The heat lamp cast a steady, warm glow over the corner of the central room. Hunter crouched nearby, holding both hands toward it even though he wasn't cold. It felt almost like he had to check that the lamp was actually emitting warmth, since all the flames in Trayus burned without heat.
Rubbing his gloved hands together, he looked over at Wrecker, who was leaning back against the wall, fast asleep. Hunter had been letting him sleep, since there were no signs of swelling in his brain. The laceration had also stopped bleeding, about half an hour in, so Hunter had been worrying less. . . about Wrecker, anyway. As the time passed, he'd worried more about Tech and Crosshair and Quinlan. He'd been trying every few minutes to contact Tech or Crosshair with no response. Quinlan had checked in every quarter hour, each time with no news.
And then, finally, half an hour ago, Quinlan had commed to say he had found Tech and was on his way down. He hadn't given details as to what had happened, but at least Hunter had been able to stop thinking about where Tech might be. Now, all he was missing was Crosshair.
Twenty-eight minutes after that, concerned at how long it was taking them to make the half-mile walk, Hunter had commed again.
"We're okay, just taking it slow," Quinlan answered. "Had to stop for a bit. Almost there."
Hunter checked Wrecker again, neatened up the row of medical supplies he'd set out just in case, and then went back to the heat lamp. Crouching down, he drew his knife and started fidgeting with it, spinning it idly between the fingers of his right hand. One rotation forward, one back. Two forward, two back. Three forward . . .
A faint clink of metal against stone made him look over at Vythia, who was just setting Lothal's mask on the floor.
Hunter didn't know what to think of her at this point. Since Quinlan had first left to search for their missing teammates, she had been studying the scrolls, or fingering the golden mask she'd gotten back in Lothal's temple, or turning one of the daggers over and over in her hand. A couple of times, she'd asked how Wrecker was doing. When Quinlan had reported that he was on his way back with Tech, she'd looked honestly relieved.
Vythia glanced up, met his gaze, and raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have another question, Hunter."
Hunter sat back on his heels, studying her. "I have a lot of questions, and you haven't answered any of them."
"True." She rolled up the scroll and slid it carefully into its metal case. "But perhaps you will ask one I feel inclined to answer."
Hunter didn't think that was likely, but any conversation was better than sitting here with nothing to do but worry. He sighed. "Fine. What are you after?"
"What everyone is after," she answered promptly, then looked amused when he glowered. "What? It is true."
"What specifically are you after?"
She blinked slowly and glanced down at the scroll's case. "Artifacts, as you should know by now."
"Not everyone's after artifacts, though," Hunter said. "There's something else you want, something inside Trayus."
She shrugged, as he'd expected. But at least she seemed more inclined to talk than she had before. Maybe now she'd be willing to answer something that she hadn't been willing to answer earlier.
"Fine." Hunter sheathed his knife with a quick movement. "How about telling me why you came back into Trayus."
"Why don't you tell me why you came after me."
"I wanted to know what it was you were doing."
"Hm. You did not know about the leviathan being there?"
"I didn't. Quinlan figured it out after I went after you. That's why he came in. If we had known, Vythia, trust me – you'd have been on your own."
"How touching." The Nautolan woman put the mask back in the satchel.
"You haven't answered my question."
"No, I have not." Vythia tilted her head thoughtfully. "I did not know the leviathan was so close, or I would not have come in alone."
"Why come back at all, though?" Hunter demanded, gesturing at the black satchel that contained her artifacts. "You got what you were after."
Vythia's flicker of a smile was answer enough. She hadn't gotten what she was after, not yet, and something told Hunter she wouldn't leave until she had. If she chose to stay behind after Crosshair and Tech were back, though, she was on her own. He met her gaze sternly. "We're leaving as soon as the team's back together."
She looked steadily back at him, large black eyes gleaming in the light from the pillar's white flames. "Indeed."
Hunter got to his feet without answering and went to the stairway, pressing one ear briefly to the inner wall. The leviathan was still shifting, the vibrations inconsistent and slow, but lighter sounds came from much closer by.
Hunter moved swiftly to Wrecker and gave him a slight shake. "Tech and Quinlan are back. Wake up, Wrecker."
"I've been awake," Wrecker defended, struggling to sit upright. He swayed dizzily, clapping a hand to his head. "Mostly."
