Chapter 21
Crash…
Mission was bored.
No, that wasn't quite right. She was distracted. She sat at a table in the main hold of the Ebon Hawk, Pazaak cards strewn all over it between her and Zaalbar. The Twi'lek was only half-focused on her game with the Wookie. The rest of her attentions kept meandering towards the cockpit. Specifically, towards Dustil Onasi in the cockpit. Mission absently played a plus-or-minus four card from her sidedeck, bringing her total to twenty over Zaalbar's sixteen. The Wookie's low grumble pulled her attention back abruptly—she had forgotten to let him win. It was generally considered a good idea to let a Wookie win every now and again—best friend or no.
Just concentrate on the game, Mission thought to herself. He's a Jedi after all—who knows if he can sense my thoughts or something?
As if on cue, Dustil emerged from the cockpit and leaned against the doorway to the main hold, a self-assured grin on his handsome features. "Who's winning?"
"I am," Mission said and gave Zaalbar an apologetic smile. "Do you play?" she asked Dustil.
"I've been known to play a game or two. Deal me in."
"You got a sidedeck?" Mission inquired, shuffling her own prized deck.
"I'll just borrow Zaalbar's," Dustil replied, taking a seat at the table across from her.
"Watch her," Zaalbar growled lightly, rising from the table. "She cheats."
"I do not!" Mission called after his retreating form as the Wookie undoubtedly had gone off in search of something to eat. "I do not…cheat," she muttered to Dustil, embarrassed.
Dustil was laughing good-naturedly and he said, "I believe you. But, just in case, I'm going to keep a close eye on you."
Mission didn't mind that one bit and she smiled as Dustil took Zaalbar's seat across from her.
She marveled at the change in Carth's son since she'd seen him last. Gone was the angry, resentful boy she met on Korriban, and in his place was a confident, happy—and gorgeous, Mission thought suddenly—young man. I guess being a Jedi did that for him, she thought. Except for the gorgeous part. That's just good genes.
Mission glanced up from shuffling her sidedeck to see that Dustil was watching her with a bemused look on his face and one arched eyebrow raised.
"What?" Mission asked.
"I was just thinking that I'm pretty sure your sidedeck is good and shuffled."
Mission blushed and quickly drew four cards from it. Dustil did the same from his sidedeck—Zaalbar's sidedeck—and the game began.
"So how is Car—er, your dad? I mean, you told me a little before—about he and Bastila working together on…something," Mission said awkwardly.
"Dad's doing fine," Dustil replied and Mission couldn't read a hint of residual anger or resentment in his demeanor. "He and Bastila are working on all kinds of projects. I mean, he has his duties with the fleet, but he's also involved in the Telos restoration project. His work keeps him real busy, so I hardly see him, but then, I've been busy too," he added with a proud smile.
"I guess so," Mission laughed. "When did you become a Jedi?" Her count was fourteen to his twelve. She drew a two and an unladylike snort of disgust escaped her. Sixteen was the worst.
"Not long after I left Korriban. I was kind of…lost, for awhile after…" Dustil's words trailed and for the first time, Mission saw the cocky demeanor slip to be replaced by something close to shame. He's thinking about he almost became a Sith, Mission thought. He's so different now…I can't imagine it!
"Anyway, I wasn't doing too well; Dad and I had a lot of fights." He drew a seven and stood on his nineteen.
"Was it then Juhani took you on as her Padawan? I'm sorry," Mission added quickly. "I shouldn't pry, but I can't help it. I'm pretty talkative, you know?"
Zaalbar, passing through the room on his way to the other half of the ship, put in that he knew all too well how talkative she was. Mission shot him a dirty look.
"You know what I mean," she said to Dustil. "I don't want to pry."
"It's all right. I don't mind," Dustil replied. "But to answer your question, no, Juhani wasn't a master at that time. Revan trained me."
Mission's eyes widened and she absently drew another card instead of using one from her sidedeck and promptly lost the round with a twenty-six. "What happened to Arax…to Revan?" After knowing her all the time they searched for the Star Maps as Arax Saraan, Mission still had a hard time thinking of Revan as Revan.
Dustil's handsome features darkened as he shuffled the main deck.
