AN: Sorry for the long wait there's been some unavoidable real-life issues for all of us.. Credit to fuzzydemolitionsquad (GrayScrunchie) for her exceptional writing skills and eyeloch (tumblr, our beta-reader) keen eye for detail. Aspiringwarriorlibrarian (tumblr, for her story assistance. Pictures/co-writing/story idea by DarkDranzer (picture versions on tumblr and AO3)
Garazeb: Son of Lasan series
Saviour - Part III: Retrieval
Hera sat in silence in the cramped cockpit of the Phantom, drumming her fingers against the small shuttle's instrument panel. Through the hazy sky, she almost thought she spotted a shooting star—but she doubted it would bring even a shred of luck. Kanan had been at the palace site for over two hours, long after she'd given up her own search, and the twi'lek woman was growing impatient.
Truth be told, the eerie quiet of the desolate planet unnerved her. Even after retreating into the Phantom, and its recycled air, the smells of decay still clung to her. She felt like she was in the vacuum of deep space – cold, silent and devoid of life. The only sound that pierced the silence was the intermittent blip of the Phantom's life–form detector, finding nothing.
Swallowing down her guilt, Hera changed focus—trying in vain to get the sticky ash from her gloves. The fact her flight suit was stained with the remains of perhaps a dozen or more lasat turned her stomach. She had witnessed the extinction of a species—not the actual act, but its gruesome aftermath—and she now beginning to realise what a horrific thing it would be to carry around in the back of her mind for the rest of her life.
She would never forget the ravaged planet of Lasan and its people. She couldn't. Even now she couldn't help but think of the scorched child, left smoldering behind a boulder next to the Phantom. Those ashes still had the aroma of cooked flesh and hair. The ashes on her still smelt like that too. She might as well be covered in dead bodies, might as well be gripped by hundreds of lifeless hands.
Screams seemed to echo in her head. The unpleasant aroma filled Hera's nostrils. Whirling around, she staggered to the hatch, while her vision blurred. Fumbling it open, she threw up—heaving out bile (and the remains of half a protein bar) into the foul air. Gagging, she slammed the hatch shut and slumped down against it in a daze. Ashy trails were left where her suit rubbed the wall. She tried to breathe. She drifted.
…eventually she came back to herself and found the energy to stand again. To rinse out her mouth, then rifle through the med pack to find something to tame her dry heaves. Once that was done though, without a task to set her mind to, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and fell into the pilot's chair. Her eyes roamed back to the ash smeared on the wall of the Phantom. Despite her best efforts, the terrible things she had seen looped in her mind. Burned down villages and merchants shops and crisped, dark–gray corpses.
Suddenly Hera's communicator went off, pulling her out of her morbid thoughts. Fumbling around her belt she activated it, squaring her shoulders as she did so. Fortunately, her years of being involved in the Rebellion helped with regaining her composure after witnessing traumatic events. There would be time to mourn and grieve later, right now there were more important things pressing her mind.
"It's about time, but far be it for me to bring that up!" Hera hissed, letting anger spill into her voice.
Kanan's response was garbled.
"What?" She said, raising her voice "You're not coming through!"
"…Lost . .ack of time. ." Kanan's voice crackled through. "Over here… found survi… or."
"Did you say survivors?" Hera asked, hoping against hope she'd heard him right.
"Surviv–or!" he replied, frantically, "Right here—ith me."
"Koomani's Kalikori! Are you serious?" Hera exclaimed, only to pause with worry. "What condition is the lasat in? What's it look like?"
"Uhh… It's unconscious. Purple….Big. Male…I think. I'm not about to ch–k."
"I guess we can leave that part for the medics…" Hera tittered.
Her gaiety was interrupted by Kanan's panicked shouting.
"Kriff Hera! Get over here… hurt real bad! Bleeding…Bring….stretcher…..don't know how long h—"
Loud static crackled out of the communicator, distorting not only the sound but the image as well. Hera banged the disc–shaped gadget against the console, fearing the signal was lost. A few seconds later, Kanan wobbled back into view. Barely.
"Kanan, I'll be there soon." She said, now serious, to the vague image of her partner.
"N…no–ow—"
"Copy that Specter One." She replied, already rushing through her pre–flight checks.
Hera wasn't sure if Kanan got her last message before the signal was completely lost, but right now it didn't matter. Her partner had found something worth more than whatever riches remained on the planet - and right now the creature's life hung in the balance. Newly determined, she gunned the engine as hard as she could, racing back to the capital.
In the ruins of what used to be an elaborate throne room, Kanan was desperately trying to keep the only flicker of life on the desolate world burning. But it was not an easy task.
