Disclaimer - Thanks to everyone who has written reviews. I really
appreciate it. This is the first fan fict I've written, and I never
realized how addictive the reviews were! I've left this one open because,
obviously, it goes rather AU. And beyond being told 'write or die' *grins
and blushes* I don't know if there is any interest at all for anyone
wanting to know what I think happens next. Please let me know? The Jedi and
their universe belong to Lucas. The voice of the main character is all I
can lay minor claim to (glad some of you like that voice ;)
Bangs and Whimpers
The transparent steel felt cool against her cheek and that coolness spread. The heat of battle, her thoughts, her fears, her blood slipping away from her to stain the metal floor, were all being slowly dissipated into coolness. There was no sound except for the occasional drip of nutrient fluid from the tubes that encircled the room and she was alone except for the presence of corpses.
Ships swarmed in her view, bright lights darting and swooping just beyond reach. It was too difficult to tell the tide of battle from just this vantage but she had faith in the Republic. Faith in Bastila. Granted it was sort of stunted wary faith but it was there nevertheless. Besides, on some level the Sith had to know they were defeated. Even if they won now, they were finished.
Or was that more Jedi hocus pocus? Did they know? Did they sense that their Master was dead? If so, did that really mean they would fight less fervently?
A Sith fighter blew into pieces as it careened past her line of sight.
Perhaps so.
Malak was dead. He had not died quickly enough however. Perhaps that was his last hit. To speak to her and say things she had not wanted to hear. She'd debated against playing the Jedi party line to him, spouting about good and evil, or perhaps playing the vicious murderer. Let him know that it wasn't just luck that brought him down it was strength. Her strength. And no one would take that from her, ever! She'd wavered between the two. He didn't seem to react one way or another. But, he was gone either way. The Republic should be just fine. And that was what everyone had wanted. Her eyes closed. Everyone. She breathed in the scent of burnt flesh and electronics, the metallic taint of blood and her own sweat.
There. an inquiry felt. Bastila was wondering what had happened. The conveying of thought was not so crude as words but it was understood and presented with a certain elegant dignity.
She had less of that when she tried it. Or she felt as if she did. Her sending in response seemed clumsy, haphazard.
Go. He's dead. Take the Hawk and run.
Acknowledgement in return and waiting. We'll wait for you.
Her brow furrowed. No. Don't. Not coming.
?
She summoned all her reserves and projected through their link all the pain, fatigue, and weakness in her body. It was colored, tainted by emotional pain and exhaustion. She didn't care. She wasn't trying to present an accurate depiction of reality. That wasn't her point. She wasn't going to be able to make it, she told Bastila through haze. She was dying and they should go. There was no time.
There was shock but again slow acknowledgement. Bastila accepted what she was being told. Echoes of grief and a sending of comfort delicately spread their warmth into her mind.
How sweet. Bastila would grieve for her. She didn't relent though; she kept her mental focus on the pain to keep her lie solid.
Go.
Bastila broke the contact, no doubt having to deal with how to tell the crew and get them to believe her. To move.
She inhaled deeply and shuddered, unable to help the train of thoughts that continued to speak to someone no longer actively listening.
It was almost as if, knowing now that Bastila was no longer listening, the words and feelings were free to escape in a panicked desperate rush. Everything she wanted for them.
For a Jedi to live and forgive herself...
For a Twi'lek girl to grow but not lose her trust.
For a Wookie to return to his people and lead, belonging.
For a Cathar to realize that she is in the light, and always has been.
For a warrior to find the fulfillment he's seeking, even without the battle.
For a hermit to allow himself to forgive and live again.
For Carth..Carth. to love and have it in return. Someone who will never hurt you just by being. someone you can trust.as you never could trust m.
She shook her head, expression pulled into pain, sweat damp hair clinging to the transparent steel. She wasn't thinking clearly. Her eyes opened and she turned her head to look outside again, shallow breath creating clouds on the surface.
Less than a moment later a ship roared past, close enough for her to see the hull panels. The Ebon Hawk tore from its resting place, and as if in answer, the room began to tremble, the station taking hits in earnest. But she fixed her gaze on the Hawk, as if sheer intensity would bring them through the battle zone intact. If she stopped looking. if she stopped watching. she needed to see them through. And she sent her thoughts out after them, a futile gesture, but the only gesture she had left to give
Go. Run. Live. Exist. Be.
Be happy.
All of you. my home, my family, be happy. be safe.
The room shook again, violently as metal groaned. She was thrown backwards and her back arched as pain bloomed anew. She had no more strength, nothing more to be. She'd served her purpose and she was.. Content. Yes. Content and now wearied. It was time to let go. This was good. This was right.
