"Who placed it there?" she asked fanatically as she stared at the fuel gauge. The meter was going up slowly, but it was nowhere near as fast as Nyssa would have liked.
"One guess: Vader," Daven answered from his standing position behind the copilot's chair. His voice remained steady despite the potential danger they faced. "He must have attached it as we were departing. I don't know."
Nyssa hissed in frustration, leaning back in her seat. "He certainly knows his tracking beacons, then. Anything other than the XB Stealth Hunter, the Star's security sensors would have caught. Damn, we're sitting ducks here."
"Won't the fuel be loaded soon?" Daven asked. "We got the beacon off now; once we leave Maylass, he shouldn't be able to find us."
"It's taking its sweet time," she growled, eyeing the gauge angrily. "My nozzle must not be that efficient." She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, fidgeting uncontrollably.
"We just have to wait," Daven slumped down in the seat next her, radiating an air of patience. "How much do we need to reach the next planet?"
"Fifteen percent." She glanced back at the console. It was already at five. "We should be fine. Gods, I hope so. I'm upgrading to an ion engine the second I have some credits," she told him sternly, but her mind screamed back at her: if you live to see another credit, that is.
They sat for a while in companionable silence, watching the percentage points continue upwards.
"We'll be okay," she reassured finally, knowing that each passing moment bought them closer to fifteen.
"No, we won't." His voice was soft and full of anxiety.
As if to agree, the proximity alarm beeped, alerting the ship's crew to the fact that another vessel had just cleared the atmosphere.
"Please don't say it's Vader," Nyssa begged, feeling her heart sink into the base of her stomach.
"Nyssa," Daven said quietly, distantly.
"No!" she hissed, feeling her face burn in aggravation. "We're so close. We can make it to fifteen before he gets here!"
"We can't," Daven whispered, glancing up at her forlornly. "I'm sorry, Nyssa, but I think … I think this is the way things are suppose to be." He inhaled an uneven breath before standing and exiting the cockpit. Nyssa remained sitting, her brain trying to process just what could possibly happen.
Oh, gods.
"No," she found herself repeating as she jumped up to pursue him. "I worked too hard to track you down!" she yelled at his back from one side of the comm. room. "I love you too much to lose you." She knew that the Sith Lord's landing would most likely result in her own death as well, but only Daven's occupied her thoughts. Her tears almost fell, yet she continued to fight them.
He turned to face her, his features formed into a morose mask. She ran into his open embrace and clenched onto him tightly.
"Please. I'll go wherever you go," she told him stubbornly, pleadingly.
"You can't. Vader will kill you," he reminded her. "I'll go and face him. He's likely to land in the other hangar. I should be able to hold him off long enough for you to refuel and escape. You run. You run and you never look back."
"I'm not leaving you," she hissed fiercely, her serious gaze burrowing into his. "There has to be a way out of this. There's always a way out. I thought you said the future would be better. You always said the Force never betrayed you." In her stress, she was grasping at any hope she could find, knowing that he would never deny the Force.
Daven looked pained for a moment, his brow wrinkling. "I did and it doesn't," he admitted slowly. "But, Nyssa, the Force is elusive. The future will be brighter; I just won't be in it. I see that now."
"I don't understand," she whimpered. She would have been irritated at his Jedi philosophizing if it were any other day or situation, but now it only caused her heartbreak.
"Nyssa," he began, pausing to touch her cheeks with the tips of his fingers. "Forgive me, but you are with child. My child – strong with the Force."
She backed away from him, shocked, but not bothering to ask how he would know such a thing. She simply laid a hand on her abdomen, feeling for movement in a day-old embryo. Her tears finally came, flowing down her cheeks evenly.
Daven watched her, a look of utter grief crossing his soft features. "I can't ask you to keep it, Nyssa. The Empire might try to …" he paused, unable to conclude his thoughts, " … but I'm hoping you will consider it. For me."
She began to sob loudly, no longer able to control her sorrow, and allowed him to hold her once more.
"If I know that you'll both survive, the worst Vader could do would be worth it," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. "Please, Nyssa, he's landed. I have to go."
She grabbed on to his torso as tight as she could, shaking her head, hoping her grip alone would cause him to change his mind. Somehow he managed to break free, perhaps using that blasted Force of his, which had equally united and tore them apart.
