PART THREE- Simple Choices
II. Report
The steady patter of rain against durasteel met Davrel as he finally woke. When he opened his eyes and sat up, unconsciously rubbing at his sore neck.
"Ah!" He fell back down, one hand clutched at his side. With every breath, a sharp pain lanced his torso along one side. Gritting his teeth, Davrel reached and grabbed the supports of the bunk and pulled himself up, fighting a wince. He blinked and rubbed at his itchy eyes, then made a half-hearted attempt to discover where he was.
Is it…? It is. The barracks. How did I get here? What happened after…?
He was startled to find himself in his own bunk, in the recruit's barracks, and not in the med bay. His eyes fell on the space beside his bed. Davrel frowned, trying to recollect what had happened.
Isn't someone supposed to be there? He wondered at his odd expectation, a fragment of dream resurfacing fleetingly before it disappeared.
Davrel stopped scratching when he recognised the slick square of kolto patch taped to his neck. Further inspection revealed another four patches taped along his shoulders and upper neck. He held his arms out in front and whistled low under his breath. In the dim gloom of random glo-panels, he could see the puckered and raw skin that covered both arms and hands, but curiously didn't feel as much pain as he expected. An annoying tightness, yes, but no real pain.
The memory of frying in his armour returned vividly to mind and was just as abruptly quashed.
Davrel frowned and tried to focus on his surroundings. Squinting did no good. His eyes were incapable of focusing properly on anything, leaving the rest of the barracks a gloomy blur. A rumble of thunder struck over head and shook the entire bunker. Above Davrel's head, the soft metallic pattering of rain against durasteel started up.
He slid carefully out of bed, gauging the extent of his injuries as he stood. It was a relief to discover it all appeared superficial; burns for the majority, bruises mottled his side with a few ribs broken underneath. His throat felt swollen and protested as he swallowed, but it felt likely pass to a few days. The worst was the ache winnowed into his joints and along his muscles, because he doubted anything could be done about it.
He tried to stretch but the pain in his side forbade it. Whatever stims he'd been dosed with were beginning to wear off, leaving Davrel feeling nauseous and groggy, but he wasn't climbing back into his bunk.
I'm not dead, so I should head out and make a report, he thought to himself as he checked his standing locker for his gear. Nothing in there but his heavy repeater and the blaster pistol. No sign of his vibroblade or his armour. Davrel muttered a curse under his breath and slammed the locker door shut.
Someone in the bunk above his moved and yawned. Careful not to stir Yrek, Davrel knelt and swept under the bunk until his hands slapped against the metal sides of his battered footlocker.
He dragged it out and rummaged through what few belongings he kept stored in there until he found the plain uniform issued to every recruit for basic training. He dressed as quickly as he could manage and was about to leave when another recruit entered, not wearing a helmet and sporting an impressive black eye that hadn't been there days ago.
"So you're finally awake. Only took you two days." Kumus' voice was deep even without the helmet's vocabulator, and a mocking smirk spread across the older recruit's mouth.
"I was out for two days?" His own voice was cracked with disuse. His throat twinged as he spoke.
"Uh-huh. Would have been more too if those Jedi hadn't arrived yesterday. You know, that was a whole lot of effort they spent trying to keep you alive. Everyone else was sure you'd die. Showed them huh?"
Davrel blinked. "Jedi? What happened? How did I get here?"
Kumus crossed to the row of standing lockers and opened one, taking out his battered blue helmet and setting it on the low bench. "Don't play dumb. Everyone knows you went against orders and got yourself fried. Ballsy, that, if you hadn't damn near killed yourself doing it."
There was an exaggerated yawn from the bunk above Davrel's. A pair of arms stretched in a way Davrel envied and a blonde head emerged over the bunk's side. A tired young man of about eighteen rubbed at one unshaven cheek, yawned again, this time louder, paused with half-slitted, gummy eyes and then promptly dropped back down, out of sight. The snores resumed.
"He's not going back to sleep is he?" Davrel asked in disbelief.
"He's already late," Kumus curtly told Davrel as he sat on the bench and began a check over the repeater rifle in his hands.
Davrel raised his eyebrows. "Is this something we should all be concerned about?" he asked.
"He should be. Sarge won't let him get away with being so damn lazy. He has already been reprimanded for oversleeping. Serve him right if he gets punished." Kumus glanced over at Yrek, a frown on his face. "Idiot. How many times does he have to be told that things work differently among us? The Republic might allow that kind of lax discipline, but no one's going to wear it here."
"Shouldn't we wake him up?" Another snore.
Kumus snickered and shook his head. "He'll have to learn the hard way. Just because the officers aren't here is no reason to get slack."
Davrel nodded absently. Kumus had a point and he really couldn't dispute it.
Of the trio, Yrek was the most outgoing and boisterous. Always a reliable source of amusement and perhaps the most irresponsible person Davrel had ever met, Yrek had only been recruited on the strength of his combat ability. Yrek hadn't joined for the honour, and although he claimed it was for the glory, Davrel suspected his friend had recruited for the thrill and notoriety. Wickedly fast with the disintegrators he insisted on using instead of the standard-issue heavy repeater everyone else specialised with, his dexterity was matched only by his smart mouth and fearless courage. Perhaps it was because Yrek was originally an outsider, born on Corellia of all places, that he had no sense of prudence and struggled with the discipline expected of everyone else. Even the most outspoken and insolent of recruits knew when to keep their mouths shut. It was as if he lacked any sense of self-preservation or common sense whatsoever.
