When Foster was very young, he used to play with his brother and sisters and the other children of the community. Their favorite place to play was in a small river near their farming outpost. When the rains came, the mood was lighter throughout the entire village, and the adults would often let their children take off the afternoon from helping in the fields and let them play in the riverbed, which rose slightly in the rainy months.
Foster was the youngest of five, with one older brother and three older sisters. They would splash and play and swim and for a moment forget their worries and just be children. Their mother and father would always warn the elder children to watch over little Foster, because he was still very young and needed looking after. The children would promise to watch out for one another and then promptly forget that promise as soon as they were out of sight of the homestead.
There was one afternoon that Foster would never forget. He had been playing in the shallow end of the stream when the mudbank behind him broke loose. Before he could call out, he was enveloped in the mudslide and disappeared.
In the mud, it was so dark, and so quiet. He could hear the blood pumping through his ears. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, and he was convinced that he would die alone in that black pit and no one would ever know what happened to him.
Fifteen years later, Foster was reminded of that feeling.
*gasp*
Foster snapped to consciousness and gasped for air. He did not know how long the life support had been disabled, nor how long he lay comatose on the floor. The main lighting of the engine room was nonfunctional, and the dull red emergency lights were on. Foster could barely see, and the air was warm and stagnant. In the distance, he could vaguely hear an emergency klaxxon blaring, but the sound was weak and muffled. The corridor outside the engine room was dark, and sparks were firing intermittently from the badly damaged equipment.
Foster grunted and struggled to his feet. His balance was wobbly, and his head was swimming. The artificial gravity was out of sync, and his equilibrium was telling him that he was standing at an angle off the floor. Walking was difficult.
He stumbled and fell to his knees. He felt sick to his stomach, and restrained the urge to vomit. His vision was blurry, and it was hard to think. He almost certainly had a concussion. Foster blinked and shook his head, trying to cut through the fog and focus on his training. This was an extreme situation, and he needed his wits about him.
He put his hand out on the wall to steady himself, and mentally brought himself to bear with his surroundings. The air was thick with smoke and gas, the room was dimly lit with blood-red incandescence, and he could feel pain radiating from his right ankle. At the very least, it was sprained, possibly broken. It was reasonable to assume that anyone left alive on the ship would be injured as well.
That's when a sudden realization hit him. Before the explosion, he had been tending to Volaro, who had suffered some kind of heart attack or stroke. Foster looked around the room quickly, brushing smoke and fog out his way, looking for the elderly Cathar.
"Volaro?" His voice was hoarse, strained. "Where are you?"
There was no answer, and Foster felt his heart drop. He was alone.
What if he was the only one who survived? What if he was alone in the darkness, drifting on a ghost ship in the void? The life support would not last forever in a damaged ship. He'd suffocate, or starve, completely alone, and no one would ever find him...
heeeheeeheh hehh hehh ehheee heeheee
Foster grabbed the sidearm strapped to his thigh and pointed to the hallway. There was no mistaking that sound. It wasn't the ship settling or debris shaking loose, it was a voice. Someone was alive down here.
Foster took a step towards the corridor and stumbled. He was wounded, he would not be moving quickly. But if someone else was alive on board, then they might need help. Maybe together they could get the life support back to full functionality. Maybe...
wooosh
Foster raised his blaster again. Something dark and very large sprinted through his field of vision outside in the hallway. It moved too quickly to get a look at it, but Foster was fairly certain he saw blood.
This changes things a bit. Foster had not yet considered the possibility that whatever was alive on this ship with him might not be something he wanted to be trapped on a ship with.
He checked his inventory. He had a few charge packs for his blaster pistol, but it was a close combat weapon. He wasn't sure it packed the punch to severe damage. If he could get back to his quarters, he had plenty of options there...
