TALES OF BOOLERS SQUAD
A STAR WARS STORY
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. . . .
Episode I
A DARING RESCUE
The Clone Wars rage on across the galaxy. The Jedi lead the Grand Army of the Republic against the treacherous Separatists and its evil leader, Count Dooku.
As war spreads to the Outer Rim, lawlessness grips the many systems caught in the crossfire. The Republic, spread thin by conflict, resort in desperation to hiring mercenaries in order to combat the Separatists and criminals alike.
Deep in Separatist territory, one of these mercenary groups gathered by Jedi Master Quinlan Vos has been dispatched to aid the Republic in the rescue of a captured Jedi Knight. . . .
…
Pam rests the back of her head against the frigid interior of the Sheathipede-class shuttle. Across from her, a Mandalorian-adorned in obsidian-colored armor accentuated with gold accents-traces her petite frame with eyes shielded beneath his expressionless visor.
"I must say madam, I still believe this venture to be a foolish one," KT-5, her protocol-droid, complains from the seat beside her. Perched on KT's silver-plated shoulder, her RE-1 medical droid, Sarge beeps in anxious agreement.
"Quiet KT," Pam says, "I'm sure the Republic can find use for you aboard this Venator if you're getting cold feet."
From the cockpit, the clone pilot chuckles, as he prepares the stolen ship for takeoff. It's the first noise he's made since Pam and the stoic Mandalorian boarded the ship. To be quite honest, she had forgotten he was even there.
"The lady is right," the clone says. He whips his chair around to face them, his pre-flight calculations finalized.
Pam catches a flash of the unfamiliar design plastered on the left side of his helmet. He notices her look of confusion and rotates his head to give her a better look.
"Like it," the clone asks, "Cute little fish I took a liking to on one of my missions in the outer-rim. Locals called it a goldfish, despite the bloody thing being orange."
Pam nods and returns her attention, or lack of it, to avoiding the Mandalorian. The clone awkwardly returns to the controls, fiddling with the hyperdrive stick to distract himself from the abrupt silence.
"Excuse me, sir," KT says, "If I may ask, when will we departing?"
"We got one more joining our rag-tag crew. A Zabrak pilot if the intel I got is correct," the clone answers.
…
The Zabrak drunkenly stumbles through the hangar, unsuccessfully attempting to dodge troopers and inanimate objects alike. He bumps into a gaggle of four clones, clutching a bottle of booze in his right hand.
"Here you are, lads," He slurs.
Forcing the bottle in one of their hands, he claps the trooper on the shoulder. The clone accepts it and glances at the other three, his confusion clear even beneath his helmet.
"Good lad, a gift from me to you. Consider it a thank you for your service," He says. Before any of them can reply, the Zabrak is off again, zig-zagging his way towards the shuttle.
…
The Mandalorian inspects his ion carbine intently; although, Pam feels his attention remains partially on her. She adjusts her makeshift poncho-a "gift" from a fallen Jawa-to cover her exposed saber clipped to her belt. She suspects the move may have been too-little-too-late. Even if he had not seen it, she doubts he missed the faded emblem of the Grand Army she attempted to scratch off the bracers covering her wrists.
The Zabrak bursts into the shuttle and promptly busts his ass. Reeking of alcohol, he giggles as he pulls himself to his feet. Now upright, Pam walks her eyes up and down his gangly body. She silently hopes that his liver is appropriately adjusted to his imposing height.
"You there," the Zabrak points at the trooper, "Out of my chair."
The Mandalorian halts the drunk, planting an armored hand on the center of his chest. With minimal effort, he thrusts the Zabrak into a seat and returns his focus to cleaning his rifle.
"Get up again, and I'll ensure you're unconscious for the remainder of this mission," the Mandalorian says. His baritone voice crackling through his helmet every bit as threatening as the armor he wears.
"Is it too late for me to be put to work on the ship," KT asks nervously.
"I'm afraid so," the clone pilot says. "We are behind schedule as is, no thanks to flyboy over here."
"Flyboy AND businessman. Blast, it's as if no one here as read my file," the Zabrak says.
Pam rolls her eyes, cursing the cloud of bad luck that's plagued her these past three years. A suspicious Mandalorian, an alcoholic pilot and a chatty trooper, joining this squad seeming to get worse all the time. The promised pay better be worth it.
…
Aboard the bridge of the Venator-class destroyer, clones and other assorted personal study their monitors. Commander Cody stands above them, flanked by the legendary negotiator himself, General Obi-Wan Kenobi.
"Commander Cody requesting clearance for shuttle, call-sign Boolers, to exit the hangar bay," the stoic commander says. Flanking his right-side, General Kenobi, hands clasped behind his back, struts forward.
"This is General Obi-Wan Kenobi, you have permission to depart the hangar Boolers Squad."
"Copy that, General Kenobi," the pilot says over the intercom. "Boolers Squad, pulling away."
…
The shuttle lurches forward, as the clone pilot lifts off their designated landing pad. The Zabrak's orange irises hop from each of the ship's occupants.
"Wait a bloody minute, it's just the four of us," He questions.
The tremble in his booze-soaked words does not escape Pam's notice, and judging by the Mandalorian's gruff chuckle, it did not sneak past his either.
"Preparing for jump to hyperspace," the trooper says.
The Zabrak slouches deeper into his seat, visibly displeased by the crew indifference towards his concerns.
Pam watches through the glass cockpit, as the stationary stars blur into indecipherable ribbons of light.
…
"We've got some time before we arrive at our destination. Now would be a good time for introductions and getting acquainted," the trooper says. He rises from his chair and gets comfortable in one of the spare seats, a little too close to her for Pam's liking.
"My name is Bernard, and I'll be your ride in and out for this mission," the trooper says.
Bernard removes his helmet to reveal the face shared by the rest of his brothers-in-arms. A green-tinted mohawk, cut short and flat, the only thing differentiating from any other clone Pam's encountered.