Still, she was sobbing.
And then the tread of running foot steps, their vibrations and then their sounds, intruded.
She looked up as someone ran into the room.
Bangs and Whimpers
The transparent steel felt cool against her cheek and that coolness spread. The heat of battle, her thoughts, her fears, her blood slipping away from her to stain the metal floor, were all being slowly dissipated into coolness. There was no sound except for the occasional drip of nutrient fluid from the tubes that encircled the room and she was alone except for the presence of corpses.
Ships swarmed in her view, bright lights darting and swooping just beyond reach. It was too difficult to tell the tide of battle from just this vantage but she had faith in the Republic. Faith in Bastila. Granted it was sort of stunted wary faith but it was there nevertheless. Besides, on some level the Sith had to know they were defeated. Even if they won now, they were finished.
Or was that more Jedi hocus pocus? Did they know? Did they sense that their Master was dead? If so, did that really mean they would fight less fervently?
A Sith fighter blew into pieces as it careened past her line of sight.
Perhaps so.
Malak was dead. He had not died quickly enough however. Perhaps that was his last hit. To speak to her and say things she had not wanted to hear. She'd debated against playing the Jedi party line to him, spouting about good and evil, or perhaps playing the vicious murderer. Let him know that it wasn't just luck that brought him down it was strength. Her strength. And no one would take that from her, ever! She'd wavered between the two. He didn't seem to react one way or another. But, he was gone either way. The Republic should be just fine. And that was what everyone had wanted. Her eyes closed. Everyone. She breathed in the scent of burnt flesh and electronics, the metallic taint of blood and her own sweat.
There. an inquiry felt. Bastila was wondering what had happened. The conveying of thought was not so crude as words but it was understood and presented with a certain elegant dignity.
She had less of that when she tried it. Or she felt as if she did. Her sending in response seemed clumsy, haphazard.
Go. He's dead. Take the Hawk and run.
Acknowledgement in return and waiting. We'll wait for you.
Her brow furrowed. No. Don't. Not coming.
?
She summoned all her reserves and projected through their link all the pain, fatigue, and weakness in her body. It was colored, tainted by emotional pain and exhaustion. She didn't care. She wasn't trying to present an accurate depiction of reality. That wasn't her point. She wasn't going to be able to make it, she told Bastila through haze. She was dying and they should go. There was no time.
There was shock but again slow acknowledgement. Bastila accepted what she was being told. Echoes of grief and a sending of comfort delicately spread their warmth into her mind.
How sweet. Bastila would grieve for her. She didn't relent though; she kept her mental focus on the pain to keep her lie solid.
Go.
Bastila broke the contact, no doubt having to deal with how to tell the crew and get them to believe her. To move.
She inhaled deeply and shuddered, unable to help the train of thoughts that continued to speak to someone no longer actively listening.
It was almost as if, knowing now that Bastila was no longer listening, the words and feelings were free to escape in a panicked desperate rush. Everything she wanted for them.
For a Jedi to live and forgive herself...
For a Twi'lek girl to grow but not lose her trust.
For a Wookie to return to his people and lead, belonging.
For a Cathar to realize that she is in the light, and always has been.
For a warrior to find the fulfillment he's seeking, even without the battle.
For a hermit to allow himself to forgive and live again.
For Carth..Carth. to love and have it in return. Someone who will never hurt you just by being. someone you can trust.as you never could trust m.
She shook her head, expression pulled into pain, sweat damp hair clinging to the transparent steel. She wasn't thinking clearly. Her eyes opened and she turned her head to look outside again, shallow breath creating clouds on the surface.
Less than a moment later a ship roared past, close enough for her to see the hull panels. The Ebon Hawk tore from its resting place, and as if in answer, the room began to tremble, the station taking hits in earnest. But she fixed her gaze on the Hawk, as if sheer intensity would bring them through the battle zone intact. If she stopped looking. if she stopped watching. she needed to see them through. And she sent her thoughts out after them, a futile gesture, but the only gesture she had left to give
Go. Run. Live. Exist. Be.
Be happy.
All of you. my home, my family, be happy. be safe.
The room shook again, violently as metal groaned. She was thrown backwards and her back arched as pain bloomed anew. She had no more strength, nothing more to be. She'd served her purpose and she was.. Content. Yes. Content and now wearied. It was time to let go. This was good. This was right.
Still, she was sobbing.
And then the tread of running foot steps, their vibrations and then their sounds, intruded.
She looked up as someone ran into the room.