AN: Hey guys! As always, You all keep upping the review game, and your words really make me smile. I'm so glad you've all been enjoying this fic, especially that you're found it so genuinely suspenseful.
Now that the Trials are well underway, I'm sure you are all smarter then our boy and you'll all connect the dots faster then he or the Crew can. I look forward to reading your guesses and assumptions on where this story is going.
This chapter is a little shorter then the former, but there are more coming soon. Thanks again for reading!
Trigger warnings below: Gore
The Survival Trials
Chapter 14
Ezra made his was down the canyon. Not the way he'd climbed, but down the sloping outcrop; opposite of where the Trandoshan had fallen.
Ezra wanted as much space between him and the angry lizard. Away was the only thought in his head as he scrambled noisily down the hill, until he remembered. The other hunters could be anywhere.
He stumbled and almost ate the ground. Karablast!
He caught himself on his knees, but he was sent tumbling taking a rock hard in the ribs before he stopped his descent.
He got to his feet only to stumble again, catching himself against a thin purplish tree. He blinked weirdly up a the tree for a moment, feeling the world spinning around him.
He needed to find somewhere to hide. He set off at a run again as soon as he could breath without his inner ear somersaulting.
At some point the ground leveled out, and the flora began to change. He slowed, partly out of exhaustion, and partly in awe of the changing scenery.
The view from the outcrop had rattled him. Nothing about this "world" made sense. The purplish trees gave way to a dark, dense jungle overgrowth. Odd thin trees with long fronds of beaded yellow pods that hung overhead. Ezra wove his way through, careful not to touch any of the pods.
The air felt thicker here and mushrooms covered the trunks of the trees. Ezra wrinkled his nose. They made the whole glade smell like the Ghost's fresher tank after a week long string of hyper-jumps. Ezra would have gladly traded this, for Zeb's musty strench anyday.
He fiddled with the helmet's air-filter, but it wasn't equipped to filter bad odors. Ezra kept pressing on, deeper into the jungle, not stopping, until he found his way entirely blocked by a giant outcropping of rock thrusting right up from the bottom of the jungle floor. It was covered with a muddle of tree roots. Headein up got him away from the mushroom smell, the roots held his weight, but it was a long climb that took every last bit of his energy.
Collapsing at the top, his belly gave a hearty painful grumble and Ezra winced. He'd been hungry before, but always in cases where he could scourge in the disposal units if necessary. He'd never been hungry in the wilds.
Ezra knew hunger. It had been a driving force in his younger years, but it had been a long time since he felt this kind of pain.
The feeling helped drive home the hopelessness of the situation, and suddenly Ezra found the idea of getting on his feet exhausting. He felt like Chopper running on Auxiliary power.
He thought about taking a rest, when a something shifted in the darkness of the branches. A pod broke free and landed a few yards away. It cracked open, and the putrid smell of rot permeated the air.
Ezra didn't wait to see what had caused it. He just leapt to his feet and started running again.
The mood on board the Ghost was sombre.
Sabine and Chopper had worked through the night, and between them, they located and transcribed the pirate signal.
At first, they were only able to pick up the binary data. Chopper translated the only information they cared to know: Number-Six was still living. After much tweaking and a ransack mission to the nearest wreck-station for parts, Sabine managed to produce the Holo-Channel. Though there was no way to change or choose the feed.
The crew had gathered around the dejarik table, grimly watching the feed play out on the single offered channel.
The candidates had gone quiet since the initial slaughter at the beginning of the Trials. According to the litte counter in the corner, Seventeen were still alive.
The Dug was setting traps with the supplies he'd pocketed from the Treasure Pit. The Nikto seemed to be hunting for a place to set up camp in a marshy area. The Gotal was hiking over alien terraine.
The Massassi was currently the focus on the feed. He had set up his own base at the center of a grassy prairie. He was the clear winner of the Treasure pit brawl.
He was laden with several small crates, a plastic tarp shelter, and was the only Candidate as yet to dare build a small camp fire. And with it was with good reason. He had a small stockpile of almost any weapon that could be thought of at his side. He sat comfortably by his fire, throwing his multitude of vibro-blades into a the wood of one of the crates.
They had no way to change the feed, and in the hours they sat glued to the wavering blue display, not once had it showed Candidates Six or Eight.
"There's... layers of data on this transmission." Sabine said glumly, staring at the data pad she'd lifted from the Gambler's bar. "I…can't make sense of this data. Its like its being streamed live from hundreds of locations, but that's an impossibility. It has to originate from somewhere and I can't find the first source. If I could only just..." She broke off, scowling fiercely at the endless lines of coded streaming across the screen.
