"Space Bound"
Chapter Twenty-Five: One More Dance
"I've seen the horror
I've seen the wonders
Happening just in front of my eyes
Will I ever, will I never free myself by making it right?
I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul
I'd turn it back, it's my fault
Your destiny is forlorn
Have to live till it's undone"
-Within Temptation, "Jilian (I'd Give My Heart)"
Dried blood caked Blythe's dress and the insides of her legs. Her complexion had begun to turn to that strange purple hue again, and it did not go away. The rhythm of her breathing was shaky, unstable, like her heart missed beats and half-beats without pattern. All Cad could do was inject a pain-killing drug through a needle into her arm, and hope that everything would be all right. That the last pieces of her could hold together until it was safe to leave Coruscant.
Cad, who had spent over an hour scrubbing the dark, sticky mess off his coat, glanced over at her every two to three minutes. Gray, dim rays of light began to stream in, illuminating the stale particles of dust floating around the cockpit. He cradled a blaster in one hand, pleased to feel the accumulated layer of scratches and general wear around its trigger, as he straightened his back against the wall behind him.
"Bane Cad..." asked Blythe. "What if it's a boy?"
He stroked one thumb below her eye to wipe away a tear. Blythe's left thigh twitched, and she winced, only to cough again. Then he shot another dose of the drug up her arm, and her muscles relaxed a bit against his.
"A boy," he echoed halfheartedly. A scrawny, silvertongued boy with Twi'lek skin and Duros eyes, little fingers glazing over his daddy's prized rifle collection. "I'll give him a stun blaster to practice with until he can handle a bit more juice."
"What if it's a girl?"
What if. What if. That was all Blythe could goddamn care about when one wrong move would kill her instantly? When any doctor or medic would either be unwilling to help her or was too busy tending to the neighborhood casualties? Why, should be the question.
Why didn't I get rid of the kid before—
How could he do it. How could he let this kid slowly kill Blythe from the inside out, a kid who would be watching his every move? Who would he or she decide to be more like?
And, considering Blythe's condition, how long would he, or she, live at all?
Probably not long.
"If it's a girl," he said, trying to picture such a small creature cradled up and fast asleep in Xanadu Blood's cockpit, "'den I'll buy her a pretty dress and teach her all the dance moves."
Blythe choked back a sob, unable to look him in the eye any longer, and turned her head away.
Dammit. The smell of blood was bringing, of all things, the old headache back again. He lit a deathstick to ease off the new soprano-level shriek that had begun behind his eyes. With a bit of caution so not to cause her any unnecessary pain, he backed away from the bedside and stood up straight.
At that moment, there was a loud buzz from Hand's exit door, short but ear-piercing in its abrupt startle. Blythe's breaths quickened and her eyes widened, as she did not know who it was. It could be Garr Broxin himself, for all she knew.
Cad Bane just rolled the deathstick to the side of his mouth with his tongue, before strolling over to the hatch and flicking the switch.
About time she showed up, he thought, but he did not dare say it aloud. After his tidbit conversation with Embo the previous night, Cad had taken the responsibility of contacting Sing to request a face-to-face meeting. Even without Embo's help, he would have done it anyway—at least, after watching the message Sing left for him on the holoprojector he found on Blythe.
When the door hissed open, Cad Bane immediately reached for his blaster.
"Howdy."
"Howdy yourself," he replied, staring into the barrel of Aurra Sing's sniper rifle aimed for the space between his eyes. "Kinda funny how you're the one who ends up pointing guns around, don'tchyu 'tink?"
"I like to come prepared." Sing stretched her neck to the side to peer around his shoulder into Hand. "You alone?"
"You would call it that. Alone enough."
She snapped her rifle back, then slung it over her shoulder, twirling some sort of caramel-flavored hard candy around in her mouth. As Cad Bane caressed his left breathing tube, he made a gesture to the outside of the hangar. With a crack of a smile he recognized all too well, Sing stepped off Sleight of Hand's docking ramp. He restrained an urge to glance back at Blythe before shutting the door and leading Sing out the hangar, to a narrow and desolated city street. Even hours later, smoke continued to rise from the Jedi Temple. From the credit exchance across the street, he noticed Commerce Guild numbers were still dropping, digit by digit. It was technically daylight, but the pulse signs and holograms of strip-teasing Zeltrons were the strongest source of light, as they always had been.
