Chapter 20: A Choice

Atton tugged on his restraints to ensure he was locked in. Or at least restrained—short range transport shuttles weren't exactly armored assault craft, no matter how many armed and armored people you crammed into them. He ignored the mercs. They hadn't like the inclusion of an unknown element just before going into what was almost certainly a combat situation, and he couldn't blame them. Still, they'd done their bitching, ensured he knew not to get in their way, and got on with their jobs in remarkably short order. Professionals.

Speaking of which, these professionals seemed remarkably unconcerned about what they were diving into. They didn't know much, which was another problem altogether, but what they did know was that there was a heavy military air defense tower covering the approach, and the thought of making a run on that in three virtually defenseless shuttles made him want to run in the opposite direction just as fast as eh could, and yet . . . Damn it, what the hell is wrong with me? Still . . . people this good wouldn't be on board unless there was a plan to neutralize that tower first, so that was something. And it would be like mercs, or anyone at the sharp end of the stick, really, to let the interloper, especially an official interloper that was probably just an HQ weenie, sweat it out not knowing in the name of operational security.

Somehow, that thought wasn't very reassuring.

Not long now. Then I'll probably be dead and can stop worrying about all this crap.

And they were off . . . in a manner of speaking. Actually, after double (and triple) checking that the engine was truly dead and not in any way about to explode, they'd returned to raid it for supplies. Marina loaded up with technically edible MRE's, two mostly intact water bottles, and dragged her battered duffel bag clear. The contents were still intact, and after a moment's consideration, she pulled on the Republic body armor she'd looted from the Harbinger what already felt like a long time ago. Being inconspicuous was one thing, but if she was actually going to be shot at, she'd prefer its greater protection. Other than that, she still had the utility belt, her custom blaster, a vibrosword, and the vibroblade in her boot. And the last item, of course, which we did her best to ignore.

And, if she was being honest with herself, taking stock of her stuff helped keep her mind off the crumpled body in the cockpit. Stars, she'd lost track of how many people had died because of the past she couldn't escape from.

"Alright," she said loudly, interrupting her own thoughts, "everyone ready? Let's go."

And so they walked.

They'd been fortunate to land in the same shielded region as the Czerka facility (or possibly unlucky enough to land here—she was withholding judgment until she saw what was waiting for them), but that still covered a huge swath of land, even some ocean. As best she and Bao Dur could figure, they had about a 22, maybe 23 kilometer walk ahead of them.

They trudged along briskly enough to make conversation a bit of an effort, so instead Marina focused on Telos. Even now, you could tell that it had once been a beautiful world. The grass had regrown quickly, once reseeded, spreading with wild abandon without any weeds to compete with, and it lay out a stunning green carpet that crinkled beneath their boots with each step. The sun was slowly settling behind gently rolling hills, interrupted only by the occasional stand of transplanted blba trees and startlingly vivid clumps of purple donar flowers. But more than the sights was just the feel of the place.

It felt . . . off, somehow. Wrong in a distant, background way, as if the entire planet were preoccupied with a strange disquiet. And it was too quiet. Nature was actually rather loud with small sounds most noticeable in their absence—the distant chirping of avian species, the rustle of dirt or leaves with a rodent's passing, the hum of insects. Here there was the whisper of the wind through the trees, the soft lap of water along the shore, and silence. Even with Marina's limited, inconsistent connection with the Force, she was perturbed by what she felt. The background texture of plant life was there, if stripped of its variety to turn haunting, an empty chord, but still there. But the animal life, the vibrant foreground, the focus against that quiet background, was utterly absent.

She was so preoccupied by the strange sensation that she hardly noticed they'd stopped to take a break until Kreia sat down beside her, her strong presence in the Force a comfort. For a time they simply sat, taking in the utterly ravaged world hiding behind the veneer of beauty. Then Kreia spoke, slowly, thoughtfully. "The Force is strong here, crying out. Whether Chodo and his herd have anything to do with that is another matter, of course. Tell me . . . can you feel anything?"

