3 BTC
A Few Months Earlier
"Master, I require a lightsaber."
The Sith Lord opened her eyes, regarding him neutrally. His master was seated cross legged in the middle of an empty room on her ship. He realized belatedly he'd interrupted her meditation.
Well, that is to say, he'd known he was interrupting her meditation.
He just hadn't really stopped to think about that fact before barging in with his demand. He'd been a bit busy going over the justifications, you see.
Damn.
Nothing for it now but to carry on.
Fixing his face in a frown, he regarded her back.
"What?"
The boy blinked, taken aback by the question. Then he scowled.
How dare she ignore me?
"I said that I require a lightsaber...Master. I am a Sith, after all. I can't keep using inferior weapons."
"...okay."
A surge of unexpected relief washed over the boy. He'd been half convinced she'd say no and that he'd have to figure out a way to locate a kyber crystal on his own. When she merely continued to regard him silently, however, he felt his heart sink a bit, quickly replaced by familiar irritation.
"Was there something else you needed, Apprentice?"
Biting back a snide retort, he answered coolly, "No, Master. Thank you," he had to spit the words out, "for addressing this issue. I am ready to face whatever obstacles are necessary to obtain a proper weapon."
They stared at each other for a couple of quiet seconds.
"Today, preferably."
"Right," his master's eyes lazily closed once more. She was very clearly done with the conversation. "Grey box in the cargo hold. Red markings. 5629347. Three turns to the left, one to the right."
"...what?" he gaped at her.
The Sith's eyes opened again. Traces of his own irritation reflected back at him from her expression, but her voice remained level, "I keep a spare in the box. You can build your own later."
"...You have a spare...just...lying around...in a box..." the boy's face flushed with anger. His fists clenched, and he gritted his teeth. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"
"You didn't ask," his Master replied blandly.
Essian was beyond words. Inclining his head in a jerky bow, he spun on his heel and marched off. The sound of his stomping feet clanging against the durasteel floor echoed throughout the ship.
She'd given him the wrong combination. He was quite sure of it.
Twenty five minutes (and countless fruitless attempts at obtaining the object of his goal) later, the boy sat back on his heels in a huff. He glared at the small metal box sitting innocuously in front of him, taunting him with its unopenability.
Yes, that was now a word.
Maybe if he tried...
"Argh!"
Sweeping his arm out to the side, Essian used the Force to fling the offending container from him, sending it careening into the bulkhead with a loud 'bang'.
"Stupid piece of shi..."
"Did you put the number in correctly?"
Chest heaving, he spun around, managing to fall over in the process.
"Yes," he ground out, poison leaking from his murderous glare.
"Well, clearly you're doing something else wrong then."
He stared at her, open mouthed for a moment, the calm before the proverbial storm. Then, in a flash of fury, he leapt to his feet and exclaimed, "You think I don't bloody realize that? Of course I'm bloody doing something bloody wrong because the damn thing won't open! But nobody in this goddamn galaxy, not the Overseers and certainly not you, you useless..."
"Stop whinging, and bring me the box."
He paused, halfway through a word.
"You threw it. I'm not fetching it for you," the Sith Lord replied simply, pale eyes regarding him with what he felt certain was disapproval.
Irked, he snapped his arm out to the side, scowling at her all the while. The box flew none too gently towards her, landing with a skittering halt at her feet. Unfazed, she retrieved the blasted thing and opened it with an ease that defied all logic.
A rather heavy piece of metal nearly winded him mere moments later, caught up in his fuming as he was. Fortunately, his reflexes, honed as they were avoiding the dangers of the Academy, kicked in, and he caught the lightsaber hilt out of the air, igniting the blade in one smooth motion.
"Will that work?"
He almost didn't register her question, mesmerized by the beam of scarlet he now held in his hands.
"...yeah...yes, I mean. It will...thanks..."
The sleek black handle etched with angular silver lines that resembled ancient, esoteric glyphs to his wandering imagination appealed to him more than he would have thought possible. Unlike his current weapon, the lightsaber felt like an extension of his arm, reaching out to strike his enemies. He could feel the power that hummed within it, whispering through the Force. When she spoke again, it took considerable effort to refocus his attention, fixated as he was by the elegant weapon.
"Good. If that's all..."
"Was it yours?" he spoke without thinking.
"I did say it was a spare...and it was in a box on my ship."
Embarrassment welled up inside him at his awkward phrasing.