"I'll keep it, Daven," she promised. "I'll protect it from the Empire. For you, but for me as well."
She could clearly see the relief in his eyes as he nodded and offered a diminutive smile.
"The Force will be with you, beautiful. I can sense that much." Their lips touched gently in one last, lingering kiss before he finally released her and turned away. He ran down the ramp, not eager to meet his fate but knowing that speed was possibly the only thing that could change hers.
And so he left, leaving her alone.
She hadn't known what to expect when she had finally sorted her feelings out in that dusty Corellian cantina, but she had believed, perhaps foolishly, that, if he returned her love, everything would have worked out for the better. She had admitted to herself that night that she could have never actually held Daven's head up for a gloating Emperor's appraisal – he was simply too wonderful. Everything in the galaxy would be wrong without Daven in it.
Now, for the first time in two and half years, Nyssa was going to have to start imagining just how wrong it could be. She brushed her belly lightly.
What am I supposed to do now?
She took a moment to dry her tears before returning to the cockpit and checking the fuel percentage gauge.
Ten.
Unlike Corellia, Daven knew that he could waste no time dallying. Vader was heading straight for him, or, more importantly, straight for the Gray Star.
Anger and hatred drifted off the Sith in waves, causing the nerves in Daven's spine to quiver. The Jedi took several deep breaths as if in meditation, hoping that his calm would be able to block the Dark Side energies with which Vader was bombarding his senses.
If the Dark Lord was expecting to find this Jedi curled up in a corner, awaiting annihilation in fear, he will be sorely mistaken.
He suppressed the raising, grating fear emerging from the pit of his stomach with thoughts of his unborn child, which was still hardly more than a cluster of cells and midi-chlorians. What would it look like? Some magnificent combination of him and Nyssa? Boy or girl? What name would Nyssa decide on?
The Force seemed to shimmer pleasantly around him, as if it agreed with his course of feelings. It was so simple now that he actually took the time to think about it – this was his destiny, and Nyssa had come to the rescue only because the Force had willed his child to be borne by her.
Anakin was rumored to be some special "Chosen One," at least according to the gossip that his friends had shared. He was supposed to "bring balance to the Force." Everyone, especially as Padawans, had been confused by this, but now it was clear to Daven.
Anakin's purpose was to dampen the Light Side. The Jedi had been numerous, while the Sith were but a few.
But, such as it was, Palpatine's reign could not last forever, and someday the Jedi would return – perhaps with his child amongst their ranks. It was a very pleasing thought for a dying man to have, even if it wasn't necessary true.
He stopped a few meters before that accursed hallway, not wanting to lose his life in there, and awaited Vader. He stared at the door, remembering when he and Nyssa had first come through it from the other side. They hadn't known what to expect, but the control center, in which he now stood, was no surprise. There had been bodies in here, too, but no Jedi. The central venting systems cleared out the smell much better than those in the corridor.
He flexed his muscles, swinging his arms around loosely, and reminded himself to relax. He had no weapon, no hope, no way of escape … why was he stretching?
Be calm. Trust in the Force.
Breathe.
Do not fear.
He heard the door's activation as if it were the only sound in the universe. He felt his eyes close and sweat pour down across his brow. He merely wiped it away without a second thought and drew a ragged breath.
He opened his eyes as the echo of respirator reverberated through the small area. He fixed his gaze on the masked demon directly in front of him, forcing himself to raise a condescending eyebrow.
"I was half expecting you to run again, Jedi," Vader spoke in between mechanical breaths.
"No place left to run," Daven admitted. "I paid that Corellian rancor, want-to-be pilot to take me here. And he just up and leaves me with two-dozen rotting corpses to deal with. You can't pay for good help these days, I tell you. It's a shame. You should speak to your evil dictator about it; maybe he could erect some civil right debilitating law against dropping people off." He could only hope that his sarcasm would conceal the truth.
"Your humor will not stop the evitable," was the response. The Dark Lord's hands were still hanging at his sides, peaceably, but ever so close to his saber belt.
"Did you kill them, Anakin?" the Jedi asked, having to know if his suspicions were correct. "The children here, too?"
"Does that surprise you, Staver?" Vader's voice was dark, harsh. "Does it bother you that I kill those that took me in?"