"Ruvroo Fast-Flight at your service, ladies and gentlemen," the Zabrak boasts. "Best pilot in the outer-rim and galaxy-renowned man of business."
Bernard rolls his eyes at the irrational confidence oozing from Ruvroo's puffed-out chest. Pam silences the re-surfaced feelings of guilt and grief bubbling in her chest. Yet, The memory of 77 she'd locked in the recesses of her mind plagues her conscious regardless. There's no doubt in her mind the two troopers would have been fast friends.
"What about you, Chiss lady," Bernard says. His question rescues Pam from her memories, guilt and grief banished in favor of annoyance and anger.
"Call me that again, and it'll be Ruvroo flying this ship out of wherever we're heading," she says.
Bernard lifts his hands in a placating 'I-surrender' gesture. It's identical to the signature gesture 77 would use when one of her barbs possessed too much venom. The wrinkles of her brain groan, keeping her past buried from herself would not be easy it seems.
"Now you're are speaking my language, darling," Ruvroo purrs.
"Don't make me regret saying that, you drunk."
"Pam," She says with finality. She forces her left leg to remain planted to the steel floor. She would not let any weakness be seen around these strangers no matter the potential energy stored in her eager-to-bounce leg.
"Not the name I expected from a Chiss warrior," Bernard says, brow raised.
"I'm no usual Chiss," Pam says. She hoped the edge in her words would signal to the chatterbox that this conversation is over.
"I suppose so," Bernard says, "I've never met a Chiss with silver skin and blue hair before. No offense intended of course, it's just usually the two are reversed."
Pam challenges his curious glance at her bracers with narrowed eyes, a warning to say nothing of the matter. She thanks the force, as he shifts his attention to the two droids beside her. Much more comfortable now that the focus is no longer on her; Pam relaxes into her seat and studies the plates of the ceiling.
"These your droids," Bernard asks.
"We consider ourselves more of a team, Master Bernard. KT-5 and SRG-19, at your service, sir," KT says. Sarge leaps from the protocol droid to Pam's shoulder, excitedly beeping in agreement.
"Well, a medical droid will be useful for you lot, and I'm sure we can find something for KT to do around the base," Bernard says. He turns to face the black-and-gold Mandalorian. "What about you over there, Mando? What's your story, you a child of Mandalore?"
"That is none of your concern," the Mandalorian says. His head does not turn to the voice of the clone, remaining locked on Pam's waist.
"A strong and silent type, eh," Bernard says with a lopsided smirk. "As long as you can handle yourself the details aren't important to the Republic. Mando it is then."
"The only detail I care for is the fact that your Republic recruited a Jedi," he says.
The realization washes over Pam, as the reason for his aggression manifests. She'd heard rumors of the mess on Mandalore. To be frank, she does not blame him for his distrust of the Order. It's something that they have in common.
"Rest assured Mandalorian, I'm no jedi."
The tension constricting the muscles beneath the plating of his shoulders lessens slightly. Though, he makes it very apparent that Pam's answer does not entirely satisfy his curiosity.
"Yet, you carry the weapons of a one."
"Maybe, I killed a Jedi and stole them for their corpse," Pam says.
The half-lie eases the distrust lingering in the stale air of the ship. She'd developed a knack for keeping her history vague over the course of her three-year odyssey, but this particular statement carried a rather unpleasant morsel of truth to it.
"I'm going to pretend I did not hear that," Bernard says, breaking the pregnant pause that had overtaken the ship. "Were any of you briefed prior to your arrival?"
"Briefed? Do I look like a man who cares about the task at hand," Ruvroo laughs. He rubs his thumb against his fingers, baring his teeth in a greedy smile. "The credits to be made were all I needed to see, lad."
"Another merc with a big mouth and appetite for riches," Bernard says, shaking his head in disapproval. He wags a glove-covered finger at the Zabrak, towering over them even while seated. "You better be some pilot, flyboy."
"Just wait 'til you see what I can do with my old lady. The Axehead and I will put whatever you can do with this garbage to shame."
"What about the rest of you," Bernard asks. His mastery of ignoring Ruvroo increasing with each time the drunk opened his mouth.
Pam meets the clone's eyes and shakes her head. Across from her, the Mandalorian mirrors her movement. Great, absolutely peachy, they were flying into this operation blind and deaf. Improvising may be her specialty, but she also never had to fight with a perpetual drunk and distrustful man armed-to-the-teeth.
"Right then," Bernard says, "Master Quinlan Vos assembled this team for-how should I put this-the more salacious missions that the Republic would rather not acknowledge."
"Meaning they need us to do their dirty work," Pam says. Typical, the Jedi would never risk tarnishing their pristine image as holier-than-thou peacekeepers.
"Precisely, Vos has been deep undercover seeking out Count Dooku, so Master Kenobi recruited you lot to take on these sort of missions," Bernard says.
"So, what is the mission," the Mandalorian asks.
"Rescue and Retrieval," Bernard says. He activates the holoprojector which displays the blueprints for a prison station. "This is Separatist prison station GAC-1138 in orbit above Malachor, and the current home of Jedi Knight Makabe Gamhain. Your mission is to infiltrate the prison, bypass the two checkpoints, and bust him out by any means necessary."
"I get it now," Ruvroo says, "We're some sort of suicide squad."
"Not if you succeed, which should not be a problem if you're as good as you claim," Bernard says. The taunt wipes the smile off the overconfident Zabrak's face. "Our intel suggests he is being held deep in the prison in the maximum-security cells, right here. I should be able to transmit the ship's code to get us in."
A red-dot blinks from the holoprojector indicating the cell from the reports. A loud alarm erupts from the cockpit signaling that they would soon be exiting hyperspace.
"Looks like you'll have to come up with a plan quick. Look alive, Booler Squad, it's time to see what you lot are made of," Bernard says. With that, he returns to the cockpit and takes over the controls once again.
Pam closes her eyes and lightly taps her head against the back of her seat. Force be damned, they were going to need some sort of miracle to pull this off. She just hoped that they could work together long enough to prevent themselves being shredded by B-1 blaster bolts.