Hunter helped him lean back against the wall. "You have, huh?"
Wrecker shot him a sheepish look. "Didn't mean to. You said Tech's back?"
"Yeah." A quiet murmur floated down the stairs, and Hunter turned and ran to the base of the stairs. "Tech, Quinlan!"
"Yep, it's us," Quinlan called back, sounding a little out of breath.
They came into view a moment later, walking side by side. Quinlan had an arm around Tech's waist, keeping him upright as he stumbled along. Tech's hands were twitching at his sides, and there were dark marks around his wrists, just visible below the edge of his sleeves.
"Tech – what happened?" Hunter asked. "Are you okay?"
"I have answered that multiple times," Tech said grumpily.
Quinlan glanced sideways at him. "You've answered me, not Hunter."
Tech glanced sideways at him and frowned.
"Hunter, he says he's fine," Quinlan translated.
"Yes," Tech said. "I am upright and conscious and comprehensive."
Hunter blinked.
"Comprehending," Quinlan corrected as they reached the last step. "And I think you kind of defeated your own point, there . . ."
He released Tech, who promptly sat down on the stairs as though unable to support his own weight.
"What happened?" Hunter demanded again, one hand hovering over Tech's shoulder. He looked like he was ready to keel over.
"One of those four-armed statues picked him up a few minutes after he disappeared and hung him by his wrists and ankles," Quinlan said.
"Oh," said Vythia softly.
Hunter only stared from Quinlan to Tech in shock. How had that happened?
"His arms are pretty bad," the Jedi went on. "And he got clipped in the side by the thrown statue. I haven't had a chance to check yet, but he –"
"He is right here," Tech said peevishly, leaning head on his arms, which he was resting across his knees.
" – says he doesn't have broken ribs," finished Quinlan, completely ignoring him. "I think he's right, but they're probably bruised."
Hunter nodded his understanding.
"Quinlan," Tech ordered, voice muffled against his knees. "Go find Crosshair."
"I only gave him one hypo," Quinlan said. "I'd better grab more – just in case Crosshair's in a similar situation."
He went over to the medpack and picked up a couple of hypos, which he stuffed into a pouch on his belt.
Hunter watched him for a moment. He didn't want to leave Tech and Wrecker, but Quinlan looked pretty tired. "You sure you don't want me to take over searching?"
"Yeah. I'll –" Quinlan glanced at Vythia, then rolled his eyes, as though irritated at himself for not remembering she knew already. "I'll have a better chance of finding him with the Force."
With the Force? Hunter looked sharply at him. "But I thought –"
"I'm going to find Crosshair," Quinlan said shortly. He turned and went back up the stairs, patting Tech once on the head as he went by.
But I thought you couldn't get past the second presence . . . Hunter watched him leave, worry nagging at the back of his mind. Surely Quinlan wouldn't try that again, not when no one else was around –
Vythia took a step forward and called, "Quinlan, wait!"
He paused a little stiffly, then turned. "What is it?"
"Where is your lightsaber?"
"In my pack. Emitter's destroyed." The Jedi blinked a little, as though concerned by his oversight, and said, "Hunter, pass me the other one?"
Hunter removed the hilt from his belt and tossed it upwards, and Quinlan caught it in one hand. "Thanks."
As he vanished up the stairway, Hunter turned to Tech. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you over to Wrecker."
"I am fine right here."
Translation: I do not want to move. Hunter sighed through his nose. "You'll be fine over near Wrecker, too."
Tech frowned at him, ignoring Hunter's outstretched hand.
"Tech, come on."
"Hunter . . ."
Hunter folded his arms, looking sternly at him.
Tech huffed and wobbled to his feet, apparently forgot that there was a step down, and only didn't smack face-first against the floor because Hunter was there to catch him.
When they got over to Wrecker, though, Tech observed him for a moment, tilted his head, and said, "I suspect you have a concussion."
Wrecker's worried expression cleared a little and he snorted. "Yeah, thanks, Doc."
"I am not a designated medic. In fact, officially speaking, our squad does not have a medic, although –" Tech paused when Hunter sat him down beside Wrecker. " – I believe Wrecker or I would be the best qualified to fill that position, should the need arise."
"Aw, thanks!" Wrecker said, elbowing him lightly.
