This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.
Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.
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Four: Flying Lessons
The figure on the viewscreen moved, froze, mouth half-open. Frowning under his mask, Vader tapped the control with the Force once more. "-ord Vader," finished Harkov.
Turning, Vader paced stealthily across the length of the darkened filmroom, keeping his eyes fixed on Harkov's image. The room was not wide; a few steps either way and he would reach the walls. He felt the edges of frustration nagging at the corner of his mind, along with the feeling that he should know what that expression on the admiral's face was. But he did not.
His pacing was quite loud now, black boots echoing along the polished black floor. He stopped, turned, looked closely at Harkov's image again. Yes, the fear was there, but Vader had already seen that. Frustration gathered. That expression-there was something about it that sent a quiet alarm bell off in his head, but the fuzzy tape was not helping. Vader resumed his caged stalking, counting off possibilities in his mind.
It was not any look he had seen an Imperial officer wear before. Not stark terror. Worry? No, that was not right. Wariness? There was a little of it in Harkov's eyes, but on the whole, his face was too drawn. Vader stopped, slammed a fist into open palm. Call it intuition, premonition, or the Force, but in the back of his mind Vader knew that it would be dangerous, even fatal, for him to let this pass.
Vader had never considered himself to be good at reading expressions; never had needed to be. His command was law, and to disobey it was death. No one would have ever considered disobeying him. At least, no one until now.
But that could not be it. Everything so far-the transmission from Zaarin at Endor, the coordinates of Harkov's hyperspace jump, all lead to a rational conclusion: the Sepan system was Harkov's destination. Harkov was a trustworthy man; if he decided to go elsewhere, he would have contacted Vader. No, the look was not one of disobedience.
Frustration grew, and along with it, anger. Vader rewound the tape with the Force, began it again, watching closely.
There was a metallic screech, a hiss, the door to the film room opened. Vader whirled, spotted the officer standing nervously outside. Reaching out his hand, he closed it into a fist. The man rose into the air, clutching at his collar, face turning a sickly shade of purple, legs flailing wildly. "Lord...Vader, please...Lord...Vader...the..."
"I gave specific orders that I was not to be disturbed!" The dark side swelled. Vader's grip closed tighter. Anger boiled up. "Could you not follow simple instructions?"
"...Emperor..." the man choked out.
Vader released his grip abruptly. The officer fell onto the floor with a muffled thump and lay there, twitching slightly. "What?" he demanded.
"A call..." the officer breathed in deep, noisy breaths, gasping for air.
Turning, Vader strode out of the room and into the wide hallway. Immediately, his two bodyguards detached themselves from the gray wall and moved in, one in front, one behind.
The bodyguards were a constant annoyance to Vader. He did not need bodyguards and did not want bodyguards, but somehow he had acquired eight of them. If he could spare the time and energy to get rid of them, he would, but unfortunately he had neither at the moment. So the bodyguards stayed, to his great dismay. Most of the time, he ignored them, hoping that they would somehow fade quietly away. No blaster, no matter how good the aim, was any match for the dark side.
The corridor twisted and turned, branching off into narrower halls on both sides. Droids moved along slowly, cleaning the already shining floor. Small lamps set into the walls illuminated the hall steadily, and the air held a faintly exotic scent. There was the occasional guard stationed in front of blasterproof doors, but no stormtroopers. Vader despised stormtroopers, no matter how useful they might be. Small cameras set into the high ceiling monitored every move, with hidden cameras also installed in each chamber and in all the walls at regular intervals. There were no plants by the doors, no pictures or holo images on the walls, no decorative patterns above the hallway arches. Even to those who knew this place well, the Dark Lord's castle was as stark and forbidding as the Dark Lord himself.
Vader turned, stalked down a corridor to the right. The bodyguards dropped behind and followed. Barely slowing, he reached out with the Force. The large door to the left unlocked with a click and opened, and he stepped inside.
As always, the holochamber was barely lit. The small circular room gleamed dimly in the bluish glow. Through his helmet, Vader could smell the faint odor of fresh cleaning solution emanating off the walls. The room was bare except for the projector in the center of the floor. Vader took a deep, laborious breath, winced at the pain, knelt, touched the Force and activated the holofield.