Marina frowned, sightless eyes staring out over grassy fields while she struggled to articulate her thoughts to the only other person who could hope to understand them. "I feel . . . something. It's like a . . . like a whisper, maybe. Like the breeze through the grass. But it's so . . . so empty."

Kreia smiled, a tiny thing. "That is good. As a breeze may swiftly turn to a gale, you are slowly beginning to be reawakened to the Force."

Marina gave herself a shake, breaking away from the haunted silence stalked by echoes of the life that no longer existed there. "If this is all that's left to feel, then maybe I'm better off without it. This place is so . . . so broken."

Kreia nodded knowingly. "There are many places like this, remnants of the wars that raged across the face of the galaxy. To be sensitive, to feel their loss even now, after the galaxy has moved on, is a burden to bear indeed. But do not forget, little one, that there are many more places teeming with life and energy and passion. Even there, the echoes of the war's pain and death can be felt, but it is more distant, more quiet, as time passes and the people forget their own pain in the distractions of the ordinary."

Marina shivered at the prospect and stood abruptly, shouldering her pack to move out briskly. Bao Dur scrambled upright to hurry after while Kreia paused a few moments longer, absorbing the strange vista where the Force struggled to regain its claim upon the land, before easing herself upright to trail slowly after the others.

Marina decided she didn't want to think about that anymore, and instead turned to Bao Dur. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

The iridonian's eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Am I so easy to read, even after all this time, General?"

She twitched at the title. "Look, could you please stop calling me that? I'm not a general. Just call me Marina."

"But your name—"

"Is Marina," she cut in flatly.

Bao Dur hesitated, then nodded. "Ah. I think I understand, M-Marina."

Well, it was a little awkward, but much preferable to the alternative. Thank the stars Atton wasn't here, he'd have had a field day with the 'general' business. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Bao Dur hesitated once more, then shrugged. "There was a question I have wanted to ask you, if I ever saw you again. That is . . . why did you decided to fight?"

Marina abruptly reconsidered whether talking to Bao Dur was preferable to Kreia's profoundly creepy ruminations. She resisted the urge to just blow him off and walk away as she usually did in the rare case someone discovered she'd fought in the war. Bao Dur wasn't a nobody though, he'd fought, he'd been there . . . and a growing sense of familiarity suggested she might actually have known him after all. So, just maybe, she'd give him something.

She vacillated a few more seconds, trying to come up with words, then sighed. "We were supposed to be the guardians of the Republic. The Republic needed us, so we went."

Bao Dur nodded thoughtfully and considered her comment while they walked as if she'd laid out a compelling life story. Then, at length, "The war went poorly before Revan and the rest lent aid to the Republic. Many of us believed the Jedi to be cowards, afraid to face the Mandalorian threat." He paused, grim faced and apparently unaware of Marina's growing discomfort. "I remember when word of the Mandalorian attacks arrived on Iridonia. My people had colonies across the outer rim. Many of them were among the first systems to fall.

Marina tried to fill in the blanks, eager to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "So, what, you joined to protect them? As good a reason as any."

The iridonian looked at her oddly, measuring something she couldn't see. "I . . . did not join because I wanted to protect, though. I . . . I hated them. Hated them." He hurried on now, the unexpected confession pouring out like water through a breached dam. "I wanted to destroy them, to give them the 'mercy' they gave the people they conquered. I remember the thrill I felt when we fought them in battle. Victories were rare, but we celebrated every Mandalorian's death. Do you . . . do you know how it felt?"

Marina stumbled as the doors burst open and memories sprang free, explosions, fear, violence, a raging storm of death and pain and terror and courage and hatred and—

She slammed the doors shut, blocked off the memories, drowned herself in nothingness.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"We . . . we were trained to resist such . . . strong emotions." What a mouthful of nothing.

Bao Dur nodded, so focused inward he barely registered her reaction. "I couldn't do that. It was almost as though the battle took control, drove me forward. It's always on my mind now. That loss of control blinded me, turned me into a weapon. I . . . just needed to get that off my chest."

Well thanks for unloading all that on me.