…
As the Mandalorian equips the remainder of his arsenal to his body, Pam enters the cockpit and situates herself in the seat besides Bernard. He's put his helmet back on, but Pam cannot decide if it is out of a desire for protection or a tactic to disguise his fear.
His fingers fly across the dash, transmitting the code. Pam holds her breath, as the two of them await confirmation for their entry. It's quite possible the prison's defense cannons could end this mission before it begins. The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the crew of scoundrels.
"Thank the force," Bernard says, "We're cleared for entry."
He gives Pam an encouraging nod, and she returns to her new squad mates to formulate a plan to get them through each checkpoint.
"Either of you two have any bright ideas," Ruvroo asks. He shifts in his seat and secures the straps of his wrist-blaster.
The Mandalorian ghosts through a few offensive combos with duel techaxes, before returning them to their sheathes. He cracks his neck, hidden beneath layers of armor. His indifference make it clear he does not intend to voice his input.
"Use me as a decoy," Pam says, already regretting the decision. "We can tell them that you two are bounty hunters here to claim a reward for a captured Jedi."
"Master Pam, are you sure that is wise," KT says.
Sarge beeps in agreement, the noise penetrating the inner canals of Pam's eardrum. She chides the droid with a light slap, and Sarge emits an apologetic beep.
"Probably not but that's where you two come in. Once we are inside, you and Sarge split from the group and find the control room. Ideally, it would give us an advantage if you could sabotage the prison's power."
"I have a bad feeling about this," KT nervously whines. "Do we even have cuffs to bind you with?"
The Mandalorian steps into Pam's personal space, cuffs in hand. The speed at which he retrieved them leaves her feeling a bit more uneasy. It does not help that he clasps them unnecessarily tight around her wrists.
"You should hand over your sabers," Ruvroo says. Eyeing each hilt with an unnerving shine in his eyes, he extends an expectant palm and eagerly gestures for her to relinquish her only weapons.
"Don't let any of these rigid, metal bastards lay a hand on them," Pam warns. She awkwardly unclips each blade from her hips, the cuffs choking her blood flow to a crawl.
"Darling, I wouldn't dream of it," Ruvroo says. Turning to the taciturn Mandalorian, the Zabrak allows a drunken grin to skitter up his cheeks. "I think it best you leave the talking to me, Mando."
The black-and-gold clad warrior does not protest, simply nodding in agreement. They are fortunate that droids do not possess a sense of smell, as the stench of booze would surely raise suspicion to any living organism.
"Remember girls, when the droid is busy questioning us sneak towards the entrance to the prison's interior. Once we get through, fall in behind us," Pam says. Her eyes lose their eternal edge for a brief second. "Take this comm and please, try to be careful."
"Time to move out, you lot," Bernard says from the cockpit. He massages the dash with a gloved-hand. "I'll keep her running, but remember, the quicker the better. Thirty minutes, any longer than that and I'll have to leave you behind."
As if there weren't enough obstacles in their path; now, Pam has to trust the Mandalorian to keep Ruvroo from rambling from carving into what little time that was afforded to them. The drunk said it best. Some suicide squad they were.
…
A lone droid occupies the first security checkpoint that separates the hangar from the prison. Personally, Pam did not have much faith in Ruvroo to bluff their way past the droids. Their best hope would be that his nonsensical improvisation would confuse the droid enough to cause it to short-circuit and let them pass.
The Mandalorian's ion carbine juts into the patch of skin that protects her lower vertebrae. Even with the mission at hand, a part of Pam did not trust that he would not shoot her if the plan went south. Although, none of that would make a difference if the droid triggers the alarm before they can enter.
"State your business," the B-1 droid says.
"You're looking at our business, my friend," Ruvroo says. He places Pam's blades on the checkpoints counter. "We've come to collect on the bounty for this Jedi."
The droid searches the holographic database, scrolling through files. Pam counts the precious seconds ticking off the clock. She sneaks a glance at Ruvroo who subtly meets her gaze and winks.
"There is no record for any prisoners arriving today," the B-1 replies.
"You would rather us take her back to the ship and let her run loose. Don't be daft, friend. Record or not, you're in no position to turn away a Jedi, and as an honest businessman, I refuse to leave this place without my credits."
The droid struggles to process the onslaught of slurred words. Perhaps Ruvroo's state of intoxication gave them the unexpected advantage they needed. Even Pam found it difficult to surf the waves of the Zabrak's slur-soaked chatterbox.
"You may proceed to the next checkpoint but no funny business," the B-1 warns.
"I wouldn't dream of it, friend," Ruvroo says. He snags the lightsabers from the counter before the B-1 can confiscate them. "Tsk, tsk, I'll be keeping these, consider it insurance until I get my credits."
"Our credits," the Mandalorian chimes in.
"Fine, our credits," Ruvroo says. Mando does not miss Ruvroo rolling his eyes his "partner".
Pam watches her droids maneuver into place from the haze of her peripheral. KT and Sarge fail to maintain any level of stealth, but the droid in front of them seems too preoccupied with Ruvroo's boozy cover story to notice.
The door slides open, and the trio enters with little time to find a way to the cell. Pam hopes her girls can find a way to buy them a few more minutes with a healthy dose of sabotage. Force knows that they are going to need every minute at their disposal.
…
With Sarge leading the way, the two droids meander through the corridors of the prison for the entrance to the control room. Fortunately, they have yet to pass any patrols on their way.
"Slow down, Sarge," KT says, "I'm far too slow to keep up with you."
The RE-1-unit beeps in protest but obeys, allowing the sluggish protocol droid to catch up. They pass several doors, clearly having no clue where their destination lies.
"Dear heavens, we'll never find it at this rate. Perhaps we should return to the ship. Master Pam is more than capable of handling herself with her new friends."
Sarge angrily beeps back at her fellow droid, stopping on a dime and kicking KT's silver shins. A weak punt from KT flips the much smaller droid onto its head, but she recovers smoothly and speeds past KT.
