4: Caught in the Undertow
Bandon felt his lip curl back from his teeth as he listened to the comm chatter issuing from the helmets of the Sith troopers flanking him in the cold gloom of Taris's Undercity. He could feel their nervousness, their fear bleeding through the creases of their armor as the darkness swirled before them. They were small beings, hiding inside their armor, trembling at the thought of what lay in waiting for them in the darkness.
Two days ago, a Black Razor Operations squad had been lost down here. The only thing that had been found was the naked body of Leftenant Peer, chewed and gnawed to gristle and bone by…something. Bandon supposed the rumors of the living dead prowling the shadows might have had some truth to them. Ever since he had taken command of the Ops teams, he had heard nothing but tales of the dead who ate men. The filthy and pathetic mewling locals were filled with these tales, promising swift vengeance by the so-called Rakghouls right before Bandon had ordered them set afire.
For two days, Bandon had killed and killed, tearing through entire villages. For every Sith who had been killed in that squad, ten Tarisian underscum would die. He had started by simply ordering them shot. But it occurred to him that, while this certainly got the job done, it didn't exactly communicate the point. His men still continued to die; one or two at a time, on patrols through the sweating gloom. He had ordered his soldiers to set the villages afire, to burn the pathetic huts while the villagers were themselves rounded up. And down to every man, woman and child, they were impaled. Alive. It was an ancient Sith discipline that had survived the ages; to impale a victim without killing. A strong man would take days to die. So, he had taken to staking the villagers alive, and planting them upright amidst the smoking ruins of their burned huts. Their agonized screams would be a warning cry, that the Sith had come. And their bodies would be a message.
It was, of course, barbaric. Necessity often was. There was an undeniable and practical logic in ruthlessness. But few rational men had the belly for this sort of business. And Bandon was a rational man. It was the way of the Sith to embrace passion and fury. But Bandon knew that fury made a man's mind weak. He had his passions, to be certain. However, since he was not here to indulge those passions, Bandon let his intellect rule.
Still, his men kept dying. Every time a patrol went out searching for the Jedi Bastila, it returned short a man or three, the survivors cold with terror. The message still had not been received. He decided to drive the point home by setting impaled villagers on fire. Necessity. Perhaps some Sith would have reveled in the killing. Bandon did not. Could not. This was a means to an end.
Pacification of an entire planet took something more than force of arms; it took more even than the threat of death. It required terror. Cold, unreasoning horror. Terror drained the fight from any rebel. Terror made an intelligent man into a gibbering fool. Terror made strong men into mewling babies. And he was certain there was enough steel in these Tarisian dogs to resist his will, to keep killing his men. Before Bandon had started burning villagers alive, he had not believed these tales of walking dead men. But as the greasy smoke from a living pyre coursed over his face, he began to wonder. These Tarisian wretches could not be so foolish as to keep murdering his warriors from the shadows. It availed them only the deaths of their loved ones.
It had to be someone…something…else.
Bandon was not a man accustomed to the sensation of fear. He was a Lord of the Sith, apprentice to Darth Malak. But these weak-kneed soldiers were composed of lesser meat. They would buckle. Falter. Pride whispered at his shoulder, urging him to abandon these dogs. But logic countered with its own wise arguments. If there was something down here, better to have these troops at his back. If only for the sake of a distraction.
He grew tired of the comm chatter. "Adjutant!" he snarled.
"Sir!"
Bandon narrowed his pale gray eyes into snowy slits, and slowly turned to face the senior non-comm. "Report."
"We've been unable to re-establish contact with Alpha Squad, my Lord. Their last transmission reported discovery of some wreckage about two hundred meters west of checkpoint seven."
"That will be the Republic pod," Bandon hissed softly. "Adjutant, gather your men. We will be tracing their route into the wastelands."
"I…yes, of course, my Lord Bandon."