He lowered his head and stared at the floor, seeing as he did so a spark of light, hearing a slight hum as the holoproj sprang to life.
There came a soft voice out of the air above his head, deceptively gentle, and the sound of it seemed to stir the stillness of the darkened room. "Rise, my friend."
Vader rose, looked up. The enlarged image was of the cowled head and shoulders of an old man. Wizened yellow eyes looked out of the depths of the hood above wrinkled, pasty white, aged-flecked skin. The thin mouth crooked in a half-smile. The Emperor.
"What is thy bidding, my master?"
The Emperor spoke, seemingly present in this room, deep in the bowels of Vader's castle, in reality far away inside a mountain throne room on a hidden planet. "I understand, Lord Vader, that you have conveyed my wishes to Admiral Harkov?"
Vader inclined his head slightly. "I have, my master."
"And he has departed to Sepan."
Vader hesitated. "He has."
The Emperor caught the slight pause. "Is there a problem, Lord Vader?"
"I...I am not sure, my master," Vader confessed. "I felt something wrong in the way Harkov behaved during our meeting. Something in his expression."
"But he has followed orders and gone to Sepan." The Emperor's tone was flat.
"I believe so. My sources indicate that he has."
The Emperor raised his eyebrows slightly. "Sources are not always to be trusted, Lord Vader. There is only one absolute, and that is the dark side."
"Yes, my master."
Abruptly, the Emperor's manner changed, became distant, detached. "Remember, Lord Vader, anger is the dark side. Cling to your anger. Nurture it, let it grow, and you will gain the power of the dark side." His eyelids closed halfway over those yellow eyes, as if he were looking at something far away.
The sinister image turned back to Vader, eyes focusing. "Harkov is a fine officer and I have little reason to fear treachery. But the unexpected may happen. You will keep me informed of this." It was a command.
Vader bowed his head in assent.
"Now," the Emperor said. "The boy."
Vader frowned. "The boy, my master?"
"Yes," the Emperor said, a bit impatiently. "The boy you informed me of earlier. Old Obi-Wan's last pupil."
Vader had a flash of recognition. "Yes."
"I, too, have felt a slight ripple in the Force. The potential in him must be strong indeed."
"He is strong, my master. I have faced him."
The Emperor smiled. "Ah, yes. I had quite forgotten."
Vader felt a chill. The Emperor had not forgotten; it was just his way of warning Vader not to speak out of turn. He bent his head.
"Come, come, Lord Vader," the Emperor coaxed. "I did not call from Mount Tantiss to see you do penance." He paused. "A pity that boy is working for the Rebellion. He could be useful."
"Of course," Vader murmured, aware he had just been given another responsibility. As the Emperor already knew, that should not be too difficult. With his own vast spynet and Coruscant's various other shady organizations, he should be able to obtain the information he wanted.
But there was something the Emperor did not know: that Vader already knew in part who the boy was. And this knowledge troubled him most of all.
A Skywalker? How can that be?
He realized that he was drifting, turned his attention back to the holo image. "I expect you to keep me informed, Lord Vader," said the Emperor. "I shall not keep you any longer; I have urgent matters here. I will be returning soon. Do not underestimate the power of the dark side."
Vader knelt and terminated the connection. The Emperor vanished. He stood, black cape brushing the floor. There was so much that needed to be done, but he made no move towards the door; just stood and thought, thought about the Rebellion, thought about the boy, about Harkov, and the dark side of the Force.
They had finally gotten some power installed in some of the smallish caves adjoining the control room, and Mon Mothma had moved into one of them for use as an office. The cave was circular and the ceiling was slightly dome-shaped, reminding her of her mother's study back on Chandrila when Mon Mothma had been a child. The walls and ceiling had been constructed out of glass-real glass-and the room had been filled with hundreds of tiny crystal figurines. On sunny days, light poured in, reflecting off the crystal, transforming the room into a beautiful, dazzling display of color.
She sighed, looking now around at the bare rocky walls, so different from her childhood home. The cave had been naturally formed, as the whole series of interlinking caverns had, and the floor was hard and uneven, with sharp rock formations against the walls. Despite the added heat, the room was still cold. She would have liked to have stayed on Yavin, but of course the issue was not what she liked but what the Alliance needed. And it was her duty, as chief of state, to provide that for them.