Kumus, on the other hand, always did things carefully, covered all possibilities and had never hidden his ambition. Mando-born like Davrel and somehow always composed and confident, Kumus had befriended Davrel and Yrek by starting a fist fight the very day Davrel's group of recruits arrived on Dxun. Kumus had won, but not before Davrel and Yrek extracted their measure of retaliation from him. All had been forgiven by the time they'd finished the first drill session.
Life with Yrek and Kumus was as close as a family as Davrel had now. He knew that Yrek didn't have much by the way of family, and Kumus…Davrel honestly didn't know why Kumus had chosen to follow the Mandalore, not with his family numbering among the few Clans that had emerged from the ashes of Malachor V with a degree of autonomy and power. Among his Clan, Kumus might already have a command of his own. Here on Dxun he was considered a lowly recruit. So for all intents and purposes the trio had created a family of their own, bonded through horrific training drills, bickered and unified after hours of tramping through Dxun's unforgiving terrain, joked at meal-times.
As soon as Yrek's gaze settled on Davrel, a sly grin began to shift across his mouth and he couldn't jump from the bunk fast enough to start harassing his friend. He didn't bother asking Davrel how he was-much like Kumus, he assumed that if his friend was standing, talking and breathing, then he'd be fine.
"Not looking so great Janos," he said. "Thought you'd be strutting around, revelling in the glory. It's not every day a recruit gets to take down a dark Jedi alone. Is that…?" Yrek stopped to sniff the air, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Is that roasted nerf I smell?"
"Shut up," Davrel growled.
"Oh-hoh! Touchy are we? What, haven't had enough sleep? Or is your skin a bit tender, huh?"
Davrel grabbed the nearest object at hand and threw it at Yrek. Although Yrek tried to duck, the power pack hit him squarely on the shoulder. Kumus chuckled, his deep voice echoed by the barrack's unintended acoustics. Other recruits grumpily snapped at them to shut up. People were trying to sleep, dammit.
"Thought two days would be enough beauty sleep, but it seems that's not the case. He's still all grouchy, Kumus. Should I stick him with a stim and see how it reacts to the other stuff they've stuck him with?" Yrek opened his locker and took an alacrity stim from his med-kit. He held it up and flicked it with a teasing chuckle.
"Don't waste it," Kumus replied. "Just smack him. That'll get him all giddy and light-headed without wasting the chemicals."
"You jab me with that needle I'll make you regret it," Davrel promised, rubbing wearily at his temples.
"So how'd you do it? Kill that dark Jedi guy I mean." Yrek tossed the stim back into his med-kit, dragged out his armour's mesh underlay and began to step into it.
"Is it true you decapitated him with your vibrosword?" Kumus asked.
"I heard it was the guy's own lightsaber," Yrek interjected, adjusting the bodysuit and pulling his arms through the sleeves.
"That true?" Kumus asked, interested despite himself.
"Of course it isn't." Yrek took out his scratched greaves and worn boots. "Davrel couldn't use a weapon like that with any finesse. He'd take off his arms and legs if he tried."
"Was I asking you?" Kumus retorted. "So did you take off his head with his own lightsaber?"
"Yes," Davrel answered, thinking fast. He couldn't tell them everything…at least not until he'd come to terms with the whole idea. "But it wasn't like I had much choice. I'd used my frag, then went and lost the repeater and the sword-" Kumus and Yrek laughed "-so when he dropped the lightsaber I picked it up and used it."
"He dropped the lightsaber? A Force-fool's never that clumsy." Kumus said sceptically.
"He didn't drop it so much as I dislocated his shoulder and began to beat the crap out of him," Davrel replied defensively. "That was when I picked it up and ended the contest."
"You beat a dark Jedi with your fists?" Yrek asked, finishing with his greaves and moving on to the torso of his armour. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"
"Is it that difficult to entertain the idea that I'm as capable as either of you?" Davrel retorted, beginning to grow annoyed.
"Well…" Yrek paused as he strapped the shoulder-guards to his chestplate. "Yes."
"What Yrek meant was that you aren't exactly the fastest in our squad, and you haven't really bothered to learn the kind of hand-to-hand required to take on a Force-user," Kumus interrupted with more tact.
Yrek sniggered. "We all saw that when he fought that Jedi woman in the Battle Circle. You couldn't overpower her, didn't catch her."
Davrel scowled and stood.
"Worried about the punishment?" Kumus asked, offering a diversion.
Davrel shrugged, hoping he'd appear apathetic about the whole notion of punishment.
Yrek playfully pushed Davrel so he stumbled back unsteadily.
"Don't sweat it," he said in his distinct Corellian accent. "It took skill none of us thought you had to take down that guy on your own. I saw your armour when they brought you in; it was scorched. From what Zhar was moaning 'bout there's no chance of fixing your helmet after it fried like that. Heard him telling Kral there's not enough replacement parts left the repair the ruined circuitry."
"And no technicians capable of doing the job," Kumus added. "Unless you trust Zhar with your gear."
