A/N: I'm going to keep posting on time and hope that I do have some readers. If you're reading...review!
Timing: First half—up to Keladry's thoughts in the middle of the post takes place after Leia's dressing down by the Senate in Dark Tide I: Onslaught
Second half, it is fairly obvious that most of it takes place during the aftermath of the destruction on Ithor in Dark Tide II: Ruin
Post 8
The galaxy spins and time whirls by…
The events of the past four months cannot go unaccounted. Borsk Fey'lya, as predicted, won the general election to become the fourth Chief of State in the NewRepublic's history.
Two months after that the Praetorite Vong invaded our galaxy. We would realize, with time, that they were the scouting force for the larger invasion of the Yuuzhan Vong. Chewbacca died, and Belkadan, Dubrillion, Helska…Sernpidal were lost.
Eight weeks later, after Leia Organa Solo's rumored dressing down by the Senate, we were still on Coruscant, vaguely aware of the Outer Rim troubles, but preoccupied with local problems. My friends had since returned to Thyferra, but had hatched a plan with Tristan and Nestor intended to keep me safe. All it required was patience, which, once the initial shock had flitted away, I gladly bestowed.
Anything to nail my mother's murderer to the wall.
We had the full cooperation of the local police bureau, and we returned to the routines, watching everything and everyone around us. But propelled forward by galactic events, Tristan and I moved closer to our intertwined fates.
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Coruscant
New Republic News Posting 1138-57
Monor II Festival Deemed a Success, Yet not without Problems
Key Words: Atmospheric Phenomena, Nom Anor…
Thousands made the pilgrimage to see the accession of the tenth priest-prince Agapos the Tenth. More than the expected numbers, the administration scrambled for breath masks that would allow the visitors to see the famed atmospheric conditions….
Ten thousand... Tristan tapped at the computer console, scrolling down past the descriptions of the ceremony. If just one person had the disease in a crowd of such a large size, any virus of medium strength could spread quickly and virulently. But what virus is so non-discriminate in who it effects? His finger stilled and he continued reading.
The ceremonies were also marred by insurgents from Zartoc IV who, opposed to their government's relationship with Monor II, attended the ceremony en masse. The group cried out for an end to the false confederations, and for separation from the bureaucracy of the NewRepublic. Their leader, Nom Anor was not available for comment.
What if this was intentional? Biological terrorism to convince their leaders of their determination…as far as we know the disease was not contagious. No family member bears the symptoms.
Their leader Nom Anor, was not available for comment.
Quickly he reread the sentence.
Their leader Nom Anor.
Nom Anor.
Frowning, he scrolled up to the top of the article to begin a new search. With deft movements Tristan tapped out a query, and clicked on the first article available.
New Republic News Posting 8325-RI
Negotiations between Rhommamool and Osarian fail, Redhaven falls to Separatist Insurgents.
Key Words: Redhaven, Jedi, Nom Anor
His eyes darted through the article picking out phrases that seemed familiar to him, yet in an entirely different context.
Separatist, Anti-Republic Rhetoric, …Anti-Technology, Extremists….
Focusing on a particular paragraph his hand slipped from the console, and moved to rub across his aching head.
Nom Anor, the separatist leader, is believed to have died after ordering a massive attack on Osa-Prime. Thousands are believed to have perished. This is believed to be a direct result of the breakdown of negotiations between the planets following the visit by former Chief of State Leia Organa Solo, Jedi Mara Jade Skywalker. Commander Ackdool, on the Mediator, was unavailable for comment, but witnesses say that the actions of Jedi Knight Wurth Skidder prior to the negotiations further inflamed the situation.
Why can't the people of the NewRepublic realize that the Jedi are here to save them…Disgusted, Tristan idly continued to read the article, followed by a grainy image of Nom Anor, which gave him pause. Despite the lack of detail regarding facial features, the separatist leader stood in an eerily familiar manner. A proud manner, an arrogant manner, a statuesque carriage that Tristan vaguely remembered when Iker Rafagr had provided some disjointed advice regarding……
Of its own accord his hand slipped from its position on his forehead falling limply to the table.
Every possible curse he could imagine ran through his head…navigating between articles, he swallowed every possible piece of known, unclassified piece of information on Nom Anor. Mouth dry, he reached for the cup of caf, swished the liquid around in his mouth and placed the cup back on the table.
Tap. Taptaptaptap. Tap.
TapTap. Tapity TapTap.
His right fingers, suddenly infused with unknown energy began to dance to an unknown rhythm on the tablecloth while his left hand issued commands for more from the holonet.
Tap.Tapitytaptap. Taptap.
Tapity. Tapity. TapTap.
Tapity.Tap. Tap.
Tapity-Tapity-Tapity
"Sir." A pressure on his right, the internal song in his head silenced.
Frowning, his other hand stilled, and Tristan broke away from the words scrolling across the screen to appraise a young woman patiently standing next to him. Taking another look at the woman he realized that it was one of the waitresses in the mezzanine level café that he was sitting in.
He looked at her slightly abashed, glancing at the chrono quickly, realizing how long he had been sitting there. "I'm sorry, is it close to closing time?"
The girl shook her head, "No, we're open twenty-four hours, but sir…would it be possible to stop tapping the table?"
Blushing with embarrassment, Tristan murmured apologetically, "Sorry, I didn't realize I was doing that. All apologies."
The girl smiled, "It's not the end of the world, but thank you for being so gracious about it." She tilted her head towards his caf cup lifting the pot in her hand. "More?"