Fortunately, their conversation was interrupted when Marina felt sentient life ahead, its vibrations jarringly loud in the silence of the Force. "Wait, stop. There's something . . . mercenaries, I think, ahead of us. Ten, maybe fifteen of them, a big patrol."

Bao Dur nodded, accepting without question. "I remember this area from the initial zoning sweeps. The way towards the facility narrows between two large cliffs, the sides of impact craters. They must be using it as a lookout point. If we keep right up against the cliffs there's a lot of cover—we may be able to sneak past them."

"Good thinking. I'm all in favor of not dying. Kreia?"

"I will follow whatever path you must travel, little one. Do not concern yourself with me."

That counted as permission to ditch her on the nearest planet, right?

"Alright Bao Dur, we'll follow your lead."

The cargo shuttles detached from their docking restrains with a ka-thunk that reverberated through the cabin. Finally, finally, they were under way. Atton thrummed his fingers on the armrest impatiently and ignored the irritated glance of his neighbor. "What, you scared? Nervous? Ha, I bet you piss yourself the minute the shooting stars."

Atton turned towards the young merc. He's just a stupid kid, Atton, look at him. He's terrified and desperate to hide it from the others. There's no need to bite his head off.

It was quite a reasonable argument. Unfortunately, his temper and his mouth were in a race, and they'd left his thoughts far behind. "How many people have you killed?"

The boy flinched under his wall-eyed stare. "I, plenty, lots of people. More than you!"

"I've been on the front lines of two wars. You're what, seventeen? Eighteen? I've been killing since before you were born, and if you say another word to me before we get off this shuttle, I will kill you the second you take your eyes off me. And once your body hits the ground and your bowels relax and you piss all over yourself, I'll take your weapons and walk away and I'll forget you ever existed."

The kid half-opened his mouth, which would have been his last mistake. And Atton's, too, a few seconds later, though somehow that hadn't really occurred to Atton at the time. Thankfully for all involved, the kid was smart enough to see the deadly promise in his eyes and he turned away, redfaced.

Atton immediately forgot about him, free to worry in peace. What is wrong with me? I'm on edge, doing stupid crap like that, and I'm chasing a bloody Jedi into a combat zone. Why!? The engines roared, they soared into the icy silence of space, and nobody could hear the screams of confused, helpless fear in Atton's mind.

"Looks like we made it, General."

Marina flashed a glance at Kreia, who hadn't batted an eyelash and, more importantly, her presence in the Force didn't so much as twitch. So she already knew, knew who and what she'd once been, knew everything. Somehow, Marina wasn't surprised. Still, there was no point shouting it to the whole galaxy, so she might as well try (again) to shut this nonsense down now.

"Bao Dur, I need you to please stop calling me that."

At least he had the decency to look abashed about it. "Sorry. I guess I can't get my head out of the past."

Ugh. Let's not go down that road again. "Look, why don't you tell me about how you've been, what you've been up to since . . . then."

Bao Dur nodded, took one more careful look behind them to make sure they were well and truly clear of the mercs, then straightened and stepped out once more. "Sure. I moved around for a couple years, working as a starship mechanic got me from place to place. I wasn't ready to settle down after the war. What about you, G-Marina?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much the same, really. I hope you were on better ships than I was, though. I'm surprised I didn't just fall out of the sky at some point."

Bao Dur chuckled humorlessly. "Then you understand my restlessness. Though the war had ended, I couldn't find peace in anything. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to think about what happened. Know what I mean?"

Yeah, as long as you keep moving and people don't insist on BRINGING IT UP. She contented herself with an "uh huh," and hoped he'd drop it.

"Eventually I decided I would do something constructive. I wanted to make up for the things I'd done. I wanted to design planetary shields, but there weren't many systems with the credits to spare. There was more that needed to be rebuilt than protected. I found out that Telos was going to be the flaghship project for the Republic, and it sounded like a good thing. I saw Telos before the Sith razed it. It deserved a fatter fate. And then Czerka ruined everything. I thought I could face Czerka on my own, but I guess I can't fix everything myself."

He paused, and she slowed beside him. "What?"

"There's the landing pad. There should be access from there. Looks like we'll have to fight our way through, though. Look sharp!"

