Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or these characters. But, some of the names are mine, like Gavin Hochek, Ansha Ineva, and the Genima-class dropship.
Author's note- Well, look who's back. It's been what? 8-ish months? I guess I owe my readers an explanation. Let me just start by saying I did not like the last chapter. While there were some good parts, as a whole, it was kind of a let down. So for most of last summer I didn't do any new writing. I had to step back for a while and examine where I wanted this story to go. And the ideas I came up with surprised even me. As you read later chapters, please keep in mind three things: 1: Quests are not easy. 2: Quests are not fun. and 3: I am a very evil writer.
Also, you will notice this is chapter 12, not 10. I went back and made the three parts of chapter 8 their own chapter. They worked just find on their own. This chapter, however, is a two-parter. As they always seem to these days, it was running a little long. So again, I am cutting it in half.
Chapter 12: Appearances
-51 days later; 2457 Dxun local time-
Silas Carver leaned back on top of the offline hyperdrive, reveling in the silence that filled the room, and let the warm shadows wrap around and permeate him. With nine others living on the Ebon Hawk, finding a moment of peace or solitude was difficult at best; one of the reasons why he chose to sleep in the engine room as opposed to the third bed in the port crew quarters. This room was his chamber, where he could quiet the chaos in his mind and finally relax. It was as close to obtaining inner peace as he had ever come since his days as a Jedi, but he always kept himself in check; the last thing he wanted was to start falling back onto old habits. The Dark Side was his ally now, a raging hurricane of raw power that was fueled by passion and emotions. Calming the storm to achieve his clarity was not always easy, and at times it felt almost hypocritical. But that was the price he would to pay for the path he had chosen: living in the dark while relying on his force of will to keep himself from drowning in his power. There was only one other man he knew of who had achieved this…balance, and the twisted path he had been forced down did little to ease Carver's doubts about his own destiny. Fortunately, he was taking steps now in preparation for the dangerous future looming ahead.
The most accurate way to describe the events of the past seven weeks was boot camp. For nineteen of Dxun's twenty-six-hour day cycle, Carver subjected his students to a training regimen so intense, it sent them crawling for their beds each night. He felt like General Carver again, training soldiers for another imminent war, one very likely to have consequences extending beyond any immediate victory, much like the last one he fought in. But he was much more now than that mere Jedi General from the Mandalorian Wars had ever been. He was stronger, he was wiser, and his connection to the Force had never been greater. And with his new power came new insights. He could feel it in his gut and in the Force; their war would stretch beyond Onderon and Dxun, perhaps even beyond Dantooine and the Jedi enclave. His students would have to fight that war and win it, so Carver did what he had to: he pushed them…hard. Harder than ever, faster than ever, and with a sense of detachment that allowed him to be impartial without being too cruel. To be fair, there were times when even Carver himself felt the strain of his regimen, but fortunately he had a new ally to help him: the Mandalorian clan leader. Shortly after they returned from Onderon, Carver had contacted Mandalore with a proposition, and together they created a training schedule that was both efficient and brutal. After finalizing the details, they sealed their deal with a firm handshake, forging a true alliance.
Carver's students didn't know what hit them. At 0449 Dxun local time on the second day after their leader's return from Onderon, the crew of the Ebon Hawk was torn from their sleep by an impossibly loud Silas Carver. Shouting at them point-blank as they laid in their beds, he had them on their feet and scrambling for their clothes and gear before the fog of confusion had a chance to lift from their minds. Within minutes, they were all standing outside in the wet morning grass facing Carver, Kreia, HK-47, and their second surprise of the morning: the Mandalorian clan leader, who introduced himself as their new drill sergeant.
Before the shock had a chance to subside, Carver and the Mandalore had their trainees running in a line for the jungle trail. And run they did, because HK had his blasters drawn and was counting down from his favorite number: 0.01. Little did they know, however, that dodging blaster fire from the assassin droid would be the easiest, and the most common, exercise they would be performing in the weeks to come.
A smile tugged at Carver's lips as he again wandered through his memories of the past months and reflected on how much had changed in that time. It was a rare expression for him, devoid of sarcasm or intent; a genuine, almost warm grin that conveyed nothing less than pure satisfaction. He didn't dare show that smile to his students, lest he risk losing his general's façade and authority. But concealed in the dark, carefully hidden from the others, he allowed himself this moment and this smile. No, he reminded himself, there was one other who was now allowed to see his smile.
The world gently rose and fell before him as Carver stood, arms crossed in their usual manner, watching his students undergo a most strenuous exercise. The name of the game was simple: push-ups, but the lesson being taught: endurance. This session was nearing one-hundred and eighty minutes. Almost three hours of unbroken, repeating movements during the hottest part of an unusually humid day in the middle of their landing zone with the Onderonian sun beating straight down on them. And none of them had a clue as to when Carver might finally decide to let them stop. The setting couldn't have been more perfect. Carver casually swept his eyes up and down the line of students, checking to see if they were still meeting his expectations.
