master of Ceremony's voice.
"...All methods of combat will be accepted. No support capsules will be released in the first twenty four hours. The next betting round will commence in twelve hours."
The cam was circling clearing lazily, showing a clear image of the elevator platforms and several times zooming in for a clear shot of the sunken pit.
The light reflected off a criterion and now the crew saw the weapons littered throughout the sunken hole. Blades, spears, blasters... The sight tossed the crews stomachs.
"All bets are now closed. Now, it is time to welcome our brave candidates."
Another cheer went up through the bar, which only rose in volume. The silver platforms hissed as the top panels split apart. In unison, the candidates ascended from the ground, all facing towards the center.
The camdroid was still too far away to identify the candidates' positions beyond the obvious few, but they all seemed to be lifting their hands to shield their eyes from the light, or swinging their heads around to inspect their surroundings. The crew scanned the circlar lineup as the cam rotated around, and There. Sabine involuntarily clutched at the table as a flash of the boy appered on screen. He was standing upright, but his eyes were focused on something beyond the camera. Then he was out of sight. All the candodates bar a few were twisting around, jittery and clearly trying to prepare themselves.
"Kanan..." Zeb began, but had nothing to follow it with. They all knew what he wanted to ask.
Was this really it? Were they about to watch their crew member die, on screen, for entertainment? Kanan didn't have the words or the time to respond. A static crackle echoed from the speakers, and judging by the way the candidates jolted, they had heard it too.
"Welcome Candidates." The Master greeted, his tone affable. Kanan clutched the edge of the table, the throb of blood in his ears almost drowing out the words.
"The Trials will begin at completion of the countdown. The Trials will end when only one Candidate is left standing alive. All methods of elimination will be accaptable."
A loud tone echoed across the clearing, signaling the beginning of the coutndown and a computerrized voice annouched the timelimit.
"Sixty seconds."
"Good Hunting."
The countdown was shortest minute of Kanan's life.
Kanan stared, eyes flicking between the candidates, trying to keep sight of Ezra. The camera feed kept changing, focusing on the 'star' candidates. But suddenly, at the seventeen second point, the feed stilled and focused on the Dug, who Ezra was standing beside just inside the frame of the camera.
Kanan drank in the image of his Padawan. The boy was changed, there was no argument about that, but it was more then just a haircuts and some ink. The hard line of his jaw was something Kanan had not seen since they first picked him up on Lothal almost a lifetime ago.
"No." Sabine breathed quietly.
Kanan now saw what she had, half a moment before him as the footage pulled out to view the circular formation from above. Kanan focused on Ezra again, and now yes, he could see the slight lean on his front foot, the coiled spring in his heel waiting to burst.
The countdown reached 10.
"No, you fool." Sabine hissed under her breath.
"Run away from it, not into it, you idiot!" Zeb landed his fists heavily on the table.
Kanan heard his own voice added to the increasing volume in the bar. "Run, Ezra. Run." he breathed. And every part of him willed this, he needed his Padawan to hear him.
The count down reached seven.
Zeb's hands cracked his whiskey glass. Sabine stood up to watch, squeezing both Zeb and Kanan's shoulders.
Six, five…
The bar got louder,and Kanan tore his glaze away from the screen and shut his eyes.
Four.
He reached out in panic, melting his consciousness into the fabric of the universe. Awareness seeping into the strands of the force that connected every dust-mote, every microscopic individual speck of life...
Three.
Kanan opened his mind and sharpened his senses and searched for one particular star in the galaxy.
Two.
Ezra, Kanan thought. Ezra where are you? The thought echoed back to him, rebounding off the universe but bringing back nothing that resembled the brilliant blue spark that was his Padawan .
Sabine's hand on Kanan's shoulder tightened, but he barley felt it. Ezra. He thought, casting the order into the depths of the universe, praying they would reach the boy in time.
Run.
One.
R&R For good Karma and to wish Ezra luck; he's going to need it.
