Disclaimer: I don't own Knights of the Old Republic,
any of the established characters, or really even my nominally original character,
Kirre Frost, as she's pretty much inferred from the text of KOTOR. I guess
maybe I own the blanket, and possibly the sub's seatbelts.
A/N: This is a slight reworking of the events under the ocean on Manaan. The
party has traveled in search of the third Star Map, and already solved most of
the side quests on Manaan. They still have to travel to Korriban, and still
have yet to encounter the Leviathan.
"The Star Map is under the ocean?" Carth's voice was incredulous.
"And you expect us to find it?"
Kirre Frost scowled, the expression pulling her brows together and making her normally generous mouth look hard and pinched. "No, flyboy, I expect me to go find it. The rest of you are staying here."
Carth caught her arm as she stalked past towards the submersible bay. Jolee watched on with his usual impenetrable expression.
Kirre stared at Carth's hand as if it were a dead fish. His jaw set, but he refused to remove it. She'd been treating him like a hireling since they'd left Kashyyk, and he was sick of it.
"We're going with you, like it or not," he said firmly.
"Let me guess, you don't trust me out of your sight?" she snapped, shaking his hand off. When he didn't deny it, she sighed.
"You can't take your blasters, you know," she pointed out, almost smugly. "A stray shot might rupture the station's hull."
Eyes narrowed, he unfastened his blaster belt and handed it to the sub's guard.
"Whatever," Kirre said, an uncharacteristically juvenile response. She didn't quite stomp over to the submersible, but there was definitely a lot of force in her step.
Carth caught himself staring after her and shook it off, directing his attention towards the submersible instead. At least it could only get him killed. The ship was actually quite the beauty, not up to the Ebon Hawk's standards, but sleek and well designed.
Not exactly roomy, though, he thought as Kirre settled into the seat next to him, her thigh and shoulder pressed tightly against his. When she reached over to fasten her seatbelt, her hand brushed his leg, and he couldn't help but start.
She pretended not to notice, but he could tell she had. A quick glance showed her looking out the window of the cockpit, her mouth set in a grim line, and he wanted to kick himself. Good work, Onasi, he thought, you know she loathes you, and you have to go pushing things.
She was only a few inches shorter than he was, and the part of his mind not occupied with pre-dive checks noted appreciatively how well she seemed to fit against him.
Of course, he reminded himself, if he ever thought to act on that information, she'd probably cut him in half with her lightsaber and then spit on the pieces. And it would serve him right, too, for trusting his anatomy to a Jedi.
"Jolee, you okay?" Kirre called back into the cargo hold, a tiny space just large enough for a couple of small crates.
"No, but I doubt that means you'll call this hare-brained expedition off," came from the back, and Carth couldn't resist a grin. A glance over at the woman beside him showed a matching smile, and he quickly hid his behind a neutral expression.
The trip to the ocean floor was relatively uneventful, if quiet. He didn't feel much like talking, and from the way she stared out the window at the ever darkening blue depths, he figured she didn't much want to talk to him. He wondered if he should apologize, but then, he wasn't sure he had anything to apologize for.
The base was massive, a dark, silent series of permacrete bubbles linked by corridors that littered the sea floor near what looked like a slash of darkness in the earth.
The ship was programmed with the docking bay's coordinates, but he still had to compensate somewhat for the current and angle of descent.
"Just like piloting a skimmer in high winds," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. Kirre didn't answer, and he risked a glance her way. What he saw shocked him.
Her eyes were open wide, and glassy, her breathing shallow and her forehead beaded with sweat. She looked absolutely terrified. When someone who has faced down a rancor with a vibroblade looks terrified, he thought grimly, it's time to worry.
"Hey, Frost, are you okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
She swallowed, hard, then finally nodded. "Just park this damn thing, will you?" The tone of her voice indicated that she thought he was wasting attention better spent on parking.
So much for needing his help, he thought, and, mouth set, maneuvered the sub into the docking bay.
As the transparent hatch slid back, the utter silence of the place rushed in. Even the lapping of the water against the sides of the docking pool seemed somehow muted, and only the emergency lighting remained on, casting an eerie green glow across their surroundings.
Kirre leapt out of the sub and onto the station with an effortless grace. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Carth followed at a more sedate pace, trying to work the kink out of his neck.
To his annoyance, Jolee, looking as fresh as if he'd just stepped off a luxury cruiser instead crawled out of a cramped cargo bay, was already examining the massive doors that led into the rest of the station.