Directly in front of him was Brianna. While it was obvious she was no stranger to extreme training, the sheen of sweat covering her brow betrayed her growing fatigue. But it was the only sign; her pace was exemplary, faltering only seldomly and slightly. Silas couldn't help but smile as he watched her work. Brianna was the only one who had admitted to thoroughly enjoying the rough exercises and took to them with an unrivaled enthusiasm. Seeing this devotion from her only reinforced how important to him she had become. Granted there had always been something between them; he had always enjoyed, or at least entertained, her displays of affection towards him. But one evening, a couple of weeks after Onderon, their relationship changed. In the time it took to switch on a lightsaber Silas was struck with an incredible epiphany. It was strange for him to believe at first; Carver thought he had become too pragmatic, too jaded by time, to be able to feel this way about someone again. And yet, lacking an alternative explanation, even he had to finally admit that he loved her. But it wasn't the kind of love that made him weak-kneed and wax poetic at the drop of a credit chip, but the kind that filled him with a fierce desire to protect her, to fight for her, to die for her, but more importantly, to survive for her. It was his vow to her; as long as she stood beside him, he would end every enemy that threatened her, or at least the ones she left for him to end. Then later, once the galaxy had calmed down, perhaps he would allow himself to soften a little more. A new part of him wished that time could be now, but he knew he that wasn't possible, not with the future unraveling as it was. So, he was forced to wait and let the anticipation grow, which gave him all the more incentive to succeed.
With a sharp inhale, Carver forced himself to set aside those thoughts and turned his attention to Mira. The Huntress was exhausted but refusing to quit; she would not be the first to admit defeat. For an experienced neophyte, she had an admiral resolve, but her form had begun to break down in the last five minutes. For a moment Carver considered allowing her to end the routine early, but immediately decided against it. It would be an insult to her and her abilities for him to go easy on her at this point, especially given how far she had come already. Mira had proven to be a quick study, quicker even than Jaq had been, finding an ideal niche for herself after a week into their combat exercises. While Carver's other students refined their bladework, Mira continued to hone her skills as a marksman with her hybrid weapon. With the Force guiding her hand, her integrated blaster pistol became as deadly as a sniper rifle, and her precision even drew HK's attention and occasional backhanded praise. So Carver was confident Mira had enough focus to see this exercise through to the end.
On the other side of Brianna were Visas and Bao-Dur. These two, Carver had to admit, had surprised him the most over the past number of weeks. Visas only spent one day recovering from her injuries, then she threw herself uncomplaining into the training schedule. As the exercises became more rigorous, she swapped out her Sith robes for a flexible armor underweave she had borrowed from one of the Mandalorian women. It was about half a size too big for her as she lacked the Mandalorian musculature to fill it out properly, but it was a tolerable inconvenience for her. Visas also replaced her hood with a simple white bandage that was intricately woven around her head, covering her eye sockets and half her forehead. Plastered flat against her head with sweat, just like everyone else's, was her jet-black hair. Even now, Carver was surprised that he was only now just finding out the Miraluka's hair color, or rather it made him wonder what else he didn't know about her. As it turned out, Bao-Dur was the only one who had seen her hair beforehand, the only one who had ever thought to ask her about it. The Miraluka kept her hair cut short. Not as short as Carver's, thanks in part to his recent discovery of the Mandalorian barber, but still shorter than many of the men he once fought with nearly a decade ago. The strands were just long enough to gently curve out when dry, but during a grueling exercise like this one, her hair was matted to her forehead. Appearance aside, Carver had to admire her persistence and technique; overall she had done the fewest number of push-ups, but her pace never once slowed or wavered. It was like watching a metronome, and Carver gave her a small nod as he acknowledged her dedication.
But if Visas was dedicated, then Bao-Dur was creative. The Iridonian was managing to keep up with the rest of the group rather well despite the fact that he lacked one of the elements required to complete the session in the way Carver had intended. Just before his left arm completely gave out around the twenty-minute mark, the Iridonian field-tweaked his cybernetic arm to rhythmically expand and contract the energy stream binding his mechanical hand to his shoulder. At a glance, it looked like Bao-Dur was doing one-handed push-ups. Normally Silas would have considered this cheating, but by continuing the session, by wearing himself out through conventional exercises then not do anything else except quietly watch the ground advance then retreat over and over and over again for forty more minutes, Bao-Dur was displaying remarkable mental focus and innovation, two traits that the tech had demonstrated many times as he struggled to keep up with the others during their training sessions. Carver almost regretted…
He shook away the thought before it had a chance to complete itself. His field of vision shuddered a little as it rose, drawing Carver's attention to his last, and first, student. "You are slowing down, Jaq," he warned, glancing down at his apprentice, upon whose shoulder blades his feet were now planted. "Stop relying on your muscles for strength, and use the Force to sustain you."