Tristan smiled, "Please." Behind her he saw Nestor sauntering through the entrances and raised his hand in greeting. "And one for my friend, please as well." She nodded and made her way back to the counter.
He waited a moment before beckoning urgently, pulling the opposite chair closer so that Nestor could look at the screen. Almost giddy with anticipation, Tristan tapped the text, "Look at this."
Turning and straddling the chair so that he could lean up against the back, Nestor peered at the screen of the portable datastation. Tristan watched as he blinked once. Twice. And then took his fingers and rubbed his eyes. Nestor continued to stare at the image, waiting until his caf arrived. Then he blinked again, took a few sips of the caf to wake himself up and make sure he wasn't dreaming. After draining his the cup, letting the thick, chocolate flavored liquid trail down his throat leaving behind the aroma of honzcy sweetner he turned to Tristan, convinced they had found their man. "Iker?"
Tristan shook his head in ascent. "Nom Anor."
Nestor, who had, unlike Tristan, been able to listen to the holonetnews in the past two months blinked. "But he's dead. No question about it. A New Republic Cruiser taped his shuttle breaking apart…." He trailed off and looked at the Doctor, whose face appeared to be rejuvenated since that morning. Oh stars, please let this be true. Hope beyond hope jolted him into action as he rattled off questions. "Other, clearer images?"
"No, this figure was just as unphotogenic as our Iker."
"None of the holonetnews reports had images, only visuals of the destruction on Osa-Prime. Descriptions?"
"Leader of separatist groups all over the galaxy, leading anti-confederation bands in," Tristan looked up a figure, "four systems, and minus the fake hunchback….it looks like our villain." His chrono beeped, and Tristan glanced at his wrist. "Shavit, we have to go meet Kel at the restaurant, " He hesitated, looking at the image…."I've been researching the planets where the disease made fall for a few hours, and his name popped up as part of the separatist group. I was following the angle that maybe the pathogen was biological terrorism, but the pattern of transfer does not correlate, too many variables. So we can scratch that off the list…but this image, on a whim I glanced at it…I almost didn't…."
Nestor stood up and began clearing the table. "Doctor. Allow me to perform some independent research. You go visit Ms. Stanton, keep her company. We need to keep track of those she interacts with." Begin to live again… "I will comm if I receive confirmation in any form."
Tristan nodded, his eyes sparkling in anticipation. "In any form, however miniscule it is."
xxxx
Shivering, Keladry wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, wincing as some of the narrow beaded fringe slapped against her face. Another being stepped into the entryway to the tapcafe, and Keladry mentally added him to the litany of details that she needed to remember before the night was up.
Rodian, Male, slight limp on the right side.
Two female waitress', both blonde, one about 135, the other with a birthmark on the bridge of her nose.
Absently, she looked toward the turbolift in the corner and watched as a tall male human stepped onto the walkway. From where she stood, it was easy to admire the clean lines in his clothing, and she could hear Minali's voice giving him a 'ten.' Inwardly grimacing she glanced at her shoes before resuming her musings. Dark hair, curling slightly by the ears, confident stance, yet contemplative.Roaming over his expression she noticed a slight twitch to the lips, Dancing-gray eyes that are full of…mirth? Freshness and wonder… Now not more than fifteen yards away the man raised his arm in an enthusiastic greeting in Keladry's general direction. She turned to glance behind her, and blinked when the glowing expression on the man's face shifted into a frown of confusion.
Oh dear. Kel let out a short gasp of epiphany. Feeling the blush rise she tried to stop herself from checking Tristan out again, and found herself covering her red cheeks with her hands. Smooth! Get a grip Kel! Aware of how silly she looked, Keladry wiped the tears of laughter from her face, and greeted the Valdet native with a small wave, calling out his name. As the confused expression transformed into a tentative, yet broad smile, she sighed, admitting to herself something she had known for quite some time. One smile is all I needed….I think I...
Not finishing the thought Kel stepped forward and found herself swept up into an enormous hug. A little disconcerted, she leaned into Tristan before stepping back to eye him curiously, not surprised when his countenance shifted back to his normal grimness. She linked arms with him, and nudged his side with her elbow, "Come on, let's see how good these Wookiee size portions are."
The tapcafe that they had chosen for the night was neither the most upscale, nor the seediest in this part of Coruscant. Known for the food, the entertainment, the café also was often cited for 'unruly behavior,' or 'incident reports.' Which made it all the more appealing for those looking for a little excitement.
In the case of Tristan, Nestor and Keladry, The Worshyr Tree, had been picked for its veritable array of eatables; and the clear view of the door, both of which were a necessity for a relaxed evening out. Tristan and Keladry slid into their seats and were silent for a moment.
"I—"
"So…" Tristan flicked his wrist in deference. "You go first."
Kel smiled, "Nestor can't join us?" Stupid!
Again, Tristan smiled…and caught himself, trying not to celebrate too soon. "He's following a lead….on Iker." There was an unnerving numbness in part of his emotions...he was excited, yet...
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Not to be obnoxious or anything, Tristan, but if you have a lead, why aren't you on high speed, blasting away from here to capture him?" She couldn't bring herself to say kill.
The doctor shrugged, not quite sure of the answer himself. "We think that Iker Rafagr, was Nom Anor. Right before I came down the lift, Nestor called with some confirmation. He thinks he can make the connection between Nom Anor and Iker's alias Reef Niln."
Keladry nearly leapt from the table in shock. "Nom Anor? He's dead." She looked at Tristan again…He's relieved. He thinks his task is complete…and now he'll leave… Crestfallen, she grew silent, a reaction that her dining partner misinterpreted.