The rattling breaths of the wounded soldier were getting fainter. The lone candle of life on this silent planet was sputtering out.
"C'mon big guy," he muttered, uncertain to what he even could do, "You gotta hold on…"
With no better ideas, Kanan ripped off a piece of his shirt. He wiped at the lasat's mouth and cleared his crusty nostrils best he could. It didn't help much. As Kanan had already suspected, his lungs were filling with blood and Force knows what other organs had been damaged. He didn't have a clue about Lasat physiology, but it was probably best to elevate his head.
Which would be more than a little tricky, given the metal beam going straight through the warrior's shoulder.
Kanan, despite trying to drink it away for years, had always been a quick thinker. In seconds, he realised there'd be no way to remove or shift the splintered strut out of the rubble it was caught in—without killing the person attached! His only option was to cut the beam away, but he didn't have any sane way to do so. He did have a blaster, though.
All but protesting his own plan, he ran his hand lightly over the blood-crusted metal - brushing away the worst of the metal splinters above the wound. He shifted around the prone lasat until he found somewhere to plant his feet, then braced himself. With a sharp exhale, he started to lift the large alien.
He tried to keep the motion as steady as he could—the poor guy didn't need any new wounds—but he couldn't help but wince as droplets of fresh blood trickled down the pole. Inch by agonising inch, he hefted the warrior's impressive bulk up to give him a clear shot.
Bracing the weight (and smell) of the soldier against his left side, he tried to steady his hand. Saving this life might be a hopeless cause, but he couldn't let it be his blaster that snuffed out this last light. Despite those fears though, Kanan couldn't do nothing. So he breathed away his fear, set the power as low as he could, then steadied his aim and fired.
…no ricochet, thank the Force, but not much effect either. With no better options, he pulled the trigger again. And again. He dared to increase the power, and fired once more. Glaring in desperation at his slowly-softening target (firing as much as he dared), he didn't realise his blaster was overheating until it sputtered and died. Growling in desperation, he hit the weakened beam with the butt of his blaster pistol. Still bracing the lasat, he changed his footing, then took another swing at the softened metal. Finally seeing an effect, he slammed his strength into the kriffing beam until the strut finally snapped.
Muscles aching, he took the alien's weight back onto his arms, then reached around his thick neck. With a grunt of exertion, Kanan pushed him up into a semi sitting position. As he did so, he had to wince - dark, clotted blood bubbled from his chest wounds while the broken rib sickeningly slid further out of his flesh. Trying to keep the remains of the rod from moving, Kanan supported the lasat. Hands sweaty with nerves fumbled, losing their grip. On reflex he called out to the Force, letting his old training keep the soldier still.
With his other hand he searched his belt and unhooked the spare rebreather he had brought 'just in case'. He cupped the lasat's snout with its mouthpiece, thanking the niggling thought he'd had earlier, and flicked on the oxygen scrubber. As it hummed to life, fresh air was forced into the lasat's lungs through his now unclogged nostrils.
"That's good, breathe," he found himself saying, "Heh…don't worry pal I'm not letting you go. You hear me? We're in this together."
Still trying to calm his own breathing, Kanan looked over his shoulder. He'd hoped, he realised, to see Hera there - even though he had only contacted her less than a minute ago.
This lone survivor might be breathing, though Kanan didn't know for how much longer…
Hera landed the Phantom by the palace ruins, the ash-speckled dust scattering in its wake. No sooner had she unbuckled her restraint belt than she'd darted to the med–locker. Tossing a small crate of bandages and antiseptic solution over her shoulder, she shoved wool emergency blankets aside with growing frustration. At the back of the locker, she finally got her hands around her goal - a collapsible stretcher. Scattering the other supplies in its wake, she tugged it out and mashed the button controlling the Phantom's rear port door.
As the exit opened, agonisingly slowly for her racing mind, she realised Chopper's voice was coming over the communicator. His binary grumbles seemed simultaneously bored and angry - and not even about much in particular. It was a fine time for the droid to be complaining about his emotional needs. Hera thumbed the communicator, now snug in her flight suit's pocket, as she hauled the emergency stretcher out of the Phantom.
"Not now Chop!" She said, picking her way over rubble, "Listen, I need you to clean out the twin–bunk cabin. The one with the animal cages and Malestarian tapestries."
There came an indignant, electronic moan.
"Just clear the lower bunk. And… sanitize it would you?"
Chopper belched once and signed off.
Hera shook her head. Picking up her pace, she ran to the ruins of the palace. Soon enough, she came to the main gate. Or what remained of it. Among the debris, she saw corpse after corpse–thankfully no young children this time–most still dressed in similar armour. Broken pieces of strange electro-staff weaponry laid by their deceased owner's sides.