"Uh-huh." Hunter pushed Tech's sleeve up and winced at the thin but dark, finger-shaped bruises that wrapped halfway up his forearm. "Well, the need's arisen, and both Wrecker and you are out. Where does that leave you?"
"In a Sith academy," Tech grumbled, hunching in on himself. He tugged off his goggles and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Quinlan said the leviathan is still alive?"
"Yeah." Hunter pressed his fingers against Tech's side, relieved to discover that his ribs weren't broken, but concerned that Tech didn't slap his hand away. "Vythia says it'll probably reattach its head, though."
Wrecker stared at him, then turned to Vythia and said, "It can do that?" in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat loudly.
"I am afraid it is more than likely." Vythia reached for a water bottle. "Perhaps you should attempt to drink something?"
Hunter looked up sharply, the disinfecting wipe he was using still pressed against a cut on Tech's face, and said, "Give me that, Vythia."
She rolled her eyes and tossed it to him. "The lid is sealed. Do you think I intend to poison him?"
"I have no idea what you intend to do." Hunter checked the seal, picked up a different bottle anyway, and passed that to Wrecker instead. "You already put us to sleep at least twice."
"Three times," she answered, smoothing her skirt. "But that was not poison."
Before Hunter could do more than stare at her, she added, "Hm, I did not realize you were aware of the time in Lothal. Did your scanner pick it up, Tech?"
He blinked and gave his head a quick shake. "Quinlan woke up first."
"Did he." Vythia looked down, biting her lower lip in thought. "And yet I could have sworn my calculations were correct . . ."
Hunter paused to give Tech a warning glance. Do not tell her why it didn't work.
Tech huffed and muttered, "She has no more with her. I checked. Wait. Where is my datapad?"
Hunter unclipped it from Tech's belt, set it aside well out of his reach, and picked up the bacta spray.
"Hey, Vythia," Wrecker said, putting the water aside after only a few sips. "Vythia, why'd'ja do that, anyway?"
"To keep you from interfering," Vythia answered. "Naturally."
Interfering in what? Hunter glanced at his comm, which still hadn't blinked – it hadn't been quite long enough for Quinlan to have to checked in yet. He wondered if he was checking the third level now, or if he'd gone right up to the sixth.
"Okay," Hunter said, picking up a hypo. "Are your arms still pretty bad?"
Tech hesitated, eyeing the painkiller. "I will not attempt to hit you in the eye if you give me one," he said at last, clenching his fists in his lap.
Vythia laughed softly. "How oddly specific of you, Tech."
"You'd be surprised," Hunter muttered, injecting the hypo as fast as he could. Just as he finished, his commlink blinked twice, and he answered immediately. "Quinlan, any luck?"
"No."
"Which level are you on?"
"The third. I'll check in again soon." He ended the transmission.
Hunter thought for a moment, then handed Tech his datapad. "You think you can try to boost your sensor range?"
Tech, moving clumsily, checked three different screens before answering. "I cannot . . . not in the storm. I do not understand this, Hunter – the storm is most heavily concentrated around the Marauder."
Hunter and Wrecker looked over his shoulders at the datapad. Sure enough, the worst area of the storm swirled immediately over and around the Marauder, which was right outside the main doorway. It was like seeing the eye of a storm, except that this time it was worse in the eye than anywhere else.
Hunter sat back on his heels, a strange thought entering his mind. It's almost like the storm – that second presence Quinlan was talking about – it doesn't want us to communicate . . .
Vythia was also looking at the screen, her lips turned down in concern. "I do not understand this either," she answered in a low voice. "Why would . . ."
Wrecker studied her for a moment. "Why would what, Vythia?" he rumbled, his gaze unusually serious.
To Hunter's surprise, she answered. "Why would anything here, anything malevolent or aware, want us to remain instead of to leave?"
"I thought maybe you'd have an idea," Hunter retorted, getting to his feet.
"No . . . No, I do not." She also got up and wandered a few steps away, head bent thoughtfully.
Hunter turned to Wrecker and saw his own realization reflected back at him from Wrecker's eyes. They both believed her.
It had been nearly half an hour since Quinlan had left the others. He'd only searched one hallway – the main hallway of the third level – completely, and something told him it was taking too long. Already, it was after midnight; and even though he'd made himself down an energy drink ten minutes ago, Quinlan was exhausted.