A smallish desk stood in the middle of the room, along with a middle-sized tactical display and communications gear, not yet hooked up to the main system. Bags and boxes sat piled against one another opposite the door. A chair, some datacards, a computer...So many things she used to take for granted. Since the Rebellion, she had learned that even everyday conveniences were acquired less easily than it seemed.
But as she looked around the small cave, Mon Mothma felt a sense of pride, remembering the effort it had taken to put those small bands of resistance together all those years ago. She was proud, not only because of the success of her accomplishment, but also because of the dedication of others to the cause. If it had been only her alone overseeing the Rebellion she knew it would have failed a long time before. But the Alliance had men and women, human and nonhuman, working all hours of the day, putting forth more effort than she could have possibly dreamed of, all because they felt it was the right things to do. For this, she was proud.
The techs should be in here soon, to do more work on the lights. As she turned, began unpacking the large bags against the wall, there was a slight knock, barely perceptible through the thick blasterproof metal door. Mon Mothma paused, frowned. The techs still had the whole outside cave section to do; it could not be them yet. She raised her voice slightly. "Come in."
The door slid open. She turned, saw General Madine standing there. He looked ill at ease, the handsome lines of his face more tense, his eyes looking at her with a guarded expression. Mon Mothma felt surprise inwardly, but did not let herself show it. This was certainly a surprise visit, since Madine had been conspicuously avoiding her for the past few days. She stood. "Crix," she said, dropping formalities, hoping that he would feel more comfortable.
He stepped into the room, eyes taking in the disarray. She smiled. "I agree, it's not much, is it? But it's a beginning."
Madine took a deep breath, came forward a few more steps. The door slid shut behind him. "I...came to apologize," he said slowly, then speaking faster, tripping over his words. "I-I was wrong to have lost my temper. I shouldn't have-have said anything."
She took a step towards him, letting the bags fall from her hands. "Crix, you needn't apologize." He started to protest. She held up a hand. "Please. This is a difficult time for us all, with the move just underway, and the entrance of this particular problem was very sudden, I know. Even the galaxy's most infinitely patient person would have gotten angry over something sooner or later." She sighed. "I should be apologizing to you."
Madine looked surprised, then shocked. "No! Listen, I was the one who brought up the idea of a meeting, and then the one who spoke against it the whole way. It was entirely my mistake, my fault."
Mon Mothma smiled. "As you wish. But I will accept your apology on one condition."
He looked surprised and wary. "What's that?"
"That you accept mine."
Madine's face broke into a relieved smile. "I accept your condition."
"Thank you. Crix, please don't think about it any further. We must look ahead and see what is to be done."
"With him?" Madine's smile disappeared.
"I know you still don't approve, but it's the only way. He knows our location now. The only thing we can do is to hear him out."
"He might be a double agent." Madine held his ground stubbornly. "Who knows with the Empire?"
"When you first joined the Alliance, there were those who suspected you of being the same."
He set his jaw. Madine was a stubborn man; she knew what it had taken him to come apologize to her. "Please, Crix. Don't make this harder than it is. He's coming again, hopefully in a few weeks or so; I want you to be present again, along with Leia and Ackbar. Listen, and decide then."
His face relaxed then, but he did not smile. He pushed back tousled, wavy gray-streaked hair with one brown hand. "All right," he conceded. He managed a small, tight smile. "Stubborn as always, aren't you?"
Mon Mothma assumed a look of mock horror. "I'm stubborn? I think you'd better leave right now before you go any further and cause me to drop something important."
Madine's smile became genuine. "Oh, you think you have a lot to unpack? You want to come over and see my office-?"
Laughing, Mon Mothma waved him off. The door slid shut behind him and she turned back to her unpacking. Crix Madine was a brilliant soldier and a decisive tactical advisor, but trying to change his mind was like trying to convince a Hutt to lift a bounty off of someone's head. That was the problem-Madine's military genius carried over a bit too far into the other aspects of life. When he took a stand, he was staying with that decision if he was right or not, and woe to the one who told him otherwise. Her lips twisted in a slight smile that faded quickly. Madine might be stubborn, but she could be even more so at times, to a fault. She thought of Bel Iblis, wondered if things could have turned out differently if she had backed down during that last quarrel.