Right. Bao Dur was deluding himself if he thought they could fight their way through fifty, maybe sixty people moving around in there in defensive positions with gun emplacements. Sneaking was definitely the order of the day.

The craters grew bigger the closer they got to the facility. As they crept through the churned dirt Marina finally got her first clear look at the place. The main site was basically just an industrial landing platform with an attached pre-fab combination office/living quarters, all supported by three thick columns, and suspended over the largest crater she'd seen yet. There was no way to see down into the crater form their position, but it didn't take much imagination to assume it was the remains of one of the weapons factories Czerka had fixed up and was producing from. What she could make out quite clearly, however, were the two huge air defense towers poking up over the crater's edge to get a clear field of fire. She'd bet good money that they could retract back down into cover when any telos satellites wandered by, too. Ugh, this wasn't going to be easy.

Marina lay there in the dirt, eyes scanning the station, when she felt them. Sentients, one—no, two of them, approaching quickly. A Czerka patrol? "Incoming, two of them, twelve o'clock." Of all the luck, they were coming straight at them, making use of the same makeshift trench in the bombed out terrain.

Bao Dur and Marina drew their blasters, waiting. This close to the Czerka base they couldn't afford to just stand up and make a break for it. Matters would be just as bad if they got caught by a patrol that then alerted the entire garrison. No, if the patrol was going to stumble across them, then they had to die, as quickly and quietly as possible.

And then the last thing she expected happened.

To Marina's stunned surprise, she felt the whisper of the Force.

It was impossible to adequately describe to someone who'd never experienced it. It was . . . it was a sentence with no words, an impulse with no source, an idea with no genesis. And it was simple, so simple, yet utterly perplexing.

Stop.

And that was it. Just . . . Don't. Negative. Wait.

All wrapped up in a single feeling in a single instant. And it rocked Marina to the core.

No! What . . . but why? Why me, why now, after all this time? By the stars, WHY? I left this behind, left all thoughts of fate or destiny or the Force behind, far behind. I'm as far from 'in tune' with the Force as you can get!

And yet, her traitorous mind couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop wondering.

She'd found herself stranded, alone and helpless, and she'd formed some sort of bond with Kreia that reconnected her, to a point at least, with the Force. She'd survived as it seeped into the cracks inside her. She'd needed a pilot to have a chance of getting out alive, and boom, there was Atton, the station's only survivor who just happened to be an expert pilot, even if the rest of him left a lot to be desired. Hell, it was almost as if he'd set up, been literally locked up to wait for her, with no chance of escape without her. And then they'd been shot down, and who had just happened to be in just the right place at just the right time to drag her from the wreckage? Bao Dur. And oh yeah, he just happened to be one of the handful of people in the friggin' galaxy that would recognize her by sight.

Once was a coincidence. Twice, very suspicious. But three times?

It was the Force. It had to be. What other conclusion could she reach? It was after her, like a spider trying to ensnare her in its web once again, to drag her back in. All it needed was to latch onto her with a single strand.

Half the time she hated it, kept trying to break free of its influence, to just be alone. That was bad enough. But the other half . . . the other half, she reached out towards it desperately, recklessly, hopelessly, and it slipped away, taunting her from just out of reach. Stars above she hated it. And she wanted it. And she hated that she wanted it.

She watched the two figures with her eyes and the Force alike, swiftly approaching their maximum weapon range, as she debated.

Just because the Force is involved doesn't necessarily mean that this is some big fate-of-the-galaxy plot by the Force that you'll never be able to get out of it you do what it says. They might walk right past us, or turn around, hell, they could be escaping employees, or innocents you'd never forgive yourself for just gunning down.

Maybe, but maybe not.

She hesitated on a knife's edge, biting her lip in uncertainty, unaware of Kreia's eyes fixed on her. Stars, they were getting close. Bao Dur was lining up a shot in the leading figure.

Damn, damn, damn! "Hold your fire," she hissed to Bao Dur. He didn't acknowledge her with a move or sound that might give them away, but his finger eased off the trigger.