"I don't know. After everything was over and Malak was dead, she seemed pretty…happy. She and my dad were happy. He was instantly promoted and they were both honored by anyone who could forge a medal." He looked up at her. "Well, you know. You were there, right?"
Mission shrugged. "Yeah, but I didn't really feel like I belonged. I was still the kid tagging along, so me and Big Z left a little while after it was over."
Dustil leaned forward over the table, meeting her gaze and holding it intently. "Dad told me, more than once, how he and Revan would have never made it off Taris if it hadn't been for you."
That compliment meant more to her than Dustil knew, but the mention of Taris made it a bittersweet one. After all this time, it still hurts, she thought with a soft sigh.
"I saw you at once of those endless dinners and awards ceremonies," Dustil continued. "You were wearing a dark green dress—that was pretty short, I might add—with a darker green…I don't know what you'd call it…scarf-thing."
"Shawl?" Mission offered, not quite able to look at him yet.
"Yeah, that's it," he said. "You looked beautiful."
Mission glanced up quickly. No one, in all her twenty-one years, had ever said that to her before. The fact it came from Dustil sent a tingle down her spine. "I don't remember seeing you there," she said lamely.
"I kept out of sight in those days. I was still pretty mad then. Angry with Dad. Angry with Revan. Angry with Dad and Revan. I wasn't very good company," he said with a short laugh. "But, I watched from the side and noticed things," he added, his eyes glinting in the meager light of the Hawk's hold.
"Like what?"
"Like how short your dress was."
"So, Revan trained you?" Mission asked, quickly steering the conversation away from green dresses and how she may or may not have looked in them.
"Yes," Dustil said, with a knowing smile. Mission could tell he knew what she was doing and was gentleman enough to let the subject drop. "Yeah, Revan trained me. She didn't even ask me if I wanted to become a Jedi, or if I could feel the Force, or anything. One day, about three months after it was all over, she just came into my room and said, 'Dustil, let's you and I take a walk.'" Dustil laughed and shook his head at the memory. "So we took a walk and she began my training right there and then. She knew before I did…but that's Revan for you."
"Knew what?" Mission asked. Her count was nineteen and she stood. Dustil's was twenty-one. He laid a minus one card down from his sidedeck but she didn't care about the game anymore.
"My purpose," he said and then laughed ruefully. "I was going to be a Sith," he said with obvious disgust. "I was filled with so much anger and pain and every other emotion that paves a path straight to the Dark Side. Revan showed me the way out. She showed me how to find the Force within myself, how to understand it, and how to control it." He smiled broadly. "And I became pretty good at it."
Mission rolled her eyes at his conceit but couldn't help returning his smile. He makes me want to smile all the time, she thought and cleared her throat even though it didn't need clearing. "How did Carth take it? You being a Jedi and all?"
"He took it fine," Dustil replied, "because I stopped hating him once I began my training." He lowered his gaze. "I wasn't…I wasn't very nice to him for a long time. I thought it was his fault, what happened to my mother, and I was really angry with him for leaving us. There always seemed to be some battle, some mission, or just something else that took priority over us. I see now that he was only doing what he felt he had to do to protect the galaxy, but I joined the Sith because I couldn't think of a bigger slap in the face. I became what he hated most because I knew that would hurt him the most. But, stupid me, Dad thought I was dead. I wasn't hurting anyone but myself. When Revan made me a Jedi, all that old anger fell away and Dad and I…were better."
There was a silence between them that Mission didn't quite know what to do with. She was a little bit overwhelmed that he was sharing these thoughts with her and so she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Thank you."
Dustil looked up. "Huh?"
"Thank you for telling me this," she said. "We just met and all, and it's nice that you feel that you could, you know, tell me all that," she mumbled, feeling slightly foolish. But the smile Dustil laid on her told her she had said the right thing.
"Thank you for letting me tell it," he replied softly. "You're very easy to talk to, Mission."
And you're very easy to look at, Dustil, she thought and nearly giggled. "I'm glad," she said aloud. Why do I feel so happy all of a sudden? she wondered. Dustil was still looking at her intently with those soft brown eyes of his. "What?" she asked slowly.
"Nothing. I don't know," Dustil said and shook his head, looking suddenly…shy. "You asked me what happened to Revan and I started jabbering about myself. It's a bad habit, I know, but I'm working on it," he said and flashed her one of his charming smiles, his shyness gone.