"No," he continued, frustrated, "I mean, I know it's a spare, but did you ever carry it?"
He wasn't sure what prompted him to ask. A surge of genuine gratitude, perhaps. Shame, long forgotten, at his outburst. The sense of pervading loneliness that had been threatening to swallow him up lately. Uncertainty about the path he was now treading.
He only recognized the expression in her eyes as amusement, rather than disdain, when the look shifted, her face resuming its characteristic pattern of neutral, dreaminess.
She didn't seem to be looking at him, but, rather, through him, as she answered casually, "No. It was my master's."
Suddenly, the lightsaber seemed to burn in his hands, the cold metal stinging his flesh. The boy's chest felt cold and tight.
"Oh."
Essian had meant it to come out as a question, a challenge even, but all snarky responses had died in his brain at her words.
Was? Did she kill him? Is this some kind of a threat?
He bristled at the implication, but something inside of him derived grim satisfaction from the implied warning, all the same. He could deal with a Sith. He was used to dealing with Sith.
"I'll make sure to put it to good use, Master," he replied coolly.
No one was going to get the upper hand on him. He'd make certain of that.
23 BTC
"Whirrrrrr...Poom poom poom poom poom!"
Fragments of plaster and sand caked Kit's teeth, grinding together as she clenched her jaw, ducking down so quickly it made her head spin. Her ears ached, overwhelmed by an ocean of roaring fire and combat. Torgan crouched in the dirt next to her, ears perked and eyes wide as he clutched a blaster to his chest. Without warning, he seized her by the wrist, dragging her forward under the the passing wave of plasma and, together, they disappeared once more into the depths of Khamkamuk Rok.
Dead Imperials and natives alike lay at her feet. Kit nearly tripped over one of the former in her haste.
Or, she thought as much...until the bloodied, burned hand snapped out to grab her heel. Tumbling forward, she instinctively flipped on her back, striking out with her other foot, heavy boot connecting with the man's nose. A sickening crunch made her stomach lurch. The man's fingers slipped, fumbled, and she managed to tug her foot free.
"Wait...please..."
Kit hesitated.
"Tyael zeh!" a harsh cry echoed down the narrow sideway.
"Sorry," Torgan apologized to the man. He grabbed her arm again, pulling her away, deep into the shelter of the bombed out building. Broken glass tore at her jacket, and her arms burned like they'd been set on fire. Still, she pushed on, staggering through the smoky haze as she followed Torgan's shadowed form through the firelit building. The crackle of flames swallowed their footsteps as the building tottered and creaked ominously around them.
A lone blaster shot echoed outside the building.
Torgan glanced back at her, eyes wide and fearful, but Kit just put a finger to her lips and ushered him forwards as what was left of the windows began caving inwards, battered to pieces under the rifles of the approaching soldiers.
"...what?" Kavan mouthed. His lips cracked as he moved them, stinging. Running a hand over his face had revealed numerous small cuts and scrapes.
Drasa didn't acknowledge him, so he tugged on her arm. She looked back at him and frowned.
"I thought I heard something."
Kavan could have burst out laughing.
"I can't hear anything. Are you sure?"
The blood trickling from Drasa's ears had knitted itself together like two ribbons running down her neck. Behind her, bright bursts of light flickered in the cloud of dust swelling up from a nearby street, visible lightning to inaudible thunder.
A door burst open, and two figures came tumbling out of the darkness a few meters away.
"Sastoa!" Kit nearly ended up running into the barrel of his blaster, held out like a shield in front of him. He hadn't registered his arms snapping into place until, suddenly, the weapon was raised. The Twi'lek shot him a dirty look as she hopped nimbly back and to the side, her mouth moving rapidly as inaudible words poured out in what he felt certain was a barrage of insults.
"What?"
He must not have spoken out loud, or at least not loud enough for Kit and Torgan to hear him, because the former frowned at him, puzzled.
Drasa tapped the Twi'lek on the shoulder, getting her attention, then pointed at her own ears and shook her head.
"Shit."
"Well, I caught that," Kavan deadpanned.
"I was saying 'If you shoot me, I'm haunting you, Sastoa'."
"Oh," Kavan realized he still had his blaster pointed at Torgan. Holstering the weapon, he nodded to the man. The Cathar scowled back.
"Out for a stroll, Kit?"
"You look like shit, Sastoa."
"I look like a hit? Yeah, I know. Perks of being me. Stick around, kid. You might learn something."