"Yes," Daven hissed honestly.
The memory of a teenage Anakin threatening a rather large bully assaulted him. He had been an initiate, only a year away from becoming a Padawan himself, and small for his age. Another older initiate had taken advantage of his size and began to tease him when a tall, fairly intimating Padawan three years his senior pulled the bully away before a fight started.
Eleven-year-old Daven had remembered that this was Anakin Skywalker, an honorary member of his initiate clan – the Bantha Clan – even though he hadn't grown up in the Temple. Because he had no previous Jedi training, sometimes the strange teenager had to practice the most basic skills being learned by boys half his age.
"Thank you," Daven had whispered softly.
"Yeah, well, what are fellow banthas for? I guess," the confident Padawan had replied simply and stalked off.
"I suppose you will be like all the others," Vader finally growled, his voice so different from the baritone Daven remembered. "Will you attempt to redeem me, Jedi?"
"'Redeem you?'" he repeated, momentarily confused before realizing that other Knights, those that had been closer to Anakin, would have tried to turn him back to the Light Side. He shook his head. "The Masters say that people cannot come back. That darkness is forever."
As he looked at Vader, he could feel the truth in that statement – there was no goodness in this man – if he could be called that anymore – only cold, bitter darkness, like a dying sun turning into a black hole.
"Then why are you attempting to delay your death?" The gloved hand was dangerously close to a lightsaber hilt.
"You were once a good, decent human being," Daven started, hoping that he could stall the Sith just a little longer. "You once had honor. But killing babies? Innocents? Have you stopped considering yourself a sentient? Are you now some twisted droideka? Have you no honor left?" He allowed his voice to sound out the words in the manner of a plea.
"What I have, Jedi, is little patience for your oratory." The response was nothing short of cruel. "What do you seek?"
"Honor," Daven stated boldly. "A chance to die like a Jedi. Return my weapon; let me fight with dignity. Maybe you don't want redemption for your crimes, but you should not kill an unarmed man. For, if you do, you will no better than an animal. You know this."
"You want your lightsaber back?" Vader asked, thoughtful. At Daven's nod, he pulled out a very familiar cylinder.
The Jedi blinked, slightly amazed that the Sith was actually carrying his own lightsaber somewhere in the folds of that black cape. He silently wondered if Vader had kept all the weapons of his recent kills so handy.
"So be it, Jedi."
The Force prickled around him milliseconds before Vader ignited the amber blade, but Daven knew it was already too late. His abs stiffened in anticipation as Vader crossed the last few meters between them.
The more powerful Sith Lord crushed down upon the younger man's Force-attuned senses, not allowing him to use the energy field in his own defense. Daven thus remained perfectly still, but perfectly aware of the near future.
The lightsaber running through his abdomen was just as painful as he had imagined it would be. He desperately wanted to scream, as if it could release some of the anguish, but his diaphragm failed him and he was left only attempting to gasp air.
He could only cough, though. The taste of the blood streaming out of his mouth was unbearable. He finally landed on the cold stone floor, unaware of how he managed to get there. The snap-hiss of the saber deactivating sounded so faint, so muffled, that Daven was surprised that Vader was still standing this close to him.
He struggled mentally, involuntarily, to find Nyssa through the Force. Just to feel her one last time …
Nyssa … No, mustn't think of her, mustn't reach out to her, mustn't touch her mind. Vader will find her quicker that way. Die alone, just as you were meant to.
"Thanks," he whispered sarcastically despite feeling the warm liquid bubbling over his mouth and down his chin. "After all, what are fellow banthas for?" So Vader was truly the betrayer. He was no longer a Jedi for sure, and now Daven knew he was also no longer a man as well.
He closed his eyes, not bothering to search for Vader's response. With that mask, how could he even read facial expressions? Not like it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Even the fact that the young Jedi had not gotten his last wish – he would die without dignity.
Daven exhaled one at last time – attempting to push the painful feelings out of his head – but failed to inhale.
Sleep now, little Jedi, the others await you, was his last conscious thought, but he could not honestly comprehend whether it was his own or another's.
K: Thanks.I'm not a huge fan of OC fics either, and good ones seem to be kinda hard to find, at least for me. I wrote this as part of a challenge, and so far it's the only OC fic I've written. Um, sad ending? …. Er…
One more part left.