Mission didn't want to talk about Revan anymore, but there seemed to be no help for it. "Did she fall to the Dark Side?" she asked with a shiver.
Dustil's smile faded. "I don't know. Things were going along fine—I hadn't seen my dad so happy since mom died, and I was happy for him, for a change. He really loved Revan," he said and paused for a moment before continuing. "But then something began to change in her."
"How?" Mission asked, now engrossed in his words. 'That was Revan for you,' is what Dustil had said earlier and it was just as true now. Something about the woman was inescapable. Conversations were built around her even thousands of light-years away, and while Mission could spend all night talking about Dustil, she was also impelled to talk about Revan. The Twi'lek thought Revan was rather like a black hole: all things, eventually, were drawn to her. Like me again, she thought. I thought I was done but now I'm being pulled back in.
"She became distant and cold," Dustil was saying. "While speaking, she would sometimes break off in mid-sentence and pause, as though listening to something only she could hear. I think it was the Force she was listening to—like she could hear, or maybe feel that something was wrong. It got worse and worse. She stopped training me. Juhani was a Master by then so she took me as her Padawan. Revan didn't seem to notice or care. She and Dad would get in horrible fights and then one day she was gone." Dustil's eyes darkened and bitterness crept into his words. "She left Dad a note…after all that, one stupid note and that was it. Did she fall to the Dark Side again? I don't know, but causing my father that much pain seems like a step in that direction. I just hope she had her reasons, though I don't know that we'll ever find out what they were."
Mission didn't say anything for a moment. She didn't know exactly what Dane Koren was trying to accomplish by finding Revan, but the Twi'lek thought Dane and Dustil should have a chat. Thinking of Dane brought Mission back to the present and she looked at her wrist chrono.
"It's getting late," she commented. "I hope everything's okay. With Atton, I mean."
Dustil nodded and furrowed his brow. He his head as though he was listening to something only he could hear. "Something…" he muttered and then the comlink in his sleeve crackled suddenly to life.
"Dustil! Dustil, can you read me?" came Atton's voice, under a cacophony of noise that sounded like an alarm.
Dustil and Mission exchanged wide-eyed glances. "I'm here, Atton, what do you need?" Dustil returned.
There was more crackling and then Atton came on again, "You, up here, now! The ship is going—"
The transmission gave way to more static and Dustil jumped to his feet. "Strap yourself in," he said to Mission and raced to the . Mission heard Atton's voice, frantic and loud, come through Dustil's comlink one last time before the Jedi was around the corner and out of sight.
Manaan? Mission thought, trying to fasten her seatbelt with trembling hands. Atton's sudden distress call had jolted her back to reality and she was suddenly terrified. She nearly had the belt latched when Zaalbar's roar sounded from another part of the ship only to be drowned out by the roaring of the Hawk's engines coming to life.
"What was that?" Dustil shouted from the .
"I don't know!" Mission shouted back, grabbing her vibroblade, "but I have to find out!"
"No! Mission--!" Dustil, still in the , was shouting a warning but it was too late. A heavy, thick arm snaked around Mission's neck, choking her, and she felt the cool metal of a blaster laid against her temple.
"Drop it," said a man's voice in her ear. The Twi'lek felt the bristles of his beard against her cheek and smelled the faint, stale odor of cigarra on her assailant's breath. She reluctantly dropped her vibroblade and concentrated on getting enough air to breathe. A dark shadow streaked past, heading for the and Mission just saw the bright orange spot on the shadow's sleeve. Dustil, no! She tried to call out a warning but she hadn't the wind to do it. From the port dormitory came the sounds of battle—Zaalbar's roar and the grunts of his opponent or opponents. What's happening? her frantic mind shouted. Mission's heart was thumping loudly in her chest—it had been a good long time since she had seen battle herself and she was nearly paralyzed with fear.
"Hold tight, schutta," the man grunted into her ear. The Inferno thug, like her, was waiting for the results of the battle in the . Mission strained to listen but she heard nothing—no sound at all from that room. A moment later another shadow streaked into the main hold and Mission saw, with vast relief, that this one had no orange mark on his sleeve, but held a glowing blue lightsaber in his hands.