Jaq had some difficulty finding his voice. "This would be a-"
"Atch!" Carver cut him off. "Talking wastes energy best used elsewhere." He continued his speech while looking straight, bobbing up and down as he spoke. "With the power of the Force at your disposal, whatever weight I might add to your burden is insignificant." He directed his comments at Jaq, but he declared them in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "All you have to do is harness that power and mold it to your desires. Remember, efficiency is the key. From this point forward, our enemies will not be thugs or rag-tag militiamen, but trained soldiers, warriors, Force-adepts, and their masters. And we will be outnumbered at every turn. You must be able to face and defeat every enemy that crosses you, and not all of our enemies carry weapons. Exhaustion will your greatest opponent; it will make you hesitant and careless, which will get you picked off by some nameless grunt with an otherwise sub par aim. The only defense against exhaustion is efficiency and conditioning; waste not one drop of energy in battle; you never know when you will need it. So concentrate…and keep your pace up, or I will add another hour to your session."
It was a small humiliation, one his apprentice would struggle though and grow stronger from. Perhaps that was why he pushed Jaq harder than the others: although he was training four others, he considered Jaq to be his apprentice, his first true student. The Jedi council had never assigned him a padawan learner. Before they had a chance to, he left to follow Revan to fight against the Mandalorians. And when he returned, the only one who ever did, the council exiled him. But he was teaching a student now, nearly a decade later. Of course the irony of Carver training his student to help him bring down the Jedi Order was not lost to him. A sudden flash of a thought crossed his mind. Does...did Kreia feel the same when she was retraining me?
Thirty minutes later, the session finally came to an end. "Alright, time!" stated Carver, stomping his right foot down at the height of Jaq's current push-up. His apprentice dropped to the ground with a surprised grunt, and Carver casually stepped off him. A chorus of heavy exhausted breathing filled his ears, but without missing a beat, he ordered, "Everybody up." As usual, Brianna was on her knees and pushing up onto semi-shaky legs well before the others.
"You heard the man," said Mandalore, striding into Carver's field of view. "Let's go." He walked up to Mira, stooped down, and held out his hand. "Come on Huntress. Up." The red-head wearily took it and allowed the Mandalorian to hoist her to her feet.
Carver turned around and gave his apprentice the same assistance. "Well done, Jaq," he said, pulling the man vertical.
"No problem," replied Jaq between ragged breaths. "I'm getting…used to it."
"Do not get used to it," Carver countered, thrusting a finger at his face. "Never get used to it. If you do not like your fate, then fight it!"
Jaq propped his hands on his knees for a moment as he regained his composure. "You saying you…wanted me to…throw you off?"
"It does not matter now," said Carver with a shrug. "You chose not to." He started to turn, then gave Jaq a sideways glance. "But, since you asked, had you attempted to displace me and succeeded, I would have kicked you in the stomach for insubordination…hard. Every action has its consequences." Carver wanted to smile; he could tell by the brief microscopic half-twitch in Jaq's left eye that the man was suppressing a flinch. But grinning would have betrayed his improvisation, and Carver preferred it when Jaq was alert and attentive. But, a nervous apprentice was also a clumsy one. "However, I would have let you continue the session without me standing on your back. So, I will let you decide whether or not you made the right choice."
Carver walked over to Mandalore, who had just finished pulling Bao-Dur to his feet. "Alright, aruetiise," said the clan leader, turning to face everyone, "since you just gave your arms a decent work out, let's give them a little break." He paused for a couple of seconds to let the glimmer of hope start to shine. "And what better way to relax than with a nice jog? So file up and move!"
Brianna... Silas' thoughts turned to the blue-eyed Echani living in the room next to him, as they frequently did in his moments of peace. He let out a quiet laugh as he recalled how nonchalantly he had acted towards Brianna at times; how blind he had been. No, not blind, just distracted. It wasn't as if his feelings suddenly appeared out of nowhere and struck him across the face, though it seemed like they did at the time. Through retrospection, Silas could see the signs, the emotions that had grown parallel to and beyond his respect and admiration for her, yet remained hidden behind his ambition and agenda. So it was really no surprise that his feelings revealed themselves once he set his other desires aside. And like most things that happened between he and Brianna, it started with a sparring match, a simple innocent duel that had started in the twilight hours of the Dxun moon.
A gentle chorus of nocturnal echoes whispered in Silas' ears as he stood in a preparation stance across from the similarly-posed, white-haired Echani, another short pause in their ritual duel. They were both unarmed, their weapons lying atop a nearby supply crate, and garbed in only light tunics to keep their cores warm; they didn't even bother with footwear. The crisp night air was invigorating; every deep breath of cold air he took in drained away a bit more of the fatigue that was trying to set in, and the slight breeze licking across his bare skin further stimulated his battle-heightened senses. The darkness that filled the clearing was near absolute; a sign that their match had been going on for at least a couple of hours. The moon was positioned between Onderon and the system's star, so the valley was illumination only by a thin crescent of light reflecting off the planet's edge and clusters of small white dots across the planet denoting solar-eclipsed cities. Yet within the darkness, Brianna's white form stood out in stark contrast, drawing his attention like a beacon. And when his eyes failed him, the excitement and passion he felt rolling off her betrayed her location.