Twenty minutes later, Bandon prowled the darkness at the head of the Sith squad, quietly slipping over piles of rusted metal and stinking refuse. They had come to an obstacle in their path, some ancient crashed vessel so long corroded that it seemed to grow right out of the ground. Its sprawling carcass stretched for nearly a hundred feet before growing into a wall that utterly cut them off from Alpha Squad's trail. In the moist darkness, they could not pick up the path Alpha Squad had used to get past the barrier. And so, Bandon had peeled away from the rest of his team. He did not need light as did the others. He allowed the Force to guide him, and it painted the dark clearly in stark grays and whites. He reached out with his feelings, probing the shattered and twisted landscape for ambush. Any living thing would seem to glow to his eyes. Life created a blazing chain through the Force. All things were so linked, even the most humble speck of dust. But life, which fueled the Force with its passion and chaos, that shimmered brightest.
Bandon began to drift farther away from his squad of men. They were intolerably loud, incapable of masking their noise as he was. He should have had one of them walking the point position, but for all their training, they were incompetents beside a true Lord of the Sith, who could hide in broadest daylight and walk unseen and unheard amidst a crowd.
And, they tended to miss things when they could only see with their eyes. His dark senses easily picked out the black trench carved into the ground. A dry canal, five feet deep and twice that wide. Peering into it, he noted the hard edges; it was manmade, perhaps intended long ago to channel sewage. In the hollow of the canal there was an opening, blocked by a corroded grille. He estimated it was wide enough for a man to walk inside it.
He reached into the stiff collar of his black leather cuirass and pressed the tiny commlink to his lips. "Adjutant, move up on my position. I've found an entrance to the sewers. This should allow us to cross past the blocked passageway to Checkpoint seven."
He then reached to his belt and unleashed the twin-bladed lightsaber hanging there. It flashed to crimson brilliance with a rasping hiss, and hummed angrily in his hand. He leaped down into the canal and slashed once. The glowing blade growled as it disintegrated the rusted bars of the grille. He shut down his lightsaber and kicked away the remaining bars. His squad clanked loudly up behind him and immediately set up a defensive position atop the canal.
"There's no other way around, my Lord Bandon?" Adjutant Saar asked, joining Bandon inside the canal at the mouth of the passageway. "This is…tactically unsound. We will barely have room to fire if trouble should present itself…"
"Did you join the Legions to embrace the challenges presented to you by the universe?" Bandon chuckled, "or to cower like an old woman? Time is of the essence. Every minute wasted on ruminations of the unknown is a minute the Jedi have to evade us. Embrace your fear, Adjutant Saar. Or feel the heat of my blade. Your choice."
Saar nodded stiffly, glancing with fear at Bandon's lightsaber. He signaled to his men. "Genwaadi, Lorst, you're up."
Two troopers cursed softly and stepped forward. They climbed down into the canal and snapped on the IR beams mounted on their blaster rifles. Both peered into the darkness of the passageway tentatively.
"Move!" Bandon hissed tightly. At his steely command, Genwaadi stepped in as if shoved. He disappeared within the opening, followed closely by Lorst. Bandon crouched low at the mouth of the passage and watched as they were swallowed by the darkness within. Several seconds passed as Bandon listened to the scuffle of their boots bouncing back down the passage towards him. He sighed and made to enter behind them. As he did so, the passageway erupted with the blistering curdle of screaming. Wet crunches spilled out of the tunnel and Bandon instinctively ignited his saber. The red glare it cast briefly illuminated long, pale limbs thrashing and bright yellow teeth. Gleaming eyes reflected the light of his blade.
"Damn," Bandon gasped. He saw flashes of motion within the darkness, the splatter of dark blood. He stumbled backwards from the passage way and called for Saar.
As he did so, screams tore through the squad behind and above him. He whirled and saw pale, slick bodies dashing and leaping and thrashing among his men. And he saw his men dying. Blaster fire exploded from their rifles as they regained the battle sense drummed into their reflexes. They took their shots with the precision born of desperation and instinct.
Bandon released his fury with a battlecry and launched his body high above the floor of the trench. He arced over his squad and landed behind them, a thirty foot leap which took no effort from his powerful muscles. A torrent of movement surrounded him, and he saw them for what they were, wiry white skinned things, hunched over like old men. But they moved like quicksilver, sometimes leaning forward to run on all fours. Ragged bushes of white hair crowned their oblong skulls, and their faces gleamed with two shining eyes over a set of jagged and curved teeth.