Reaching across the table in comfort, he grasped her right hand in both of his. "No, we're not leaving until you're safe. We promised, Kel. There's no going back on our word."
Kel grimaced, then let out a sardonic laugh. Figures. "Thank you, Tristan Romani. Thank You." Before their conversation could go further, a loud slurred, yet familiar, voice caught her attention.
"No. itsok. I'mok." Leaning at the bar, dressed in his navy pants, minus the bloodstripes, a grimy shirt and vest, was Han Solo. He was struggling against some men, "Lemmego. He's gone. I wantofight." The tall figure, who Tristan had met on Danshitie swaggered, or rather stumbled towards some patrons, yelling out in the general direction of the bar. "Get me a drink and a plate of your Chewbacca special for my friend Chewbacca here…" Keladry watched as he gestured to an empty space next to him.
"Chewie? Chewie? Where are you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" The pitiful, heartbreaking plea caused Kel to grip Tristan's hand tighter, and they both tilted their heads as the clink of coins hitting the table revealed two men in the booth behind them.
Whispered conversation followed. "Wes, you take the right. I'll take the left, but watch out. Last time he nearly gouged a hole in my cheek." A loud crash gave them pause before the two left all pretence of laying low. The former General of the New Republic had smashed a glass on the counter.
Kel recognized the two beings rushing to his rescue as former Rogue Squadron pilots Wes Janson and Wedge Antilles. She watched Antilles grasp the shoulder of the still form at the bar, giving it a light shake. "Hey Han, buddy. It's time to go home."
"Home. Ok. Lets go to the Falcon…."
Wes Janson grabbed Han's other shoulder, looping his arm in a vise grip. "Not the Falcon, Solo—how about a shower and then bed."
"No, have to go to the Falcon. Have to save Chewie…I couldn't even do that. Not even save Chewbacca."
"Wes, he's bleeding." Wedge Antilles indicated the arm that he was holding, watching as rivulets of blood dripped onto the floor."
The bartender, hearing the noise, came around and gestured to the door. "Hey! Watch the mess." He paused as he too recognized the threesome causing the ruckus, and his heart grew heavy, gruffly changing his mind. "Oh. Nevermind, take him home—he needs some rest."
Tristan's eyes met Kel's as they measured the amount of blood that Solo was losing, mentally calculating his alcohol level. Giving her hand another quick squeeze, he stood up, snatched his napkin of the table and approached the group.
Eyeing him warily, Wedge jerked his head back toward the tables. "Go sit back down, sir."
Shaking his head, Tristan reached diagonally for the bleeding left hand, murmuring softly, "I'm a doctor, and it looks like you need a little bit of help." As he pulled up the rancid sleeve, Solo began to struggle against those holding him, no longer fully coherent. "Hold him still." Tristan tried not to wince as he examined the wound, right above the elbow. Straightening he glanced over at the bar but paused when a glass of water appeared in his line of sight.
Keladry passed it over, "You'll need this."
He tilted his head in thanks and turned back to the three heroes of the Rebellion. Letting the glass hover above the wound he spoke frankly, "I'm not sure if there are any slivers of glass in here, but I'm just going to use the water to clean it. You are probably going to want to call a medic, or a 2-1B to get this flushed out. Hold him, this is going to sting." Gently, he poured the water over the wound washing away the blood, and then handing the glass back to Keladry, used the napkin to bind the wound.
Solo never flinched. He was already beyond the threshold for pain.
As he straightened, Han Solo's face caught his eye; and for a moment Tristan Romani understood what his own grief and anger and sorrow must have looked like. Haggered features, haunted, grief-filled eyes—unable to find purchase for more than three seconds. The eyes narrowed, squinted…and for a very lucid moment Tristan could sense the gears moving as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Do…Iknow you?"
Silently, Tristan shrugged, and answered knowing that Solo would not remember the conversation later. "We met once, over a year ago on Danshitie." As he spoke he saw the focus in Han Solo's eyes disappear, and he fell back into the despair that had plagued him since Chewbacca had died on Sernpidal.
Wedge hoisted his friend up and reappraised the doctor in front of him. "We should go" he paused, "Thank you." Then the two of them dragged Solo out of the tapcafe and into a waiting speeder.
Subdued, the rest of their meal passed quietly, with nominal conversation, both internalizing their reflections on the human capacity to love another being. Keladry, confused about the state of her friendship with the man sitting across from her, while Tristan recognized his feelings for her for what they were, a growing affection, protectiveness, and a level of tenderness he had felt only once before. On one level he was rejoicing over his earlier news, while this newer breath of life that Kel embodied, was accompanied by a lower, grimmer feeling of betrayal pricking across his senses.
Later that evening, stepping into the turbolift to her apartment, he found himself feeling unsure. Reaching for her hand he grimaced, "Keladry?"
She started and looked up at him, "Yes?" her voice was distracted, as if she was pulling herself from deep thoughts.
"What we saw tonightwith Han Solo. I realize now the extent to which I must have insulted you on Thyferra."
Having caught her attention, he reached for her other hand, "I….I'm sorry."
Her chest tightening, Keladry dropped his hands and placed hers on his shoulders. "Oh Tristan, you apologized a long time ago. I don't need it voiced, but your actions since then have more than proven your true character." She hesitated, "Grief, effects us all, in different ways." The lift swished open, and they made their way to her front door before he spoke again.