And I still have no idea where Crosshair is. Quinlan stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring unseeingly at the area in front of him. The longer it took him, the worse off Crosshair would be . . . even if he wasn't hung up like Tech had been. And there was a quicker way to find the missing sniper. He could use the Force, like he'd told Hunter . . .
. . . and yet if he overestimated his ability in dealing with the presence, or made a mistake . . .
Using the dark side is already a mistake, his thoughts reminded him. He shook his head impatiently. If he hadn't used the dark side, Hunter would be dead or paralyzed at the very least, and Crosshair would have been badly injured or killed – using the dark side was just like using the light side, only easier . . . and more dangerous. Supposedly.
What was so wrong with just using the dark side, anyway? It wasn't as though he was using it for anything evil. The Force was . . . a tool, a gift. Something any Force-user could access and call on. The Sith in Trayus had twisted it until only dark side energy remained, but really, what did that even mean? It had made him sick earlier, but now he hardly felt its presence. If there was light side energy around, then of course he would have used that, but . . . there wasn't.
Quinlan wrapped his arms around himself, hesitating. He knew the Jedi forbade acting out of certain emotions . . . but only because it was so much easier to become powerful quickly, not because those emotions were wrong. Everyone got angry – it wasn't wrong for non-Force-users, so it wasn't wrong for Force-users. Even Master Yoda said that. It was wrong to act on emotions, not to feel emotions. Of course, it was much more important for Jedi to control their emotions, because they were capable of incredible acts of power when they lost control – which most Jedi did when they used the dark side. It took people over, and twisted them over time. Or so he'd always heard. It had certainly happened to the Sith, but they'd let it, they'd used it constantly. And he hadn't used it –
Except when I killed that gang leader, he thought, his soul cringing at the memory of the horrified realization that had struck him after firing the fourth shot through the dying, struggling man's torso.
Quinlan gave his head a hard shake. He needed to stop dwelling on the past and focus on finding Crosshair . . . and he didn't think he was on the third level. But there was only one way to be sure, and he knew better than to try it here, where the others would have a hard time finding him if something happened.
Breaking into a run, he headed back to the central room and darted up the stairs to the fourth floor – far enough from the others that Hunter couldn't reach him in time to stop him, if for some reason he decided to.
Quinlan sat cross-legged, heart thudding uncomfortably in his stomach as he rested his hands on his knees. With the other times he'd used the dark side, it had been instinctive, not premeditated. Now, he was going to use it deliberately . . . only if using the kyber crystal from Hunter's lightsaber didn't work, of course. But he didn't think it would work. The elderly Jedi woman who had owned it had not been especially powerful, and if Bastila's crystal hadn't had enough strength to defeat the mysterious presence . . .
Slipping the green kyber from the crystal chamber, he clutched it tightly in one hand and shut his eyes, drawing on its inner power as he cast his senses out over the lower levels of the academy in an attempt to find Crosshair. The familiar touch of the light side calmed him surprisingly, and he realized that the dark presence wasn't quite aware of him using the Force. Not yet.
He kept searching, extending his senses farther and farther. Crosshair wasn't on the third level . . . The presence was approaching now.
Quinlan gritted his teeth and willed himself to find Crosshair. He wasn't on the fourth level, either . . . Then a spark of life caught his attention, flickering weakly as hopelessness radiated from its core, and he reached for it.
Darkness crashed through his awareness like a swelling wave, and he barely jerked himself out of his meditative trance in time to avoid being snared by the grasping presence that clutched at his mind. He jerked to his feet, panting at the half-memory of a quiet laugh resounding in the depths of that wave.
The kyber crystal had not been sapped of life, but it was worthless, at least as a source of Force-energy against the presence. He had used the light side, and very nearly found Crosshair, but it hadn't been enough. A candle was useless against so vast a shadow. And Quinlan hoped he was wrong – maybe Crosshair was just barely aware, but for just a moment it had felt as though the sniper was running out of time.
Fumbling a little, Quinlan put the crystal back in the lightsaber, which he hooked on his belt. "Okay," he said aloud. His voice shook a little, so he cleared his throat before activating his comm. "Hunter?"
"What happened?" Hunter's tone was anxious. "Where are you?"