"That mischievous bucket of bolts is going to get us both reduced to scrap metal," KT mutters.
Sarge rounds a corner and vanishes from her sight. She begrudgingly waddles in her friend's wake cursing the speed of Sarge's stubby legs.
…
The trio reaches the second checkpoint with little resistance, saving them from losing any more time to distraction. Pam wishes she could voice her complaints about the barrel bruising her lower back, but she knows that no sane prisoner would risk pissing off a heavily armed Mandalorian.
Ruvroo slaps his hands on the counter and whistles to gain the attention of the two B-1 droids working the checkpoint. Despite his earlier triumph, Pam's belief in his skills were little to none.
"Hello, fellas, I'm here to get this prisoner processed," Ruvroo says.
"Another Jedi, the warden will be pleased with this new addition," one of the droids answers. "Release her to be escorted to her cell and remain here to receive your payment.
Ruvroo stiffens, freezing at the demand, and tries to think quickly for any way to circumnavigate the predicament. Panic is swiftly replaced with his signature unearned confidence, as he leans against the counter.
"No offense but I don't think I trust a handful of clankers to manage that tall of a task. The midichlorian count on this lass would put many a Jedi Knight to shame."
Pam is pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong again by the Zabrak. Ruvroo continues to display his ability of improvisation and natural talent for crafting these preposterous tall tales.
"Plus, no droid can measure up to the skill of a Mandalorian. Contact your warden and he will confirm that," Mando says. His input inserting another layer to the lie.
"Surely he would be furious to find out that his droid escort was crushed by this scoundrel," Ruvroo says.
The two droids exchange an unsure look, but neither make any move toward their comm to reach out toward the warden.
"That will not be necessary, but your payment will be held until the prisoner has been delivered."
"A fair compromise, and you can trust me and my assistant here to safely get the job done. We're the best in the business, lads. This isn't our first pod race."
The door to the cell blocks hisses open. Ruvroo folds his hands together and bows toward the droids. Neither are able to comprehend the passive aggressive gesture of thanks.
The Mandalorian's barrel burrows itself deeper into the robes beneath her poncho. Pam hopes its for show, but she would not let her guard down no matter how close they were to their goal. Pam hopes that her girls were having the same luck, as the trio delves through the door into the intestines of the prison.
…
"Are you sure it is this door," KT says.
At her feet, Sarge whirrs a self-assured affirmation. She climbs her way to the door's control panel, splicer protruding from her left foot, and unlocks the door.
It whooshes open, and the two droids are met with the sight of a hulking Aqualish man sitting in front of several monitors. He whips his chair around to face the source of the disturbance.
"What the," He says, "Who the hell are you?"
"We are, uh," KT pauses, "The new droids, sir!"
The influx of her voice raises even more suspicion from the man, highly probable serving as the prison's warden. Right hand drifting to his blaster, he rises from his seat and stalks toward the protocol droid.
"I did not put in an invoice for any new droids, and no one, not even Dooku himself, shows up to my prison unannounced," He growls. Halting a foot-and-a-half from the droids; the warden crosses his arms visibly unimpressed. His calculating eyes devour the droid with a venom-laced stare.
"The two of us should really get going. If you would be so kind, we could use some directions to the control room to make repairs," KT says meekly.
The warden barks a bitter laugh, though the humor that should accompany it is eerily absent. Opting to ignore his blaster, he flirts with the hilt of a lightsaber dangling from his hip.
"Oh, I don't think so," the Warden spits back.
He slams a button on the wall, triggering the alarm, as the lockdown order drowns the prison in a Sith-red hue. The Aqualish unsheathes saber, and ignites it, a blue blade spouting from its emitter.
"Sarge," KT whispers, "We could really use one of your diversions."
The RE-1-unit rockets from the steel floor, splicer supercharged with every ounce of voltage she possesses. Unleashing a battle-cry of indecipherable squeals, she cannonballs into the Warden's chest, stabbing him with a dropkick to the sternum.
"Sarge, run," KT screams.
The two escape from the control room before the Warden can recover from the staggering blow. Sarge leaps and fires several swift kicks into the door's control panel. She manages to short-circuit it enough to slide the door three-quarters of the way shut, creating just enough space to confine the Warden to his room.
The droid scales the silver-plating of her companion and situates herself on KT's shoulder. Her angry and determined beeps promise KT the upmost protection in their escape.
"Calling all units, converge on the hangar," the Warden roars. "Do not let that ship escape."
"We must warn Master Pam," KT says. Sarge whirrs in agreement, as they race at a lethargic pace towards the hangar bay.
…
The rag-tag trio absorbs the silence of the lockdown protocols, as the elevator descends to the cell block. Pam curses-worry overpowering anger-at her girls internally. Ruvroo remains uncharacteristically quiet. Beside him, the Mandalorian's muscles tighten in anticipation, and he unstraps his techaxes.
"You should have left them on the ship," Mando says. The destruction of the syrupy stillness snaps Pam from her thoughts. "You can never rely on any of those damn droids."
The doors of the elevator part and reveal the path forward. A patrol of four B-1 battle droids rush through the corridor directly towards the lift. Pam swallows her regrets, cursing this devilish mission that continues its trend of getting worse all the time.
The imposing droids screech to a stop and level their blasters. Pam steals a knowing look towards Ruvroo, wordlessly demanding her blades. He shakes his head, eyes signaling he trusts his skills of bamboozlement.
"Identify yourselves," one of the droids demands.
"We are transporting this prisoner to her cell," Ruvroo says. He takes charge of the explanation, sticking with the cover story. "We should do so quickly before the intruders do any more damage."
The droids exchange unsure glances with confusion seeping from their red-slits of eyes. They lower their weapons, slightly. They clearly do not quite buy the explanation but risking a Jedi escape overpowers their suspicion.
"You two lock her up quickly," the same B-1 responds.