Davrel's face paled quickly.
"You'll have to wait," Yrek said, strapping his utility belt around his hips. "That group of reinforcements form Nar Shaddaa's supposed to get here soon. Maybe they have a tech with them."
"Might not," Kumus said with almost gleeful pessimism.
"Hey, you never know." Yrek shrugged optimistically.
Davrel didn't think that likely. Fighting men were always easy to find. Technicians weren't. For all he knew, it would be months before his helmet was repaired.
Months without proper equipment. All because I got it into my head to follow what the damn Jedi told me.
He groaned and buried his head in his hands.
"Tough break," Kumus commented without a trace of sympathy.
Yrek snickered and flicked one gloved finger at the kolto patches peeking out from under the plain shift Davrel wore. Davrel hissed in pain, smacked Yrek's hand away and threw the other recruit into the lockers. Yrek laughed and grinned.
"You're healing okay. So buck up, huh? Remember how long it took Kumus to heal after that Sith lit him brighter than a Mantellian casino? How many points did that skirmish set you back?"
Kumus grunted dismissively. He'd been one of the few recruits truly involved in the offensive against the Sith encamped at that tomb-and had been among the few to survive. This would have pleased anyone else, but didn't satisfy Kumus, for whom the operation remained a sore point. He'd killed too few Sith and sustained too many injuries for his personal point-scoring. Yrek knew about this, and never passed up an opportunity to stir Kumus about the fact.
"It was at least four days before he could sit up, let alone stand or move or anything. I think that's what, a fifty point deduction Kumus? Hey, how many points does a dark Jedi equate?"
Kumus didn't answer.
Yrek shrugged. "I'd hazard about ten, fifteen? I'd give you more Dav, but you have to understand that dark Jedi are rather common these days. Anyway, you must have a serious constitution to be walking it off in two days. Better than our mate's" Yrek tilted his head in Kumus' direction, his eyes lit up with amusement. "Sounds like Dav's got more ticker than we gave him credit for."
"Or he's more stupid than anyone feared," Kumus replied. "Disobeying direct orders like that wasn't the smartest idea you ever had, Janos. What would you have done if there'd been more than one of them?"
"No problem for Dav. He'd take 'em" Yrek holstered his disintegrators and reached for the blue helmet perched on the top shelf of his locker. "Real hero lately."
"Sure, sure," Davrel said, rolling his eyes.
"Next time, wait for reinforcements," Kumus advised. "Honour's no good if you're dead."
"Like you can talk," Davrel replied, venting his annoyance. "Who in the camp doesn't know that Jedi saved your hide? She was kind enough not to rub the shame in, but you're no better than me."
Yrek roared with laughter at that, his guffaws muffled as he pulled on the blue helmet and waited for the internal systems to initiate. Kumus leant forward and dealt Davrel a hard smack on the shoulders-right along the worst of the dark Jedi's damage. Before Kumus could step away, Davrel grabbed his arm and in one smooth movement, stood, twisted Kumus' arm behind his back and shoved his friend into the lockers face-first.
"That's the Janos we all know," Yrek laughed, his voice deepened by the helmet's vocabulator, lending it a mechanised tone.
Kumus threw Davrel off and laughed, shaking his head and rubbing at his reddened cheek. "How did you survive? Honestly, I-"
The encampment's second training sergeant, Liton Kral, strode into the barracks, recognised the three recruits and halted abruptly. Under the scrutiny of the implacable and honourably dented and scratched yellow T-visor, Davrel, Kumus and Yrek all came to a respectful-and properly fearful-silence.
"Good to see you standing, Janos," Kral began in a deceptively neutral tone. "What happened to those drills, Kumus? Wasn't aware it took ten minutes to find a rifle."
Kumus shut his locker, grabbed his repeater and saluted. Clever enough to know the training sergeant's question wasn't truly a question, the older recruit didn't answer and left.
"And you, pretty boy, why aren't you outside? Oversleep again?" He demanded of Yrek.
"Uh…Couldn't find my vibroblade?" Yrek tried, grabbing the weapon in question and wisely choosing that moment to leave. "Later, sir."
Davrel watched him go with an imminent sense of dread.
"If you can stand, you can be fitted for new armour," Kral barked. "And after that's finished, you'll report directly to Bralor about your need to play hero out there in the jungle. Get that 'blade of yours as well-I want you out on the training circle after Zhar and Bralor are finished with you. Now you're awake and obviously not incapacitated don't expect any further coddling."
Davrel, shaped by a years' worth of discipline and instruction, automatically followed Kral's barked orders, but dreaded having to report personally to ---.
What am I going to report? They won't believe I defeated that dark Jedi alone, not with my lack of combat prowess…not even Kumus or Yrek really believed me. But if I tell the truth they'll think I'm crazy. Or worse… He winced, recalling how easily the Force had answered him, how it felt to be a part of the benign energy, to follow its lead... How can I tell them the truth? There'll be questions, they'll want to know how, and when they learn they'll send me away! Because relying on the Force isn't precisely honourable, is it?
They'll make my choice for me.
His newfound confidence in the Force guiding him faltered as he went out in search of Zhar, the replacement quartermaster.