"Kel," His voice was soft, almost inaudible, and he could feel his heart thumping against his chest. Slowly, she turned around and Tristan raised a hand to smooth back a strand of her dark hair, looking into her hazel eyes. Before his will disappeared he leaned forward, softly kissing her good night.
Straightening, he smiled again, oblivious to the effect it had on the petite woman in front of him. She almost, just almost, sighed aloud. Reaching behind her, he punched in the code to her quarters, gently pushing her inside, and Keladry knew the millions of questions she had no longer mattered. She turned a few steps past the doorway and gave him a small wave goodbye until the door slid closed.
For a moment he stood there, not wanting to leave, yet knowing that he could not stay. With a lightness of heart, he shoved his hands in his pockets, and leisurely meandered down the hall. No description of the brightest star in the sky, glittering, smelling of fresh earth on a spring day as the colors before him opened, could come near to the quick dance in his step, and the twirling music of his heart.
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Even now, I cannot help but remember…and smile.
It was not long though, before the war found us...with the government finally paying attention to the danger, certain sections of civilian relief efforts mobilized. With the fall of Garqi, a call for medical personnel transferred our group as part of the medical unit attached to the Ralroostfloating above the graceful planet of Ithor.
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Word spread quickly. At first mere murmurs, rumors, the reality of the horrific news traveled with deliberate speed like a womprat outrunning a Krayt Dragon from the Chimera's docking bayto the personnel of the New Republic fleet. Some descriptions were ludicrous, while others, achingly alarmingSenator Elegos A'Kla had returned from the enemy...
...dead. Those medics who had seen the body, were at a loss for words, and Nestor listened, detached as those that could speak described the gleaming gems, the enameled bones dipped in platinum and gold, the polished teeth. All a caricature of the gentle senator from Caamas, garish and devoid of his natural form.
"Horn...almost sick to his stomach. They were friends you know..."
"Serves him right, walking straight into the enemies claws..."
"Why didn't the Jedi stop this? Aren't they supposed to protect us?"
Nestor's head snapped up, sickened at the display of posturing, and recrimination. How can the Jedi protect us, when they are held up to such a high pedestal? Can they ever meet your standards? Elegos A'Kla died, these harpies weren't honoring their dead they were calculating, judging, and in Nestor's mind causing more harm than good. He grabbed the last case of sanitized instruments, handed them to the medical droid organizing the area, then left the room to reload the hovercart. As he made his way back to the ship. He could sense the muted electricity of preparation. There was a battle coming. He could feel it. They could feel it. Why else would they be massing at Ithor? Every day, more and more...and the refugee and inhabitants of the TafandaBayhad all been evacuated.
The corridor to the docking area was crowded with pilots, enlisted men, crewers and officers, jostling each other as they passed. Swinging his body to avoid imminent collision, Nestor hopped back on one leg, using the cart to regain his balance. As his scanned the crowd, he paused, sure he had just seen a familiar profile cross his path. Whirling around, resting one hand to steady the cart he spotted her again, walking away.
"Syla!" He waited a moment and then a little louder, "Syla!" The petite woman hitched and turned. She hesitated a moment then weaved back through the crowed toward where Nestor stood.
"Hey." Her voice was soft, thick with nerves. "How are things?"
Eyeing her curiously, Nestor reevaluated what he had planned to say since he had first received her letter..."Sorry I didn't write back right away. Thank you for forwarding that message, it meant the world to us."
Syla shrugged, cognizant of where they were having the conversation. "Nestor, I knew it was important...Listen, can we talk in a less public place?"
Nodding, he gestured to the cart. "Want a ride?"
Syla grinned, remembering a similar situation on Tatooine. "I think, this time I'll walk."
As they conversed along the corridor, Nestor made note of the changes. She was taller than Keladry, slim, with straight brown hair that hung in a ponytail behind her back. Her honey colored-skin bore the same blush of urgency that most on the ship had knowing that they would soon be up to their arms in injuries and...the fetid smell of death. Stepping onto the ramp of the Selanore he noticed her limping and reached out to see if she needed help.
She shook her head, continuing to talk about the casualty rates that the medics had been given. "I have yet to see a Vong warrior, but from what I heard about the fight on Garqi...we're going to loose a lot more than we save."
He grunted, still unsure of how to respond.
Now in the enclosed cockpit, cocooned from the world outside, Nestor tipped his head towards Syla. It had been almost half a year since her message. Since then they had passed along various tidbits of information, but nothing specific. Feelings of affection, and love should be initially expressed in person.
Focused, he looked at her again, before pulling out the holodisc she had sent. "I..."
Syla, a stoic woman, not likely to blush over matters of the heart, bit her lip and then looked up. "I meant what I said, Tor. I think that I'm in love with you." Her forthright manner was normally gentle in nature, but with that statement she shocked even herself.
He froze, and for once the duty bound soldier, the man who always thought first of Tristan Romani before his own needs, looked at this woman and realized that it was a moment of personal truth. Suddenly thrust into love; unsure of the consequences to him and to his charge, he had found a confidant on Tatooine. Quite simply, it had started out after he had slipped during that Sabaac game, where Nestor had realized that somewhere in the middle of all this Tristan had become a friend. That night, the next night, and the night after that, Syla had helped him understand...had helped him balance their new relationship in his mind. On the fourth day...he closed his eyes remembering their first kiss beneath the clear skies of Tatooine...Nestor was no innocent to the ways of the world, but twenty years earlier he would not have let his guard down enough to feel. Isa had come into his life, priorities shifted, and somewhere in the intervening years...something had changed.