"Interesting," breathed Kreia softly. Marina ignored it, instead keeping her eyes glued to those two . . . what the hell? She recognized them! But from . . . oh. Jana Lorso's office, the criminals seeking refuge. Czerka stooges after all. Had she misunderstood the Force? Maybe . . . only she'd been so certain when she felt it, but now . . . She was filled with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

The devaronian was almost on top of them when he finally noticed them, jerking back in surprise, but he was quick. He darted behind cover and drew a blaster on trained instinct before his thoughts could catch up. When they did, he spoke to a tense Marina slowly, calmly, and lowered his weapon.

"So . . . what a surprise to find you here. Perhaps it is best for all of us that our business is not with you this day. If you do not fire upon us, we may be able to assist you with the garrison behind us."

"How?"

"Observe." And, with a confidence that bordered on suicidal, he holstered his weapon and turned to call the rodian up behind him. "We have reached minimum safe distance. Make the call."

The rodian glanced between all of them quickly, back to his leader, and nodded. Then he pulled off his pack which, now that Marina got a closer look at it, looked an awful lot like a military tight beam com unit. "Hammer one, this is knife. Go."

"Knife, Hammer one, acknowledged."

Marina frowned speculatively, her thoughts racing. What was this? Some sort of code to ambush them? Only . . . that was nuts on their part, they couldn't have counted on her flipping out with the Force and not just killing them. And there were better ways to ambush her. But they seemed to be running from Czerka . . . combined with that 'minimum safe distance' . . . they were spies from the Exchange. They were . . .were they setting up a bombing run?

"You do know about those towers, right?" she asked mildly, hiding her unease.

The devaronian turned and offered her a toothy grin. "What towers?" And he pulled out a datapad and entered a single command.

The sky exploded. Or that was what it felt like at least, as two tremendous explosions sent the spies stumbling to the ground as the incredible shockwaves overlapped. The ground seemed to buck up from below, and then Marina's ears were left ringing as she distantly heard the tinny sounds of alarms.

There was nothing left at all of the defense towers, and Marina swore. The Force had its hold on her once more, and this time it left her feeling a mixture of relief and despair.

Atton leaned hard to the side as the shuttle abruptly changed course, angling down into a steep entry into atmosphere. He wasn't sure exactly what had triggered it, but it didn't matter all that much, either. The defense towers weren't a problem, or he was dead.

The mercs were loosening their restraints, trying to form up in the cramped aisle to disembark the moment the shuttle set down and avoid being able to be pinned down by a single point of fire. It wasn't a bad thought, though it had its disadvantages, but the shuttle clearly hadn't been intended for it, and they bounced awkwardly off the seats and each other. Atton was content to stay strapped in and let them absorb the first wave of blaster fire, while also giving him a chance to survive if they got shot down.

Then it was nothing but waiting, waiting waiting, wait—

The engines reversed power and every emergency drag flap on the ship deployed at once, slamming Atton against his restraints. One of the mercs went skidding down the aisle with a cry, but the others were so tightly packed they mostly crunched into each other. Then the shuttle dropped the last heart-stopping meter to the ground to crunch with bone-jarring suddenness, then dropped again and listed to the side as one of the landing struts snapped under the strain.

The rear cargo hatch popped open and the mercs still on their feet charged out in remarkably disciplined order.

Ow. Atton unstrapped himself quickly as the sound of blaster fire echoed outside and started pinging against the shuttle's thin, unarmored hull. That pilot wasn't half bad, but he clearly had yet to really grasp the differences between a military assault shuttle and a glorified civilian passenger bus.

Finally he was free, and he clambered through the aisle to the ajar cargo bay and stuck his head out. There, he could just make out the last of the mercs disappearing further inside the facility, still moving quickly despite leaving four casualties behind, along with the bodies of three defenders in Czerka black and green. Damned impressive rate of exchange for a breaching maneuver without total surprise.

He scanned the scene quickly, but saw no more movement. Well, no sense waiting around. The safest spot would be maybe fifteen meters behind the mercenaries' wedge. That was where he'd be least likely to stumble into the firing lane of a merc team from one of the other shuttles or get picked off by a Czerka guard.

Time to move.