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The armour Zhar had given Davrel was at least two sizes too big, but it couldn't be helped. There wasn't an extensive selection of armour in the stores and until the group on Telos secured a steady supply, the number of suits would be limited.
Zhar hadn't an ounce of sympathy for Davrel's plight. In that arrogant but pragmatic manner of his he'd merely shrugged and advised Davrel to "next time obey orders." Davrel hadn't argued the point that the others probably wouldn't have followed control's instructions either. He was intimidated by the older and more experienced veteran and knew Zhar could get sore if contradicted. Particularly by a smart-mouthed recruit. But all knew that the camp's recent tedium had driven many stir-crazy and Davrel very well knew that no one else would have retreated and waited for reinforcements.
Still, he didn't argue. He already plenty of injuries to recover from as it were. No need to earn a few more.
He didn't have a helmet either. With all its sensitive HUD systems fried to shit, Davrel's helmet had been tossed into the repair store-a dingy former storage bunker known among the recruits as the Bower for reasons unknown-and pretty much forgotten about. Without a decent technician it wouldn't get fixed. And the best technician in the encampment had left with the others months ago.
"You'll be beaten black and blue," Zhar informed him gleefully before sending him off. "That new helmet won't be ready for a month or so, with all the adjustments I'll have to make. I doubt you'll be permitted on any serious duty, but I'm certain Kral's going to teach you a lesson or two for being so careless with your equipment. Lucky Xarga's not here. No doubt you'll learn to appreciate that helmet." He snickered in disgust and sent him off.
Davrel's gut sank when he realised that Zhar was spot on. He fretted about it as he unwillingly headed for the vine-choked building directly opposite the Bower. He noted that there were nowthree training circles instead of one, and an increase in numbers. His own training circle could hardly be seen for the armoured men ringed about it.
When he entered the Command Centre, his expression grew wary. A tall brawny man wearing dark blue armour was in the middle of a heated discussion with a pair of strangers.
Since the highest-ranked officers were away battling Sith for the Republic on Telos, Davrel had to report to the man left behind to run things in their absence. That man was Bralor, current champion of the battle circle and presently bitter about the fact he'd been left behind to command the encampment while his peers were away. He stood in front of the outdated and chipped datascreen that lined the opposite wall, his head bent as he listened carefully to what the tall redheaded woman and the Zabrak were saying. Davrel waited anxiously beside the small ramp, his gaze flickering to the strangers.
"Vaklu had friends, influential ones who may decide to take advantage of our present weakness. The Council of Lords still exists down on Onderon, and many of those Lords command sizeable forces." Bralor's voice echoed through the command centre.
"You're worried about those old men when there's a threat not two klicks from where we now stand?" The woman's expression grew disgusted.
"Those 'old men' you dismiss so casually are the real threat," Bralor replied. "Dashel alone commands a force that could easily equal ours."
"Don't compare Sith to Onderon's soft lords," the woman snapped. "It would require minimal support-"
"Request denied," Bralor interrupted, enunciating each word deliberately.
The Zabrak gestured mildly at the red-head to stay her temper, and Davrel's gaze dropped, curiously wondering how the man had lost his arm. He'd never seen a cybernetic replacement quite like that one before.
Or had he?
And then he blinked, his heart stopping his throat as he recognised the weapon at the Zabrak's hip.
A Jedi, he thought, unable to contain his sudden panic.
The woman gave an impatient cry and stormed out of the centre, not even glancing Davrel's way as she left wearing a stormy expression.
"I apologise for Mira's temper," the Zabrak said in a modulated and even tone. Davrel barely suppressed a smirk, losing some of his fear with the recollection that this was one of the Jedi woman's companions during the zakkeg fight. He'd been thrown, his weapon crushed underfoot during the fray. The red-haired woman he'd never seen before. "But her dissatisfaction, while perhaps not expressed diplomatically, is understandable. We suspect the Tomb of Freedon Nadd wasn't properly cleansed of the dark side and she would prefer to send a team out there immediately."
"So your Jedi friends didn't complete the job the last time you were here?" Bralor's contempt was revealed in his voice. "And your little red-headed friend is all put-out because I won't jump when she snaps her fingers? Deal with it. If she wants that sweep, she'll have to wait. And so will you. You might have noticed that this camp isn't at full strength and allocating the men or supplies necessary for this diversion isn't going to be an easy task. Frankly, you'll have to wait until the Clan you brought from Dantooine are settled and the next load of supplies arrives. Then we might be able to equip and send a squad out to that Tomb without further depleting the camp's defences."
"How long will that take?" Bao-Dur asked.
"The next supply freighter arrives in a week. Think you could have the beacons repaired by then? That trader won't land without a reliable signal to guide him in."
"I suppose I could…if a squad is outfitted," the Zabrak countered.
Bralor waited for a long moment, cursed in Mando'a, then grudgingly nodded.
"If Zuka was still here I wouldn't have to deal with damn Jedi," he grumbled. "Fine, we'll outfit a squad in a week-after the trader's dropped off our supplies. Until then, you can scout out three suitable places to set up the beacons."
"Deal," the Zabrak said solemnly, offering a hand.
Bralor shook it and watched the Zabrak leave. His attention fell on Davrel. "Your turn," he said darkly, gesturing for Davrel to approach.