With one last intake of breath, Silas started the next round. His opening move was a predictable one: a simple right hook; an attack Brianna could and would effortlessly bend around. But that was his intention: not to strike her, but to steer her. When she moved to counterattack, Carver spun aside, keeping the same amount of distance between her fist and his face. Using his momentum, he swung his arm around, forcing Brianna to drop. Within a heartbeat, she was on the attack, attempting to knock his legs out from under him. Silas jumped to avoid the low strike, and launched a kick of his own, aiming for the side of her head. Brianna rolled under his foot and sprung into a backwards cartwheel that would have broken Silas' jaw had he not retreated a step.
This was what their duels had become: a choreographed dance of counterattacks. They had been sparring together for so long, they could read each other on instinct. Both of them were easily ten steps ahead of the other, already knowing the best way maneuver around blows that wouldn't come until long into the duel. But that fact hardly discouraged them; instead, they used their foresight to make their movements as efficient as possible, enabling them to drag out their duels for hours on end without the fear of exhausting themselves. However, that did not mean their sparring matches were any less intense; after particularly long sessions, they couldn't help but notice that the air towards the center of their dueling circles, the area where they did the most fighting, was usually a couple of degrees warmer than it was around the outside the circle. They always found the phenomenon amusing. And even in this duel, despite the extra cold brought on by nightfall, they could feel that patch of warm air as they danced around each other.
Brianna closed the gap with a Force-assisted lunge. As her fist came around, Carver parried the blow with his forearm. She switched her attack to her elbow, forcing him to jerk to the side. However, the dodge put him right in line with her left fist, which was coming at his temple. He grabbed the punch with his left hand and threw it wide, pushing Brianna slightly off-balance and finally giving him a opening. He threw his punch, forcing her to throw her head back, but before he could execute a follow-through, she shifted her weight and kicked out. He blocked the blow with his shin, bent around her recoiling right hook, moved to kick her feet out from under her, and watched Brianna execute a somersault to dodge him. Had it been anyone else, at that moment he would have sent them flying with a Force blast. Instead, he waited for her to land, and caught her next kick, tucking her foot under his arm.
"You do know you are taking advantage of my generosity," he told her with a half-grin.
"Yes," she said, returning the expression. With a quick twist, her hand was on the ground and her other leg was in the air, coming right at him. Silas let go of her foot and leaned back just far enough for the kick to pass just centimeters in front of him. He watched Brianna, still balancing on one hand, as he brought her body around, and saw his opening. The way she was twisting her body around, she would lose track of him until she righted herself.
So Carver made his move. He dashed forward, keeping himself in her blind spot and placed himself directly behind the Echani as she jumped to her feet. His first reaction was to force her into a submission hold, but that plan was cut short when he realized she already had his arm tucked under hers. The move confused him; with their proximity and difference in size, she didn't have enough leverage to move him. Then he felt a tight grip on his wrist, and her stratagem was revealed. She had pulled that first move to stall him, to make him hesitate long enough for her to set up her real countermove. She vaulted over him and twisted herself around, intent using the momentum she was building to throw him onto his back when she landed. He watched her roll over his head, ignoring the slight pain coming from his arm as it was being pulled back. Very clever, my dear. However... Silas jumped as well. In midair, he yanked his trapped arm, pulling both them around to face each other. The surprise flashed on Brianna's face just long enough for him to register it before the expression became a knowing grin. She hit the ground on her back just under a second later. To avoid falling on her, Silas planted his heels wide and let his momentum throw him forward onto his knees so he landed directly over her. He leaned forward a little to emphasize his next words.
"Match point." he said in a voice just louder than a whisper. Brianna didn't reply; she simply stared up at him, smiling. As he slowly regained control of his breathing, he became aware of a tugging sensation on his face. He was smiling, too. He was actually enjoying himself. Despite the weight of the pressures he carried on his shoulders, the dangers that he would soon be walking everyone under his charge into, right now, at this moment, he was having fun. He was having fun sparring with Brianna. The thought struck him as obvious yet odd, and it made him pause for a second.
In the past, his matches with her had had some purpose or motive attached to them. At first, they were just training exercises, a way for him to learn a new fighting technique. But as their duels progressed, they became less about Brianna teaching him the ins and outs of unarmed combat and more about him trying to make her see his point of view, his methods, his philosophies. And he accomplished those goals; he turned her away from Atris, convinced her to honor her mother's bloodline and walk his path. So within the scope of his agenda, the duels had served their purpose; he no longer needed to continue them. Yet, he did…they did. And the reason seemed simple enough: he enjoyed the ritual duels, and he enjoyed sparring with Brianna. But an old gut feeling began gnawing at him, telling him that wasn't the whole reason. It bugged him, because the last time his gut told him something like that, he'd…
Silas realized he was still staring down at Brianna, or rather staring into her eyes. They had landed at just the right position for her eyes to catch the narrow crescent of light bouncing off the planet. There wasn't much light to reflect, but compared to the thick darkness surrounding them, they were brilliant, mesmerizing. In that moment, he perception of her changed. It wasn't like the proverbial flipping of the switch; more like finding the piece that connected the two halves of the puzzle. He forgot about his agenda for the moment and truly saw who was in front of him: a woman; a fierce, strong, passionate, dedicated, beautiful woman. Carver gently traced two fingers over her eyebrow, down her soft cheek, and under her chin, tilting her head up just slightly.