All at once, Sing spun around.
"Dammit to hell, Sing," he said. "What made you bail like that last night?"
"What, did you have a bad dream?" she cooed. The fact that she was actually half right did not help matters. "How did you know I would show up?"
"I got your message, in case that slipped your mind."
"Best news I've heard all week."
Cad crossed his arms, one hand still hovering dangerously close to his holster.
"Why the bail, Slim?" he asked again.
"Questions, questions. That's all we seem to want from each other nowadays. Makes you miss the good times." She hesitated to glance up and down the street, precaution briefly coloring her irises a deep red. "If you must know, my employers didn't take kindly to our failed assassination attempt. I had to bail...if only for a little while. I needed to go underground until it was safe to resurface again."
"You should've picked a less obvious place," he said.
He thought of Blythe, alone and numb from the pain-killing drugs. His remaining options as to what to do with her had narrowed down quite a bit overnight.
Aurra Sing's smirk spread into a ravenous grin as she arched towards him.
"Maybe I wanted to see you one last time."
"I disagree," Cad replied, just before Sing leaned towards him and grazed her salty, wet upper lip over his mouth. Their lower lips touched briefly and, as if playing with him, she stuck out her tongue and licked the space of his half-open mouth, lettting him suck in her warm taste. He felt her breasts begin to press against his chest, and he let out a sound that came from the back of his throat. Old memories were revived—an older day when they were both wild enough to hitch a ride together without worrying about who was in the saddle. An older day that died with a whisper but was marked with its first death toll at the start of the Clone Wars, fading away by the half-life, like the words of a song being slowly forgotten. And now, it was just another one of those things that was sometimes fun to think about.
"C'mon, Bane. It's gonna be a cold night. Let's put all this behind us for a couple hours. Like the good times, huh?"
But that's all it was. Just another thing. His mouth tingled at her familiar taste, but the old spice had been lost
She felt his muscles harden at her touch, and she took a step back.
"What?" she asked, gaze darkening. "What's the matter? Are you too tied down to that little pregnant girl these days—"
"Maybe I don't care anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A surge ran through his blood. What could possibly be on Sing's mind at the moment? Did she not even care? Didn't she remember the message she sent mere hours ago?
"I'm not here for you. Even without the advance reward, I could get by. I wouldn't need your lousy employers, whoever they are." Then, after a quick pause, he added, "You know why I'm still on Coruscant, don'tchyu?"
"Hasty, are we. Fine. Fast works for me." She backed up until he was not too close to grab her neck, or her his. "Like I was saying, my employers weren't happy and I had to dodge a bit of punishment. But I think—I think last night threw everyone off a little. Do you agree with that?"
"You saying the plan's changed?"
"No. No. Broxin is somewhere. We just need to find him, of course. As far as I'm concerned, we're still in business." Then, as if to compensate for her obvious statement, Sing added, "I'd be careful, though. Now that he knows about it, he might try to use something or someone as bait. He'll try to lure us in. I'd keep my eyes open if I were you."
"That's the brilliant plan you had for me?" he snarled. "What about Embo and the others? Have you heard from them?"
"They scattered, too. Sorry if that's a problem."
Cad paused to glance back behind Sing. An idea came to him, an idea he could only hope was an actuality. But it could be. And it fit the rest of the pieces of a puzzle that had fallen apart when he learned a repulsive truth from a Jedi Master on Nal Hutta.
"The last of the Corrino brothers are here on Coruscant, aren't they?" he asked. "That's what you meant in 'de message."
"It's just rumors. You can't trust the rumors."
"They're at the Jedi Temple right now."
Sing leaned back, propping one foot against a crate to get comfortable.
Storytime, he thought.