"They must have been warriors," she mused, trying her best to avoid desecrating another body as she tugged the stretcher through the carnage.
Judging by the equal amount of dead stormtroopers laying around, they couldn't have been anything else. Many of the lasat soldiers had been disrupted, leaving behind their armour like the husks of moulted insects. As she entered the palace, she looked back and spotted some armour that were too small to have fit any of the adult lasat she'd seen. She didn't want to think how many of the butchered warriors were as young as her–perhaps younger–when she met Kanan.
She willed herself to turn her gaze into the palace and focus on the mission at hand. There'd be time to mourn later, but right now there could be a survivor–the last hope amongst the desolation–that needed her help. She came to an abrupt stop as she realised she'd reached a beautiful–albeit broken–marble half–arch, surrounded by immense pieces of the palace wall. She scrambled atop them, looking at their scintillating matrixes and climbed down the other side - still dragging the stretcher behind her. Before her was a shadowed, cave-like entrance. She took out her communicator.
"Kanan, I'm here. Where are you?"
More static, then—
"I'm below ground." He finally replied, "In the throne room, I think. Be careful. I don't know how sound the flooring is."
"I can manage-Whoa!"
A loud crack echoed like a gunshot. Hera nearly dropped the stretcher, as her left foot suddenly plunged through the tiled floor. Nearly losing her balance for a second, she was only able to regain it by wheeling her arms in the air like a pair of spinning lightsabers.
Never had she been so glad that Kanan wasn't here to see her. She pulled her foot out of the hole with an angry huff.
"You okay?"
She grit her teeth when she heard his familiar voice. Grumbling, she massaged her sore foot through her boot. Kanan's hearty chuckling blared from her communicator's speaker.
The twi'lek woman growled like an angry loth cat.
"Shut up."
"I told you to be careful," Kanan said in a sing-song tone.
"And I told you to shut up. Don't we have a lasat to rescue?"
"Yeah," Kanan replied, voice sobering, "I've done what I can from here, slowed the bleeding as best I could, but my concentration isn't what it used to be. I need you here with that stretcher. Hurry, but y'know, don't hurry too fast. I still want you to be c—"
"Careful. Yes. We've been through this. I'm going now."
Hera clipped the communicator to her belt and left it on. Rubbing her aching foot, she set out to find a way down to this lower level. There was a fifty-foot drop on one side and a broken suspension staircase on the other. Marble stairs hung from the cables like giant teeth dangling from a jaw by nerves. Hera swore. They weren't very good choices. If she knew Kanan, he probably jumped - something she wouldn't even consider. The top of the staircase was no more, leaving behind steps that only ascended halfway. The last few steps immersed in dust and large slabs of tile made from the floors above. Weak sunlight dappled through the holes, illuminating small portions of the staircase.
She knew she needed to use her arms in order to reach her partner, relatively unharmed. She threw the stretcher down the hole and it landed with a dull thud on a slab about twenty to fifty feet below. Slowly she made her way down, her injured foot hung limply as she made her careful descent into the abyss. Her ears pricked at every rumble the unstable, decimated building made, praying that the ceiling doesn't collapse while she was making her rescue attempt. When she landed on the last slab she turned on her communicator.
"Kanan, when I get to the ground level, which path do I take?"
It took awhile for the man to answer.
"At the bottom of the stairs, there are two columns of pillars with Lasani glyphs carved into them. Can you see them?"
Hera peered down into the gloomy chamber. She squinted her eyes and saw the broken staircase at the bottom. It was fortunate that the last flight of steps were directly below her, with less debris than the higher steps. She imagined when the staircase was at its former glory it formed twists and turns.
"Yeah, I see them."
"When you get down here you wanna head north. There's a long blue carpet between the columns. I am at the end of the carpet, by some kind of dais or something. The floor's pretty torn–up here too."
"I'll be careful," Hera said, a little mirth still in her voice despite everything.
The twi'lek hoisted the collapsed stretcher over a remaining section of railing and dropped it on the steps and retrieved it one last time, using the wall for support she made a slow descent down the stairs, not daring taking her eye off the steps as she made her slow descent. Her heart leapt as she heard the building shift again as more debris rained down, covering the last of the steps in broken stone and dried mud-bricks and her heart sank. It seemed she had to jump the last few feet after all. She turned her head to the broken railing and made her way towards it slowly, she grasped the railing as tight as she could in case the remaining few stairs broke underneath her.