Mon Mothma unwrapped a pile of datacards and piled them onto the desk. Still, Madine was a soldier, not a politician. Ultimately, the Imperial decision was up to her. Would she allow this man to join, or would she decide the opposite? She did not quite like the idea of trusting an Imperial. Perhaps Madine was right after all.
So many gains, so many losses. Such was the way of war. For the one who took the wrong step, there would be no second chance. It was a costly risk; a very costly risk. Gamble with death too many times and eventually you will lose.
Troubled, Mon Mothma turned slowly back to her work.
Kelgyn leaned forward, trying to see around the sharp curve in the bend ahead. The high rocky walls of the Hierda canyon rose far off to either side of the T-16 skyhopper. Below, the Hierda river foamed against the smooth weathered rocks, waves breaking white against the sides of the canyon, swollen by the seasonal rains. Sharp rock formations leaning jaggedly out from the canyon walls had the potential to send a careless pilot careening below to his death.
Adjusting his speed accordingly, Kelgyn leaned hard to the right, the skyhopper pulling over sideways to skim around the almost ninety degree turn in the canyon. One airfoil tip brushed the rock, sending sparks flying. The skyhopper careened further to the right. Kelgyn pulled left, trying to steady the craft. The skyhopper wobbled, straightened.
Kelgyn heaved a sigh of relief and released his death grip on the control stick. His fingers were shaking and his heart pounded in his ears. That had been close. A few more meters to the right and he would have been nothing but smoking wreckage on the rock wall.
He had never actually seen an Incom T-16 skyhopper before, much less flown one. He had seen holos of them, of course, back on Myrkr-to own a skyhopper or a swoop had been his fondest dream before he left for the Academy-but his family had been too poor to even afford a secondhand landspeeder. He remembered holding animated discussions with friends about the newest designs in the sportcraft market, and one of the foremost topics of discussion had always been the T-16. None of the others back in Hyllyard City owned a skyhopper either, but all of them had studied the holos until they knew them by heart-the E-161x ion engine that enabled the ship to reach nearly impossible speeds of up to 1,200 kilometers per hour, the DCJ-45 repulsorlifts, the unique tri-wing airfoil design, and the forward airfoil splitting the windshield down the center.
Of course, actually flying the thing was much different than just staring at the holos. All the T-16's owned by the Academy were modified standard Imperial models, with a heavy-duty laser cannon affixed to the ventral side. The ship was amazingly maneuverable, due to the two gyrostabilizers under the lower airfoils, and one small motion of the control stick was enough to sent the T-16 careening onto a whole different course if the pilot was not careful. Kelgyn had learned that in one of the earlier trial runs in the skyhopper, almost crashing into the side of the Academy. His flight instructor had been furious. And the split windshield was harder to get used to than he had thought. Kelgyn had not flown very many craft back on Myrkr, but it was still hard for him not to focus on the long metal strip in the middle of the windshield. Daral had told him that it was no problem to adjust to, but then Daral could fly a rock if he had to, he was such a good pilot. Kelgyn-well, Commander Dalten had said he'd seen worse. Kelgyn's mouth twisted sourly at the remembered conversation. Oh, well.
Ahead, the canyon narrowed considerably, just barely wide enough for the T-16 to fit through with the lower airfoils almost brushing the canyon walls. Daral had explained this part of the run to Kelgyn in detail, assuring him that it was quite simple, even safe, to do a couple of barrel rolls before the canyon widened again. Just thinking about it now made his hands start to sweat, slicking the control stick and making it hard to grasp. Kelgyn swore to himself that he would kill Daral after this. Then again, there might not be anything left of him to kill Daral with.
The skyhopper wobbled, swerved to the left. Kelgyn swallowed. Concentrate! He knew Commander Dalten was up there behind him in another T-16. Perhaps to make sure that his remains would be taken care of. Whatever the reason, Dalten probably wasn't too pleased with Kelgyn's flying on this run. Don't make any more stupid mistakes.