Blasted enhanced senses. Quinlan made himself take a slow breath before answering, his voice back to normal. "Crosshair's not on the third or fourth levels."
"How do you –"
"I'm on the fourth level," Quinlan answered shortly, sitting back against the wall again. "If I don't comm you back within five minutes, maybe you could come up and make sure I'm not comatose or anything."
There was a startled half-second pause, and then Hunter snapped, "Quinlan, tell me you're not –"
Quinlan ended the transmission, muted his comm, and shut his eyes. Even without using the Force, he could feel the malevolent presence hovering around him, blocking and deadening his Force-senses, and he knew he'd never find Crosshair unless he could get through it. And he couldn't do that with the light side. Time to fight fire with fire.
Taking a deep breath, Quinlan immersed himself in the dark side. For an instant, he felt the presence's overwhelming surprise as he set his will against its slow encroachments. Before, he had been defenseless, struggling to maintain shields in the face of its far greater power. Now, he could draw on the power of everything around it, and he had a physical connection to the Force. This presence did not.
A name, familiar somehow, hovered at the very back of his mind, but before he could recognize it, the presence gathered in on itself and flung an attack at his mind, trying to trap him in wandering darkness as it had earlier. It was both fascinated and outraged by his use of the dark side, and for a long moment it hovered on the edge of his mind, hesitating to enter.
Let me through, he demanded, but didn't attack it.
It laughed softly. It wasn't a physical voice, but he knew it was there. Again, Quinlan was distracted briefly by the thought of a name – a name he could not remember, but should know.
Let me through.
Tendrils of thought snaked into his mind and soul at his order, strangling his intent until he felt himself physically draw a sharp breath.
You use without embracing, he heard, almost like a warning. You will fail.
He knew he was failing. Already he was feeling sick all over from his willful exposure to the darkness, and he couldn't open his eyes. The presence laughed again as Quinlan realized he would never outlast it. He had to defeat it swiftly –
No, that is impossible. . .
He didn't know if that was his thought or the presence's. At the realization, a flash of fear pierced the fog settling over his will, and Quinlan gathered the Force and hurled it out in a mental attack of his own, channeling it through himself to fling at the presence.
To his utter shock, it retreated. It was only for an instant, but that instant was long enough for him to be suddenly aware of five other beings – living beings. Four were below him, close together in the swirling eddies of darkness: Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Vythia. And one was above him – Crosshair – but he was surrounded by dead, dormant evil.
The malevolent being was gathering itself, and Quinlan sensed its intent. It hated him, and yet it didn't want him to leave.
Before it could compel him, Quinlan opened his eyes and closed himself off from the Force, drawing up what shields he could to prevent its searching his mind. Stumbling to his feet, he leaned back against the wall and wiped his face with one sleeve. He hadn't had time to really recognize the dead thing near Crosshair, but using the dark side had worked – he knew where the sniper was.
Quinlan ran up the stairs two at a time, bypassing the fifth level. His comm blinked at him – wait, it had been blinking at him for some time – and he pressed it. "Hunter, how long was that?"
"Too long." Hunter's tone was furious. "Don't shut off your comm!"
"I didn't, I muted it." Quinlan stole a glance at his chronometer as he entered the sixth level. "I meant how long since I last commed, and it's been barely three minutes. I located Crosshair. On my way to him now."
". . . Where is he?"
"Sixth level. I'll call you once I have him."
"Okay. . ." Hunter sounded uncertain, but ended the transmission anyway.
Quinlan kept running. Not five minutes later, he was slowing to a quick walk as he turned right. Crosshair was in one of the rooms along this hallway. . .
As he pulled his collapsible lantern from his pack, he thought he heard footsteps ahead of him, then a mumbled phrase, but the words were too soft to make out.
Quinlan almost paused again before remembering. "Blasted leviathan," he muttered, letting his gaze drift over the closed doors. Crosshair would be in one of the rooms towards the center of the hall, just about –
He froze as his eyes focused on a sealed door edged in runes with a metal handle spanning its width. Darth Ghant's tomb – it was closed now, but had been open when he and the others left it. No – oh, Force, I hope he didn't get trapped in there . . .
Quinlan darted to the stone door, gripped the handle, and yanked upward. Instantly, the door slid up, disappearing into the wall above it. The sour, acrid smell of vomit made him wince as he opened the lantern and peered through the doorway.