And they gibbered with hunger; hunger for living meat!
"Abominations!" Bandon howled furiously, whirling in a circle. His lightsaber blazed and hummed as it sizzled cleanly through muscle and bone. Bodies fell around him, burned in half. Limbs plopped to the ground, smoking.
Bandon continued his spin, thrusting forth his palm. His will gusted forth, his thoughts tickling at the caress of the Force. The energy of the Force shuddered through his body and leapt forth in an unseen explosion, hurling two of the creatures away from his right side. One of them landed on a sharp girder protruding from a pile of junk. The other bounced off the floor and hopped eagerly back at him.
"Watch your fire!" Saar cried, blasting away with his long, slender carbine. "Check your targets, men!"
Bandon had to admire Saar's obvious tenacity and clear thinking. His training shone beautifully. But ultimately, it availed the soldier not at all. Clawed hands crashed down on Saar's shoulders, heaving him to the ground. One of the creatures pounced upon his chest in a crouch and opened him up from throat to groin with its long black talons. Saar screamed like woman before he died gurgling up bright blood.
Bandon saw his men fall in mere seconds. A crack, elite squad of men, downed in a wet red flash. Bandon lowered his lightsaber for a second as the creatures turned to face him. Most huddled over the bodies, tearing through armor and into flesh with their dirty teeth. They stared at him curiously, eyeing his lightsaber warily. And then, he saw in their gleaming eyes the distant thread of human intellect. They were sizing him up! Trying to determine if his flesh was worth the danger he posed.
They made their decision.
Slowly they began to advance, crawling over their brethren who were still feasting on warm bodies. Bandon closed down his lightsaber and smiled at the monsters grimly. He gave a short bow from the waist and spun on his heels. He ran, calling on the Force to become a blur of pure speed.
Lal froze as she heard the distant scream. It warbled on a for a long moment before it was shredded into silence. She crouched in the gloom of the Undercity, pressing against Carth in front of her. The vibroblade she wore on her belt dug into her hip painfully, but her muscles were iced over. Carth glanced back at her, wearing the darksight visor she'd picked up for him. Concern wrinkled his brow, but Lal didn't even want to whisper out an explanation.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," Mission moaned softly, clinging tightly to Lal's arm. Zaalbar shushed the girl with a snarl. He knelt at the rear of the bunch, tasting the air in great huffing gulps with both tongue and his sensitive nose.
"It was a bad idea," Carth whispered, a cold sweat beading his brow, "for you to come along, kid. What the hell was that anyway? Rakghouls?"
Lal swallowed a thick dry lump in her throat and shook her head. "A man. Having a bad dream, I'd imagine. We should move quickly." She lowered her eyes to her wrist-mounted computer, which displayed a scrolling graphic of a century-old map of the Undercity's sewers. She pointed down a broad corridor that dripped with brown water. Carth nodded stiffly and the four of them moved as silently as possible down the tunnel.
Lal had long since given up trying to pry her arm from Mission's desperate grasp. It had probably been a mistake to bring Mission along. The youthful Twi'lek had begged to go along; she didn't fancy the thought of being left on her own with all the Sith pouring through LowCity. Lal told herself they needed Mission's knowledge of the Undercity, but knew that was a lie. She…she just wanted to keep the girl close by.
Carth initially had not objected, seeing the logic in her inclusion. But the fear of dark places had infected him as well, and he was probably thinking that Mission would be a liability in any fight that waited for them. No choice now, though.
Lal had taken the time to guide Mission through the use of the tiny blaster she wore on her hip now. Mission wasn't a half bad shot either. But there hadn't been enough time. And Selli's life was probably being measured in hours. Of course, Mission was finally dressed appropriately enough. She didn't own a single practical piece of clothing. The closest she could come to something that freed her arms and legs for a fight was a short black tunic that left her blue legs bare. She accompanied that with tall boots that hugged her calves and reached up past her knees. Lal had fitted her with a black market armored vest that was about two sizes too large. Mission seemed to sink within its stiff depths. Lal would have given the girl one of her own Slipsuits, but even as tiny as Lal's frame was, her clothes were simply too big for Mission.