Nestor's eyes snapped open and in a rough, almost stern manner, he crossed the space between them, placed his hands on either side of her head and scolded.
"Syla. Of course I love you too. Do not doubt it. Ever." And he kissed her.
Long. Tenderly, and deep.
When he pulled back, he looked into her sparkling eyes, and embraced her again. With her head nestled in his shoulder Syla murmured. "Good, at least that's over with. Now what else is wrong?"
He couldn't help but laugh, but then grew serious enough to open the viewport on the cockpit. "How did you know?"
She smiled, "I could tell that you've been thinking. Something has happened... no?"
Swiveling the chair around he gestured to where the co-pilot sat, and peered at her. "Quite a bit." Slowly, he recounted the events of the past few months, identifying Elbereth's disease, the content of the message that Syla had passed on, Iker RafagrNom Anor's death...
"All of the things we had set out to do...are done, but I'm hesitant to even mention going home."
"Because?" She asked.
"Because we still do not have leads on Keladry's stalker. Because Tristan is finally moving on, that Keladry and Tristan are edging towards a path that will bring both permanent sanity." He tapped his foot against the base of the seat. "More importantly, because of you." Silent for a moment he watched as the support teams fueled up the squadron of X-wings. "Also, I think we need to see what's going on here, so that if things get dangerous, we can warn our people."
Syla face grew ashen. "Senator A'Kla's death."
Nestor nodded, "I know. The reactions to it are astounding, variant, bordering on lackadaisical. This is not going to be an easy fight."
Syla leaned forward, elbows to knees. "There's more, is there not?"
Dropping his voice to a whisper Nestor mirrored her position. "I want to believe that the villain is dead, but he did this before, and we believed it. Faking his death once was not hard. How difficult could it be to do it again?"
"Against a New Republic Cruiser with life reading sensors?" Syla was unconvinced, "Yet, I heard a rumor that Ysanne Isrard did it...but that was a long time ago."
"I know...but we have been running on patience for a long time. I know Tristan has to see the patterns as well, but for some reason has chosen to ignore it. So we will wait."
Syla stood up slowly, "I get the feeling that only Tristan will know." Standing on her tiptoes she kissed Nestor lightly. "Come on Tor, one battle at a time."
xxxx
The Klaxxon alarms had begun wailing hours ago, and the medical bay was at the ready, with teams waiting by each of the docking bays and medical droids and doctors standing by in the main medical section.
No one came. No broken arms, no burns, no...EV's.
From the docking bay, the abnormal movement of the asteroid shaped ships, coralskippers, struck a malaise of unease on those waiting to be deployed. Beyond the silence of space, the medical corps, the support troops, and many others watched as ship after ship exploded, balls of fire leaving behind hazes of smoke. Goosebumps rising, the lack of initial transports casualties was disheartening, indicative of the Vong's forceful and deadly tactics.
Someone once said that warfare was moments of pure boredom punctuated by periods of sheer chaos and terror... For Dr. Keladry Stanton, years of working in the ER schooled her in patience, thinking quickly and clearly, and conserving energy during the tense waiting periods.
Standing next to her, Tristan squeezed her forearm leaning sideways to whisper. "We should have had some patients by now. I commed central, and no one has reported incoming."
Kel shrugged, the warmth of his fingers soothing her nerves. "We'll get a lot more once the ground forces are sent up."
"But the pilots?" The ship shook slightly as something hit the defensive shields.
Her voice was tight, low..."I don't even want to guess."
Next to her a young medic pointed to the opening magcon field, where a battle damaged transport was drifting in... "We're in business."
As the ship settled in, the communications officer on deck ran over. "Doctor Romani, three criticals, EV. The shuttle medic says that all three A-wing pilots are suffering from burns...one has already gone into shock."
"Hey, there haven't been any explosions out there for a few minutes. What's going on?" It was the same young medic, Medic Lidrian.
The comm officer looked at him sharply. "There's going to be a one week truce, Admiral Kre'fey just announced it." He touched his earpiece before turning back to them. "The injured on the ground will start coming up now. Some are being transferred to the TafandaBay, but most will be transported up to the ships." Briskly he marched off to relay other orders.
Tristan and Keladry had been listening while watching as the transport came to a quick landing. Sprinting across the hanger they helped to unload the injured pilots, placing them on stretchers, attaching Oxygen masks and slathering on layers of burn salve. Tristan glanced at Keladry to make sure she was good to go, and double clicked on his comm.to the medical bay where 21-B's and other doctor's were waiting. "Three incoming,"
There was a measure of static and an acknowledgement.
The next ten hours were a whirlwind of activity. Even with the truce, post battle injuries were appearing at a remarkable rate. Sliced hands, punctured by biological staffs and bones broken in odd angles. Blood, mingled with sweat, mingled with tears...and the doctors and 2-1B's fought as they always fought with the tools of the trade, and heart.
For every death, news trickled in about the survivors. Eight out of the Twelve Rogues, alive, Gavin Darklighter and Jaina Solo included.
The door to the bay slammed open and a Twi'lek female was wheeled in at almost a breakneck speed. Almost immediately Tristan realized she was in perilous condition based on the slight frothiness at her mouth. He glanced at the stretcher bearers who had brought her in. "Do we have any information on what happened?"
"Bitten by an amphistaff. Poison."
Upon those words, Tristan turned back to find the 2-1B pulling out the materials to purge her bloodlines. Deftly inserting an IV, Tristan spoke to the female, surprised to see that she was conscious. "I'm Dr. Romani. What's your name?" He wiped some saliva off her bruised chin.