Foster tore a sleeve off his shirt and tied a wrap for his ankle. He pulled a small tactical flashlight from his belt and looked out into the hallway. There was no light source out here, and the air was thick and musty. There was a smell of copper, and a salty taste that Foster gagged on before wrapping part of his torn sleeve around his mouth to filter out the worst of the smell and taste. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the corridor.
"...oh, kark me..."
In fairness to his lifestyle, this was a pretty typical way for Bakurro to awaken. His body ached all over, his head felt like it had been beaten in, and there were strangle people unconscious all around him. He stumbled to his feet and found himself face to face with Quarros.
"...aiiieee!" He was startled, and in a moment of panic, took a swing at the droid. His knuckles met durasteel with a loud clang, and a moment later Bakurro was kneeling on the floor clutching his hand, muttering obscenities under his breath.
"Ughhh, what happened? Did we win?" Arbokk was flat on his back, and raised his head to see the others. "I feel like we didn't win."
"Something went wrong. Bad wrong." Alan stumbled to all fours and vomited in the corner.
Bakurro wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Ah, yeah. Great. Wonderful analysis. Something went 'bad wrong.' Thank the 'verse we got you to give us your appraisal of the situation." Bakurro rolled his eyes and sat down.
"I dont know, man. Seems like a pretty accurate description to me." Arbokk stood up and leaned back with his hands on his hips, several loud pops could be heard. "I mean, if this was the plan, then it was a pretty bad plan."
Bakurro growled, taking note of the small, confined space they found themselves in. "Where are we anyways? Weren't we heading for the shuttle?"
Alan rose to his feet. "We never it made it there. This is the lift. It must have sealed itself and pressurised when the airlock was vented. We'd be dead if we'd gotten to the shuttle."
Bakurro looked out the viewport. He could see the small launch bay for the on-board shuttle. The gate was open, and the shuttle was gone. Anything not tied down had disappeared.
"Woah..." Arbokk looked over Bakurro's shoulder.
"What? Never seen a spaced hangar before?" He grinned. "I've used that trick myself a coupla times to clear up some trouble."
"No, man. Look. Out the gate."
Bakurro frowned and looked out the open gate. "So what? Its just empty space."
"Then where are the stars?"
Bakurro looked again. Out the open dock, there were no stars, no swirling galaxies, no particle clouds or any of the other tell-tale signs of open space. Just a great big void filled with absolutely pitch-black nothing.
The men stared at the maw and contemplated the horrible and terrifying significance of it.
After a moment, Bakurro offered his thoughts.
"Huh. That's weird."
...where am I?...
Lilia stirred, her face pressing against cold metal. Every muscle in her body felt bruised, and she could taste blood. The last thing she remembered was...
*gasp*
Lilia scrambled to her feet. The implications of what they had done...
She looked around, surveying the cargo bay. The room was in shambles, crates flipped and scattered among the entire area. Next to her on the ground lay Mitvekzuk, very very still. She could see the burn marks on his armor, and the perfectly round puncture where Adara had quite literally stabbed him in the back.
Adara!
Lilia scrambled, looking for Adara. She began overturning crates frantically. It only took a moment to find her, Adara was pinned under a large crate, lingering on the edge of consciousness. Lilia grabbed her and pulled her up.
"Adara, what happened? Why did we let that man out? Did you, did we...? I mean...You stabbed Mr. Mitvekzuk! You killed him!"
Adara slowly came to, her eyes barely focused. "The dark man...he called to me..."
Lilia did not understand. "What? Adara, wake up! Talk to me! We have to figure this out!"
Adara's head bobbed, she was having trouble forming words. "The dark man...he spoke to me. He needed out. He wanted out..."
Lilia shook Adara by the shoulders. "You aren't making any sense!" Her screams were almost hysterical, panic overtook her voice. "What are you talking about? What dark man?"
"That would be me, darling..."
A sharp, sly voice called out from the shadows. Lilia turned and saw an outline of the frozen man, his silhouette outlined in front of the lone light source in the room. He was a large, imposing figure, and he was wearing a tall golden crown over his head. He stepped forward and his face pulled out of shadow, revealing a sickly-looking Zabrak with pale skin and a wide grin.