Lal stuck with her customary Slipsuit, outfitted with a combat harness loaded with equipment and a few flash grenades. A non-regulated, chopped barrel blaster rifle hung from her back and its stubby weight pressed down against her spine relentlessly. She also carried her two blaster pistols, one holstered in a rig against her thigh and the other nestled against the small of her back. And the vibroblade. It was a short bladed sword fitted into an oscillation armature. The armature made the blade vibrate so swiftly that it became a chromed blur that could cut through orbital grade durasteel.
Additionally, she carried a Randomizer unit, mounted on her belt. It had been the hardest piece of equipment to track down, even with her contacts in the black arms market. When activated, it threw off a field that disrupted the phase of the light waves surrounding her body. The oscillations it created in the visible light spectrum didn't so much make her invisible as difficult to notice. All it really did was play a trick on the eye. It broke up her shape, and if she stood still, she would hardly be noticed by anyone looking.
She'd picked up a bolt-coat for Carth; it was a piece of armor that helped disperse the energy of an incoming blaster bolt ranging between 100 and 1500 tenams intensity. Mostly small arms fire. It wasn't as effective as some of the power shields available to the military, but it was all she could get on such short notice. Carth carried only his twinned pistols and a brace of explosives. He seemed just fine with that.
Zaalbar rounded their little crew out with his customary bandolier and his bowcaster. Aside from a few odds and ends, his Wookiee pride would abide nothing more. Stupid carpet.
Still, each of them was fairly well kitted out, Lal decided. And yet, she felt naked as a baby after hearing that throat-rending scream.
They made their way deeper into the sewers, and Lal and Carth fell into a comfortable pattern of advancing and covering by twos. She latched onto his military precision, and let it sink deep into her reflexes. It helped push away the terror burning in her belly. Soon, even Mission was into it, moving like a well-oiled machine.
After they'd descended a series of rusty, sweating ladders, Lal fell into a crouch to examine her wrist-comp's map again. One of Gadon's boys had specified the route they'd already taken into the sewers and had pointed out the location of the Rancor. But as they moved deeper and deeper in, none of them could comfortably ignore the distant pounding thunder that shuddered up through the metal walls and floors from below.
Thoom! Thoom!
Like something hammering in rage against the walls. And it seemed to move about, bouncing along the floors and ceilings from different angles.
Thoom! Thoom!
After several hours of walking, Carth called for a halt. In relief, Mission sank to her bottom against a wall. She gasped and shot back to her feet as her bottom touched a viscous puddle. Furiously, she brushed her skirt off, drawing a groan from Carth. Zaalbar rolled his eyes and kept a watch on the corridor behind them.
Carth moved over to where Lal leaned against a wall and stood next to her. "Map check," he whispered.
Thoom!
Lal jumped despite herself and nodded with a nervous jitter thrumming through her muscles.
Carth held her wrist-comp up, frowning darkly at the map display. "I think we missed a side passage a ways back," he said. "This is taking too long."
"We didn't miss anything," Lal told him. "This is the fifth sublevel." She pointed to a grimy yellow "5" painted on a nearby wall.
Carth squinted up at the peeling number and walked up to it. He reached up to wipe at the grime that had been smeared over the number. As he wiped, Lal groaned. It was a "6".
"Damn," she muttered, lowering her head.
"It's okay," Carth told her, examining her map again. "I think these sublevels are all built the same…if we take that south door…I think we can cut across and reach the main cistern. We'll be a level lower but…but maybe we can climb up."
"Can someone tell me again exactly why we're headed towards the Rancor?" Mission asked, hugging herself tightly.
Zaalbar reminded her with a growl that they had little choice.
Carth nodded. "The Beks said the Vulkars had sealed up the other passages leading to their safehouse."
"And how the heck are we supposed to get past that thing?" Mission asked for the fiftieth time. No one had come up with any real answer just yet.
"We'll work that out when we get there," Carth said, his voice stiff with faked confidence. Lal sniffed it out plain as day. But she didn't mention it. Let Carth cling to his hopes and optimisms. He was welcome to them as far as she was concerned. She might have called him on it, just to mess with him a few days ago. But she had other things on her mind.