Collecting her courage she grabbed the stretcher and threw it over the railing, within a few seconds she heard a dull thump on the carpeted floor. Hera's mood lightened slightly, meaning that she wasn't far from Kanan or his new friend. There was a tinge of disappointment, however, as she realised that she'd have to be next and judging by the thud, the final drop was about five feet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in her rebreather then exhaled, she bent down and tested her injured foot. She figured it was only a mild sprain and made a quick note to put a cold bacta pack on it later.
"Guess that means I'm next."
Hera swung one leg over the railing and then the other. She assessed her situation, then put both her feet down on the small shelf of marble on the other side of the railing. The cable she had her eye on was more than an arm's length away.
"Why can't things go easy this once?" She muttered bitterly.
Holding to the rail with one hand she stood on the tips of her toes and leaned forward. She stretched and strained until her tendons creaked. Her fingertips touched the cold, rainbow-hued metal of the cable.
Curling her fingers around it, she clenched her hand into a tight fist and jumped. Hera's body slammed against a vertically–hanging marble stair, forcing the breath out of her. She set her boots onto the one below it and remained still, getting her breath back. As her mind caught back up with her body, she could feel the shattered staircase sway ever so slightly.
Moving carefully, Hera climbed down, one stair at a time. One was so broken–up she had only a five-inch chunk of surface on which she could plant her foot. When she finally neared the bottom, she jumped the remaining six feet to the ground, picked up the stretcher, wedged it under her arm and limped north at a rapid pace.
"Okay, Kanan… I'm on your level now. I'm almost there!" Hera said, sighing. "I hope the poor guy doesn't bleed out… "
Watery afternoon light filtered down from the top level, causing the columns to glow orange-pink. Hera side–eyed the columns, wondering why the glyphs on them looked so familiar.
"The medallion. Of course." She said to herself. "That's where I've seen it."
The hall continued on for what seemed like forever. Miniature thunderheads of dust and ash sprang up beneath Hera's feet as she moved across the dull blue carpet. She was about to call out when she saw Kanan's feet protruding from behind a pillar. The last pillar.
The padawan's ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.
He smiled. He knew those footsteps like he knew the hilt of his lightsaber. Hera rushed to his side and dropped the stretcher. She watched Kanan's hands as they hovered over the big alien's chest. The blood trickling from his mangled body stopped in midstream and seeped into his purple fur. Kanan applied a folded piece of cloth to his chest and held it there.
Hera was aghast.
"You weren't kidding about his condition, were you?" She leaned into the lasat and pressed her uncovered ear cone against his upper chest, trying to ignore the scent of his powerful perspiration. "His heartbeat is so weak," she looked up at Kanan "He's lost too much blood."
She looked at the great gory puddle on the ground beneath him. A droplet of blood slowly formed on the ragged end of a metal fragment that stuck through him.
"He's probably been laying here for a while." She spoke, almost clinically. "A human or twi'lek would have been dead hours ago."
Kanan moved the stretcher over to himself and unfolded it with one hand. "Yeah. Tell me about it. He's one tough son–of–a lothwolf."
"Even the tough ones have their limits." She murmured, mostly to herself, before snapping back to reality. "Okay, the Phantom is right above us. Do you know any other ways to get out of this place? We can't make it up those stairs with him."
"I dunno," Kanan replied, eyes darting around the dim chamber, "I haven't explored the place. That staircase is the only way out… that I know of anyway. We'll make another exit if we have to."
"Do you have a thermal detonator on you?" Hera asked, already knowing the answer.
"No. That's the one accessory I forgot to pack for our vacation to Lasan." Kanan half-joked, clambering to his feet. "Here, keep the compression on that."
Kanan surrendered his position as Hera's hand met his on the bloody cloth. As she applied pressure against the lasat's chest, she watched the former padawan as he ran his hands over the palace's underground walls.
"This place is like a fortress." He grumbled.
"More like a death trap." Hera called back. "There has to be another way out!"
"I know! Let me think!" Kanan continued, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"A fortress," he murmured, "built to protect the king and queen…"
He stared at the wall behind the ruined dais and the fancy tapestry hanging upon it. The ancient tapestry was well-worn with a crack that was split down the middle. A spark of hope glimmered in his eye. Leaping over the dais, he deftly avoided the wreckage of the thrones and ripped the heavy tapestry away from the wall. As moons folded themselves on the floor, Kanan spied the outline of a door at eight-feet high-in the marble bricks. There was no time to find the hidden spring–trap. With an angry hiss, he wedged his fingertips into the cracks and pulled until his fingertips bled.
"Calm, padawan. Use the resource you have within you. The life you save depends on how you choose to act."