The canyon twisted to the left, then the right, then the left again, then widened into a fork. Kelgyn pulled to the left. There was a steep drop downwards, then the walls narrowed once more, this time into a long tunnel going underneath the rock. All right, this was the fun part. Kelgyn reduced his speed to 200 km per hour, almost to a crawl, and flew towards the opening.
His upper airfoil brushed the top of the tunnel as the skyhopper entered, but there was no harm done. The tunnel was dark but light enough for him to judge the distance between the walls and ship without having to turn on exterior lights. The route was jagged but straight, carved millions of years ago by the crashing river against the rocks.
Kelgyn sped out of the tunnel, confidence boosted by the successful completion of that area of the canyon run, then froze in terror. Not more than 200 meters away, the canyon ended, a flat rock face stretching vertically upward.
What!?
Kelgyn's pulse roared in his ears, and his mind whirled. This is it. I'm going to die. The wall loomed closer.
Unthinkingly he reached over, increased his speed. What are you doing? his mind shouted at him, but he pushed forward on the lever slowly, watching the gauge creep upwards. The ship, though leaping forward, seemed to suddenly move slower. He pulled the control stick back with all his strength and all the ship could give. The skyhopper soared skyward, in a vertical climb hard enough to make anyone feel sick with terror, but Kelgyn only felt an incredible calm, as if he was not within less than 50 meters of being obliterated on the canyon wall.
His free hand moved over the controls, pressing lighted buttons in rapid sequence, hardly aware of what he was doing. The ship seemed to tilt back farther, if it were possible. There was a scraping noise and the skyhopper gave a jolt, then burst out onto level ground.
Kelgyn's mind seemed to clear. The first thing he realized was that he was heading the wrong way, away from the Academy. The second thing he realized was that his hands were shaking, but not enough. A life-threatening maneuver like he had just performed should bring on all the symptoms of at least a full-force heart attack. He shook his head, trying to bring to mind the significance of the thing he'd just done. Kelgyn frowned. Surely that hadn't been the right way out of the canyon. No one had ever mentioned it to him before. Then again, it was logical that they shouldn't have. But a climb that steep-!
He heard the whine of repulsorlifts in the distance, approaching. Dalten would have his head for sure. He looked out to his left, spotted another T-16 with Imperial markings drop down beside him. The comlink in his helmet crackled, and Commander Dalten's furious voice sounded harshly in Kelgyn's ears. "Kid, don't you ever scare me like that again! You dimwit! You were supposed to take the other route at the fork in the canyon!"
Kelgyn smiled ruefully. Oh, man. "Sorry, sir. Sometimes I have trouble telling my right from my left."
"Sorry!" The comlink exploded. "You could have been killed! I don't see how you managed to escape that!" There was a silence. When he spoke again, Dalten had calmed down a bit, now sounding almost awed. "And I take back everything I said to you yesterday. How did you ever do that? I've been flying for twenty-seven years, and I've never seen anything close to what you just did."
"I...don't know, sir," Kelgyn confessed. To think about it, even his hands had stopped shaking. "I didn't think; I just went. It was kind of hard to think just then. I don't even remember what I did."
"Must have been that adrenaline, huh?" The other skyhopper veered off towards the landing field. Kelgyn followed him. "Well, congratulations anyway. You managed to tear your bottom cannon off pretty neatly, but no harm done. And I'd rather lose the cannon than lose you." He paused, continued with reverence. "Man, now that was flying!"
Kelgyn grinned. He did have something to tell Daral when he got home.
The two skyhoppers circled over the landing field, then dropped slowly down, searching for free spaces amid the crowded, parked vehicles. Kelgyn found one, slowly settled down, felt the soft bump of landing repulsorlifts against the landing pad.
He keyed all systems on standby and exited the craft. There was a shout from behind him. He turned, saw Commander Dalten walking over.