Davrel stepped forward, his face deliberately stoic. "Yes sir."
"Davrel? Ah, you're the idiot who got smacked about in the battle circle by the Jedi, aren't you?" Davrel nodded. "You're also the same di'kut dragged back to this camp after disobeying orders, aren't you?" Davrel nodded again, but his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Just making certain I know who it is I'm dealing with. Up already, I see. Good. That kind of dedication and resilience is remarkable. Here to make a report then? Go ahead. Tell me. What happened?"
Davrel rallied his courage and wits before starting. He decided to omit any references to the Force. From the mood Bralor appeared to be in he wasn't countenancing any perceived crap.
"While on patrol in quadrant gamma I discovered signs of a Sith. After finding signs that the intruder was Sith affiliated I contacted control as directed," Davrel recounted.
"So why did you blatantly disregard direct orders? Control informed you that another patrol would be sent to investigate," Bralor demanded.
"I assumed I could secure the site and eliminate the threat," Davrel replied, a little too glibly for the commander's liking. "And I did just that, sir."
"Did you now?" Bralor's tone was condescending. "And how did you accomplish that feat, recruit?"
"The target was in the tree, sir," Davrel answered. "I threw a frag to clear him out but I'm certain he must have been equipped with a stealth belt, perhaps an Exchange Shadowcaster. And a shield was being used as well. I fired off an entire cartridge-
"Waste of ammo," Bralor growled in disgust.
"-but the intruder resorted to…" Davrel stumbled, not liking the memory.
"Resorted to what?"
"That lightning they're so fond of, sir. But he didn't press his advantage, like he should have, and instead chose to indulge in a tirade. He even made an attempt to sway my loyalty with that nonsense they all spout, sir."
"What did he offer?" At Davrel's feigned confusion, Bralor snorted. "I know that much about those fools that like to play Sith and dark Jedi. What did he offer in exchange for your loyalty? Position as a Sith captain, perhaps?"
Davrel suppressed the urge to laugh nervously. Bralor had conveniently handed him the very thing he needed to conceal the truth. Davrel hadn't ever possessed a natural talent for lying or deception.
"Yes, sir. The enemy offered me a position as a captain in their army. He wasn't at all impressed when I turned it down. Started to accuse me of being a weak-willed coward." A thought came to him, something the dark Jedi had claimed. "And a pawn of the Republic."
"A pawn of the Republic?"
"The Sith made claims that our leader is being controlled by an outside influence," Davrel risked. It was the one thing of interest the dark Jedi had said during the entire encounter and Davrel wanted to know if it was true. "By the Jedi Revan."
"Ridiculous. Revan's long gone," Bralor scoffed, brushing aside the notion. "What else did this intruder claim?"
That I'm Force-sensitive and should leave, Davrel thought. That I don't belong among you any more.
"Many things, sir, but that was his favourite theme. He even went so far as to accuse Mandalore of being Revan's pet kath hound."
Bralor laughed, obviously finding humour in that claim. "That man was lucky you killed him Davrel, and not Mandalore. The death he suffered at your hands was an easy one. It would not have been had our leader overheard those claims."
Satisfied that his commander knew nothing of the Sith's claims, Davrel continued.
"I was able to find enough strength to fight back with my vibroblade. The target then attempted to-"
Don't tell them how easily that monster got into your head, Davrel advised himself. Only the weak-willed are broken.
"Attempted to what?" Bralor's irritation increased enough for Davrel to sense it through the Force. It's a sign of weakness you can't afford.
"He attempted to intrude upon my mind, sir," Davrel answered.
"And did he in fact intrude upon your mind?"
"No," Davrel lied. "I fought back with my vibroblade until he disarmed me of that too."
"Must be cortosis lined," Bralor muttered.
"It is," Davrel answered. "It was my grandfather's. Was it recovered?"
Bralor shook his head. "Only your repeater was found."
This time Davrel couldn't hide his disappointment. He'd prized that vibrosword, had managed to keep possession of it during all his years traipsing after Kamran and taken special care to keep its blade sharp and its power cells fresh. Losing it grieved him.
"At that point I had no weapons left, so I chanced hand-to-hand. The earlier fight must have wearied him because it was relatively simple to disarm him in return."
"That dark Jedi must have been at his worst," Bralor commented, "if you could fight him."
The comment didn't sting as much as it might have. Instead, Davrel managed a grin.
"He wasn't too bad, just accustomed to swinging around that weapon of his instead of fighting properly. Let himself get caught in a shoulder hold. I broke his shoulder blade, I think, or at least dislocated that arm before he dropped his lightsaber. But I made a bad swing and he started…well, he started glowing and looking like something crawled out of one of those reactor cores on Drovis VI."
"And?"
Davrel blinked, doing his best to feign confusion. "And what, sir?"
"Need I ask?" Davrel continued to stare at him. "What happened?"
"He was concentrating on whatever it was he was conjuring up. I wasn't."
"What possessed you to use the lightsaber? You aren't trained in such weaponry."
Davrel shrugged, his shoulder plates jostling. "There wasn't much else left, sir. The enemy was clearly about to use some form of terror technique and I wanted no part of it. So I picked up the lightsaber and swung it. The fool was so caught up in his trance that he didn't realise I was on him. That was when I passed out. I don't remember anything after that."