"Perfect." Without another thought, he leaned in further. Half a heartbeat later, she was rising to meet him, and their lips touched, finally completing the kiss they had started way back when the first came to this moon. It was a moment of pure bliss, a feeling Carver hadn't experienced in a decade, maybe longer. The sudden rush that swept through him made his head spin and almost kicked him into combat mode, but all thoughts of violence were quickly washed away as he breathed in her scent. Time slowed to a crawl as they fell back onto the ground. Nothing else registered in his mind except Brianna, the taste of her on his lips, the smoothness of her skin against him as she twined her arms around his neck, the scent of sweet euphoria whenever he drew a breath. She was indeed perfect, and in this moment, she was all his.
And as they had for the past number of hours, they let their instincts take over once more.
The piercing light of dawn dragged Silas from his sleep. Forcing open his protesting eyelids, he let out a low groan as his brain slowly booted up. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that the bluish blur filling his vision was actually the Dxun sky. Then his memory kicked in, and he realized that not only was he not aboard the Ebon Hawk, but he also wasn't alone. He let his head fall to the side and smiled; sound asleep next to him was a white-haired goddess with whom he had shared a most invigorating evening. He watched her sleep for a few moments, trying to decide exactly how much more beautiful she looked when she was relaxed like this. There was no tenseness in her pose; lying on her side, one arm in front of her with her head resting on the soft fabric of her tunic's sleeve like a pillow was…Wait a minute. Silas' brow furrowed in confusion. When did she...? He picked through his memories of the past night, all too sure that in his last vision of her, she was not wearing the white garment. Nor had he been in his own for that matter. He pulled himself into a sitting position, feeling grass blades needling him as he moved. That was enough conformation for him, but he looked around anyway and located his dark tunic a few meters away, exactly where he had left it. So how...
"I tried to remind you to dress, in case we were discovered," came a soft, amused voice. Silas turned back towards the sound, finding Brianna now awake, propped up on her elbows, and smiling at him. "But you had already fallen asleep."
Silas beamed back at her. "My dear, you left me completely drained of energy."
Her grin widened. "I only had my back turned to you for a second." She let out a light chuckle. "You didn't even flinch when I tried to wake you."
"I have been told I am a very deep sleeper," he said with a shrug. "Once, back in my days as a learner, I fell asleep during one of Vrook's meditation lessons. The way the others told the story, Vrook tried all the conventional means to rouse me, and since he had just finished lecturing us on the inappropriate use of the Force against another sentient, he was forced to wait until I woke myself up to discipline me for my 'disruptive conduct.'" Carver's grin twisted for a moment as he recalled the stern Jedi Master he had slain on Dantooine. "He never liked me. I had too many opinions for his liking, I think. Or maybe he simply did not approve of the way I breathed through my nose. Perhaps I flared my nostrils too aggressively-"
Brianna abruptly cut him off by turning his head towards her and pulled him into a kiss. After a several blissful seconds, she pulled back and smiled. "You were rambling. Now come on; we should get going before the others come out here looking for us, and you're still-"
"Ah yes," he said, getting up to retrieve his clothes. As he started pulling them on, he flashed another grin. "Though I have a feeling they are not that worried about us."
Carver's prediction was more accurate than even he thought it would be. Walking up the boarding ramp together, the pair found the others waiting for them in the main hold of the ship, save for the one Silas was mentally preparing for. They were doing a fairly decent job of busying themselves. Bao-Dur and Mira were having a casual conversation over cups of caf. About what, Carver couldn't hear, but his attention was quickly drawn to his apprentice. Jaq, interestingly enough, was sitting on the floor directly in front of Visas, letting the Miraluka weave a long white bandage down his injured right arm in a style similar to her eyewrap. She was almost finished, twining the last of the cloth just behind his wrist and securing it tight so it would not come undone. It was a wise decision for Jaq; the Miralukan weave was durable if done by skilled hands, Carver understood that much. And given the wounds he had inflicted on his apprentice, Jaq would need that bandage to last.
The injury occurred during a particularly grueling combat exercise four days before. Near the end of the session, Jaq's stance had faltered slightly, and his arm had slid out of place. It was an unusual mistake for him, and not one he was likely to make again. But just to make sure, instead of simply pointing out the flaw, Carver decided to take advantage of his apprentice's error. He terminated the exercise by powering through Jaq's defenses, then he ran his lightsaber up and down the length of Jaq's arm. The burns he received were severe, requiring immediate medical attention, and the scars left would be etched into his skin for several months, maybe even longer. But no one, not even Jaq, questioned the harshness of Carver's actions. He had already warned his apprentice of the consequences of making careless mistakes, and the damage had already been done. All Jaq could do was wait until his arm healed enough to handle the stresses of combat and resolve never to make that kind of error again.