"Trust me, we won't stick around any longer than we need too," Ruvroo says.
"Master Pam," KT's voice crackles through the commlink, "You must hurry the Warden is locking down the hangar. Be warned, he somehow has obtained a lightsaber."
The droids raise their lowered blasters preparing to fire upon the three intruders. The flow of time ceases to obey its natural flow, as Pam-utterly defenseless-prepares to dodge the volley of blaster bolts.
"They're the intruders blast them!"
The Mandalorian hurricanes towards the droids, mere feet away and tomahawks the droid flanking the right. The blade embeds itself within the metal shell of the B-1 and forces it to stumble. Continuing his assault, he weaves through the bolts bulleting past him, burying his second axe in its head.
"Ruvroo, I need my blades, now," Pam demands over the roar of laser-fire.
Ruvroo flicks his wrist, locking onto the droid closest to Mando. In his drunken state, the Zabrak's aim wobbles with his blurred eyesight, wrist blaster missing its mark.
"I'm a little preoccupied, love" He says. The next volley brushes the excess cloth by his hip. "Aren't you Jedi supposed to have your sorcery for these situations?"
"I told you on the ship," Pam says, "I'm no Jedi."
The Mandalorian slices through the blaster of the B-1. With a swift boot to its chest, he caves it in forcing the droid to collapse to the floor.
Pam closes her eyes and soaks in the energy surrounding her. She silences her severed connection to the force. The darkness within in her consumes the blood coursing in her veins. She can feel the heat of the lasers seemingly unwilling to strike her.
"Any time now, Pam" Ruvroo says over the roar of gunfire.
He unloads another eruption of blots from his wrist blaster. This time, he succeeds in landing a killing blow on the downed battle droid, leaving two left.
The Mandalorian thunders a scream of agony, as the two remaining droids simultaneously fired bolts burn through the chinks in his armor. He wildly swings with his techaxes, but the wounds torture his combative prowess, both droids effortlessly dodging the attack.
"Pam don't just stand there, bloody hell, do something," Ruvroo says. He rolls away from another volley from the remaining B-1s, but the two correct their aim and graze the skin beneath his armpits.
Electricity bites the upper layer of Pam's pulmonary artery. Her eyelids climb towards her brow, and she savors the torrid fire flaring within her eyes. She destroys the dam that protected her from the darkness of her mind. The lighting explodes from her fingertips searing the metal-coating of the droids. The blue voltage blisters her wrists, as it dances around the cuffs, effectively disabling them. Free from her shackles, Pam raises her hands and taps into the living force.
The droids are engulfed in the electrifying power of the dark side, short circuiting and toppling to the floor, the life drained from their systems. Pam's energy flees her body with haste, and she plunges to her knees breathless and exhausted. The fire in her eyes dissipates, but a part of her aches for the torrent of power to return to her.
Ruvroo pulls himself to his feet and groans as each movement agitates his wounds. He grips Pam by the shoulders and thrusts her to her feet, wrapping her arm around his hip.
"Well, that was absolutely terrifying," Ruvroo says.
Surprising even herself, a weak laugh slithers through Pam's clenched teeth. She leans against Ruvroo's lower abdomen to counter the failing muscles of her legs.
"Mando," Ruvroo calls out, "Can you walk?"
The warrior rises and steadies himself. He returns the techaxes to their sheathes and slings his ion carbine from his back to his gloved-hands. The stoic Mandalorian nods and waves the duo forward.
"Job's not finished," Mando says, "I refuse to die here."
"Dank farrik, we need to get out of here," Ruvroo argues. "There's plenty of Jedi out there, let the Republic replace him."
Pam quells the conflict raging within her. No matter her feelings toward the Order; it is abundantly clear that they'll need the Jedi Knight to escape. With newfound resolve, she rips herself from Ruvroo and regains her balance and breath.
"No, he's right, we're going to need all the help we can get to get out of here. How close are we Mando?"
"A few hundred yards straight down that corridor," Mando replies, pointing in the direction of their goal.
Battered but not beaten, the trio summons their strength to reach the imprisoned Knight. Pam just hopes that she can keep the spots invading her vision from knocking her unconscious. Hopefully, Makabe Gamhain is worth facing death for, but she does not fear the possibility. The fear of death had long since lost its power over her mind.
…
"This should be it," Mando says.
Pam extends her palm and motions for Ruvroo to hand over her sabers. The feel of the two blades in her hand rejuvenate her. Her strength had always been her skill as a swordswomen, much to the displeasure of her teachers. Igniting the shoto blade and her former master's lightsaber; Pam slices through the bars of the cell with ease.
"Why's the blue blade shorter than the green one," Ruvroo questions.
"Now is not the time for that discussion, Zabrak," Mando says.
The trio enters the cell, with Mando remaining at the door to keep watch for any patrols. Ruvroo and Pam approach the Jedi clinging to consciousness in the corner of the room.
"Bloody hell, is this bastard even alive?"
The Jedi Knight stirs and turns to the source of the voice. His long hair remains tied in a top-knot, and for a man who's been subjected to extensive tortured, his beard is shockingly well-kempt. The beige of his Jedi robes peeks from beneath the layers of caked blood staining them a sickly scarlet.
"Thank the force, I was beginning to fear that a rescue would never come," Makabe Gamhain says. He stumbles to his feet, refusing the help of Pam and Ruvroo.
"We have not escaped yet, Jedi," Mando says with an injection of spite.
"Can you fight," Pam asks Gamhain.
"The Warden has my blade. I do not know how much use I will be," Gamhain says. "Not to mention, my fresh wounds were reopened during this morning's bouts of torture."
Pam shoves the hilt of Taleed Masha's blade into his chest, keeping the shoto blade for herself. She engages in a brief standoff with the Jedi Knight, eyes demanding he fight or die. Gamhain accepts the saber and ignites it, bathing the cell in a soft, green glow.
"We've got company, four droids approaching fast down the corridor," Mando says. He uses the frame of the cell door as cover and fires his ion carbine at the attackers. "I could use some help over here whenever you three are ready."