"Daeshara'cor." Her voice rasped out the name, and then she began to cough uncontrollably.
"Sir, the blood is not being decontaminated fast enough." Programmed for frankness, the 2-1B had lowered its modulators. "Dialysis, and a transfusion?"
Tristan nodded, crossing the room "Medic Elgian." He yelled to the second doctor assigned to him. "I need some bacta patches and blood for a transfusion. Twil'ek Type A."
He reached to reinsert the IV, and found her hand on his arm, stilling further action. Her eyes were open, wide and slightly glazed over.
"There's nothing you can do. The Force..." She coughed lightly, "the Force wills it. The poison...too much."
One of the Jedi...Hesitating, Tristan looked at the readouts, her heart rate was steadily failing. She was right. "What do you need Daeshara'cor?" Sadly he looked at her with respect.
She wheezed, "Move me to the wardroom. Must. See. An...' Her chest rattled again. "Anakin."
Nodding Tristan gestured to the 2-1B sending instructions to inform him of any changes.
He never saw her again, finding out much later, that she had become one with the Force.
Puzzling over that news he let the warm water from the sink in the ready room trickle down his forearms to waterfall past the tips of his fingers. She just faded away, peacefully. So...painlessly. A whisper of someone else joining him at the sinks broke him out of his reverie. He blinked.
"Nurse Intindola!"
"Dr. Romani, Syla. Please." She looked tired, exhausted really.
"Tristan."
Syla graciously nodded her head.
"Have you seen Nestor yet? He'll be happy to see you." Tristan grinned inwardly. He had been more than depressed on Tatooine, but had still been able to notice the blossoming relationship between Alluvia and the pretty nurse.
She beamed, and nodded.
Taking his foot off the pedal, Tristan shook his hands to remove excess water, then dried them on a lintless chart towel. "Did you hear the news?"
"One week, and then the duel?"
"Duel?"
Syla frowned, "Jedi Corran Horn will fight the leader, Ithor for some remains."
"Emperor's Black Bones!" Tristan watched as she dried her hands and they began moving towards the cafeteria together. "From what I've heard...these beings...they aren't easy to kill. Even for a Jedi." He thought about the Twi'lek again. "How is this possible?"
She shrugged, "I don't know but apparently we have to prepare, just in case something goes wrong." She glanced oddly at the man standing next to her. Nestor is right. He has changed. Gone was the shuddering, bundle of nerves, the workaholic. Gone was the haunted look upon his face. "Where are you headed?"
"To eat, I get the feeling that after this week is up; things are only going to get worse."
xxxxxxxxxx
And he was right. Almost a week and a day later Corran Horn was bobbing in bacta, perhaps not so oblivious to the destruction that the Yuuzhan Vong had wracked on Ithor. The Jedi that remained on the Ralroost were walking zombies. Despite their stoicism, Tristan could tell from the telltale rings around their eyes, and isolated behavior that whatever was going on the Ithorian world, however he felt looking at the vestiges of vaporization and death left of the magnificent and revered planet; the Jedi felt it tenfold.
Late one night, following his shift in the bacta center, he found himself walking not towards Keladry's cabin to see if she still wanted that late night cup of caf, but rather towards one of the few ready rooms with a visual of Ithor. Due to the lateness of the hour, and perhaps the denial that many of the New Republic citizens were facing, he was not surprised to find it empty. If they did not have to face the problem, it was easier to accept and move on.
He felt edgy and unwilling to rest. Like many others he was struggling to deal with a upswell of anger and hatred toward the Vong, while at the same time trembled with indignation at the tag that Corran Horn was being given.
"The Man who Killed Ithor."
How can a people who are so compassionate and have fought so hard to return from the iron fist of the Empire, to now work with the Remnant, be so cold? He understood that it was the nature of politics, that certain senators saw the Jedi as malefactors, as a threat to their local power base, but he did not envy the reception Horn would receive when he was decanted.
He was staring out at the viewport, slouched down into a high backed armchair, transcribing some of his notes from the day's cases, and trying rather to stave revulsion at the dying planet below them. Behind him, he heard the door swish open.
A trio of voices trickled in, and Tristan recognized them as a group of younger human medics from core and mid-rim territories. Not meaning to eavesdrop, but not in the mood to make his existence known, he decided to remain quiet, hoping that the group would leave quickly.
"Did you see him?" The question was followed by an unladylike snort.
"Yeah, I can't believe they're letting him live." Male 1 was angry, resentful.
"After what he did to Ithor; stars the idiot should be tied to the closest Batsfour tree and left to rot with the rest of the planet." That sounds like Nurse Ikendoran.
Male 1:"It's a Bafforr tree, moron."
"Who cares."
The female softly mused, "I wonder if...the Jedi are useless. I mean look at them, they do things without thinking. Foolhardy."
Male 1: "All high and mighty, walking around with pained expression. Its all theatrics. Pretending they care that Ithor was destroyed." There was a wumphindicating that he had thrown himself onto one of the sofas.
Ikendoran replied coldly, "Maybe the Emperor had it right. I saw a Twi'lek Jedi die today. She just disappeared." He snapped. "Like that."
Snap. Snap.
"I saw Jacen Solo."
The first male groaned at the girls wistful voice. "Oh. No. Don't you start this again."
"It's too bad that I have to hate him now." A dramatic sigh.
"Don't worry Lisel, I'll be here to comfort you." Ikendoran laughed roughly.
"Ha. Ha."
Snap. Snap. Tristan shifted slightly in his seat, his blood beginning to boil.