"The Jedi Order is gone," Sing said. "Over. Done with. Part of the past. That's what happened last night and the night before. Who knows why this happened, you know how wonderful the HoloNet is. But the Jedi Temple?"
As Cad Bane locked his knees, Sing went on. "It's not so sacred now."
"Soldiers will be guarding it as they clean the place out. Whole battalions could be there for all we know. You think..."
He stopped as Sing swished her head from side to side, her ponytail flying behind her like a tail in the wind.
"I heard it's not that simple. Here. I show you." She flicked on a hologram of the Jedi Temple in its current state. "That place is full of goods. A lot of goods. I'm talking about lightsabers of all shapes and sizes and customizations, Jedi holobooks, Jedi Credits, pieces of ancient statues, footage, records, not to mention anything underground—Jedi and Sith holocrons and vaults no one has set foot in for centuries."
"And everybody with half a brain is thinking they can breach through security and get to all the Jedi loot."
"Bingo."
"And that's where the last Corrino brother is."
She flicked the hologram off, her eyes wide and round.
"I said it's just rumors. There used to be nine brothers, and now, thanks to the war and the family's involvement, only one is left. Rumored that he's been on Coruscant. I don't know about the Temple, though. I've been hearing stories about how it's just a big bloodbath. They don't want anyone going in there."
"Well...'dat's a risk I'm gonna take. Only one left, and all the credits I need. How could I refuse." He was already backing up towards the hangar. "One more dead Corrino to cut off and get rid of those damned Boltrunians. Why should I turn down my last chance?"
"And what makes you think I told you the truth?"
"Because I know your dance moves. And my head ain't in the sand as much as you'd like it to be." He smirked and parted his lips in something that just barely passed as a sneer. "If you were lying, you'd try to talk me out of it."
Sing grinned wildly for an exact split second.
"We're still not finished yet."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Slim. But we're done." Cad took another step back, still ready to draw his blaster at a moment's notice.
So that was why she hired him to kill Broxin in the staged protest. That was why she was still singing to him when she had no profit in it.
It was all just a game, after all. A long round of Sabaac.
Once he was gone, it was all Aurra Sing could do to whisper, "Keep your eyes open," under her breath. Then she turned away.
With a hiss, Cad tossed away the deathstick. Several paces later, he glanced behind him just in time to see Aurra Sing hop into a waved-down airspeeder. For a second or two he considered the possibility of Sing setting him up for an ambush so she could collect Broxin's bounty on his head. It was likely. It's not as if she wouldn't dare.
But, no. If that had been her plan from the start, she would have done so already. Between her employers and Broxin, she had made her choice.
Then again, she could always change her mind. And that sounded dangerous.
No matter. He loved everything about dangerous.
Even so, he felt a shudder cross his shoulders as he opened Hand's door and walked back in, as the faint whiff of smoke snuck through the air filters and into his mouth. It was tainted with the smell of impending, avoidable danger, awaiting under five fallen towers and millenia-old walls now little more than dust.
Sometimes, during a hiring, he had to dive in with little knowledge of just what was waiting underneath—or last-minute research and weapons modification were done during the way down. Maybe he knew a few things about dealing with Boltrunians and getting into the Jedi Temple.
But death. That was all that lay in there. Nothing but death.
What was he asking for?
He could almost hear his old techno-service droid Todo 360 muttering in reply, "Well, if you say so, there is no chance I'll be able to change your mind. As if you ever listen to my opinion, anyway," and he cracked a small smile at the expendable memory.
Cad Bane unlocked the weapons compartment in Sleight of Hand. Behind the hatch was a display of various explosives, rifles, and customized blasters, organized according to how many times they had proved useful to him, some more than others. He let his usual double blasters remain in his holsters, but he looped a string of several thermal detonators over one shoulder. Then he fastened a grapple launcher to one wrist gauntlet.
What was Blythe going to say, he wondered, when she realized he was going to have to leave her yet again?