"Let her go," Dustil commanded. He's not even out of breath, Mission marveled and then quickly forced herself to focus on the situation at hand: She had a blaster aimed at her head and an increasingly desperate man holding it there. Zaalbar emerged from the port dormitory bearing a singed arm and a bloody vibroblade. Mission's assailant backed up until he was at the doorway to the little compartment HK-47 and Mira used to hang out in, had the Twi'lek known it.
"Easy now," Dustil replied. "Just let her go and you've bought yourself passage off this ship."
Mission's face—already blue—turned a deeper shade as the man tightened his chokehold on her. "Shut up, Jedi," the man sneered. "I'm the one holding the ticket, remember?" He pressed his blaster harder against her temple. "Take the Wookie and get off my ship or I'll spray her brains all over my wall."
Mission saw Dustil tighten his grip on his lightsaber while Zaalbar was growling in that menacing way he did right before he ripped someone's arms off.
"Let's talk this over," Dustil replied and released one hand from the lightsaber to hold it out in a placating manner. Mission knew what he was doing and tensed herself for whatever Force power he was going to throw at them. But the Inferno thug recognized Dustil's intentions as well for he snarled and Mission felt the pressure on her temple vanish as the man said, "Play with this, Jedi," and fired his blaster several times, his targets the steel walls, ceilings, and fixtures of the Ebon Hawk. He then ducked into the little room dragging Mission with him as the blasterfire ricocheted around the room in chaotic bursts of energy.
Mission didn't know if Dustil and Zaalbar were able to avoid being hit but she was suddenly enraged at the possibility that they were not. As her assailant had swung around the corner, his grip around her neck loosened enough for her to get a good gulp of air. Some strength returned and she wasted no time in driving her elbow into the stomach of the thug as hard as she could. Mission was short, her opponent tall. Her elbow connected perfectly to that soft spot right under a person's ribcage where the diaphragm sits. Instantly, the man doubled over, the air expelled from his lungs in a great whoosh. He still clutched the blaster but it was a simple matter for Mission to kick it from his hand. It went skittering across the little room and she dove after it. The thug, still gasping, dove too and landed on top of Mission just as she wrapped her fingers around the blaster's grip. His hand came down on hers and they wrestled for a moment. But Mission was a slippery little thing and she twisted her wrist so that that blaster was hers and then twisted her body so that she was facing her attacker—his own blaster trained on his face. Just as she pulled the trigger, the thug knocked her hand aside and the shot went wide, sending the blade of energy ricocheting around theroom. It ended its romp in a shower of sparks at some wall unit Mission vaguely hoped wasn't important.
"You won't get that shot again," the thug warned and grabbed Mission's wrists with one hand and struck her in the face with the other. Mission saw stars…and then lightening—blue lightening as Dustil's lightsaber was leveled a mere inch from the thug's nose. The Twi'lek was scared out of her mind, panicked, and now reeling from the blow she had taken. She didn't know that Dustil's weapon had finally subdued her opponent and that the thug was slowly backing off her. All she knew was that his hand wrestling for the blaster eased off and so Mission gripped it with both hands and fired.
The heavy weight of the thug's body fell away from hers and she sat up, gasping hard and crying. She held the blaster in trembling hands and did not take its aim off the dead man lying on the floor. I killed him. Oh, gods, I killed him…
"Hey," came Dustil's voice in her ear, soft and soothing, as he knelt beside her. "It's all right now. You can put the blaster down. It's all right." Slowly, he reached out his hand and took the blaster form her. "Are you all right? Can you stand?"
Mission nodded. It had been a long time since she had killed anyone. Part of the reason she had left Coruscant and begun a shelter on Nar Shadaa was so that she wouldn't have to take another life. With naïve ideas, she had joined Dane, not thinking of what it might mean. She let Dustil pull her to her feet and then she started to sob in earnest. His arms went around her and she buried her face against his soft robes. She was instantly comforted and the thought that he smelled really good surfaced through her fear. But all too quickly he was pulling her away and he held her gently by the arms.
"You're okay now, hey?" he murmured, wiping a tear from cheek. "You did real good, but we have to go now. Atton needs us, okay?"
Mission nodded again and wiped her eyes. She took a steadying breath and looked to Zaalbar. "You all right, Big Z?" she asked with a shaky breath.