Silas sent our a small ripple in the Force, immediately grabbing everyone's attention. "I am glad to see that everyone is enjoying their morning," he said, dropping smoothly into his general's persona, "but now it is time for some real fun. Start hiking; the Mandalorians are waiting." He stood cold and motionless as his students rose and started towards him. He made eye contact with each of them, but his rigid stance let them know he was not to be addresses or acknowledged, simply passed. Which they did, much to his relief. However, although no words were exchanged, Carver did not miss the subtle glances his trainees were trying not to give him and the small grins they fought to suppress. Combined with the tickling sensation of amusement dominating the Force, Carver came to the inescapable conclusion that his students knew. How they knew and how much they knew was unclear, but he could certainly guess. He looked over at Brianna just as she looked at him. By the look of her, she was thinking the exact thing he was.
"I guess this means our secret is out," she said.
Carver let a sly smile creep onto his face. "Indeed, my dear. We have been caught pants down, as it were."
Brianna let out a quiet groan at Silas' unusually-juvenile jest, then smiled and shook her head. "Careful Silas; they might start thinking you are going soft."
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "They would not dare," he said with a chuckle. "At the first sign of slacking, I will run them so ragged, they will not remember their own names."
Unfortunately, Carver's good mood did not last. It took him and Brianna only a few minutes to change into their training gear, and just as they were headed for the boarding ramp, Carver spotted Kreia standing in the main hold, apparently waiting for him. As much as he would have liked to simply ignore her and leave, doing so would have been a show of disrespect even he couldn't stomach. And this conversation was inevitable; there was no sense in putting it off. However, he was not going to be forced into a defensive position.
"Go on without me, my dear," he said to Brianna, gently pulling her into an embrace. "I will catch up in a moment." Before letting go, they shared one last kiss, one Carver made sure Kreia was watching.
Separating, Brianna tried not to look too concerned for Silas. She knew what was coming, the trial he was about to face. A part of her wanted to stay at his side and defend him against the coming onslaught, but as big a stake as she had in this, she knew she couldn't help him here. This just wasn't her fight. This was between Silas and Kreia; two massive forces of will were about to collide with each other, and she did not want to be crushed in the middle. Still, she took some measure of satisfaction in the knowledge that she would deal with Kreia in her own way later, when she had the advantage. "Good luck," she told him in her most confident voice.
As she started past him, Silas felt her finger slide down his arm in a final gesture of assurance; a smile tugged at his lips at the warmth of her touch. Then it was gone; she was gone. Immediately he felt a little colder, but he used that cold to focus himself. He had already made the first move; now all he could do was wait for Kreia to make hers.
All that had occurred weeks ago. Silas tried not to dwell on the memory of the argument he had with Kreia; it was a stain on an otherwise blissful moment in time for him. He could not remember the every word they had exchanged, but given the choice, he would have preferred to strike it from his memory completely. Not so much because he lost the argument, which he did not feel he had, but because over the course of their discussion, Kreia succeeded in shaking him and much of the trust he had in her. More than anything, he remembered how hard her words had stung.
Of course he had prepared his counterarguments long in advance; indeed, he had rehearsed their discussion in his mind many times that morning. He was ready when she questioned his judgment, called him impulsive and reckless, and even when she dared to say Brianna had become his weakness. The idea was beyond preposterous; he felt nothing but strength standing next to her. There was no way she would drag him down. Any enemy who though they could overtake her would be sadly mistaken. And when they fought together, no two warriors had ever been more perfectly synchronized in their movements. Kreia claimed that while he would be able to draw great strength from her, his feelings for Brianna would make him act irrational at a critical moment. He would make a mistake, then he, and perhaps the galaxy in turn, would suffer for it. Carver rejected her notion as mere hyperbole at best.
Then she called him a fool.
That had stung him the worst. To this day, the insult made his stomach turn. Kreia had never called him a fool before, and there was something in the way she said that word that made it seem like the most vile insult in the galaxy. Worse, even, than calling a Mandalorian a coward. Once, after their hasty exodus from Peragus, she called his choice to not hide from the Sith foolhardy, but that was as strong as she had ever been with him. Jaq, at the time still Atton, was the fool in her eyes, the eternal source of and target for her contempt. The very idea that she would make such a comparison to him was infuriating; he very nearly drew his lightsaber on her right then. But he reigned himself in, settling for a vicious sneer and a tightly-balled fist. His final declaration to her was clouded by his anger, but he recalled her last words very clearly.
"We shall see."
Then Kreia had turned and left, leaving him fuming in the main hold. After standing there just long enough to register her absence, he had wheeled around and marched off the ship, unsure if he would be able to calm down before reaching the Mandalorian camp.
Silas ran his hand over his face, silently cursing himself for losing his cool with Kreia. If anything, that had been foolish. Replaying the argument over and over in his head, he came to the conclusion that his weakness wasn't Brianna, but his temper. And there was a very strong possibility he might have just given the key to that temper to the exact wrong person. It was an irritating thought; it made his eye twitch, and it seemed like the more he dwelled on this problem, the harder it became to find a solution. So with a resigned exhale, he willed his thoughts elsewhere. He needed a distraction, something to occupy his mind and thus preserve his sanity. And he knew the perfect one.