Blaster bolts leave scorch marks on the doorframe and spray showers of sparks into the stale air. Mando times the volley and returns blasts of ion-bolts once the spitfire of laser-fire ends.
"We should take the lead," Pam tells Gamhain, "We are the only ones who can deflect those bolts."
Gamhain nods in agreement. Pam ignites the blue blade of the shoto. The two join the Mandalorian at the entrance of the cell. He offers Pam a slight nod. She could be mistaken, but there's a hint of emerging respect laced into the subtle gesture.
"I'll lead and you follow," Pam says.
"Are you sure that's wise," Gamhain asks.
Pam tries not to unleash an outburst at the doubt in her abilities. She closes her eyes and returns her attention to escaping alive. Reaching out through the force, she searches the air for the trajectory each individual laser. The sword humming in her hand a natural extension of her body.
"Mando, Ruvroo, lay down some cover fire for me."
The two peek around the protection of the frame and rain rapid fire with no purpose but to distract. The droids scatter for cover as the wall of lasers pepper the narrow corridor.
Pam sprints from cover, saber twirling violently, deflecting the next volley from the B-1s. Despite her distaste for the war, she missed the rush of adrenaline that came with combat. Nothing made her feel more alive than crushing her enemies with her skill wielding a lightsaber. She deflects a bolt into between one of the battle droids red eyes. One down, three to go.
Gamhain instructs the two gunslingers where to shoot, and Mando connects with his target and cutting the squad down to two. Pam steals a glance at the trio not at all shocked that Ruvroo continues to miss shot after shot. Her distraction proves costly, as a lone bolt slips past her defenses and cooks the skin below her collarbone.
The Jedi Knight lurches from cover into the corridor bouncing laser fire off the borrowed blade with the precision of a seasoned warrior, despite his injured state. He steps in front of Pam blocking the final two droids from landing a killing blow.
"Stay behind me," Gamhain orders, "On my mark, pull the droid on the left to the center of the corridor."
Pam nods, struggling to her feet, confident that Gamhain's strategy would work. She is not sure if she can handle much more of this exertion, but the squad needs her somewhat conscious to escape. She could summon the strength to survive, as she has done since her youth.
"Three. Two. One," Gamhain counts down.
Pam readies her free hand that vibrates in anticipation.
"Mark!"
Gamhain's hand glides gracefully across his body, and the droid obeys his will, flying at a lethal speed to the center of the corridor. Pam mirrors his motion with her left hand, gliding across her chest, sweat trickling down her brow.
The two droids collide with a sickening crunch, the collision reducing them to worthless heaps of scrap. Gamhain reaches a congratulatory hand towards Pam's shoulder. She shies away from the contact, much to Makabe's disappointment. Memories of her former master, Taleed Masha, shrouding her mind with the ever-present pull of the darkness churning inside her.
"Let's get a bloody move on. We need to get to the lift before more of these bastards show up," Ruvroo says.
The rag-tag team dashes through the corridor without running into any more battle droids. In fact, the entire cell block is devoid of noise and life alike. The sudden emptiness sends chills rippling through Pam's vertebrae.
Mando runs point, leading the rest of them into the elevator, and covers their six before the doors hiss shut. He backs in slowly scanning the area for an incoming attack. Satisfied that there is no threat; he retreats inside and Ruvroo aggressively slams the up-button.
"I've got a bad feel-," Ruvroo says.
"Shut it, Ruvroo," Pam interrupts.
…
The second security checkpoint is occupied by a lone battle droid. At the sight of them, he flees from towards the hangar, unoiled joints creaking with every step. Pam and Gamhain relieve Mando from running point, knowing that in all probability they are rushing into a trap.
Retracing their steps, the team works their way through the maze of winding corridors. Just as with the previous floor, their path lacks any resistance without the mechanical soldiers that peppered it earlier. When KT said they were locking down the hangar; she did not expect for the Warden to withdraw all troops to their only exit.
"Before we charge in, we should formulate a plan of attack," Gamhain says, halting the trio with a raised fist. "There's no doubt that the hangar is swarming with droids."
"Don't look at me, I don't plan. I act," Ruvroo says.
The Mandalorian remains silent and eerily still, studying the door and adjacent walls. He taps the side of his helmet and rotates his head between the two. For a moment, Pam and the rest of the team remain silent and attempt to decipher his strange movements.
"I count eight hostiles and three hostages," Mando says. He taps the side of his helm again and hoists his ion carbine. "Two super battle droids, four B1s and led by a captain and the Warden."
"How do you think we should coordinate our attack," Gamhain replies.
"Simple, Rip them to shreds with blaster bolts and get to the ship," Mando says.
Ruvroo shrugs in resigned agreement and preps his wrist blaster for action. Next to him, Pam calculates an alternative to the old-fashioned style of aimlessly shooting their way out. Gamhain strokes his beard removing clumps of dried blood with each touch.
"Mando and Ruvroo, you two handle the captain and B1s. Gamhain, I need you to bulrush those super battle droids," Pam says, garnering an agreeable nod from the trio. She steels her nerves and taps into the force to gather what little strength left in her body. "Seeing as I'm the least injured, I'll handle the Warden. Anyone got a problem with that?"
No one speaks up, but their taunt muscles and clear eyes confirm their readiness. Pam swallows the little saliva she has left in a futile effort to vanquish the parchedness in her throat.
The Mandalorian and Ruvroo take cover on each side of the door, glancing back at the two force-sensitives for confirmation that they're ready. Pam nods, igniting the shoto, and Gamhain does the same with Pam's borrowed blade at the ready.
"Shuk it, if we die we die," Ruvroo says. He punctuates his statement by shooting the door's control panel. He leaps from the cover of the wall and starts blasting, with Mando following suit on his left flank.
Bernard's relieved cheers at the sight of the squad distract the droids surrounding them. The spilt second of confusion tips the scales in the favor of the Pam's planned blitz. Mother of Kwath, they finally are able catch a break.