She still didn't know exactly why she was here, doing this, risking her life foolishly for others. She still didn't know exactly why she cared so much about a joygirl like Mission. Sentimentality. It tended to get people dead. She'd always harbored some guilt about Selli; about others. But it had never intruded before on simple reason. Not like this. In the three years she'd worked for Davik, Lal had stripped her soul bare of any conscience. It was bad for business.
She didn't really owe Zaerdra anything. Or Carth. And even if she did, she was powerful enough to utterly disregard them. If she wanted, she could have ordered one of her men to kill Zaerdra. She could have sold Carth out to the Sith. Still could, probably.
But even as the thoughts entered her mind, she knew she would never act on them. Knew it for a solid fact. She just didn't know why.
"Credit for your thoughts?" Carth smiled hopefully.
She chuckled and waved her hand at him. "You can't afford a credit."
"Maybe you'll spot me, then, hmm?"
"I…I'm just thinking…thinking about…why I'm here. All sweaty and nasty, just to help you."
Carth shrugged and pressed his arm against hers as he stood beside her. "Maybe you aren't here for me. Maybe you're here for you."
Lal turned to stare at him incredulously. "Carth Onasi, where in the bloody hell do you get this material? Does the Republic supply its soldiers with catch-phrases like that?"
"Not officially," he grinned. "The…the man who convinced me to join the Republic armed forces…he told me that. I was just a bush pilot back then, doing trench runs against river pirates. Telos is…was…a river-world. Rivers carving through canyons and valleys…beautiful. Mandalorians had set up a base of operations on-world. Running guns through the local black marketers."
"So you decided to become a war hero."
"It wasn't like that. Well, maybe at first. But the Mandalorians were slowly choking off our supply lines. They were doing their level best to drain Telos dry. Our leaders didn't see it. Didn't want to see it. Saying no to a Mandalorian who decides he wants what you got is…well, it's suicide. There were a few of us who decided that the Mandalorians were just gonna turn on us. It's in their nature. And that's what they did. We joined the Republic. Driving hand-me-down Seinar Slipfighters. We were able to force the Mandalorians' hand, and that brought the Republic officially into the fight. Well…as official as the war was back then. It was a cold war for many years, but was pretty hot in a lot of systems like mine. Well, the Mandalorians were sure surprised when the Republic decided to park a few Nebulon cruisers off Telos. Sent 'em running home. In a matter of months, the Republic had a Defense Platform in orbit, and we were officially a member world. That meant our little militia got absorbed into the regular forces.
"I got a commission as an officer," Carth went on. "Sweep-Wings were still technically experimental fighter designs back then. Variable geometry was new back in those days. Me and my unit were the first humans to fly 'em. Telosians were able to adapt to the new control systems more easily, because we were used to flying at a higher level of…I don't know what you'd call it…skill, maybe. But that's where I cut my teeth."
Lal marveled silently at how his eyes lit up like little gems when he spoke of driving a Sweep-Wing fighter. Of flying canyons like a madman. And a rogue thought passed through her mind, wondering what it would be like to let him take her in his strong arms…She killed that thought quickly. This was the man most likely to get her killed.
"You said 'was'," she told him. "'Telos was.' Not is. What'd you mean by that?"
"I…we'd better get going, Lal."
The main cistern was a central shaft, nearly fifty feet wide. It ran down the length of the sewer station; the five levels above them and a bottomless drop far below. Once, all the sewer conduits would have emptied into this central shaft in a torrent of water, hammering downward. Now the conduits each released nothing more than a weak trickle of brown muck, staining the walls with ancient filth. Lal peered down from the ledge they stood on and tried to gauge how far down the shaft dropped before it bottomed out.
Thoom!
Lal gasped in shock and the sound sent her eyes questing upwards. "Wasn't it below us before?"
"M-maybe it's moving around again," Mission moaned.
"Sound's playing tricks on us," Carth murmured. "This shaft is hell on the acoustics, I bet." He leaned out onto the ledge and peered around. "There," he pointed, indicating a ladder a few feet off the side of the ledge. He swung out and grabbed it with one hand. He hung there for a moment, half on the ledge and half on the ladder. He held his free hand to Mission. "Come on, honey. Watch out. It's slippery."