Silas reached over and picked out a datapad within a pile of them on the floor beside the hyperdrive. By touch alone, he could tell he had the one he was looking for. Unlike all the others, this datapad felt course. The corners were worn down, the sides were chipped, and a long scar ran down the half-rusted reverse side. Normally, he would never have bothered to keep a device in such a state of disrepair, but this was a special case. He thumbed the pad on; pale green text filled the cracked screen, flickering every so often around the edges. Indeed, the damage to the datapad was severe; it was a miracle that Bao-Dur had managed to restore its functionality, let alone recover even a fraction of the information it held. But that information was precisely the reason why he wanted the tech to fix it in the first place.
Barely week ago, his students were in the middle of a Mandalorian survival challenge. They had only a few bars of field rations, enough collective water for four days, a crude map of the area, whatever equipment they could carry, and a squad of Mandalorians, led by Carver, hunting them. Their objectives were simple: starting from the Mandalorian camp, his students, dubbed the raider team, had to find a fake weapons cache hidden deep in the jungle, detonate it, and make it back on board the Ebon Hawk without being caught by Carver and the Mandalorians, the hunter team. All of them had to cross the finish line to win the challenge; if just one raider was caught, the whole team lost. They were given a fourteen hour head start and could use any non-lethal means to throw off or stall their pursuers. The hunters had one only objective: catch the raiders. There was a bonus for the hunters if they stopped the raiders before they blew the weapons cache, but failing that, they simply had to prevent them reaching their ship. To make the challenge a little more fair, Carver could not pinpoint his students with the Force until he received confirmation the site was destroyed, and all of the hunters had to be present when they captured the raiders to win.
It had taken the raiders six days to find the weapons cache. Six days of backtracking, setting stun mines, dodging jungle predators, rationing foodstuffs, erasing their trail, creating false ones, and flat out running. And although they had successfully distracted and diverted the hunter team over a dozen times, their lead time had been cut down to eight hours. After blowing the charges, the raiders decided to stick to the game trail that paralleled a shallow river in the hopes of simply outpacing the hunters without having to worry about running out of water as they made their southeastern dash to the finish line. Unfortunately, the river made a sharp turn north three days later, along with their trail. Refilling their canteens one more time, the team headed back the thick jungle and hoped they wouldn't be slowed down too much.
On the morning of the twelfth day, the challenge was put on hold when the raiders stumbled into a narrow clearing and came across an extraordinary find: the remains of a Republic Genima-class light dropship. Unlike most troop transports, Genima-class dropships were slender, agile craft specifically designed to quickly insert and retrieve small groups of soldiers deep in enemy territory. The vessels were too lightly armored to absorb heavy fire; instead they relied on their high speed and small cross-sections to slip through danger zones. Judging from the number of pieces scattered around the crash site, this Genima was running at full throttle when it hit the ground, splitting in two as it bounced between Dxun's sturdy trees. The nose section of the craft was half-buried into the dirt, laying on its side with long gashes carved into the hull just behind the cockpit where the forward horizontal stabilizers used to be located. The tail section was battered, warped, and propped against a tree several meters in front of the nose. The port engine nacelle was little more than a tangled mass of metal hanging off the vertical stabilizer while the starboard nacelle was no where to be seen. Other pieces of the dropship, large and small, littered the forest floor, creating a debris field that likely radiated out over a hundred meters. Deciding this find was too significant to ignore, the raiders contacted the hunter team with an emergency comlink and reported their discovery.
Night had fallen by the time his team rendezvoused with his students; their preliminary report indicated there wasn't much left to salvage. As Zuka had pointed out when they first met, anything found on Dxun was, at best, already a decade old. Nevertheless, Kelborn set up a homing beacon and radioed the camp, advising them to bring a cargo skiff and high-powered plasma cutters.
It arrived early the next morning. Without even conducting their own assessment of the wreck, the Mandalorians immediately began slicing into the dropship's hull, carving it into pieces small enough to transport. Watching them dissect the vessel was like observing the forces of nature working in fast forward. Within two hours, they had reduced the entire nose section to stacks of 3x3 meter squares and kilometers of bound wiring. As the Mandalorians began stripping the tail section, Carver had his students split off and sweep the outer sections of the debris field.
Carver determined it was the will of the Force for this datapad to be in his hands right now. It wasn't luck; he didn't believe in luck. Luck wasn't enough to explain how this rusted, broken datapad was discovered by the one member of his crew who wouldn't immediately dismiss it, realize it could be fixed, and possessed the knowledge and skill necessary to fix it. So no, it couldn't have been luck. It was the Force; it was trying to tell him something. And Carver had a feeling that the message was a bit more obvious than he wanted it to be.
Scrolling through the list of entries, Carver found where he left off. The datapad turned out to be the journal of a soldier, a private Gavin Hochek, who had been fighting on Dxun since the initial invasion. In his previous entry, the private mentioned the Republic gearing up for their second offensive assault against the Mandalorian entrenchments. This next entry was recorded a few days later.