"Remarkable tale you spin," Bralor said at last, turning back to the console. "I suppose anyone else might say your nerve could be admired, and your courage in engaging a superior adversary a personality trait that should be encouraged. The initiative you displayed is something I personally haven't seen in many of the raw recruits that come here lately. You could have a decent future. But ultimately, your insubordination has to be addressed."
Davrel waited, holding his breath, not trusting to hope that he was merely going to be given a pat on the back.
"By deliberately ignoring direct orders, you could have put the camp in serious danger. It should go without saying that a good soldier follows instruction. What is it with you young recruits and not using your brains? Incapable of shouldering any responsibility whatsoever. You'll know better now, I guess, after the barbeque you endured." Bralor sighed and shook his head. "Punishment is sentry duty. I don't have the patience to lecture you. Kral can do that better than me anyway. You will meet with the others tonight at the gate. Make certain your rifle's loaded. The paths are beginning to get dangerous again."
"Yes sir," Davrel replied promptly, priding himself silently for keeping his face from falling. "And for how long will I report at the gate, sir?"
Bralor shrugged and turned away toward the console, his attention caught by an insistent beeping. "Until someone else fouls up during patrol. Have fun kid."
Sentry! Davrel thought in dismay as he left. No one liked sentry duty. It was worse than simply sitting about the camp doing nothing-it entailed sitting about doing nothing but keeping a close eye on the bomas, cannoks and maalraas that stalked about waiting to pounce the moment a sentry got distracted. Not long ago, sentry duty had been an assignment that held a certain amount of risk and danger, considering the potential to encounter Onderonian scouts and all manner of local predators. Now it was simply an inconvenience.
Oh well, at least I'll be equipped with one of those stealth shields. That lifted his mood a little. He'd been anxious to try one of the stealth shields used by sentries ever since he'd first seen them in practice.
As Davrel strode out of the command centre and towards the training circle, two pairs of eyes followed him curiously. He was too distracted and concerned with the impending training to notice the attention and he soon walked out of earshot before the woman began to speak.
"Did you believe a word of that?" Mira asked in a tone that clearly indicated she didn't.
Bao-Dur shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no. There are still questions that need answering. That young man did all he could to avoid answering directly, didn't he?"
"Sure did. Wouldn't mind finding out how he won without any real preparation. Did you see the corpse they brought back? The kid lopped his head off with the guy's own lightsaber." Mira snickered. "Harsh but fair."
"Certainly avoided answeringhow he actually handled the lightsaber," Bao-Dur mused. "Or how he tracked the dark Jedi in the first place. His deflection concerning what the man offered him is curious as well. What dark Jedi takes an interest in a Mandalorian recruit?"
"Maybe the kid wasn't up for playing slave," Mira suggested. "I can sympathise with that. And it isn't exactly something a Mandalorian recruit would openly tell his XO. What with that complicated sense of pride and shame and all."
Even after all these years-and her training-Mira still harboured great bitterness for her years lost as a slave. This concerned both Bao-Dur and Mical greatly, particularly in light of the Exiles' disappearance. Neither had any influence over Mira.
"No, it's something else." Bao-Dur frowned slightly. "Something is off about him. Mical said the boy responded when he was healing him."
"Responded? As in he spoke to him or..?"
"As in the boy answered back through the Force," Bao-Dur replied. Mira's mouth fell open with shock, and before she could demand to know why she hadn't been informed of this development, he hurried on. "Mical isn't certain if he's aware of this connection. Certainly didn't make mention of it during that report he just gave."
"And Mical didn't make any mention of it to me!" Mira hissed, not hiding her irritation. "It's kind of important, don't you think?"
"Of course, but with you already preoccupied with the Tomb mission, neither of us saw sense in distracting you," Bao-Dur answered easily. Mira glanced over at him, held his patient gaze and finally sighed in resignation.
"Don't do it again," she warned. "If it's important to our mission, I should know. I'm not a baby, and despite the fact you and Mical seem to have some ridiculous and antiquated notion of chivalry-"
"It wasn't that at all," Bao-Dur interrupted. Then he thought on it and relented slightly, a small, amused smile playing on his face. "Mical perhaps, but certainly not me."
"We're supposed to be a team. Equals. I treat the two of you equally, even though I know Mical's about as useful as a gizka and you, you-" Mira faltered. "Just don't keep things from me. Ever. I might not forgive you next time." The comm on her wrist began to beep insistently. Mira groaned and switched the power off. Bao-Dur raised an eyebrow.
"I'm sick of playing babysitter," she explained defensively. "It's Mical's turn and there's no way he's getting out of it. I'm a bounty hunter, not a nursemaid. That kind of work isa Disciple's province."
"We all agreed to help them. It's what she would have wanted us to do. You should meditate, deal with your growing frustration." Mira shot daggers at him. Bao-Dur watched as Davrel was handed a pike and sent to drill alone on the other side of the encampment. An idea began to form as the recruits continued to spar. "You've been complaining of lack of sport, Mira. Why don't do you go show those recruits a thing or two?"
Mira grinned, the suggestion clearly appealing to her.