Incredulous, Kit replied, "I'll pass. I'd like to avoid serious bodily harm, thanks."
"Medpac," Drasa tapped Kit on the shoulder again, somewhat more roughly than she had the first time, looking impatient. "Do you have a Medpac?"
"I'll do you one better," Kit replied, digging around in her pockets. Grinning, she pulled her hands free of the material and held them up for all to see. "I've got two."
The Skeins
"She was just here...She can't have gone far..." Dargla looked puzzled and unnerved.
"Maybe she got tired of waiting. So am I. We need to leave," Holberi muttered darkly. "We've wasted too much time already."
"If there are Imperials trapped here underground with us..." Witwar began uncertainly, but Holberi rudely cut him off. "One Imperial, and she sounded like she was from the territories anyway. Screw her, and screw them. We need to go, Dr. Witwar. They can sort themselves out."
Baara listened but said nothing, a half formed idea settling uncomfortably in her mind. Witwar looked helplessly at them, managing to muster up a few words of disagreement to no effect. Sovann ushered him along with quiet, curt words that displayed an unusual level of agitation from the normally serene alien. Whether the simple delay was all that had unnerved him, Baara couldn't say, but he appeared to be growing impatient as he shepherded the group of wandering humans hurriedly through the dark passageways once more.
She let herself fall behind the others as they began the laborious trek. Waiting till she'd fallen out of range, she doubled back, heading in the direction the stranger had appeared, hoping to catch some sort of clue about where she'd gone.
She didn't anticipate how quickly the relatively clear paths they had traversed would morph into an unrecognizable labyrinth. She certainly didn't anticipate becoming lost.
Nevertheless, after a good half an hour, that's how she found herself. Utterly and undeniably lost.
Backtracking had proved fruitless. Somehow, she must have stumbled into an adjoining passageway concealed from her view on the way down. That mistake had created a series of other small errors, until she found her sense of direction in the underground depths so utterly muddled she wasn't quite sure which way she'd started from at all.
Sound did not travel properly in the caves. The rock had turned to soft black sand, muffling her footsteps and further messing with the acoustics. Attempting to follow what she'd thought was the footfall of her group in nearby tunnel had resulted in her stumbling upon a natural gallery.
Baara breathed a silent sigh of relief as the space around her opened up, the vaulted ceiling rising sharply and disappearing into the gloom. The rocky columns of joined stalagmites and stalactites here were greater in circumference, and strangely uniform, appearing like columns in some underground cathedral. Far ahead and to either side of her, the gallery stretched out into the shadows, but the carpet of muffling sand was thicker in this space. Consequently, her footsteps were soundless, and she had trouble gauging the dimensions of the chamber from the echoes alone.
Several meters in front of her, in a depressed region of the floor, small pools of water had collected over the centuries. They glittered eerily under the light of her torch, ripples of movement in the dark water of one of the larger ones drawing her gaze. She settled her light on the surface of the pool, peering into the murk, but she couldn't make out the bottom.
"What are you doing?"
Baara froze up, her grip tightening on the torch as she straightened her posture and turned.
Zenda raised her hand to block the light shining in her eyes. "Can you lower that, please?"
Baara complied, lowering the angle of the torch, but she kept its beam trained on the stranger as she squared her shoulders. "Looking for you, actually."
Zenda frowned bemusedly. "Well you got yourself lost trying to do so. Congratulations."
Baara scowled back at her. "Then you're lost too, you idiot."
The woman's casual disdain irked her. She focused on that, rather than addressing just how unsettling she found the other's gaze. Something about it made her anxious, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She wasn't in the mood to try right now either.
"I'm not lost," Zenda replied flatly. "The sewers are that way," she jerked a thumb behind her. "And about a half a mile away. I don't know about your group. You're on your own for that one."
"Why did you just disappear?"
"Why are you so suspicious?"
Why was she suspicious? Just because of a coincidence? A weird vibe? A personal dislike formed from nothing really substantial?
Baara lowered the light a little more, turning it slightly to the side. "It's been a long two years," she said finally. Zenda didn't answer for a long, uncomfortable moment, simply continuing to stare intently at her. Just as Baara was beginning to feel her hackles rise (so much for trying to be civil), the other woman shifted her stance, blinking like one deep in thought who's been startled by a sudden question.
"Right...well. The sewers are that way, like I said," and without so much as goodbye, she turned her back on Baara and left.