Hera lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think its time you took a break. You won't be able to help if you burn yourself out."
Sabine looked up, prepared to argue, but Hera pursed her smile and nodded firmly. The girl's shoulders slumped. "I... will recalculate the data in the morning." Sabine climbed to her feet, purposely not looking at the holo of the hulking Massassi seated peacefully at his fireside.
"I will come get you if there's news." Hera told her gently, ushering her towards her cabin. "Zeb, Chop. You too. I'm calling it."
The Lasat was ready to disagree, and Chopper let out a string of grumbling trills.
"Don't give me that. Go plug in. Zeb; rest."
Zeb opened his mouth to argue, and then saw Hera's eyes were focused on Kanan at the table. His hands were folded tight under his chin, and he was staring focused completely on the holo, watching the feed, unblinking. He sensed there were words to be said, and likely not ones he wanted to be caught listening to.
"Uhh, whatever you say Hera." He answered gravelly, and got up from his seat, knocking Chopper into movement with his foot. "Come on you." Chopper didn't protest again, he buzzed to show his annoyance, but moved towards his charging station with Zeb on his heels.
Hera waited until all the cabins could be heard sealing shut, and sank into the seats Zeb had vacated. Kanan spoke first.
"What's the next?"
Hera frowned into the holo, the feed flickered with static, it showed the Dug again. He had hacked down some of the thin stalks of reeds that grew in tight clumps around him and was shaving the ends to fine points.
"Ful... Ahsoka has some of her best connections working on the signal." Hera answered finally.
"Have they made any progress?"
Her brows flattened, and an edge entered her voice. "They have found more of the gambling cantianas. A lot more of them then we originally estimated." She stopped, watching him out the corner of her eyes. "Kanan, the price of something this scale staying underground, undetected... it's astronomical. Whoever is in charge of running this... "
He beat her too it. "You think one of the big names could be running this? The Black Sun? This sort of thing would be the Hutts style...
She shook her head, lekku swinging. "No... Kanan, Ahsoka and I were talking. We both agree. This feels... bigger then the Sun or the Hutts."
He started to nod, and the realized what she was suggesting.
"You think the Empire could be behind it?" He almost scoffed. "These... Trials," he said, the word was bitter in his mouth, "stand for everything the Empire isn't. Look at their clientele!"
Hera turned and fixed him with a look he rarely got these days, reproach. Like he had said something thickheaded. Then her look softened and she asked,
"Think about what the Trials do. What they are, who's getting hurt?"
Kanan frowned deeply, the furrow on his brow deepening as he tried to connect the wires.
The Trials so far baffled and enraged him. At first glance, it was uncontrolled, raw and all for the sake of pulling income.
But the more he learned, the bigger the puzzle got; the clearer it became that the game-makers had a plan. There was more to this then just a glorified cage match.
After a moment, he answered. "Its... a distraction. For the outer-worlds, the working class." He watched the Dug put aside a sharped stake, and start another. "The candidates are non-humanoids or slaves."
"Sound familiar?" Hera prompted gently.
The method behind the madness was certainly one the Empire favored, but even trying to force the two facts together in his thoughts, something didn't click. There was a piece missing. Why?
Kanan allowed himself a few seconds, and closed his eyes. They were dry and sore from staring into the holo for so many hours. His brain boiled with questions. He chest felt tight...
If the Empire was behind this, no matter how low it ranked on the Imperials scale of attention, if they realized who Ezra was...
When he opened his eyes, the Dug had laid down one wooden stake, and taken up another.
The sky was still fairly bright, it looked barley evening in the transmission, though the blue haze and multiple viewpoints, made telling the time by sight difficult.
If they were working on the same hours as the Crew, it should have long been nightfall by now, if they were on any planet with a single star or natural satellite. But that didn't do much to cut down the options.
The strange patchwork of flora, inconsistent daylight and apparently breathable atmosphere made identifying the planet harder then it ought to have been. Kanan had bound back and forth across the galaxy in a hundred different star-ships in his time, he was familiar with a thousand habitable planets, but none that looked vaguely like this one.
The lack of any development was worrisome. If it weren't for years of meditation practice, he'd have lost his control long ago and plunged into the pit of despair.
"Where are you?" Kanan asked the holo quietly, his fist getting a little tighter under his chin. "Show me, Ezra."
As if his wish had been granted by the Force, the transmission flickered , and showed a figure crouched under a tall tree. Both Hera and Kanan leaned forwards in surprise and then drew back when they realized the figure was not the profile of a skinny boy, but a weedy looking Bothan with long pointed ears.