A precise shot from Mando's ion carbine blows a hole clean through the B-1 captain's head. The remaining B-1's scatter at the sight of their fallen captain, eager to find cover and return fire. Ruvroo salvages his poor performance, as he fires a swift volley at two of the droids before they can retreat behind the safety of the many crates of cargo within.
The super battle droids stiffen and turn their attention to the two mercenaries sprinting to seek shelter behind the closest cropping of crates.
"Go now, Gamhain, take the focus off those two," Pam yells above the cacophony of chaos. The older Jedi smiles, features tinged with pride, as he uses the force to cover the distance between him and the super battle droids guarding Pam's girls.
With all the droids distracted, Pam exhales deeply and twirls her shoto anxiously. She re-gains her composure and sprints through the door directly at the Warden. Relief depressurizes her lungs, as she bats away each shot from the Aqualish Warden's blaster pistol.
"KT, Sarge, get to the ship," Pam yells. The Warden discards his blaster pistol in favor of Gamhain's stolen lightsaber, the blue blade erupting from its emitter, and assumes a defensive stance. Pam closes the gap expeditiously, allowing for her girls to flee without retaliation from the Aqualish.
"Your droids escape is futile. You will die before no matter if they make it or not," the Warden taunts.
Pam unfurls a vicious battle cry and swings the blue blade with murderous intent. The surge of power accompanying her fury turns her exhaustion and pain to a forgotten memory. Overtaken by tunnel vision, the battle within the hangar vanishes from her mind.
The Warden leaps out of the way of her unbalanced blow and counters with a punch to one of her cauterized wounds. The pain only serves to supercharge the strength of her anger, but she is not fast enough to avoid the slash of the blade slicing a wound into her lower back. The white-hot burn threatens to crumple her, yet her feet remain steadfast and prevent her collapse.
"Pathetic," The Warden says, "I'll gut you like a ghest, you wench."
Pam launches her next attack, this time containing her turbulent emotions, with the steady composure of Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Her shoto strikes true penetrating the tissue of the Aqualish's right bicep. He roars in throes at the fresh hole smoldering from the burned muscle.
"You wingless harpy," The Warden growls.
He thrusts the blue blade through a weak spot in Pam's defensives, agony bubbles through the current of the rivers of blood in her veins. She curses her lapse in concentration, as unlike the first blow, her balance abandons her, control of her haggard breaths lost.
Confident that she will not rise to her feet; the Warden retrieves his blaster pistol from where it scattered on the hangar's floor. Pam, powerless to the intense tides of suffering, watches him level the barrel mere inches from her forehead.
"Pam," Gamhain screams, "Ready yourself."
He slices through the remaining super battle droid's wrist blaster and fluidly thrusts the blade through it's abdomen. Yanking the blade sideways, the Jedi Knight separates the droid's body in two. Makabe wastes no time, as he launches her other saber across the hangar.
Pam closes her eyes, relying on the force to see her surroundings, and extends her free hand to pull the hilt to her grasp. She can feel the irregularities
of the Warden's heartbeat at the sudden interruption. Calling upon her disobedient muscles, she wills her left leg to deliver an unsuspecting sweep to destabilize the Warden's balance.
The familiar feeling of adrenaline manipulating her perception of time allows her to detect the Aqualish's finger squeezing the trigger. The blade obeys the pull calling it to her hand, as she delivers her planned kick of her left leg.
The Warden falls onto his back, quickly scrambling to his knees, but his attempt regain his footing is halted by the heat of Pam's dual-blades mere inches from each side of his neck. The defeat shines from the subdued Warden's eyes in the face of his potential executioner.
"You wouldn't dare," The Warden says, "You Jedi are bound to your code."
Fueled by the concoction of pain and hatred, Pam spits on the Aqualish's overconfident expression. The Warden cannot shield the terror of the realization that she did not give a damn about the restrictions of the code.
"I'm no Jedi, Warden."
She swipes the blades through the stout neck of the bullish Aqualish, decapitating him. His head rolls to a stop at her feet, and Pam kicks it back to the dead body of its owner. She can feel the eyes of Gamhain burrowing into the back of her skull at the barbarous finishing strike. She rips Gamhain's saber from the stiffening fingers of the Warden's rigor mortis grip.
Spinning towards the ship, Pam sheathes her sabers and clips them to her belt, refusing to meet the judgmental gaze of the Jedi Knight. She brushes past Gamhain, slamming his stolen saber into his chest, and follows in the wake of Ruvroo and Mando scaling the ramp into the ship.
Before Ruvroo can join the Mandalorian inside, his intestines are shredded by a well-placed shot from the lone remaining B-1 battle droid. The Zabrak falls from the ramp to the steel floor, limp and lifeless.
Gamhain thrusts his palm in the direction of the droid and sends it flying through the hangar's ray shields, banishing it to deep space. He uses the force to fuel his sprint toward Ruvroo and cradles him in his arms.
"Prepare the jump to hyperspace," The Mandalorian screams into the ship. Even with his face hidden, the slump in his shoulders radiate shame at his costly failure. Pam clasps his forearm and yanks him inside behind Gamhain and an unconscious Ruvroo.
Inside the ship, Bernard's fingers furiously input the coordinates, as he calculates the trajectory of their jump. The Jedi Knight brushes past the worrisome droids and gently lays Ruvroo's gangly frame across three seats.
Pam and Mando wordlessly watch, powerless to save the life of the alcoholic pilot. Gamhain attempts to use the force to heal his potentially fatal wound, but his efforts are in vain, the disobedient wound refusing to close.
"If I may sir, perhaps Sarge could be of some assistance," KT says, breaking the tension-filled silence. The aforementioned RE-1-unit rattles off a string of unsure beeps that Pam recognizes being extremely explicit. The small droid turns towards her, seeking reinforcement in her limited abilities.
"You got this, girl," Pam says encouragingly. "Show these boys what you can do."