"I distract, you investigate," she said before striding off in the direction of the training circle. He waited until she'd approached the yellow-armoured training sergeant before starting towards Davrel.
Preoccupied with his drills, Davrel didn't realise that the Zabrak had approached him until the man was literally at the other end of his pike, the metal tip inches from his face. The Jedi didn't blink. Davrel lowered the pike and stared at the Jedi with growing confusion.
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.
"Merely to speak with you."
"About what?" His apprehension couldn't be suppressed. The Zabrak was strong through the Force, a calm and controlled presence that unnerved him. In an effort to distract himself, Davrel continued with the basic-but tiring-drill, a sequence of parries, thrusts, swipes and feints. It worked.
"The encounter you had in the jungles. I merely wished to check on the damage the dark Jedi may have caused." The Zabrak watched his movements. "But you appear to be remarkably well-healed."
"I heal fast," Davrel said.
"Was there anything specific you can tell me about the man that attacked you?"
Davrel shrugged nonchalantly. "Used a red lightsaber. Liked to threaten a lot. Needed some sun."
"There has to be something other than that, something you didn't tell your commanding officer," the Zabrak said.
"You obviously heard my report," Davrel replied, his apprehension transforming into irritation. "Nothing else happened."
"Jedi can detect lies," the Zabrak said with pointed deliberation.
"And? What does that have to do with me?" Davrel glanced at the Zabrak, wondering how long it would take Sarge to notice that he'd stopped his drills. Hopefully not long…please Sarge, notice and start roaring at me to finish my drills. Make this Jedi leave me alone.
But with the commotion going on at the training circle on the other side of the encampment, it didn't look like he was going to be saved anytime soon. So Davrel decided to take matters into his own hands.
"You lied to your superior officer. I know it, but I do not understand why."
"Is it any of your business?" Davrel asked belligerently. "It's considered poor form to listen in on conversations not intended for your ears."
"We requested to be present during your report. After being denied, Mira thought it better to stick around. Both of us are concerned for you."
"Save it," Davrel retorted, moving through the sequence of strikes and parries and feints a step faster. The Zabrak watched, not speaking a word. Davrel finished the combination and returned to his mark, ready to start again. The pike balanced, he took the first step when-
-the Jedi gestured and-
-the pike flew out of his grasp and thudded into the earth a pace from the Jedi.
"Let go of your fear and clear your mind of the hostility that clouds it." Davrel stared at the pike and drew himself up straight-backed, meeting the Zabrak's placid brown eyes. "What truly happened during your encounter with the dark Jedi?"
"Nothing I wish to speak of," Davrel countered with a small, hard smile. The Zabrak's mind reached out to his own-but did not intrude like the dark Jedi had. Davrel thought of his barricade, blocked the attempt and tilted his head, assessing the Zabrak. "Don't try that again. I don't like anyone attempting to influence me. What you overheard is all there is to know. Leave me alone."
He reached forward to take the pike.
"One of my companions healed you not long after our arrival. Do you remember that?"
Davrel was tempted to shake his head, attempt another lie, but found he didn't have the heart to try. So he nodded mutely and drove his pike's butt into the ground in an effort to distance himself from the scene.
"He spoke to me afterward about how you responded to his administrations. It bothered him that one so untrained could instinctively intuit how to reach out through the Force. Particularly one so badly harmed during an encounter with one tainted by the dark side. Whatever residual negativity lingered afterward was cleansed by Mical-with your active help. Did you realise that?"
"No. I mean, no, I didn't help. Your friend managed it all by himself." Feeling awkward, Davrel stared down at the dirt at his feet. "Could you pass on my thanks? It was…uh…" Ah fierfek, why did he always struggle with thanking people? "It was kind of him to help when he didn't really have to."
The Zabrak smiled warmly, but that thoughtful expression still lurked behind it. "I'm sure Mical will be glad to hear that. There were times when he feared for your life. The burns were serious, as were the complications they created through the organs of your body. There was also a curious lack of energy he had to contend with. Do you have an explanation for that, Davrel?"
He remembered the final thing the dark Jedi had done, that arc of light that leeched him of strength and will. He recalled his response, an instinct to suppress, stifle, deflect…
What had it been? He asked himself. Would this Jedi be able to tell me?
But he couldn't take the risk. What if whatever measure he'd taken against that dark Jedi was considered taboo or even…evil? The term of almost foreign to Davrel, who didn't tend to think in terms of light and dark. His defensiveness reasserted itself and he shook his head. He even tried to keep a distance between them through them Force, despite fearing that his effort might be detected. So the Zabrak tried another tack.
"From what Mical told me, your armour was destroyed during the encounter. Particularly your helmet. I could take a look at it if you'd like," the Zabrak offered. "Perhaps I could repair the damage cause by the dark Jedi."
"Really?" Davrel knew about the work the Zabrak Jedi had done on the camp during the first visit. Zhar and Zuka hadn't shut up for weeks after the alien repaired the sensor relay and the power cables. If anyone could fix his gear, it would be this fellow.
"Certainly. There are spare components on the ship." The Zabrak offered his hand. "My name is Bao-Dur."
"My name is Davrel, but I suppose you already know that." Reciprocating, Davrel reached forward and-
-a rush of prescience flew through him, searching for one brief glimpse at what troubled him, just one-
(The Jedi woman stares at him knowingly and says "It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now.")