"Hey kid," Dalten said, grinning. His Imperial uniform, as always, was cleanly pressed, the various medals hanging on it shining in the scorching Caridan sun. His right hand moved up to brush his dark brown hair away from his forehead. The left sleeve was empty; Dalten had lost it in a flying accident several years ago. He had never bothered to have himself fitted with an artificial arm, insisting to anyone who asked that he needed no prosthetic part to help him do his job. And, though that sounded just like another of the overinflated boastings of an arrogant official, new recruits to Carida soon found out that it was the truth. Dalten continued to fly, fly with all the skill, and maybe more, of anyone with two good arms.
Dalten whistled at the sight of Kelgyn's craft close up. Kelgyn's heart clenched up at the sight. The bottom mounted laser cannon had been thoroughly smashed against the canyon face. Bits of metal scrap hung off the ventral side of the skyhopper; the rest of the cannon was probably lying at the bottom of the canyon-just where Kelgyn might have been had he seen the danger half a second too late. The bottom side of the lower airfoils had been scratched and blackened as well.
Kelgyn looked anxiously up at his superior for signs of a reprimand. Dalten just stood there, shaking his head. "I gotta give it to you, kid," he said at last. "You can fly after all."
Kelgyn smiled back, shaky but relieved. "Thank you, sir."
Dalten waved him off. "You're dismissed, cadet. I'll get a tech over to look at your ship and try to salvage it."
Jogging off, Kelgyn headed towards the entrance of the dormitory building, intent on finding Daral and telling him all about his flight. Clouds of dust puffed out under his feet as he ran. He turned the corner of the building and spotted Daral leaning against the door column, head down, staring at the ground.
Kelgyn ran towards him, barely suppressing his excitement. "Hey! Daral! Guess what I just-"
He stopped in midsentence, slowing to a walk as Daral raised his head and stared at him. He looked terrible. His white-blond hair was uncombed, his face looked haggard, as if he had not slept in weeks, but it was his eyes that scared Kelgyn, as if the fire had gone out of them, leaving them dull and listless and lifeless. Their light color had always made him look exotic, now it made him look like a ghoul.
"Daral?" Kelgyn ran forward, stopped, looked up at his friend. "What-what happened?"
Daral stared at him for a moment as if just realizing that someone was there, then gave a short back of a laugh. "What happened? I'm getting booted out of the Academy, that's what happened." His face was set, strained, the expression on it threatening to give way to bitter fury.
Kelgyn felt like all his muscles had gone numb. "Good skies," he whispered, aghast, the inside of his mouth suddenly dry. "You're being expelled?" For the first time he noticed the luggage piled at Daral' feet. "What did you do?"
Daral looked uncomprehending at first, then his eyes narrowed and his face reddened, rage flowing out of him. "What did I do? Oh, yeah, I forgot. I'm always the one who's wrong, always the guy at fault. Sure, go ahead, blame me! Go ahead!"
"Daral!" Kelgyn grabbed him by the shoulders, lowering his voice. "It's all right, buddy. You'll be okay."
"Sure," Daral muttered. Kelgyn felt his friend's muscles go limp and he sagged against the wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"My brother," Daral began, before Kelgyn could say anything more. "You know my brother Keth?" Kelgyn nodded. Daral swallowed, continued with forced calmness. "He'd been going through drug rehabilitation…he was ok when I left. I thought it was over. That he was all right. He was set to take over Father's position." He swallowed, his voice softening, becoming brittle and fragile. "I don't really know exactly what happened after that; all Commander Regateri would tell me was that there was an accident. Keth…well apparently the rehab sessions hadn't helped at all. He and some of his friends…got in a fight, I guess. I don't know the details, but it turns out that two of the Emperor's most trusted advisors are dead now and one seriously wounded." Daral laughed again, a forced, hard laugh. Kelgyn winced at the harsh sound
Kelgyn waited, half involuntarily, for the boasting to start, the tales of self heroics that usually came with talk of marksmanship. Suddenly, he realized that Daral had stopped talking. He looked up, saw Daral blinking rapidly, realized that his friend was trying not to cry. Something inside Kelgyn broke, suddenly, and he felt the tears coming, too. He'd only met Keth once when the other stopped by briefly on his way to Corellia, but he'd liked the grave young man, felt the life in the other's assured smile and firm handshake.
"But anyway," Daral said, seemingly in control of himself again, a hint of the old cockiness showing through. Only someone like Kelgyn who knew him well, could tell how hard it was for Daral to maintain that air. "The Emperor wasn't very happy about the incident. In fact, he was downright furious."