"Day 6. Our unit is at half-strength and we haven't even advanced a kilometer. I thought the Little Push had been bad, but this...this is insane. Mandalorian minefields are everywhere; we lost 5 men to them just a few hours ago. Deacon was one of them. I still can't believe he's dead. One minute he's laughing about how crazy the Mandalorians are for wanting to fight here; the next, half of him is gone! And the other half…just thinking about it makes me sick. I don't know what I'm going to tell Eleeza if I ever make it out of here. How do you tell someone that their brother was vaporized right next to you? Why couldn't I have been assigned in a Jedi unit? I hear they've made at least some progress."
The "progress" made by the Jedi units Hochek referred to was only a few extra meters. After the success of their first offensive, dubbed the "Little Push" for the relatively small gains made, the ground commanders were eager to keep advancing. It was their first major mistake of the Dxun campaign.
Carver remembered the expression on Revan's face as the man wished him good luck in his mission. He looked like he was already grieving for the losses they were about to take. And take losses they did. Every unit involved with that second push walked into a Mandalorian trap. The Republic lost control of the air within the first day of the mission when a network of AA sites went active, downing whole squadrons of fighters within minutes. Minefields and fortified emplacements slowed the forward progress of the Republic troops, and when they were finally forced to retreat, the Mandalorians hit them with a double envelopment. Out of all the soldiers that were involved in that mission, only a fifth of them made it out alive. The survivors coined that mission as the "Dead Push."
After the Dead Push, Revan and Malak assumed full direct control over the ground campaign, and their stratagems succeeded in slowly pushing back the Mandalorians. It was a brutal campaign; every meter gained cost the Republic more and more lives. And it didn't help that Revan-
A blinding white light burst through the darkness, ending Carver's tranquil musings. In an instant, his eyes were sealed tight with the datapad held protectively in front of them. He bared his teeth at the painfully-bright light and at the person who disturbed his solitude. Slowly his eyes adjusted and a figure began to appear in the doorway. But Carver didn't need to see the intruder to know who it was. There was only one person who would dare disturb him at this hour.
"I locked that door for a reason," he told the figure standing in the dimming light.
"It is time for us to leave," stated Kreia.
Carver cracked a half-grin; he was wondering when Kreia would bring this up. In truth, he had been expecting this for weeks now. "Really?"
"The future will not wait for us any longer," she replied in an unmistakably-prophetic tone. "We must move on or risk losing opportunities."
"Is that so?" Carver calmly set down the datapad and pushed himself off the hyperdrive. He took a breath and squared his shoulders; once again, he and Kreia were about to have a disagreement. "Unfortunately Kreia, the future will have to wait. They are not ready, and I am not going to lead any more people into battle if I do not feel they are ready."
Carver saw Keira's mouth shrink and her head tilt up slightly, and he readied himself. "There is only so much they can learn from your training. Real experience is often the best teacher."
"You are not the first person to say that to me. Later on, I made those people write up the casualty lists."
"Are you saying you have no faith in your own students?"
Carver had to admit he walked into that one. "No, I am saying my training is much more forgiving."
Kreia smiled that smile he hated so much. "Ah," she said, "I see you have learned the lesson of Dxun well. But half of that lesson is knowing when to apply it."
Carver was about to bring their little chat to a close when he felt…something. He felt a little odd, somewhat warmer.
The roar of a thunderous explosion shattered the silence. He spun on his heels in the direction he heard it coming from, but saw only the wall. Then he heard a woman screaming to his left. Again he turned towards the sound, and again he found nothing. His heart started racing, and he felt himself getting dizzy. Then it hit him. He glanced over at Kreia; she was still just standing there motionless, but he knew better.
Silas pointed his finger at her. "You," he said, his consciousness fading. "Don't…you…"
The next thing Carver knew he was facedown in the dirt, doing his best to visualize in his mind the locations of every soldier near him. But with Mandalorian artillery going off all around him, his focus was being pushed to its limits. This is insane.
"General!" came a woman's voice from just behind him.
Silas twisted his neck around to face the lady sergeant crawling up to him. He recognized her instantly and was not at all surprised that she had left the protection of her cover, in direct defiance of his orders. "Sergeant Ineva!" he said over the boom of another exploding shell.
"General, where is our air support?" she yelled.
His exasperated sigh went unheard; why, out of all possible questions, did she have to ask that one. He knew the answer, and so did she. So he repeated what he had been told. "It'll be here."
Ansha Ineva just shook her head; she was only mildly disappointed by the lie. "Well, damn. What do we do now?"
There really wasn't much choice in the matter. "If we stay here, they'll have us zeroed in a matter of minutes. We have to move."
"On your command, General," she said with all the resolve she could muster. She crawled backwards a few meters and waited for his signal, silently praying to all the gods that this wasn't going to become another suicide mission.
to be continued...
Author's End Note- If you didn't think there was much forward plot movement, most of it comes in the second half. Among other things, as Carver and his crew leave Dxun, Colonel Tobin commits one final slight against them.
One more thing- I just want to give my thanks to those of you who, from time to time, checked in on my progress and let be bounce a few ideas off you. You guys really helped me out. I hope you, and all my readers, continue to enjoy my work