"You lot might want to buckle in," Bernard says from the cockpit. "Our jump to Yavin 4 is locked in."
"Punch it," The Mandalorian says, "The Separatist should be arriving any minute to investigate the disturbance."
Bernard pushes the hyperdrive handle forward, and the ship rumbles into the tunnel of blurred stars and warped space. The drastic shift in speed throwing Pam and Mando into the closest seats.
…
Ruvroo remains laid flat across the seats stained with his blood, but thanks to the brilliance of Sarge, he is alive. Somehow, he managed to manifest another bottle of booze that he nuzzles into his chest. Bernard leaves the cockpit and joins the squad, taking a seat adjacent to the Zabrak.
"You may be a bit of a prick, but at least you're a resilient prick," Bernard says. "Maybe if you weren't such a bantha crap shot you wouldn't be sporting this fresh scar."
Despite the harsh words, the joking taunt is injected with relief at the recovery of the eccentric squad member. The budding friendship between the two would test Pam's patience more than the bullies within the Jedi Temple.
"Not my fault, that's what I get for trusting a bloody Mandalorian to watch my back," Ruvroo shoots back. "Still, the awkward bastard is a hell of a fighter."
The Mandalorian retreated to barracks half-an-hour ago, requesting he not be disturbed. His departure was followed by the droids who sought to make repairs to the damages of their plating suffered during their capture. Leaving Pam trapped with Gamhain and the two pilots to her immense displeasure.
"Speaking of our Mandalorian friend, I did not get the opportunity to make a proper introduction before he retired to his chambers," Gamhain says.
"Yeah, you and everyone else on this bloody ship. Shifty bastard wouldn't even give us his name," Ruvroo answers.
Gamhain had washed the clots of blood stuck within his beard and topknot, and he looked much more like the Jedi Pam expected to rescue. Not the battered and bloodied prisoner cowering in the corner of his cell.
"Nonetheless, it's been a pleasure getting acquainted with you all. I am glad that you were able to pull through Ruvroo. I've heard tale of your skill as a pilot throughout the outer-rim."
"Hear that Bernard, I told you I was the best you could get, just wait 'til I get back in The Axehead. Bring a holopad because you'll need to take notes."
"If you fly like you shoot, I wouldn't be surprised if you crashed us into an asteroid field, you drunk bastard."
Gamhain smiles at the banter between the clone and the Zabrak. Clearly happy at the taste of levity after his tortuous imprisonment and subsequent harrowing rescue. His eyes wander from the duo and not so subtly land on Pam.
"You show great promise, with proper guidance, I believe that your strength in the force could become quite formidable."
The topic of the murder of the Warden hangs in the air between him, but Gamhain refrains from acknowledging the bantha in the room.
"Thank you for the kind words, Gamhain," Pam says, "But I think I need to find a quieter room to clear my head."
At this Gamhain lights up, as he eagerly rises from his seat. Pam curses herself for not taking a page from Mando's book by locking herself within one of rooms in the barracks. The last thing she need right now was a guided meditation.
"Perhaps I could join you, after all, I know a thing or two about quieting the chaos of one's mind."
Pam knew there was no dissuading him of this, so she caves, nodding for him to follow. The Jedi Knight trails her, helicoptering uncomfortably close to her shoulders. The man seemed pure of heart but so did Taleed, and the distance between them only unnerved even more.
…
"I do not need you to guide me through some blasted meditation, and quite frankly, I do not trust you," Pam says as soon as they reach the common room.
Gamhain furrows his brow and studies her. Pam despised the sympathy in his eyes. She did not need anyone's pity, especially a Jedi's, yet he did not show any signs of agitation at her outburst.
"I understand," He says, "You have no reason too."
Gamhain pauses searching for the words to phrase his next sentence.
"The Order has been unkind to you, this I know. I've heard the rumors from other Sentinels, but I do not believe it tells the full story."
Pam tenses at the mention of her past fighting during the campaigns of the outer-rim. It felt so distant, more akin to several lifetimes ago rather than three short years. Yet, the nightmares never subsided, and she would never forget what they-what he-did to her.
"I heard that I died two years ago somewhere between Dathomir and Dagobah, ship destroyed and ravaged by pirates. I'd like to keep it that way."
"So, why re-enlist with this squad? It seems unwise if you wish to remain hidden."
"I need the credits, badly, and this was the only job with a paycheck high to fund my disappearance."
"What you did to the Warden, Pam," Gamhain pauses. "I sense the conflict within you. No number of credits can rid you of that darkness. I can help you, Pam. I want to help you."
"Like Taleed Masha wanted to help me? I'm sure the rumors you heard can answer that question for you."
"Unlike others in the Order, I do not believe that you killed him without reason. I've heard the whispers within the Temple and beyond of his hidden cruelty."
Pam crosses her arms and stares at Gamhain, letting the silence wash over them both. She's grateful that he does not push and prod further, giving her the space to say or not say what she wanted to. It's possible she could be wrong about him. He saved her life twice during their escape with no care for his own wounds.
"What is that you want from me, Gamhain?"
"A chance, just give me a chance, to show you I am worthy of your trust."
Pam bobs her head and withholds the tears threatening to spill. No one had ever treated her with such kindness and care for her worth. She was always the foreigner, the orphaned Chiss, with hellfire and darkness in her soul.
"Fine," She says, "You can have your chance, just know that you stand on unstable ground."
Gamhain smiles at her, and she can see the weariness hiding beneath his façade. She had been so focused on her distaste for the Jedi that she had ignored the reality that this man had been tortured for weeks, maybe even months.
"I will leave you to your thoughts. If you ever need to talk to someone, know my ear is always available."
The Jedi Knight departs leaving Pam alone in the room. She unclips Taleed Masha's saber from her belt and inspects it, turning it over in her hands. The memories of that night darkening her thoughts. She throws it at the wall and watches it clatter to the floor. Letting the tears flow, she calls it back to her hand and falls to her knees, careful to quell the volume of her sobs.