"Fine," the Wookie replied and then said to Dustil, "I'll check out the rest of the ship."
"No need," Dustil replied. "They're gone… I don't sense any more. I should've sensed these three but I was a little distracted," he said with a wink and a smile for Mission that sent her heart to thudding all over again. "Strap yourselves in," he ordered them, racing back to the . "I have a feeling our little stowaways cost us the time we needed. We may be headed for Manaan."
Mission resumed her seat and strapped herself in, mindful of the fact there were three dead bodies on the Hawk with them. Zaalbar sat down beside her and she laid her head against the Wookie's furry arm for comfort. She found herself remembering Dustil's embrace and was a little ashamed that she would have traded her friend's tried and true comfort for the young Jedi's any day.
The engines of the Ebon Hawk thrummed louder and Mission felt the ship lift off the ground and sail into space under Dustil's skilled command. There may be more fighting yet, she told herself. Don't let Dustil down and turn all cowardly. She wasn't all excited about the prospect of docking the Hawk on Raff O'Bannon's barge and fighting a slew more Inferno members, but she decided she would do it for the Jedi. And Mission marveled at the growing list of things she would do for the Jedi…
The jump into hyperspace was rocky and turbulent and didn't much improve after the Affliction came out of it. The ship listed and bumped along and it was clear that whoever was piloting it was either inept or busy doing something else—like fighting for his life. HK-47 had briefly explained to Dane what was occurring as they hurried toward the bridge. The plan to find escape pods was now a moot one as Nar Shaddaa was now light-years away, and so it had been decided it was better hurry to the flight deck and help Leigh and her men—if only to keep the Affliction aloft.
Dane had said little as the assassin droid had described their predicament—she was dazed, and more than a little numb, from all that had happened—and was still happening—over the last few days. Without time to recover, she had instantly taken up where she had left off, as the leader of the party, even though her mind was unfocused and her body weakened by all that she had had to endure. The fact that O'Bannon was dead had no meaning for her yet. She cared only that the Force was returned to her and that Atton was alive.
Atton was alive.
She and HK-47 had taken up the rear so that he might get her up to speed on recent events, and so Dane had the perfect vantage from which to keep her eyes on Atton. He is injured, she realized with a pang of guilt. Without thinking about what she was doing, she left HK in mid-sentence and quickened her pace until she was beside Atton. She laid her hand on his arm and channeled the Force, but before the healing energy could find him, Atton pulled away from her touch.
"I'm fine," he said coldly, not looking at her.
"You're hurt," she replied in a soft voice that was nearly drowned by the incessant bleating of the ship's alarm systems.
"I'll live," he returned.
"Atton, please—" she began but he stopped and rounded on her. He looked so tired.
"Now what, Dane? Now everything is fine again? You can't just talk to me like you did and then…"his words trailed off in frustration and he shook his head. "This isn't over yet. Once we get off this ship—if we get off this ship—then you can try to explain to me your master plan and just where in the hell I fit into it. Until then, just…," he sighed and the hardness in his eyes softened as he looked at her. "For now, just leave me alone."
I deserved that, Dane thought, watching as Atton resumed his limping jog behind Macen and T3. But, gods help me, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do… The Affliction listed again as though to suggest that what she needed to do was hurry and get to the bridge. HK-47 clanked up beside her.
"Urging Statement: Come, Master. My deductions of the schematics show we are quite near the flight deck…Ahh, yes. I can hear the glorious sounds of battle now."
Sure enough, the sounds of blasterfire, the shouting of men, and the mechanical clanging of droids in motion could be heard below the din of the alarm. Macen, running point, halted the party. They had arrived at a long, wide hallway that led to the Affliction's bridge. Bursts of red and a showering of sparks flashed at the other end, accompanied by the sounds of men fighting—and of men dying. The party approached cautiously and paused at the doorway to the bridge where they could all get a good look at the scene inside.
The bridge was rectangular in design with one end harboring the ship's controls and the other end being the doorway Dane and her party stood. In between was total chaos. Fifteen security droids had taken up positions at the rear of the bridge, closest to the entrance. They exchanged fire with a ragged group of men at the helm and everyone in Dane's party saw both Inferno thugs and Vogga's rogues fighting together against the droids. The droids, apparently, couldn't distinguish between one bio-form from another and fired relentlessly at both. Black-clad bodies lay side by side with Vogga's men, their eyes wide and staring and all of them sporting black, smoking holes in their chests or heads. Dane tore her eyes from the sight and looked to the helm where men still lived. She saw then why the Affliction was suffering so badly—the droids blasterfire, more often than not, found the ship's navicomputer and other assorted controls that were necessary to fly the immense barge.