The body of Darth Ghant was the first thing he saw. Ghant was still sitting on his throne, hands positioned exactly as before, rich robes undamaged by the passage of time.
But his eyes had been obliterated. The dull, staring yellow had been replaced with black holes, the telltale burn of the laser shots through either eye giving Ghant's red face the appearance of a bloodied skull. Crosshair wasn't in sight, but his pistol was lying in the center of the floor.
Quinlan took a step forward, struggling against his own fear as he entered the crypt and glanced rapidly around. Crosshair was huddled in the corner to the left of the doorway, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared unseeingly at the floor.
Feeling suddenly weak, Quinlan dropped to his knees beside him, setting down the lantern as he said, "Crosshair, I've been looking everywhere for –"
His relief evaporated in a flash when Crosshair failed to move. His face was streaked with dried tears, and his expression was blank and still.
Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, Quinlan put a hand on the sniper's shoulder. "Hey – Crosshair. You okay, buddy? You better be, you've had us worried sick."
When he shook him again, Crosshair shifted, eyes coming into partial focus as he whispered something.
"What is it?" Quinlan was increasingly concerned that he'd hit his head or something, but he couldn't see any signs of a head injury – apart from having apparently thrown up. "You weren't hurt, were you?"
Crosshair continued to gaze fixedly at nothing, but he stirred again. Quinlan gritted his teeth and got up. Get him out of here first, check him after, he decided, grabbing Crosshair's wrists and pulling him to his feet. The sniper rifle was leaning against the wall close by, and Quinlan picked it up and slung it over one shoulder. As he used the Force to summon the lantern to his free hand, he caught a glimpse of the small flashlight Crosshair had carried – it was in pieces on the floor.
Almost unwillingly, Quinlan followed his companion's half-focused gaze to Darth Ghant's face. "Let's get out of here," he said, tugging Crosshair towards the door.
"He –" Crosshair stumbled suddenly, catching Quinlan off-guard. His voice was hoarse and trembling. "He wouldn't stop – he kept looking!"
Quinlan felt a sudden, harsh chill. "I know."
He didn't know. He could only guess that Crosshair had shot Ghant's eyes out because the Sith Lord seemed to be watching him. Had he been in the crypt ever since he'd disappeared, over five hours ago? Probably . . .
Remembering the pistol on the floor behind him, Quinlan paused. Crosshair stopped also, as though unable to move without guidance, and Quinlan let him go for a moment to grab the pistol. His vision split and reformed abruptly.
His hands were unsteady as he drew his pistol and pointed it at Ghant's face, blinking against the blurred vision he'd had ever since he woke up the second time. The yellow eyes had been staring at him for over four hours now, watching while the room got smaller and smaller and his flashlight dimmer and dimmer.
Footsteps paused outside again, and he realized that they might come in, without opening the door. A surge of terror, so strong it made him sick, brought him to his hands and knees, but he didn't drop the pistol. As soon as he could straighten again, he brought the gun back up. Ghant watched him, unconcerned by the thought of being trapped in here forever with another corpse. Drawing in a sharp breath, he steadied his aim and pulled the trigger once, twice.
The staring eyes were gone, replaced by black holes, but Ghant hadn't moved – he didn't care – he could still see – with a panicked gasp, Crosshair grabbed the flashlight and smashed it against the nearest wall, then dropped his pistol.
Quinlan's normal vision returned with a rush, and he blinked a couple of times to reorientate himself. He stared down at the pistol for a moment, then checked the safety and slid it into Crosshair's holster. His mouth was dry for some reason, and he felt numb as he gave Crosshair a slight push forward.
Crosshair stumbled out into the corridor and Quinlan followed, closing the doorway behind him. Forever, he thought, wishing he could collapse the whole crypt. I hope no one ever opens that door again.
The image of Darth Ghant staring eternally at nothing with his mutilated eyes made him feel sick. He didn't know why.
Just ahead of him, Crosshair suddenly collapsed to his knees, then sat down, shaking all over.
"Hey." Quinlan took two quick steps and turned, kneeling in front of him. "Can you hear me? What's'a matter?"
It was a stupid question, but it didn't really matter because he didn't get an answer.