Mission stepped into Carth's arm and he hauled her up between his body and the ladder, so she wouldn't fall. Mission scampered easily up the ladder, like a Nirian Snake Monkey. She climbed about ten feet above Carth's head and waited, staring downward. Carth then motioned to Lal. She refused his hand, though.
"Go on. I'm fine," she told him. Carth shrugged and made his way up beneath Mission. Lal waited until Mission started up again before climbing. Lal's boot slipped on the slimy rungs, but she kept her grip. Below her, Zaalbar howled in concern. "I said I'm fine. It's just a bit slippery is all."
Zaalbar shrugged and grumbled to himself. He slung his bowcaster over his shoulder and started up the ladder as well.
"Next level," Mission called out, her voice shaking a bit. She reached out a booted foot to step onto the fifth level ledge.
"Hold on, Mission," Lal called out. Both Mission and Carth glanced down at her. "I'm thinking…what if we keep going all the way to the top?"
"Won't that just take us back to the level we came in at, Lal?" Mission asked.
"No," Lal murmured, glancing at her wrist-comp again. "According to the map, there's a level above the one we entered. Some sort of maintenance station, I think. It doesn't look like it has normal access to the substation levels. I think…I think there's a trapdoor. Hard to tell from this map."
"Well, might as well try it," Carth said. "Maybe we can bypass that monster this way. Mission, stay where you are. I'm gonna climb up above you."
Mission waited as Carth climbed up to her. She leaned off to the side of the ladder to let him by. They all moved upwards then, making the slow and arduous climb to the top. Mission began complaining and moaning halfway up. She was too soft for this sort of thing. They never should have let her come. Zaalbar was a natural climber, as were all the treeborn Wookiees. But his claws found little purchase on the durasteel rungs and soon, he was snarling in frustration.
But as they neared the top, the ladder and walls became drier. It grew easier to hold on to the ladder up here.
"Alright," Carth told them. "The ladder leads right up to a trapdoor. Hold on a sec…" he reached upwards with one hand and pushed on the door. He grunted with the effort and had to heave upwards several times before the door finally opened with a groan. Flakes of rust fluttered down into Lal's hair and eyes.
She pawed at her eyes to clear them, but they started to water and sting. Carth hauled his body upwards, half disappearing through the trapdoor.
"Looks clear," he yelled down at them. "I'm gonna--"
His body jerked upwards suddenly, disappearing entirely through the door.
"Carth!" Lal cried out. She scrambled up towards Mission, to climb past her and reach Carth. Then, Carth's body fell limply through the open door. He slapped into Mission and jarred her loose.
Without thinking, Lal snapped an arm out and slid it around Mission's narrow waist. "Zaalbar! Carth!"
The Wookiee reacted immediately, snatching Carth's leg as he fell downwards. Zaalbar howled as Carth's weight yanked on his arm. Suddenly, blaster fire rained down on them from above. The flutter of energy blasts flickered brightly against the ladder, and Mission screamed as a shot bounced off the ladder by her face.
Lal gasped as a fleck of hot durasteel lanced across her cheek. She squinted against the flash of blasters from above; she counted about three of them, firing down through the trapdoor. It was too crowded for them to get off any accurate shots, but since Lal and the others didn't have any cover or anywhere to go, their lifespan would be measured in seconds. And her hands were full. She clung to the ladder with one hand and held on to Mission with the other. Zaalbar was in much the same position with Carth.
They had to improvise.
"Mission," Lal grunted, "I n-need you to grab the ladder, honey…I need to get to my--"
Mission cried out as another shower of blaster fire screamed down at them. Then the girl nodded at Lal weakly, and reached out to take hold of the ladder. With Mission's weight released from her grip, Lal swung her free arm to her bandolier. She pulled a flash grenade and thumbed the fuse dial to the closest setting.
She didn't think about aiming when she released it. She just closed her eyes and launched it straight up. The grenade sailed through the trapdoor and exploded almost immediately. Lal slithered up the ladder in a sudden burst of speed and hissed through the trapdoor. She whirled around, squinting against the blazing flare of light and heat the grenade emitted. There were three massive figures staggering blindly around her.