"There's Leigh…and Kellen," Atton muttered—names Dane didn't know. "All right, let's do this. Macen, cover me and HK—"
"No," Dane said, stepping forward. She eyed her party with a commanding stare Bao-Dur would have recognized instantly. "Cover me," she ordered and stepped onto the bridge.
Dane called upon the Force, as much as she could handle and then leveled it at the security droids. One after another, she sent the Force's energy out—pushing it out with commanding gestures of her hand—conferring destruction on every droid she set her sights on. The security droids—of a similar make and model to those she battled on Peragus—crumpled into smoking ruins, their arachnid-like limbs splayed out and useless, their blasters quiet. Upon recognizing a new threat, many of them turned from the little band of men at the helm who had been inflicting little damage anyway, and turned their fire onto Dane. The Jedi Master paid no more attention to the blasterfire zinging past her than she would a swarm of gnats. She dodged their fire, sometimes by no more than a slight inclination of her head, and advanced into the room, silencing the droids with the Force. After a few moments, all were annihilated and the only sounds on the bridge was of the alarm and an occasional hiss or spray of sparks geysering out from the remains of Raff O'Bannon's little squadron.
Dane let the Force go and swayed on her feet, instantly dizzy. Strong arms supported her and she smiled, looking up at Atton's face. But no, it wasn't Atton, it was Macen and her heart ached.
"I…I don't know what's wrong with me," she told Macen. "My strength…it comes and goes…"
"You just need to rest," Macen replied and then smiled at her. "It's been a helluva week, hasn't it?" He surveyed the damage around him and whistled low through his teeth. "That was some show you just put on. With that implant they put on you, I hadn't realized…"
Dane returned a weak smile and saw Atton, on his way to the helm, give her a pained look. "I've hurt him," she muttered. "I just want to protect him and instead I just keep hurting him."
Macen's face tightened. He drew her to a chair that was mostly still intact and sat her in it. "Rest here. You'll sort it all out after we get this heap landed, all right?"
"No, I can't, I have to help…have to fight," she muttered, but she was so tired and her mind was replaying the events of the last week in choppy bits and pieces—like the flashbacks she'd had after the war. She closed her eyes, willing them to go away and her hand went instinctively to the place on her neck where the implant was. She felt nothing but dried blood and skin but she rubbed it anyway. The ship listed again, this time violently enough to toss her out of the chair. She landed heavily on the ground. "I have to help," she muttered to no one—Macen was gone. She opened her eyes but they would not focus. She realized her mind was shutting down and taking her body with it. No, I've endured worse…during the war, she thought, arguing with her failing body, but it was no use. The expenditure of the Force on the droids had simply been too much.
Dane stopped fighting and laid her head on the cool floor of the bridge and closed her eyes. Muffled shouts, the alarm, and even the frightening way in which the Affliction was suddenly careening through space at a downward angle and at a distinctly unhealthy speed, did not rouse her.
Have to fight…
General, can you hear me?
Yes, my friend. I'm so glad…
I need you to do something for me, General.
I need to fight, to help my friends, to help Atton…but I am so tired, so weak.
Of course, General and I am so sorry I could not help you.
But you did, my friend. You always do.
Not as I would like or am able, but I am going to help you now. You have to get up, General. Get up now and get into the chair.
So heavy…
General, please. You must get in that chair and strap yourself in. Do you understand?
Why? Are we going to crash? Gods…Atton!
Open your eyes General, find your strength.
Don't leave me, Bao-Dur…not again.