"Seriously, though," It was Ikendoran again. "We should draw up a list. One hundred and one ways to get rid of a meddlesome Jedi named Corran Horn."
"Easy. With a lightsaber."
"Ah but how? Come on we're medics, we know what wounds inflict the most pain." Her voice had grown sly.
Snap. Snap.
"Drown him in bacta."
Snap. Snap.
"That would waste the good stuff for those who get injured."
Snap. Snap.
"Hey, Torin, pass me another bottle." There was a clink as an empty bottle was thrown on the table. For a moment while the first guy drank, his noisy swallowing filling up the hollowed room.
Snap. Snap.
"Wait a second. Let's toast Ithor."
Snap. Snap. Snap.
"Will you stop snapping. It's giving me a headache."
Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.
Two more bottles opened, and there was a silent rustle as they stood up, obviously inebriated beyond reason. The girl spoke first. "To Ithor. We're sorry you're gone..."
"TafandaBaywas nice."
"And we're glad it wasn't our planet." They paused mid-sip as the door to the lounge swished open.
A new voice popped in. "Hello, you have not by any chance seen Dr. Romani have you?" Tristan recognized Keladry's soft timbre.
There were a chorus of "No's"
"If you see him. Let them know that I'm looking for him."
"Oh, we will." The insinuation was overt. Why you little...
The phrase rang in the air and it was obvious that Keladry had yet to move from the doorway. Tristan could imagine the expression on her lovely face, the one which made everyone in the room pay attention, and do as they were told. "Make sure you do." The door slid shut, and the silence in the room erupted into laughter.
Unable to listen to more, Tristan slowly turned the armchair he was in, and watched the three of them, so insular that they did not even notice that they were being watched.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap. At the sixth hollow sound of his hands hitting together he had their attention.
"Dooccttor Romani." The girl, Lisel stuttered in surprise, stopping when she saw his expression.
Standing up he briskly walked to the door, stuck his head outside and called out to Keladry. "Dr. Stanton!" She turned, smiling and jogged back to where was.
"Tristan, I just asked if you..." she trailed staring at his outstretched hand.
"Take this." It was his commlink. "Find the deck officer in charge of discipline. And playback the recording on the memory chip. I'll hold them here. Also check the logs to see if either Lisel Manalyina, Ikendoran...and he trailed off..."
"Torin Shimin Drik." She supplied the name of the second guy.
"Torin Shimin Drik. See if they're scheduled for duty in the next six hours, or were just on duty."
She nodded, confused, but walked away at a brisk pace.
He turned around and put himself in front of the door quietly appraising the three individuals in the room. The chilly atmosphere conveyed that any humor they saw in their previous conversation had evaporated.
"Well."
In her drunken stupor, the girl started babbling. "Sir, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to insult Dr. Stanton."
The boys, taking a cue from her bobbed their heads in agreement.
Raising an eyebrow, Tristan smiled tightly. "You think this is about Keladry?" They grew confused. "On the contrary. I think that if you remember your words for the past half hour, you'll realize that your conversation could be purported as meditation on murder."
He pointed behind them to viewport..."Not to mention no shred of respect towards a species, more intelligent that any of us, might I add, that just lost their entire world."
He looked at them, realizing his anger was slipping out. "How many of you went out onto Ithor before she was destroyed? How many of you have been on battle duty to be the first one's to see the injured?"
Neither of them had the nerve to look him in his eye. "We see death on a daily basis. How could you...even begin to fathom killing another being?" A voice from his subconscious jolted him into conscious thought. How could you planned on killing Iker when your life has been devoted to the preservation of life.
In his silence, Ikendoran spoke up, defensive. "You have to admit Corran Horn did bring this upon us."
Tristan eyed him, "Did he? Did he really?" He gestured to the window, "Move closer, look at the destruction. Did Corran Horn do that? He tried to find a solution to this problem, putting his personal life on the line that would save Ithor. It was the Vong who betrayed the deal, revealing that they lack honor.
It was Yuuzhan Vong bombs that destroyed Ithor, not Corran Horn. This past week you saw the dead, you saw the dying. Can one man destroy a planet?"
"Palpatine did." His head snapped at the young medic, still insolent. "With a machine, that Governor Tarkin and others behind the—"
Tristan rebutted, interrupted. "Alderaan. Yes. But who was blamed? The men who were in that battle station. Governor Tarkin, The Emperor. Darth Vader. All those who were the agents of action. Jedi Horn deserves your respect, not your contempt."
"The Jedi are trying to become a hegemonic power over us! They're controlling all our minds." Conspiracy and hysteria tinged Torin's voice.
It was Tristan's turn to laugh. "You think so? Incredible." He shook his head. "I pity all of you. Really, I do." His voice became filled with emotion. "One of these days you will face death, and realize that your ability to speak out, your ability to have an opinion. Your ability to be who you choose to be rather than a clone...is thanks to a Jedi." He broke off as a light tap on the door. "Do not move from that viewport. Imagine that was your home. Imagine that your family has just been transported off and just been told they can never...never go back."
He unlocked the door, letting in Keladry, two guards, and a sour faced deck officer whose stern gaze bore holes into the young medics.
The deck officer was firm. "I think an evening in the brig will do you well. According the schedule, two of you were on duty, but all three of you will face charges for leaving the medical bay unattended. Sober up, civilians you may be, but while you are on this ship you are expected to behave as members of the New Republic Military." He paused and turned to Keladry and Tristan. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will make sure that the head of the medical corp is appraised of the situation."