She was huddled over, a big rock clutched in one hand. She wore the same slick body suit of the candidates and had a large backpack over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide as she glared into the dark, tensed and waiting.
Kanan frowned, it was too dark to see her tattoo. He thought hard, trying to pin what number she had been assigned in the line up. Something in him already knew what was coming.
The attack came from the shadows to her right. She cried out in pain. Her body thrown out into the dim light filtering through the thick trees and lay in a heap on the ground.
Number Eight stepped forward looking worse for wear. His left arm was at a angle, wrapped hastily in a scrounged rag sling. His scaly skin was covered in gashes and scabs including a large one on his shoulder, where a whole chuck of flesh had been torn away.
Kanan felt his chest tighten. Trandoshan skin was notoriously hard to penetrate, which only raised more questions about what had conspired between the lizard and Ezra.
The fallen Bothan came-to a little, groaning in pain. She tried to stand as the Trandoshan approached, but a pain in her side made her unsteady. She started to crawl.
Number Eight raised the club he clutched in his left claw, which now had a chip and a crack running through the rounded end.
The Bothan lurched up just as the club swung , and carried her straight back to the ground with a sickening crunch.
Hera and Kanan didn't move, both watching the horror unfold. With a furious growl, the Trandoshan swung the club once more. The Bothan twitched, and then lay still.
A boom exploded across the feed, and a counter appeared in the corner. The aurbesh digit changed from 17 into 16, then faded away.
The Trandoshan doubled over, out of breath, then kicked over the corpse and ripped the backpack off the body with a growl. Then he stood straight, and slunk back into the darkness of the Trees.
The feed continued to train on the Bothan corpse for a few unsettling minutes. From the distance, the gore was lessned, but the scene was no less horrofiyng. Then the feed flickered and focused back on the Dug, still quietly whittling, now with three sharpened stakes at his feet.
They sat for a long time, reeling.
Hera was the first to move, coming to her feet, her eyes focused on something distant. Her expression unreadable.
"I'm going to contact Ahsoka." She said, her tone even, but a little hollow.
Kanan nodded and let her go, returning his hands under his chin and re-fixing his focus on the holo feed.
He prayed, to whatever force would listen that Ezra had escaped his bout with the murderous Trandoshan unharmed, and that he wouldn't cross paths with him again.
The explosion startled him. Ezra hit the ground and covered the back of his neck without hesitation. His first instinct was to blame Sabine for setting off the detonation without warning him.
Nothing happened.
He jerked up and saw he was still alone. The sound had already echoed away but he realized his mistake. It was only the cannon, not a bomb.
Someone had died.
He climbed to his feet, dusting leaf litter from the his suit, hoping no one had been watching. It was just a cannon.
He looked up into the trees, waiting for a second boom, but it didn't come. Ezra felt his eyebrows connect in a scowl. Was it wrong to hope that cannon had belonged to the Trandoshan? Probably. Jedi were peacekeepers, willing someone to be dead certainly didn't feel like the sort of thing he ought to be doing.
Ezra pushed the thoughts away, shaking his head. The helmet bounced off the collar with a tick-tick-tick. He had to keep moving.
He'd stayed on his feet since the pod incident, and that had been hours ago, surely. Every time he thought about resting, the itching in his spine made him re-think. No where felt safe enough, there was no where that he felt...alone.
Ezra's skin crawled for a moment at the reminder why he was here, and he glared into the passing trees on the off chance he had an audience.
He hadn't caught sight of any holocams hidden in the trees yet, he had been looking, but Ezra had long since accepted that even if he couldn't find the cams, the Makers had probably found other ways to keep him monitored.
Once again he thanked the Force for the helmet. He was sweating like a Bantha under it, but he didn't dare take it off.
The last thing he needed was the ever vigilant IBS agent Kallus making an appearance and sweeping him off to an interrogation room or calling in Inquisitors.
Ezra thought about his last few days, the slavers, the box, in the chair; and smiled dryly. At least he wasn't used to being coddled at the moment. If the Imps did arrive and catch him, he would make it just that little bit harder on them in trade. The Trainers and the Makers hadn't broken him; the Empire wouldn't either.
Bring it on Muttonchops, Ezra thought airily. Maybe if I have any luck you'll run into Number Eight first.
He stumbled a little, and then shook himself awake, suddenly aware of his situation again. He had to stop disappearing into his thoughts. This was no afternoon stroll on the Lothal Grasslands, he needed to stay vigilant.