Find your strength, General. I know you can…
Dane opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor of the bridge. The blaring alarm was being overwhelmed by the screaming of the Affliction's engines and Dane knew at once that the sound, plus the sharp, downward cant to the ship, meant that it was blazing through the outer atmospheres of some planet. Manaan, Dane thought. Her body felt like it weighed a thousand kilograms and the velocity of the ship only pressed her harder to the floor. But Bao-Dur's words came to her. The ship is going to crash, she thought. With effort, she lifted her head and saw an empty chair before her. She summoned every last bit of strength she had and hauled herself onto it. She paused to catch her breath and heard Atton's voice, shouting something harsh and panicked to someone else. Tears streamed out of her eyes as Dane struggled to sit. I'm so sorry, love. I have failed you… Her vision blurred, her body rattled as the ship streaked through Manaan's atmosphere, and she reached for the seatbelt with trembling hands. Three tries and she was able to latch it. She slipped into darkness then, not knowing that she—and Bao-Dur—had just saved her life.
Atton watched Dane enter the bridge and proceed to systematically destroy every last security droid in the room. More than once, she narrowly dodged a streak of blasterfire that would have ended her and he lunged out into the bridge to try to protect her…but it was over before he could ignite his lightsaber. Fifteen security droids lay in smoking ruins. Atton blinked and rubbed his chin. Holy … He looked at Dane who swayed and would have fallen… if it hadn't been for Macen catching her. Jealousy and something frighteningly close to hatred gave energy to Atton's tired body and stalked toward the pair, not entirely certain what he would do when he got to them. But a woman's frantic voice calling his name from the helm stopped him and jolted him back to reality. The Affliction was out of control and no Exchange member currently sitting at the controls and jabbing at them uselessly was going to be able to do something about it. Atton hurried to the helm, though his eyes couldn't help but look at Dane in Macen's arms. He got there first, big deal, Atton thought. She can do what she wants…I've had it with this game.
All thoughts of Dane fled as he arrived at the controls of the Affliction. Leigh, blood streaming down her face in various rivulets was arguing with Kellen, himself burned more than once by blaster fire. Atton felt a pang of guilt—of all of Vogga's men and all of O'Bannon's men, only Leigh and Kellen remained. We should have helped, Exchange or no…
"What's the story here?"
"The ship's navicomputer was programmed to set a course for Manaan," Leigh said breathlessly, the adrenaline of battle no doubt still coursing through her veins. "The droids knocked out any chance of override. We're heading straight there and my pilot was killed by this spacer !" She choked, indicating Kellen. "We can't control it! We're going to crash!"
"None of this would even be happening if you and your men hadn't tried to steal the Affliction," Kellen spat and then leveled his gaze at Atton. "And you…I should have killed you after my men went down on Nar Shaddaa."
"Yeah, well, you didn't, so shove over and let me drive," Atton said. He didn't have enough energy to add that it was Kellen who brought Atton on board, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that Kellen was sitting in the pilot's seat. Instead of moving, the man trained his blaster on Atton.
"I don't think so. I think you've done enough…Jaq."
"There's no time for this !" Atton barked, his patience hanging by the barest of shreds. Looking out of the viewport, he saw the immense blue blob that was Manaan growing steadily larger.
"Statement: I agree," came a cold, metallic voice and Kellen looked up to see HK-47, Macen, and even the little T3 unit aiming their blasters at him. Kellen reluctantly lowered his weapon and Macen relieved him of it. With an urging from HK and HK's disruptor carbine, the Inferno member slunk into a nearby seat.
"Can you fly this thing?" Leigh asked Atton with wide eyes.
"I'll try," Atton said, taking the seat and hurriedly checking the Affliction's systems. "You were right, the navicomputer is taking us straight to Manaan," he told her. "Coordinates are locked in—there's no changing course now."
"But…you can land it though, right?"
Atton shook his head. "In a manner of speaking," he said dryly. "The droids knocked out about eighty percent of the ship's controls—trajectory, speed, even atmospheric reentry are all out of my hands."
"That doesn't sound good," Macen put in from behind him. Atton spared him a rotten glance but Leigh was tugging on his arm.
"Well, for gods' sake, what can you do?" she demanded.
Atton smiled a tense smile. "I can steer."
The expression on Leigh's face would have been comical had they been in any situation but this one. "Strap in," he told her and then looked around at the others. "Where is Dane?"
"She's back there, probably passed out," Macen said.
It nearly killed Atton to say the next words but he did anyway. "Get back there and stay with her. Strap yourselves in and prepare for reentry. It's going to get a lot bumpier and for the love of , would someone turn that damn alarm off before I completely lose my mind?"