On cue, Blythe tried sitting up, as Cad snapped his wrist gauntlet shut, and pulled out both blasters to set them on the table next to him. He took a glance over the old punctures and scars on his other arm, which had almost completely healed from the fight on Nal Hutta, but were still visible under the right angle of light.
When Blythe spoke, her voice penetrated the silence like a hot knife.
"I'm not okay. Are I, Cad?"
He didn't answer. He snatched up an oily rag and wiped it over the barrel of one blaster, scrubbing at a hard spot until it shone again. Then he set it down, reached back into the compartment, and pulled out another blaster—a simple, mere replacement that had not been used yet.
"I gonna die, right?"
At that, he turned around and leaned down in a half-sitting position next to her, holding up the blaster while bending back his hat. The outside hangar was far too quiet to be serene, a certain sign that a place once energized with incoming and outgoing traffic was now just a dead spot in a desolate neighborhood.
"If anybody else should show up," he said slowly, "I don't care if you have to shoot one time or twenty times, but no one is getting inside. Take this blaster off 'stun'."
"How do I do that?"
"Here, I'll show you."
When he had finished, he pressed the blaster in Blythe's open palm until she had wrapped her fingers around it. Then he pulled his hand away.
"I'm gonna die, right?" she repeated.
Cad stopped. He glanced down at the floor—dried, dark blood filled in the cracks. The toe of his boot gave a twitch.
The blank expression on her face was unreadable. Was it asking for the truth, or a promise he might or might not be able to keep?
"I'm doing what I can," he said. "Still one more piece of work I haven't finished yet. Then we can get out of the limelight."
"And run away?"
"I don't like to call it 'dat." He stood up, knees crackling as he did so. "If you can stay here and wait a spell."
"You're always leaving me." Blythe bit her lower lip, and let out a small sob that broke something hard and calloused inside him, and it stung. "I just...I hate it when you leave me. I hate it. Hate it. I mean, I don't. I don't wanna die alone."
Before Cad could say something back, she went on.
"Cad? Remember that night in Happyface? When I danced? I was gonna do it the next day. Swore it. I was...gonna jump in front of an airspeeder and—and kill myself."
"Mesh-la."
She kept going.
"I swore it. I really wanted to. I really was going to. Just wanted to die. Just be done with it. Lots of other girls did it, or tried to do it, so why couldn't I try. Maybe I still want to, die I mean."
Cad paused as he pulled on his coat, which was still damp. It was ice-cold as well, and stuck to his skin like suction. He gave a shiver.
"Can you hold on for me one more time, Blythe?" he asked in a low purr, his back to her.
"I hate it when you leave me. I can't...I can't be alone like that. Not like—"
"Hey. Blythe. Listen." This time, he did look her right in the eye. "This is the last time. After this, no more leaving you behind. You got 'dat?"
"And then we'll run away?"
Fine. If that was going to be her terminology, he could live with that.
"Something like running away," he answered.
Away from Coruscant. Away from what remained of the CIS and the mob families. Away from everything, for a little while, at least.
She choked on another sob, but stopped to nod her head. She cradled the spare blaster close to the bedside, casting her gaze down.
"Tell me the baby's gonna be all right," she said.
He sighed as he looked down at her—sick, plagued, and like a light slowly fading witht the sunset.
"The baby's gonna be all right," he lied.
Cad Bane never thought he would be doing this.
But he now found himself looking up at the sublevel hangar of the Jedi Temple, a thermal detonator in one hand and his comlink in the other. From inside, one could still see rising smoke. Not even twenty yards away, he had seen the first Jedi corpse. It was a Padawan, Togrutan, plugged with burn marks. Three or four clones had been lying nearby, cleaved in half with missing limbs.
It was uncanny, in a way. As a bounty hunter, one had to gird his loins for many threats that sooner or later would arrive. Such as the most dangerous and notorious mob leaders to negotiate new terms with, or fellow mercenaries who were as deadly and occasionally even deadlier, security and weapons one had never dealt with before, environments and atmospheres and hideouts one had to adapt to in a matter of seconds if part of the plan was to survive.
But never something like this.