Quinlan tapped the side of his face, trying to get some sort of response, and immediately Crosshair clutched at Quinlan's forearm, gripping it painfully hard as he tried to twist it.
Quinlan pulled free. "Hey, it's just me, Cross –" He hesitated as he noticed the sniper's hands, which were covered in bruises and dried blood, fingertips badly cut and nails torn. "What in space did you do to yourself?"
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he caught his hands and turned them over. Similar injuries, but not as bad. "You were trying to get out, weren't you?" he muttered. "Kriff it all, Crosshair –"
He wanted to get him back down to the others, but Crosshair didn't even seem to realize there was someone with him yet, let alone that he was out of the crypt. Activating his comm, Quinlan said, "Hunter, come in."
The response was immediate. "Did you find him?"
"Yeah." Quinlan sat down and wrapped an arm around his knees. "He's been trapped in Ghant's tomb pretty much the whole time."
There was a short silence, followed by a worried sigh. "Is he responsive?"
"Not – really."
"I'm coming up," said Hunter, voice farther from the comm.
"No," said Quinlan, suddenly nervous at the thought of anyone splitting up. "No, once I can get him to walk it'll only take us about fifteen minutes to reach you."
There was a brief pause. "Ghant's tomb," said Hunter wearily. "All this time –"
Quinlan winced. "Yeah, I know. We'll be there shortly, just – don't leave the central room, Hunter. We don't need anyone else getting lost."
". . . Fine." Hunter ended the transmission.
Lowering his wrist, Quinlan glanced at Crosshair again. Even without trying, he could easily sense how terrified and lost he felt. "Can you hear me?"
Crosshair gulped, then inhaled sharply through his nose and leaned forward, still shaking all over. "He wouldn't stop looking," he rasped almost absently. "Even – after."
"He's not here now."
When Crosshair didn't respond, Quinlan sighed. He'd seen this kind of thing before, and it could take hours to come out of . . . but they didn't have hours. "Come on, buddy, snap out of it," he said, moving closer. "You're not there anymore."
Careful to move slowly, he put a hand on Crosshair's arm – and promptly got his wrist twisted for his trouble . . . again. And Crosshair only pulled away, then slumped back down, his breaths increasingly rapid and shallow.
Quinlan rubbed his wrist, frowning. Crosshair could recognize and respond to threats, but not safety - somehow.
"Okay," Quinlan mumbled. "Enough's enough. I'm probably gonna be risking my life here, but whatever."
With two quick movements, he knelt behind Crosshair, then leaned forward and wrapped both arms around him, careful to keep his face out of range of the sniper's head.
It was a good thing he did, too – despite how much Crosshair was shaking, and even with his arms trapped, he put up a good fight. After a full quarter minute of twisting and struggling, he went abruptly and suspiciously still. "L-let me go," he demanded, voice hoarse.
"Uh – no, I like my nose where it is," Quinlan answered, thankful to hear something normal from him. "You'll probably break it the second I step back. Tell me where you really are, and I'll let you go."
There was a silent, confused pause. Then – "Hunter?"
"No – Hunter's downstairs with the others. Soon as you feel up to it, we'll head down to join them. Everyone's doing okay. Mostly. I mean . . ." Quinlan paused. "Well, Wrecker's got a concussion. And Tech's having a hard time moving his arms. You guys sure picked the worst places to get trapped. . . he got caught by a statue."
The sniper was still trembling – not as much as before, but he still wasn't really answering. Fortunately, Quinlan had always been good at talking. "Hunter's okay – far as I know. The leviathan's more or less decapitated, but that won't hold it forever. So we're still hearing things that aren't there. Actually. . ."
He paused, tilting his head to one side. He thought he'd just heard the same strange mumble from before.
Crosshair suddenly jerked against his arms, and Quinlan tightened his grip, caught off-guard. "Hey, listen to me –"
"I know where we are." Crosshair's voice was alert, if weak. "We have to leave, the illusions . . ."
"Illusions?"
"Ghant – two of them. Every fourteen minutes – they stop outside the tomb –"
Quinlan released him cautiously and stood up. Illusions kept to a preordained path, and they were said to be harmless even if they walked through you. Quinlan didn't exactly trust that, though, and it didn't look like Crosshair couldn't even manage to stand on his own, much less walk. They'd have no luck dodging illusions right now.