T3-M4 jabbed a probe into some panel and the alarm went dead. However, without the squealing alarm, the rattling, screaming and whirring sounds of the Affliction speeding its deadly course toward Manaan was much more pronounced. Leigh's face paled as she sat next to Atton, her gaze flickering between him and the fast-approaching planet.
Atton gripped the controls of the monster ship, his right hand protesting that enough was enough. He ignored it as best he could and concentrated on keeping the ship as steady as possible. It was a heavy, lumbering ship—much more so that the smaller freighter he was used to flying. If I can come close to landing this thing, it will be a major miracle, he thought but did not say aloud.
The viewports began to get cloudy with the red-white haze of reentry phenomenon. The systems that made reentry a smoother affair were knocked out and the entire barge began to rattle.
A thought occurred to Atton and he looked to Kellen quickly. "Who else is on this ship?" he shouted. "There must be slaves or servants or whatever unfortunate bastards O'Bannon caught, right?"
Kellen smiled a smug smile. "Of course, but they're all in lockdown. The Affliction does that in emergencies. The harem, the zoo, every slave working aboard is now trapped in their little rooms."
"There must be a comm channel for alerts and announcements," Atton muttered to Leigh. "Find it and tell everyone to take crash positions."
Leigh's eyes opened wider and Atton realized he had chosen his words poorly. "Just warn them!" he hissed. The controls were trying to jump around in his hands and he was nearly dizzy with pain.
"There is no P.A. system, you stupid bastard," Kellen said from his chair with a manic smile. "Your little rescue party just cost about seventy-five people their lives."
Atton pursed his lips. "HK, would you mind?"
"Statement: Not at all," he said. The droid rose from his chair, drove the butt of his carbine into Kellen's face, and then resumed his seat.
"Thank you," Atton muttered and was relieved when the ship finally past out of the outer atmosphere's and the rattling ceased. The relief was short-lived however, as the Affliction was hastening toward Manaan at a rather violent speed. Leigh gasped beside him as the waters of Manaan drew closer and closer. Shortly, a settlement floating amidst all the blue appeared and Atton realized with a panic that the ship had been programmed to land on it. It's going to wipe them out… he thought sickly and gripped the controls, trying with all his energy, to turn the ship away from the settlement.
Leigh's hand clutched his sleeve, and as the settlement seemed to race up towards them, they raced down to meet it. Sweat broke out over Atton's brow as he pushed, prayed and willed the ship to turn. With agonizing slowness, it did.
"You're doing it," Leigh whispered but Atton didn't hear her. He called upon the Force for more strength, more focus, more anything and guided the Affliction away from the settlement, at the same time pulling up with all his might so that it didn't nosedive into that vast ocean.
A cry escaped him as fought the controls. We're still too close! he thought, which was quickly followed by, We're coming in too fast…and then the situation passed out of Atton's control. "Dane," he muttered as the water rushed up at him, and his last thought at the ship struck down was, I love you, babe, always…
The Affliction did not strike the settlement, though it came damn close. Atton had managed to pull up the ship's nose enough to keep it from smashing into the water and shattering it into a thousand pieces. Instead, it slammed its belly onto the water, breaking apart here and there, and then skipped like an overgrown rock three or four times before rolling on its side. And then it began to sink. Those watching from the settlement—those who had thought they were about to die and were spared by the brave and skillful maneuverings of the pilot inside that out-of-control ship—began to take action. Rescue skiffs were manned and sent out, hoping to save anyone who might have survived the crash, while another, smaller freighter screamed out of the sky from above…
End of Part I
Notes to Reviewers:
Whew! That was a long one, wasn't it?
Thank you all for your support and feedback. I really appreciate it and especially appreciate LONG reveiws that go with LONGchapters, winks.
To Revan's Pet Duck: When HK slammed his gun into that Kellen, kid? He was thinking of you the whole time. ;)
Special thanks to Miss Becky for her valuable input and feedback on the Dustil/Mission portion of this one and just for her support in general. (And for the drool-inducing pic of Atton she found for me) ;) Thank you, you're the best.
OK, so I've decided to keep Part II on the same story so bear with me if there's something like 40 chapters on this thing. Up next...well, I haven't decided quite yet what's next but I'm sure it will come to me.:)