Cold blooded hunters and the Empire aside; Ezra knew he was in trouble. He'd been walking almost the entire day, and he hadn't come across a water source. His stomach rolled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything for over a day now. Food he was prepared to miss, but water? He wouldn't be able to go much further without it.
His mouth was painfully dry, he could feel every breath dragging down his parched throat. His legs kept shaking, but he'd started to think that if he took a moment to rest, he wouldn't be getting back up.
Ezra kept moving. Listening for movement in the shadows, flinching when his own boots crunched on the dry leaves underfoot. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest and the backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders. His skull throbbed with each step, and he found the weight of the helmet grew lighter. He felt his head rolling back a little and Ezra squinted at the light cutting through the viewfinder.
I need to keep my wits about me, he thought. I need to find water
Focus Ezra, Kanan's voice told him, and Ezra could almost think his Master was here with him...
His thoughts were jarred when he brought his foot down and found air. He had wandered to close to the edge of the ridge and over-balanced. Ezra went down with a strangled yelp, face-planted into the loose soil, rolling down the incline before finally coming to a stop.
Unlike every other time he'd fallen today, Ezra did not immediately get up.
He lay still, pressing his cheek to the inside of the cold uncomfortable inner lining of is helmet, listening to the blood throb in his ears. He should get up, he knew, but he didn't move.
His dry mouth felt swollen and he tried to resist licking his cracked lips, which he knew would only dry them out further and waste precious moisture.
Come on, He chided himself. Are you going to just lay down and give up?
Maybe. He thought darkly, a streak of spite running through him.
But then he had a vision.
It wasn't one brought to him from the force, this had no swell of power behind it.
It was just a flash, the Crew back on board the ghost, crowded around the dejarik table, all watching the holonet. And in the feed, he was laying uselessly on the ground, pathetic and small...
Come on, Laserbrain! Sabine voice scolded him, just like she would if he was skirting chores on board the Ghost. Stop playing around in the mud and pull your weight….
Easy for you to say, another part of him said, and he made a fist of his hand in the mud...
Wait. Mud?
Ezra lifted his head and it came away with a squelch. There was something smeared across the viewfinder of his helmet and made it difficult to see through. A smell filtered through the mouth piece, making his mouth begin to salivate.
Despite all the trouble it had taken to get it, he had to take the helmet off, to see with his own eyes. He tore it off and instantly the felt the chilled air cooling the sweat that was pouring down his feverish face.
It was a spring, barely a few inches deep. It was bubbling away in the centre of a long muddy pool where the ground sloped inwards. Little sprigs of greenery were growing around the edges and the water trickled off either direction into the shadows of the trees.
His legs surged with new strength and he stumbled back onto his boots. He shrugged off the weight of the backpack and discarded both it and the helmet into the soft mud.
He crawled right into the ticking stream with a laugh and cupped his hands into the water.
He lifted it up, and then paused.
Would the makers have poisoned the water? Was it safe to drink? What if it made him sick? He couldn't risk it right now.
This was true torture.
Ezra swallowed hard on his sandpaper tongue and his hands lifted the water to his nose and he sniffed. He smelled nothing but water and soil. It looked clean enough at the surface, and the ground was healthy. He felt no outside voice, telling him to stop, But still... he took half a sip as a taste test. It was glorious.
He had gulped down three more handfuls before he realized he could dunk his head. So he did.
He wallowed in the shallow pool, disturbing the slick mud as he relished the sensation of the water soaking into his suit, cooling his flesh. He drank handful after handful, until his gut had ceased to ache, and then splashed his cheeks, rinsing the puddle grit off his skin.
The throb in his mind began to ease and the cold water on his face brought him to his senses. Ezra whipped his head back and gasped for air and blinked around him at his surrounding with fresh eyes.
The banks were curtained by long wispy trees with large roots, shielding the small water hole from outside eyes.
Now, with his heart beat finally slowing down, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. It was getting dark too, quickly. Why hasn't he noticed the grey skies?
Ezra felt panic flare again and stood, his thirst sated for now. Should he stop here? Or should he keep going through the night?
He stood up, fully intending to keep moving. To at least find somewhere less open, somewhere with more shelter or more walls to put his back against. But now he was aware of how badly his legs were shaking underneath him, he couldn't stand the idea of staying on his feet much longer.
He rescued his helmet and the backpack from the mud, wiping some of the muck off with his hands and pulling it down over his face.
After a few yards he crawled up into the crook of one of the wispy trees, resting the back of his helmet against the bark. I'll rest for a few minutes, he thought. No more then an hour. I won't go to sleep. I've got to keep moving.
And then he slept.
R&R For Good Karma and Safety for Ezra