After looking around, Quinlan darted a few meters down the hall to peer through the empty doorway of what appeared to be a training arena. Even though he could see every corner of the vacant room, he took extra care to make sure it was truly safe.
When he was satisfied that there were no hidden threats, he moved back to Crosshair and hauled him to his feet again. "Come on," he said. "We'll wait for them to go by, and then we'll head down."
Hunter was pacing again. He was pretty sure he'd memorized the pattern of the floor stones around the perimeter, he'd walked around it so much, but he couldn't settle down, not while the leviathan was slowly healing itself a level above them. And not while Wrecker was dozing; Tech was sleeping, finally; Crosshair and Quinlan weren't back; and Vythia was still awake.
His comm beeped again, and he answered it with a quick push of a button, channeling the audio through his helmet. "You guys almost back?" he asked, even though it had been only six minutes since Quinlan reported finding him.
". . . No?" Quinlan answered. "We're just sitting here, waiting for Darth Ghant's twin illusions to leave the corridor."
Hunter gave his head a shake.
"Before you ask why, I don't know why they're here. They just walked past half a minute ago, so I figure it'll take about – uh – just a sec." There was a slight shifting sound, and then Quinlan muttered, "Okay . . . You had to go and pass out, huh, Cross? Guess I can't really blame you."
Hunter stopped walking. "Quinlan?"
"He's okay. I hink he just finally realized he was out of there for real," Quinlan said, not sounding in the least alarmed. "Anyway, I was saying it'll take us a good fifteen minutes to reach you guys."
"That's what you said last time." Hunter turned back across the room, drumming the fingers of his right hand against his gun stock. Vythia looked up as he passed her, arching a curious eyebrow, but he ignored her. As he neared Tech and Wrecker, he lowered his voice and said, "Something's up with Vythia, and I can't figure it out. We're leaving for the Marauder, storm or no storm, the moment you guys get back here."
"Yeah. We'll move as fast as we can," Quinlan promised. "Keep an eye on Vythia."
Hunter glanced at her as she got to her feet and stretched her arms. "I'll do that."
Quinlan signed off.
Hunter turned to Wrecker, then decided against waking him quite yet. Instead, he wandered across the room, casting intermittent looks at the stairway.
"They are nearly back?" Vythia asked from beside him, and he jumped - she moved a lot quieter than most people. Right after I said I'd keep an eye on her, too.
"Yeah," he said neutrally. "Fifteen minutes or so, and we'll be out of here."
Vythia nodded, and then one side of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "Well – I do apologize, Hunter."
He tilted his head warily. "What are you –"
She snapped her elbow up, landing a solid blow beneath his chin and knocking his helmet off. Hunter reeled back, reaching instinctively for his knife. Vythia leaped at the wall beside him and kicked off, locking her knees around his neck and throwing him. Hunter fell hard, converted his momentum to a roll, and slashed at her while still on his knees and one hand.
Vythia dodged with a single step back, then caught his shoulder and leaped onto his back, landing on her knees. Her strong fingers wrapped around his neck and pressed hard against the base of his throat, yanking his head back as he gagged. Hunter twisted onto one side, flinging her off, then got to his feet, coughing so hard he staggered.
She was on him again in an instant, utterly silent as she leaped on his back again and clutched an arm around his throat. He grabbed at it with his left hand, reversing his knife to stab at her; he was vaguely aware of her knife slicing across his left vambrace. The strong stab he aimed at her waist made her gasp, but somehow the blade didn't pierce through her dress - and she kept choking him.
Hunter's vision went black as he doubled and bent to one side, throwing her off and grabbing at her arm as she stumbled forward. He stabbed directly at her chest this time, but she sidestepped and caught his knife arm, yanking it back against her waist to immobilize it. As Hunter turned towards her, she slammed her elbow against the side of his neck. He dropped, ears ringing shrilly as he shook his head, forcing his vision to reset fast -
And when he looked up, Vythia was gone.
She was gone, and she had destroyed Hunter's commlink. The knife had gone right through it.
Breathing heavily, Hunter stumbled over to pick up his helmet, but she'd destroyed that one, too. Utterly bewildered, Hunter ran back across the wide room to Wrecker and Tech. Their commlinks had also been destroyed, but they themselves were completely unharmed.