Daral's voice broke and he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sure never going back to Imperial Center again. It's official now. All Krellises banned from Imperial Center and all other Imperial held worlds. The Emperor took our lands, our stocks, everything. Like it just wasn't enough for us to lose our reputation and have our family branded for having a-a killer in our midst!" His voice rose a fraction. "We didn't do anything. Just because Keth made one mistake-" He stopped, couldn't go on, turned his face to the wall. Kelgyn stood, unable to offer a word of comfort or advice. What did you say to your best friend at a time like this? What could you say?
A door opened to the left, the official administrative building of the Imperial Caridian Academy. Kelgyn turned, saw two men dressed in nondescript civilian clothing exit the building. The door slid shut. "Boy!" One of them called. They came closer. Both had sneering, weasellike expressions; the one on the left was short and fat with brown hair, the other one thin and bald. "Hey," the short one yelled. "We're goin'! We're gettin' outta here!"
Kelgyn looked at Daral in shock. "You're leaving? Now? But-"
"The Emperor has a tight schedule. When did you think I was leaving?" Daral spat, gesturing to his bags. Kelgyn took a step back. The fire was back in Daral's eyes, but it was a different kind, full of hopelessness and despair, and something else that frightened Kelgyn, something wild and more inhumane than anything else.
Daral saw Kelgyn's look, and his face changed, an expression Kelgyn had never seen Daral wear before, something akin to a plea for reassurance. "Look, Kel-I don't know who these men are and where they're taking me. I-"He stopped. It was as close as Kelgyn had ever seen him come to admitting that he was afraid.
"Boy!" The two men were closer now. The bald one was gesturing to Kelgyn to move out of the way.
"Yeah, I know," said Kelgyn quietly. His mind spun. Now? To lose Daral, too..."Hey, I'll miss you, Daral."
"Yeah." Daral looked uncomfortable. "Guess I'll see you around sometime, maybe."
"Sure." Kelgyn tried to smile, couldn't quite manage. "Keep in touch, okay?"
"Yeah," Daral said, both of them knowing it would probably never happen. The two men reached them. The bald one took Daral's bags, while the short one stood there impatiently, waiting for him. "I'll try. Hey, Kel-thanks for everything."
They stood there a moment, look at each other, not quite knowing how to put feelings into words. Kelgyn could see the unshed tears at the corners of Daral's eyes glimmering brightly in the sunlight, and he felt a sudden stab of loneliness. He had been roommates-best friends!-with Daral for three years, and only now at the end of this tragedy, did he feel like he was starting to know the person inside of that arrogant facade, the real Daral Krellis behind his public mask. It wasn't fair, that everything had to end like this. It wasn't fair.
Finally, Daral said, "Tell Kent when he comes back from his run not to worry about me. Tell him I said goodbye and good luck." He started to say something else, shook his head and moved off quickly.
"Daral!" Kelgyn began, then broke off, not quite knowing what to say.
His friend turned, smiled crookedly, gave the thumbs-up sign. "I'll be all right." He walked off then, the familiar swagger returning in his walk. Kelgyn felt sadness, yet relief at seeing Daral acting like himself again. That's how I want to remember him. Fearless, bold, everything he was before this happened.
The bald man had reached the standard civilian transport parked at the end of the field, a little ways from the last building. Kelgyn watched as the two men, then Daral, disappeared inside. The landing ramp hissed, retracted. There was a long minute, then the repulsorlifts kicked in with a low whine and hum. The ship trembled, clumsily lifted. Too bad Daral wasn't flying. He could probably fly that transport like it was a top-of-the-line Interceptor. A fresh jolt of pain struck Kelgyn. An Interceptor that Daral would never have. Daral deserved more, so much more.
Kelgyn shook his head, blinked. For some reason he seemed to have trouble seeing. When he looked again, the ship was a silver speck against the white clouds, then was gone. Just like that. They hadn't even really had a chance to say goodbye.
"Daral," he whispered to the sky, remembering the Myrkr farewells of long ago, so long ago... "Daral, may the Force be with you."