Lal dropped low, and unleashed her blasters. She fired on them with cruel accuracy, burning holes into throats and faces. A second later, three bodies hit the deck around her, smoking and burning. Lal remained in a crouch for a second more, her muscles frozen. Her breath leaped from her in sharp ragged gasps as her blood hammered against the inside of her skin. She glanced around the chamber, and saw no other enemies. She noticed an opening to her right; it led out onto some sort of railed walkway into the darkness, but she couldn't see where it led.
After her muscles unclenched, Lal sighed and peered back down through the trapdoor. "Is everybody okay?"
Mission looked up at her and groaned in relief. Zaalbar whuffed and swung Carth's limp Body up to the ladder. "Carth!" Lal cried. "Is he…?"
"I'm fine, Lal," Carth murmured weakly. "feel like my head got run over by a runaway speeder truck is all…"
Relief flooded through Lal's body. She reached down to help Mission climb up. And then the two of them struggled to pull Carth and Zaalbar up to safety. After they were done, the four of them sat panting and sweating on the floor of the maintenance room.
"Okay," Mission gasped wearily, "it's been real; it's been fun; but it ain't been real fun…"
"We gotta keep going," Carth said, pushing himself to his feet. His first attempt was not exactly successful. Lal found herself rushing to his side to steady him. "I'm fine, he protested, weakly pushing her hands away. Lal ignored him and instead focused on the gash upon his forehead.
"Now you have a matching set," she told him, nodded at the bruise still adorning the other side of his skull. She reached into one of the pouches on her harness and pulled out a tiny field medpack. She tore open the silvery seal and cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe. Then she cracked the single-use K-Syrette and smeared it across the wound.
Carth sighed and allowed her to work. A grin struggled its way onto his lips as she tended to him. "Y'know, a guy could get used to this," he told her.
Lal couldn't help smiling herself. But she merely finished up on his wound, spreading a liquid bandage across the gash. In seconds, the bandage polymerized in the air and squeezed the wound shut. She pulled away with a sigh as his grin brightened at her.
He pointed to his wound and cleared his throat. "Ah…you forgot one thing: you gotta kiss it and make it feel better."
"Mmm-hmm. Zaalbar?"
Zaalbar held up his shaggy paws and shook his head. He grunted about not wanting to be involved in tawdry human sex rituals.
Mission nodded in commiseration. "They are so uncivilized when it comes to mating." Everyone glanced dubiously at Mission. She flushed pink across her blue cheeks and glanced to the floor. "So I've been told…"
Lal chuckled while Carth just shook his head in amusement. Before Carth turned away, she leaned close on the pretense of giving his cut a final look-over: "Ask me again if we survive. Flyboy."
Glancing down into her eyes in surprise, he nodded. "I'll, uh…I'll do that…"
She laughed softly and drifted over to the opening that led to the catwalk. Mission meanwhile knelt over the three bodies Lal had dropped. She pinched her nose shut and cried out, "Ugghh! Gammoreans! Poo-doo!"
Zaalbar howled in fury and hurled one of the bodies down the trapdoor. He reached for a second body, but Lal rushed over to stop him. "Easy, Zaalbar. They're dead. They won't be hurting anyone else."
Zaalbar glanced down at her, seething with snarls and yowls. She held his gaze until his fury simmered and he released a short nod.
"I don't mean to pry, big guy," Carth told the Wookiee quietly, "but…are you…okay?"
Zaalbar snapped his head around and unleashed a roar.
Carth held up his hands. "Okay, okay. None of my business. I was just…as long as you're okay."
Zaalbar relented and hung his shaggy head. He yowled forth an apology. He glanced at Lal because he did not have the words.
Lal patted the Wookiee's chest. "Gammoreans on Taris are heavily involved in the slave trade, Carth. It's believed they're working for the Vulkars…they go on raids. Villages like the one we saw two nights ago…and sometimes they invade the alien habs in LowCity. It's easy for them to get in because they're…well, aliens. Two years ago…I was in a LowCity apartment ring…on business. I was with a Mandalore named Ordo. He was…ah…watching my back. There were some Gammoreans wrestling a big Wookiee with shock sticks." She nodded her head at Zaalbar.