"You see, child, I was getting so lonely, so very bored...and your friend here, why, I felt her to be a kindred spirit, you see." He began slowly sauntering towards them. " She was so lonely, so desperate for companionship. I suppose that's why she latched onto you." He smiled and lightly pressed a finger against her nose. "I mean, why else would someone stoop to your company?"
Lilia felt her fear give way to anger, and quickly suppressed it. She would not allow this creature to goad her into lashing out. Through gritted teeth, she asked him, "Why did you attack the ship? We freed you so you could help us."
"Tough luck, darling, helping's not really my forte." He quickly swung his arm wide, backhanding Lilia and knocking her across the room. She cried out as she struck the far wall, knocking the wind out of her. She watched helplessly as Haborym gripped Adara by the face, lifting her to eye level. The young Cathar could do little but gaze helplessly into the monster's face as he grinned wider and wider.
"Now, to wrap up some loose ends. Thanks for springing me, kid, but you're officially more trouble than you are worth, and I am so. Very. Hungry."
In one horrifying motion, Haborym unhinged his jaw, revealing his sharpened teeth. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and raised Adara's face towards his terrible visage.
BAM!
He never got the chance to bite down. Something large and very hard smashed into his face with the force of a stampeding Bantha. Haborym was knocked flat on his back, his face smashed, his eyes blackened, and the room started spinning. He was blinded by the warm blood trickling into his eyes, but could feel a strong hand lifting him by the robe and dragging him across the floor.
"I don't believe it..." Lilia exclaimed in wonder.
"Believe it, kid."
Mitvekzuk, despite suffering a wound large enough to see through his torso, was gripping Haborym by the lapel and dragging him across the cargo bay. Lilia could see the mark on his helmet where he had headbutted the sorcerer in the face to save Adara. Without breaking stride, Mit quickly dragged Haborym to the airlock and threw him inside hard enough to dent the airlock door.
Haborym quickly regained his composure and emitted a low growl, and leaped for Mitvekzuk, ready to claw his eyes out.
Mit slammed the airlock seal controls, closing the gate and sealing Haborym inside. The sorcerer growled "It's only a matter of time, soldier-boy. I'll flay your soul in hell!"
"I'll see you there." Mit hit the airlock release button and Haborym was jettisoned out into the void.
A moment of silence passed, and once Mitvekzuk was convinced that the Jedi were safe, he fell to his knees and collapsed on the floor. Lilia quickly ran over to him and rolled him onto his back. She removed his helmet, hoping to give him better access to air. "Mit! Are you okay?"
The soldier opened his eyes and looked at Lilia like she was stupid. "I've got a hole in me, kid. I'm not okay."
Lilia choked back a laugh. "It'll be alright, we'll get help."
"Hello? Is anyone down there?" A voice called from above.
"Yes! Oh yes! We have wounded! We need help!"
Quickly down the steps descended Elder and Oryon. Oryon hustled towards Adara, who was still lying on the ground in shock. Elder rushed over to Lilia and Mitvekzuk. His concerned expression changed dramatically into one of shock upon seeing the wound in his friend's chest. "Oh my, Mit." He kneeled next to him. "You've got quite a problem here, don't you?"
"eh, I've had worse..." Mit muttered weakly.
"I very much doubt that." Elder cracked his knuckles. "Im going to put you under for a while until we can get you to some kolto, alright?"
"Yeah, I could use some sleep..." Mit drifted off into unconsciousness as Elder pressed his fingers against the soldier's temples. "Oryon, Mit's taken a bad hit! Are any of the kolto tanks salvageable?"
...
"Oryon?"
Oryon was standing facing the carbonite block, which was now missing a very distinct element.
He turned to face Lilia, rage in his cold red eyes. He stomped over to her, and his typical cold and calm demeanor shattered.
"WHERE IS HE?!"