Kirre went to work on the control panel, and after a moment the doors wooshed almost silently open. A dark, man-sized shape hurtled into the bay and threw itself to the deck at Kirre's feet.
"Please don't kill me – wait, you're from the Republic? You must be, nobody else knows this place exists," the man babbled. Kirre flicked off her lightsaber.
"What happened here?" she asked tersely, and the man, who she could now see was wearing a tattered Republic uniform, fell over himself to explain.
"Two days ago - the scientists were drilling out in the rift." The man gulped, hard. It was obvious that he'd had a rough time of it, and that he wasn't too far from collapse.
"They must have hit something big. There was this high-pitched shriek, and then all the Selkath went crazy, killing and…" He paused, shuddering at something only he could see. "Eating."
Kirre made a decision. "We'll scout the base out quickly for other survivors, then take the sub back to the surface for reinforcements."
The soldier shook his head. "We can't. There's something out there - the last sub - we could hear them screaming on the comm."
Carth exchanged glances with Kirre over the man's head. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Kirre said finally.
The man refused to come with them, insisting he'd rather stay and guard the submersible, and Carth couldn't blame him. He wasn't particularly looking forward to exploring this place himself.
Jolee moved through the door, his eyes alert. Kirre, about to follow, paused and looked back at Carth.
"Maybe you'd better stay here too," she suggested neutrally. He got the implication, though - that she figured he wasn't good enough with a blade to be more than a burden.
He pushed past her into the hall, unclipping the vibroblade from his belt.
It felt a little odd in his hands, and he tried to remember the last time he'd used one. It had been on the Ender Spire, during a practice bout with one of Bastila's Jedi assistants. He hadn't exactly won.
They fought their way down several long corridors filled with automated droids, easily dispatching the mechanical sentries. Kirre fought with a grim determination, and even in the dim lighting Carth could tell she wasn't faring so well.
He figured it was the water. To an old spacer like himself, water or space made no difference - if you found yourself outside, you died.
The first half dozen rooms were empty except for gnawed corpses. The seventh was an observation room from the looks of the huge plastiglass window that took up most of one side. Dark shapes patrolled outside, cutting through the water with a lethal grace.
"Firaxa sharks," Jolee said grimly. They were huge, easily three times as large as a man. Carth studied them for a moment, wondering what exactly creatures like that ate.
A sudden shot rang out behind him, searing past his shoulder to slam into the window. A network of cracks blossomed, and as he watched, water began seeping through. He did the only sensible thing he could do.
He spun on one heel and bolted for the nearest door. A horde of Selkath, eyes full of rage, poured in through it, and he swerved past Kirre towards the third door, the farthest from the door they'd entered by and the nearest to the window.
The window buckled and collapsed under the pressure. The lights flickered and went out as a wave of water flooded in and he was nearly yanked off his feet.
Dropping the vibroblade, he made a desperate lunge for the door frame and caught it with one hand. For a second he thought his grip would slip, and then he steadied. He swung around, reaching out towards Kirre, who was struggling to keep her balance in the rapidly rising water.
The heavy Echani armor she wore pulled her down, and she hit the water hard.
Kirre vanished under the water, dragged down by her armor, and for an instant his heart flipped as he knew she'd been dragged out into the open water. Her head suddenly broke through the spray, and she flung her arm out. He lunged, stretching as far as he could.
His hand closed around her wrist, and he heaved, ignoring the twinge from his injured shoulder. Across the water, he could see Jolee in the outer corridor, trying to close the door they'd come in through as the Selkath swarmed towards him.
For an instant the water threatened to wrench Kirre from his grasp, and then she was past him, hauling him through the door and hitting the control to close it.
As the door cycled shut he sagged against the wall next to it, panting. She had her eyes closed, and she leaned against the control panel as if she might fall down without it.
A quick glance around the room showed they were in some sort of prep room. A changing room opened off to one side, across from a small airlock, and a half dozen empty alcoves designed for enviro-suits dotted the walls. The last alcove's enviro-suit was still present.
There was a medical slab against the fourth wall next to a sealed security door, and not much else. Incongruously, a folded blanket sat neatly on the end of the medical slab.
"Great," he said, closing his eyes briefly. He opened them just in time to catch the questioning look she shot his way. "It's silent," he pointed out, scrubbing a hand across his face. "The generator's gone offline."
Dawning comprehension filled her face, along with fear, quickly hidden. "With the power off, the security doors won't open," she said.
Carth did some quick calculations in his head.
"We've got about fifteen hours of air in here," he said.
She nodded, then pulled herself to her feet. "And we're trapped."
It was not a question.