Fortes Fortuna Juvat

By KnightMara

Disclaimer—I do not own any of the characters created by George Lucas or Kevin J. Anderson, or Timothy Zahn, or any of the other writers officially writing for the GFFA. I am simply playing in George's playground, that's all.

A/N: This is a story that might have several parts to it, depending on whether or not a lot of people read and enjoy it (and I won't know that unless people review). I was just thinking about how Kyp Durron has always managed to survive throughout the EU, and wondered how it was he had managed to make it to the Jedi Academy Trilogy in the first place. I mean, according to his back-story, he was orphaned in the mines of Kessel at the age of nine (or ten, since KJA changed his age twice during the trilogy—I read REALLY carefully, obviously). So this story is about Kyp and his uncanny ability to survive. I know he may not seem terribly brave in this first installment, but I think there is an inner courage that keeps him alive, along with good luck.

So anyway, on with the story:

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Kessel—Age 9

He was alone.

He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he knew it with the same kind of certainty that he knew his own name, or that the breath mask he wore was keeping him alive in the darkness. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he pressed his small body more tightly against the rock wall behind him and stared unseeing at the darkness that surrounded him.

He was alone.

His body shuddered and an icy tear traced a frigid path down his cheek until it met with the edge of his mask and seemed to freeze there. Never again would his mother touch his shoulder in reassurance, her eyes sad but determined. Never again would his father stand in front of them, his arm stretched out just slightly at his side to shield his family from the unwelcome attention of the guards or other prisoners. Never again would he sit tightly between them, absorbing his parents' warmth as the mining cars plunged them into icy darkness. Never again would he curl up in his bunk and think the words his mother had told him time and time again, "We have each other."

Now, he had no one.

He heard blaster shots from far away, too far to cast even a tiny thread of light upon the utter blackness that engulfed him. He pulled himself even more tightly into the wall, the heating unit of his thermal suit digging into his back as he willed himself to simply disappear. Maybe he would disappear if he tried hard enough, vanishing into the darkness of the caves. Or maybe someone would find him and take him to Carida, like they did with Zeth, and then he wouldn't be alone anymore.

He shivered, and his stomach twisted painfully at the memory of his brother—Zeth didn't know. Zeth didn't know that they were gone. Then again, Zeth might be gone, too. He didn't know anymore, couldn't tell if his brother was alive or dead. His parents, though—he knew that they were dead, and the emptiness created by their passing consumed him. They were dead, and he was alone.

He shivered again, this time more violently, and he barely had time to remove his mask before his stomach twisted itself so hard that he doubled over, gagging as his most recent meal spilled onto the cold rock beside him. He tried to draw a breath, couldn't, and saw bright spots before his eyes. Cold-numbed fingers grasped at the rock wall as he panicked at the immediacy of the sudden internal war taking place in his mind. He could leave the mask off and join his family, dying a slow, suffocating death in the oxygen-poor mines. Or he could replace the mask and live. Already his lungs were straining to pull whatever oxygen there was into his rapidly starving body, and his eyes began to tear at the lances of icy pain that filled him with each strangled breath.

More lights flashed before his eyes, but with the roaring of blood in his ears, he could not tell if they were real or the effects of suffocation. Blinking rapidly, he saw the veins of glitterstim in the wall beside him, and he realized that the lights were real, that someone was coming.

Another flash of light, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the brightness hit him like a physical blow. Instinctively, he retreated further against the wall, but his head was practically humming from lack of air, and he found his fingers fumbling for his mask almost independently of his brain, as though his arms had decided that he didn't want to die yet, even though his brain was still considering the option.

His clumsy fingers had not yet managed the mask when he heard a muffled voice cry, "Here's another one."

Before he had the power to react, someone had taken a rough hold of his arm, yanking him at once off of the ground and slinging him like a rag doll until he hung limply over someone's shoulder. "A runt, this," the person carrying him said.

Mask still dangling under his chin, he felt his consciousness slip away.

A not-so-gentle kick to his ribs brought him back to reality, and he curled up in a ball on the floor where he had been clumsily deposited. People were yelling above him, but he could not hear what they were saying. It was all a dull roar, and he didn't care. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want to be among these people. He wanted to be alone—as alone as he felt inside, as alone as he knew he was. He wanted to go back to the darkness.

Someone was gripping him under the arms and pulling him off the floor, and he tried to resist. He didn't want to get up.

A whispered voice in his ear urged, "Get up, kid. Quick." It was a man's voice, urgent and scared.

Something in the man's voice convinced him to allow himself to be helped to his feet, though he wavered weakly, blinking in the lights of the muster room. He sensed rather than saw the crowd of prisoners surrounding him. The scent of blood, sweat, and fear hung heavily among them.

" . . . new management," a harsh voice was saying. "The Empire doesn't live here anymore! You work for us, now!"

A heavy silence followed this.

"Delta team," another voice bellowed. "Casualty detail. I want these bodies out of here, now. Save the thermal suits."

Bodies? His brain worked sluggishly to understand. There were bodies? His eyes scanned the room numbly, but all he could see were the thermal-suited forms of other prisoners moving about. Where were they? Were his parents among them? Would he see them one last time? Was he even on Delta team?

He felt someone taking him by the shoulders and leading him to one of the bunks on the far side. A pair of strong hands pushed him down onto the bunk, but he shook his head numbly, his eyes casting over the commotion in the muster room.