-betrayed and angered, Davrel abruptly tore himself from the scrap of dream, severed the connection with a deliberate push and-
-recoiled as he stepped back and snatched back his hand, a look of horror written on his face.
"My apologies," Bao-Dur said sincerely, "but I had to know."
Davrel glared furiously at the Zabrak. Within, he was a confusion of contradicting emotion and impulses. A part urged trust, wanted nothing but to confess this strange capability and perhaps find understanding. Another demanded independence, berated him for being a weak fool and sought to confront the Zabrak, beat him for daring to violate his mind and steal his secrets.
"So you can feel it." The Jedi didn't appear at all surprised. "I thought as much. But that she knew and didn't mention it? We never suspected there could be others…"
He seemed to pull himself together and focused back on Davrel. "The Jedi will train you, now that Force-sensitive sentients are needed. Why didn't you come with us earlier, the first time we arrived, or the second-"
"I can't talk about this now, not here." Davrel's gaze flickered to the soldiers gathering to watch the upcoming battle circle bouts. Uncomfortable with the thought of being seen chatting with a Jedi-and what questions that might raise-he wanted nothing more than to escape as far away from him as possible.
The Zabrak nodded. "We can discuss this another time," he agreed.
"Perhaps." Davrel took the opportunity to flee, only pausing long enough to pull his pike from the ground.
He made certain to avoid all Jedi for the rest of the afternoon and deliberately drove all thought of the Force from his mind.
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After a day of drilling, repetitive exercises and clearing the muck out of the latrines, Davrel was exhausted when he returned to the barracks, which was alive with more activity now the newcomers had moved in. Kumus wasn't there. He'd been headedfrom the direction of the ordnance storage when Davrel passed him, laden down with equipment, preparing for the next day's mission.
"Hey Janos, thanks for taking my shift!" someone called as Davrel entered.
"It'll be yours again, you wait," Davrel retorted.
"So you got stuck with sentry huh?" Yrek asked, already perched in his bunk and absently switching through holochannels on a small holoviewer, the blue light falling upon his face. It didn't come as a surprise that he wasn't preparing for the next day's mission.
Typical of Yrek, to leave the planning and vital details to Kumus, Davrel thought, watching as Yrek settled on a noisy and colourful holovid, featuring an exotic dark-haired human woman backed by two dispassionate Bith wearing flamboyantly bright costumes. Davrel wondered if the Bith were resentful about the ridiculous garb. He was certain the Bith he'd met would be. Yrek on the other hand had no interest in the musicians and was focused entirely on the lead vocalist.
Davrel nodded and feigned detachment. "How it goes. Could have worse I guess." He pulled off the uncomfortable helmet and opened his standing locker. "Could have been stuck setting charges with you and Kumus tomorrow instead."
"Think you're funny don't you?"
"Don't get stranded atop any cliffs," Davrel warned, laughing and methodically began stripping off his armour. "Unless you want to be saved by the Jedi like he was."
"Better than being whupped by them," Yrek countered with a grin. "And given pity points."
"If I wasn't close to passing out right now and desperate for a wash, I'd hit you," Davrel said conversationally, storing his too-big armour like he'd been taught; first by his brother, and then by Xarga and Kral.
"So what did that Zabrak have to say?" Yrek asked. "Saw you talking to him during drills."
"He was checking up on me," Davrel shrugged, skirting an outright lie. "You know how nosy Jedi get. Wanted to know about the man I killed."
"Bet he was annoyed. Probably wanted to try a sob story and win him over to the light side," Yrek joked over the wailing of the holovid.
Davrel had to turn his back to hide an involuntary wince. Under the pretence of putting away his gear and going over his equipment for tomorrow's sentry duty, he managed to let the conversation lapse until he'd shut the locker and was ready to crawl into bed. His sore and healing body wanted to rest and Davrel was more than happy to comply. Yrek, unfortunately, wasn't.
"When does the so-called punishment start?" he asked after rejecting Davrel's request to turn the volume down.
"Tomorrow," Davrel told him, yawning and climbing into his bunk. "After training."
"Don't worry about it. You'll cruise," Yrek advised, speaking from experience. "Sentry's duty's not that bad. Boring mostly. It'll all clear up tomorrow. Just need a decent sleep is all. Wait and see."
"I'm not worried," Davrel lied. He suddenly felt lonely.
I hope so, Davrel thought, unable to share Yrek's optimism. When he rolled over to his side, a sharp pang of pain reminded him of the broken ribs. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the metal slats of the bunk above him without actually seeing them.
Instead, all he could think of were those Jedi. Meddling, manipulating Jedi. What gave them the right to interfere in his life?
Bao-Dur's offer returned to mind but Davrel instantly dismissed it.
I can't risk it, not when I don't know what I'm going to do. The less time I spend near them the better. They can't help me anyway. They wouldn't understand.
And when he dreamed that night, she was there again, with her incessant statement and frustrating certainty.
"It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now…"
A/N: Thanks so, so, so much for the reviews! About the Basilisk-I'd kind of noticed that it was sort of like the Virago but didn't think much on it. To be honest, I kinda like the original version better-looks almost alive.