He gazed up with some mixture of repulsion and awe churning inside him. Even a bounty hunter knew the level of sacredness held about the Temple. He knew it had stood for millenia, its inhabitants calling themselves "the guardians of peace and justice", a sense of a bit of order in a galaxy that did not know the definition of 'order', and a knighthood meant to stand for eternity. Like the falling sun, or the urban lights, or men like Orett Solarin and Garr Broxin, they would always be there.
Things like this, just weren't supposed to happen.
He glanced down at the small hologram resting in his palm. It contained a map of the Temple, an easy piece of information to access via the black market HoloNet systems. Unfortunately, because of the district's security lockdown, the hologram was short of any data regarding system leaks or secret passageways, not even an outline of the air vents he had once used as part of a theft hiring. In other words, he would be virtually alone.
But he could compensate. He was used to compensating.
Far-off sirens still wailed above Coruscant's upper level traffic.
And he thought of Blythe. He thought of the dead Padawan who testified innocence to the last breath. The possibility that those two could not have been all that different, and in another life, they may have been the same.
Only death lay in there.
Death.
Then, around the bend, he heard a sound approaching. The clinking armor and distinctive male human voices could only mean that they were clone troopers.
Before they could spot him, Cad lifted the thermal detonator over and behind his head. He tossed it down to a lower sublevel hangar, then ducked behind a stack of cargo crates. As he pulled out a blaster, he began to mentally count down the seconds.
An explosion sounded, rattling the floor. The subsequent shouts from the surprised but uninjured clones echoed throughout the hangar.
"Who goes there?" one snapped.
"Skip, Muck, go check it out," another barked. "Bull, you stay on the patrol."
Cad watched from his hiding place as three clones descended to investigate the nonexistant scene, while one trooper stayed behind. A handful of seconds dragged by, as he was still mentally counting.
Then, holding his breath, Cad slinked out from behind the crates. Before he could aim properly, the trooper—Bull—spotted him.
"Halt! Drop your weapon!" But Bull was only able to fire one shot before he was hit twice in the chest with a laser bolt. With a grunt, he fired again, but his body hit the ground before he could make another sound.
Cad ran to where the dead trooper lay, hastening his pace with every step before the other clones would return. Bending down next to the body, he pried the blaster rifle out of the armored hands. Then he took the extra ammunition on the trooper's belt, just in case. As he stuck his own blaster back, he raised the rifle to his shoulder. The weapon felt awkward and clumsy, as he was not used to Republican guns, but he had no choice. The trooper's armor was too damaged from the blast to use as a disguise, and searching for a different one would take up too much time.
Thus, the best method of protection was to put away his own weapon. Hopefully, if any other clones heard their own rifle go off with no evident reply, they would be far less likely to come and investigate the scene.
To finish off, Cad took a couple grenades off the trooper. Enough time had already been spent there. He rose up with his new weapon and began a light sprint through the sublevel hangar, the dead Temple looming above like a dark shroud. In the back of his mind, despite his erasing all distracting thoughts and precautions, he could not help but wonder—what would he find inside?
Because, of course, it was not just the Corrino brother he was after. No—that would be foolish. There was something else. He just needed a good reason for it. So what was that other reason?
As if on cue, the comlink on his wrist gauntlet beeped.
"Good luck," a familiar voice said. It was Aurra Sing.
But he didn't answer.
"Whatever happened to Christmas - bells in the streets were ringing
Whatever happened to the singing - the songs we used to know
Whatever happened to this Christmas, and when did it disappear from view
Where was I, and whatever happened to you
Whatever happened to Christmas and you?"
-Frank Sinatra, "Whatever Happened to Christmas"
Author's Note:
Hope you're all enjoying the story so far. There are only seven chapters left to go, so we're at the beginning of the end now. If you have not left a review yet, please do!
Since it's the holiday season, here's a little present—expect the next chapter one week from now instead of two! Merry Christmas, you guys.
And also, did anybody catch the reference to another television series in this chapter? (Hint: I've written a song-fic for it.)