"I wanna help," he whispered. His voice was a weak croak, but he barely noticed.

"Not now, kid." It was the voice of the man who had whispered in his ear.

He tried weakly to argue, feeling strangely like he was in some dream—or nightmare, really. "But my—"

The man cut him off. "What's your name, kid?"

"Kyp," he answered mechanically. His eyes then looked up, registering for the first time that someone was talking to him.

A young man stared back down at him. He was pale—everyone was pale, Kyp realized dully—with almost white-blonde hair and grey eyes. He was not wearing a thermal suit, but the man's pale hands were helping Kyp out of his. "Hello, Kyp," he said, unfastening the seals at Kyp's neck. "I'm Dax."

Kyp said nothing. He simply sat, his body beginning to shiver once again as it had in the caves—the mines, he corrected himself. He was aware that he was shivering, because the man—Dax—had tried to still him somewhat by rubbing his shoulders. Kyp, however, merely watched with a numb detachment. He didn't even feel the man's hands. He was isolated. Alone.

His trembling grew worse, and his lungs burned with a pain worse than what he felt in the mines. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't swallow. Tears began to course down his cheeks in earnest, but he could not even lift a hand to brush them away.

Why couldn't he have died in the mines? Why was he still here? Why was this stranger helping him instead of his mother? She should be taking care of him, not this strange man with his pale hair, pale skin, and pale eyes! In a flash of anger, he raised his arms and batted the man's hands away, pushing himself further into the bunk and drawing his knees to his chest in one fluid movement.

"Leave me alone," he said.

"Kid, I'm only trying to—"

"Leave me alone!" he screamed. He was dimly aware of the stares from the other prisoners, but he didn't care. Let them stare, he thought. "I hate you!" he cried, louder this time. "I hate all of you! You killed them! You killed them and left me alive! You killed them and left me alone! You left me ALONE!"

A hand came out of nowhere and seized his arm, and Kyp winced, feeling bruises from the rough handling his arm had already received. Without warning, he was pulled out of his bunk and thrown to the floor by a prisoner he had seen fight with his father on many occasions. The man towered over him. He had the appearance of someone who had been a fighter once, a strong man to be feared. Time in the mines had eaten away at his muscle and robbed his skin of color, but the man was still formidable, and Kyp unintentionally shrank back.

"You wanna die, kid?" the man growled at him. "You wanna die right now and join them?"

Kyp almost said yes, but he didn't have the chance.

The other prisoner, Dax, quickly threw himself between this towering threat and Kyp, saying, "Sure, let's just kill each other so there's no one left! Let's do for ourselves what the Empire couldn't and get rid of us all!"

"Nothin' wrong with getting' rid of dead weight!" the larger man argued. "Kid's been worthless since he got here!"

"He's a child!"

"A waste of food, and air, and space!"

Dax had advanced on the man. "And as far as these guards are concerned, so are you! So just shut up!" Kyp stared as the smaller man stood his ground and continued ranting. "You heard them! New management, same hell! This is Kessel! We're all worthless! Why else are we down here? So just back off and let us all go back to living our meaningless, worthless lives!"

The larger man stood silently for a moment. "I'm not gonna' look out for no kid," he finally snarled.

"Don't worry," Dax retorted. "I'll do it myself."

Without another word, the other man turned around and disappeared into the mass of prisoners.

Dax looked back down at Kyp, his pale cheeks flushed and his grey eyes sharp and cold. For a long time, he just stood there, staring down at him, saying nothing. Kyp stared back, unmoving.

"I just stuck my neck out for you, kid," the pale man finally said.

Kyp did not move but to utter a simple word. "Why?"

He watched as Dax drew a deep breath and answered, "Dunno." He didn't say anything else.

The pain in Kyp's chest returned. "Should've left me alone," he whispered as he looked down at the floor.

There was another long silence, and then Dax was crouched in front of him. Kyp looked up, and he noted that the man's grey eyes had softened. "No one should be alone, kid," he said.

But I am alone, thought Kyp, his chin trembling slightly as new tears threatened to form in his eyes. I'm alone, he thought. He could feel it deep in his heart.

As if reading his mind, Dax said softly, "You're not alone. Not while I'm around."

And Kyp felt as well as heard the truth in his words.

Sure enough, Dax kept his word. He stayed by Kyp's side, making sure he was not alone, making sure there was someone to care for him even while he began teaching him how to take care of himself. The two of them kept a low profile, blending in, drawing little or no attention to themselves, working day after day to survive. Dax helped him to become stronger, too, and soon, Kyp began to rely upon Dax less and less, needing him only for the friendship the man gave and which Kyp gladly reciprocated. In a way, Dax gave Kyp what his parents could not: a foundation for both trust and independence. Kyp grew up quickly with Dax by his side.

And then one day, two years later, Dax simply disappeared. He had gone down into the mines, and he had not come back. He was the fourth to disappear in such a fashion. The large brute who had wanted to kill Kyp had been the second. Kyp had felt a touch of the numbing shock of loss when he had arrived back at the muster room to find that Dax had not made it back. Then he had drawn himself up, stripped out of his thermal suit, and climbed into his bunk.

He was alone again.

He was alone, but this time he knew he would survive.

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A/N: Please be kind and review.