This is a much shorter chapter, and it focuses on one of my more favourite characters from the Young Jedi Knights series.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Somewhere on the surface of Kilrathi-occupied Naboo

The Sivar-Eshrad had been well underway for several days now, and the bodies were just starting to pile up. However, word of the recent skirmish in orbit above the planet had nonetheless filtered down through the ranks, and this included the small detail of a captured Dralthi fighter piloted by one of the enemy being shot down and crashing on the surface. Thrakhath knew how important the ceremony was, but did not want to take any chances in leaving an enemy pilot left alive on the planet's surface, particularly if that individual took it upon himself or herself to cause havoc and disrupt the ceremony. Especially if that particular individual was indeed a Jedi.

After determining where the Dralthi had crashed, Thrakhath had contacted the forces nearest to the site and tasked the commander with investigating the wreckage, and to kill the pilot if they were not already dead.

The commander was originally frustrated at spending even the slightest amount of time away from participating in the Sivar-Eshrad, but decided it might be worth it if the pilot was a Jedi. The elemental warriors had gained great notoriety since the beginning of the war, and the chance to exact bloody retribution on one of them would indeed be quite tempting.

Definitely not the best landing I've ever had, Zekk thought to himself as he struggled to block out the pain. Would have been even a little bit easier if the Kilrathi had any kind of safety measures in these deathtraps, but no, they're all about this whole 'death before dishonour' crap. Pushing these thoughts out of his head, Zekk tried his best to clear his vision and assess his current situation.

The Dralthi was definitely a total write-off. The fuselage was totally bent out of shape, wiring was exposed and yanked out of every imaginable port. Also, there were two different kinds of liquid splattered around the cockpit. One was a sickly brown colour and possessed a foul industrial odour; obviously the fuel that the Kilrathi used for their fighters. The other was a dark red, and was over much of the flight controls. Unsure what it was, Zekk took some on his pinky finger and sniffed it, then placed it on the tip of his tongue. The salty tang made him realise that it was blood. Specifically, his blood.

Gently touching his forehead, Zekk realised he now had a huge gash there, caused when he had smacked his head against the controls on impact. That was also the explanation for him blacking out temporarily, and the splitting migraine he was still experiencing.

Zekk brought his left arm around in order to tear off strips of fabric from the sleeve to make a bandage for his head, and received a surprise when he noticed that his arm seemed to be bent in a way that arms typically did not bend. At least, not Human arms. Gently pulling back the sleeve, he saw that the limb was grotesquely contorted at the elbow, but there were no open wounds and no bones piercing through the skin. It was not broken, merely dislocated.

Fortunately for Zekk, this was not the first time he had received this kind of wound, so he knew how to deal with it. He placed his wrist between his knees and pushed them together, holding the end of the limb firmly in place. Then, after taking a deep breath, he jolted his shoulder and upper arm forward. A sickly popping sound was heard as the elbow snapped back into place.

Taking a few seconds to allow the pain to subside, Zekk wriggled the fingers on his left hand to ensure he still had full use and feeling of them, then set about tearing off the sleeve of his flight suit and fashioning a makeshift bandage for the gash on his forehead. After a couple of minutes, he finally got it, making it look almost as though he was wearing a headband.

Okay, now to get the hell out of here, Zekk mused. He figured that the Kilrathi saw where he crashed, and in all likelihood, they sent someone to investigate it; either to get a prisoner, or ensure there were no survivors. Either way, he had no intention of sticking around to find out. Taking stock of his inventory, he saw that his lightsaber was still intact, and the provisions that he had been supplied with at the start of the mission were still in his possession.

Peering through the shattered front viewscreen, Zekk saw that he had come down in a lightly forested area. The trees had ripped through the vessel's canopy, even coming close to shearing the right wing clean off. Dusk was approaching, which meant that he would be able to move under cover of night relatively undetected.

Leaning forward, Zekk began twisting and turning a few knobs and dials on the Dralthi's radio. Though primitive compared to those found on Alliance craft, it was still relatively easy to understand and use. It was a bit of a gamble, and not one that was guaranteed to work, but Zekk figured that the Kilrathi on the surface were still using communication devices to stay in touch with each other. And in order for that to work, they would have to be set on the same frequency. The fighter's radio had recently been configured to Alliance channels, but the original settings should still be there.

Paydirt! Zekk managed to tap into the com channels of the Kilrathi. Though he still did not understand what they were saying, he nonetheless managed to extrapolate the position and heading of nearby units on the ground. Most seemed to be focused on the sick ritualistic slaughter of their ceremony, but there was indeed one squad that was gradually making their way towards the crashed Dralthi.

A series of thoughts ran through Zekk's mind, and he quickly came up with an idea…

The commander of the group sent to investigate the crashed Dralthi had to admit, he would much rather be back leading the slaughter against the inhabitants of this planet. The Sivar-Eshrad had only been going on for the last couple of days, but had already ammased an impressive number of sacrifices. Many had been the Humans who had colonised this planet and referred to themselves as the Naboo, but most had actually been members of that bizarre amphibian species that inhabited the waterways and grottos beneath the surface of the lakes and oceans.

Upon first encountering the strange beings, the Kilrathi had been struck by their apparently clumsy behaviour. Originally, they assumed that the Gungans would be easy prey, but it quickly turned out that their clumsy appearances belied their nature as warriors. Their style of fighting was very different from that of the Kilrathi, no doubt about that, but they were warriors nonetheless. As a result, the Gungans had proven to be more of a hassle than originally thought. Quite a number of Kilrathi had actually fallen in battle against these creatures.