Keladry nodded. "We'll make sure to fill out our reports by the morning."
As the door slid shut, the two doctors found themselves alone.
Examining Tristan's face, Keladry noted the taunt cheek bones, stretched with stress. His eyes were glowering. She watched as he visibly tore himself from staring at the closed door, his shoulders shifting to a relaxed stance. She remained silent as he crossed the room, reoccupied the chair he had been sitting in earlier once again facing the ruined planet. Following, she perched next to him. "We heard what you said. The deck officer was on his way back from the mess...everything alright?"
Settling herself on the arm she stretched her fingers, playing with his hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Uh-uh. I need to think." Tristan replied, his low voice barely recognizable. I need to think about my actions...He could feel the latent fury, the blackened hatred that stretched across his senses. He could feel the darkness, but he didn't understand it...what am I angry about?
"Ok." She grew silent. "I'm here, you know. So whenever you are ready." As always, her voice became lilting, when she got nervous. Looking out at the window, her heart heavy with sorrow, realized that she could not put off what she really wanted to say. Not anymore. Even if he was not ready to say it back in return...he needed to know. Life was too short. She did not want to be looking back on her life, thinking...What if I told him when I had the chance...
Taking a deep breath, she gently turned his face to her. His eyes were lowered in rumination and it was obvious he was trying to regain composure. Using her fingers she massaged his temple, removing the lines of stress. "I know this may not be the right time, but I can't think of a point in the future where it will be the right time. Tristan, you don't need to say anything back, but I just wanted to say..." Keladry sighed, "I love you, T."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
"I love you, T."
Like a thunderclap, Tristan's eyes met hers, pupils widening, his dark thoughts replaced by the irrevocable sorrow that tinged the memory of his late wife. The last memory he had with Elbereth rose up, unbidden. It was right after Elbereth's collapse, during their estrangement when Tristan struggled with responsibility and his role as a leader. Fears that now seemed trivial compared to the events that came afterward.
She had been so ill...
As a doctor, he was familiar with just how scary loved one's looked when they were under tubes and monitors, but seeing her shocked him all the same. Her violet eyes, still dim and glazed over, seemed to clear for a moment as she focused on Tristan. Her appearance was sallow, almost waiflikeas if she was being dominated and under enormous pressure. He collapsed on the floor, gripping her arm, and he heard her sigh.
"Oh Tristan."
"Elbereth, I'm sorry. My actions have been inexcusable, I've tried, I'm trying to overcome these irrational fears, but they keep coming back, keep attacking my conscience. I want this child, I doI swear on the Force and our love, that I never meant you ill. I was..."
"Afraid, " She began stroking his head, "Oh Tristan, I was determined to convince you that we were worth it, that we would overcome the fear, together. I had vowed after last night, that I would…move out, that I would…leave you until you worked it out, but I couldn't, I could never do that…" her voice broke, "Don't you know that you are all that I have left? I know that your fears are the product of your upbringing, brought on by my family, I KNOW that…"
"Shhwe agreed that we must be strong, that it is up to us to break through our pasts, and work to build a new life. I made that vow, and at the first true test of our new life…I broke it." Her cheeks were soft as he wiped away her tears. "Don't cry..please?…My fear controlled me, but no more. Last night, after you left, I was struck by the ridiculousness of it all. That I was giving up something that meant more to me then life itself, so that I could wallow in self-pity and my own self-propagating ego of how much of a failure I was. I got up early so that I could pick up something…" He brought from his pocket a small ring box. "This is my pledge, my vow, that I will protect you, and I swear, I will never leave you."
Elbereth opened the box, and Tristan saw her eyes sparkle, "I love you, T." He stayed next to her, on the floor, until she fell asleep. As he drifted off he reviewed the days events, vowing to meet Iker and find out exactly what was going on. When he finally drifted off, his reflex was to cover her hand with his own, symbolically enclosing the tiny silver baby rattle in a parental embrace.
The rattle was now buried somewhere beneath the rubble of that past life, and Iker...he had never been able to him...he had disappeared by the end of the week.
"Tristan...I swear, I will never leave you."
He heard Keladry's plea still half caught in his memory, feeling the roar of his anger and self-recrimination fresh in his ears. She understood that he wasn't ready, and he loved her for it. Opening the eyes that he had not known he had closed, he pulled her close. All of a sudden the sadness evaporated, the slick and oily negativity replaced with a sudden feeling of tenderness.
His lips hovered before hers, whispering a soft, "thank you" before they were pressed together, trying to find a measure of happiness in the whirlpool of war.
But in the back of his mind, Tristan heard Elbereth's voice, and he couldn't help but see accusing violet eyes, tinged with sorrow at his unfaithfulness.
End Post 8
Credit:
All of this was written by me...but a lot of the information about Nom Anor and Monor II/Rhommomool conflict was from the database and Vector Prime. The incident with Han Solo is actually based off what we saw in Dark Tide I: Onslaught where Han asks Threepio for a list of bars with the highest incident ratingsand then Leia tells the droid to call one of the Rogues and see if they can check on him.
All issues dealing with Elgos and Corran Horn etc are from Dark Tide II: Ruin . The situation with Daeshara'cor is based also on a situation from the bookshe was an influence on Anakin Solo, and the beginning of us seeing him develop as a character. I wanted to make the medical sequence seem to fit in with the bookso I thought I'd use her as a familiar face. Also, the quotation Keladry uses about battle is used by Wedge Antilles in one of the Rogue Squadron books.
Also the section with Elbereth is from Part II of the trilogy.