Naturally, this called for retribution, and the Kilrathi had stepped up their slaughter against them and the Humans of Naboo. Both groups had been tenacious, there was no denying that, but that simply made their sacrifices to Sivar more appealing. After all, the War God favoured the souls of warriors.

But then came word that a Dralthi piloted by an enemy pilot had crashed on the surface. The exact reason as to how they had gotten their hands on the craft was not released, but nonetheless, it was imperative that the craft was located and the pilot killed as soon as possible. This order had come from the Crown Prince himself, and such a command was well worth taking some time out from the Eshrad. There would be plenty more victims to slaughter later on.

If only those under his command would think like that, instead of constantly grunting and growling in complaint. The commander turned around and barked out an order for them to shut up and focus on the task at hand. Without waiting for a response, he turned back around and continued walking, ignoring the grumbles from his subordinates. He wished that he had been assigned fellow Thrak'hra on this mission, instead of being saddled with these four incompetent Kilra'hra who would not stop whining.

The commander's woes were forgotten as the tracking device in his hand gave off a sudden beep, and he felt the fur on the back of his neck rise in anticipation. The crashed Dralthi was just up ahead!

It was approaching dusk, and the dimming light made it a little difficult to navigate through the dense foliage of the forest. The commander found that to be another irritating issue. He much rather preferred the wide, open arid plains of Kilrah. Trees offered enemies protection, particularly when bunched together in great numbers like this.

Coming through a crop of trees, the commander felt a smile spread across his leonine features as he spotted the crashed Dralthi. Behind him, he could hear those in his group make their own exclamations at the sight of the target. Of course, if the pilot was still alive, the commander had no intention of letting his subordinates have the pleasure of finishing them off.

Looking back over his shoulder, the commander gave his brusque orders. "Search the vessel, and if the pilot is still alive, then bring them to me." He could tell that the others bristled at his order, each one wanting to score the kill themselves, but they knew better than to ask.

The other four Kilrathi swarmed around and over the totalled Dralthi, two of them climbing up to look into the cockpit. After looking, one of them turned back towards the commander. "The pilot is not inside the craft."

The commander's brow raised in surprise. "They are just gone?"

"Wait," said the other one peeking inside the cockpit. "There appears to be something in here. It looks like… oh vraxar!" He struggled to extricate himself from the cockpit, but he did not get far. Less than a second later, a massive explosion erupted from the cockpit, engulfing the entire Dralthi and the four Kilrathi searching it. The commander was not caught in the blast, but the shock wave knocked him off his feet.

Propping his head up to look back, all he could see was flaming wreckage and the burning corpses of those in his squad. He rolled to his left side in order to better push himself up, when he noticed a single figure moving towards him in very determined steps.

The individual was a Human male, with pale skin and long black hair. He wore a flight suit typically sported by those in the Galactic Alliance, except that one of the sleeves appeared to have been torn off and fastened around his head like a bandage. He exuded confidence and displayed no fear.

Growling at the very thought of being taken by surprise, the commander launched himself to his feet. Blinded by fury, he raced forward, his claws extended, ready to rip the Human's throat out and offer it up to Sivar.

It was not until the last second that he noticed the man held a metal cylinder. When he pressed the button on the side, a fiery orange blade lanced out, and the man swung the blade at the commander…

The lightsaber blade passed cleanly through the Kilrathi's midsection, and he went sprawling past Zekk to fall on the ground in two separate pieces. The young Jedi held the weapon aloft in his hand for a few seconds, his finely tuned senses scanning the surrounding area. When it became apparent that no other enemies were around, he deactivated the blade, and clipped the cylinder back on his waist.

It had been no easy task to rig the Dralthi's fuel tanks to explode, but fortunately Zekk was a resourceful individual. The good news was he had survived and effectively destroyed the evidence of his crash, taking out five enemies in the process. The bad news was that he was stuck on a planet crawling with the enemy, and he had no way of getting back. Even if he managed to acquire transport, there was no guarantee of getting through their blockade.

Calm down, Zekk, he thought. Panicking is not going to help you out in this situation. He took a moment to think through his options. He knew that the Kilrathi were in various areas on the surface, and were attacking the populace for the purposes of their sick ritualistic slaughter. It seemed natural that they would concentrate their attacks on major population centres. Going to one of those would be risky, as he would most likely be heading straight into the enemy's camp. However, it was also highly likely that the locals would be defending them heavily. Not only that, but there would most likely be transport there, which could be used to get off the planet.

And even if there isn't, then these guys could probably use a Jedi's help, Zekk added as an afterthought. He knew that the planetary capital of Theed was nearby, so it seemed like a logical place to start.

Despite the fact that his body needed rest, Zekk knew that it was best to move under cover of night, so as to avoid the Kilrathi patrols. Looks like the darkness will be my friend, he thought with a hint of irony as he headed in the direction of Theed.

Glossary of Kilrathi terms used in this chapter:

Vraxar - A wish of damnation upon occurrences. Basically, 'crap!' or something like that.

So now Zekk is trapped alone on an enemy-occupied planet. Don't worry; he used to survive on his own in the underbelly of Coruscant. He'll be fine.