Kanan pulled his hands back. He wiggled his fingers, feeling the force move through every bone, tendon and muscle. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. A look of serenity replaced his hurried and angry visage. In the dark–red world behind Kanan's eyelids, he saw the outline of the hidden doorway. Blue light emblazoned the gap between the wall and door. Kanan raised his arm. A shuddering groan–the voice of the mortally–wounded palace– sounded throughout the royal hall. Reaching further, he willed the marble to open and slide back on its ancient track. He stepped forward, and his fingertips met only air. Whitish–pink dust showered down on the man's head and shoulders as he stood where the wall had been moments ago. Ahead of him was a dark tunnel, strung with gossamer arach webs.
The way out.
Kanan opened his eyes. He blew out the stale air in his lungs. Though drained, he still managed to trot back to Hera.
The twi'lek's eyes were transfixed on Kanan.
"You did it."
Kanan moved a sweaty lock of hair from his face. "I guess I did."
He looked at the unfortunate lasat, then, at the strewn pile of bones which were once an entire radiated an aura of bittersweet emotions, as if the bones were happy the living lasat was discovered, but sad that he was to be taken away. A tear traversed the tanned dune of Kanan's cheek. Confused, he wiped it away.
"Let's go."
Kanan grappled the lasat's beefy wrists and moved his arms into position over his head. Hera rose from her crouch and stood by the alien's feet.
"Kriff, Kanan, his ankles are bigger than my waist!"
"Wrap your arms around them if you can. I'll lighten the load. We'll lift on three."
"Give me a second…" Hera struggled with her purple–striped burden. She managed to avoid getting a fuzzy kneecap to the face when she accidentally brushed the burn on the lasat's leg.
"Oohh, sorry big guy." She looked at her glove, which was wet with blood and pus.
"Okay, Hera. Ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Here we go then. One… two… three!"
The two of them grunted as they lifted the heavy lasat from his tomb of rubble and ruin and placed him on the stretcher. His long legs and feet extended three feet from the bottom. His facial muscles tensed, and one side of his mouth curled up into a pained snarl. The lasat may of been unconscious, but he could still feel the damage the imperials had wreaked upon him.
"I knew he'd be heavy." Kanan said, puffing. "But not that heavy."
"Hold on Kanan. I have to get a hold of Chop."
Hera switched her communicator to the droid's frequency and hailed him. "Chopper! We're in the palace and need a pick up. We're gonna be heading north through a tunnel of some kind. Be ready for us."
"Wup–wup whon ah doh whees?" The little astromech answered sourly.
"Yes, we've got one of those 'things'. Hurry!"
Kanan and Hera grabbed the stretcher's handles and hoisted the lasat up. Kanan afforded Hera a soft smile.
"I take it he's not too happy about our find?"
"No, urrghh… Too bad we couldn't just say he followed us home."
Kanan moved back into the tunnel. Hera marched double–step to catch up. After they cleared the door, it raced forward on its track and slammed shut with a grinding, ear-splitting crash.
"Whoa!" Hera struggled to hold onto the stretcher. The lasat pitched to the side. Kanan immediately righted him.
"Sorry. Lost my concentration."
The tunnel was black. Slimy things crawled beneath the man and woman's feet and arach webs tangled in their hair and lekku. The walls here seemed to breathe. A stagnant breeze moaned through the lasat–made conduit, leaving stale air in its wake. Hera gasped as her foot crunched a dried–out femur, she shook her foot vigorously, trying to get the bone–dust off her foot. In the dim light, she now saw bones among the slime.
As her eyes began to adjust she saw more of the bones lining haphazardly on the narrow path, the sides leading into a darkened abyss. She shook her head at the unfortunate fates that befell those foolish lasat who dared to sneak through any of the King and Queen's secret passages. Hera felt cold droplets of condensation, like the breath of a dead man, alight on her face. Gooseflesh raised on her skin.
"Remind me to never go on a date with you again." She said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Aww, come on," Kanan jabbed back, "I'm gonna pay for dinner."
While he joked, however, Kanan continued to connect with the lasat through a circuit of the force. Not only did it lighten the burden, it also took the Lasat away from his pain.
They trudged on, dodging tree roots and maneuvering through tight spots until they saw a sliver of orange light limning a door–shaped fissure in the distance. Kanan extended an invisible tendril of the force and willed it to search. His forehead wrinkled with concentration. He could feel the rough, wet stone in his mind, felt the moss–covered lever in the wall next to it. He nudged it hard. Ancient gear–teeth clattered and gnashed and the dank tunnel was suddenly flooded with light.
They'd made it.
The Ghost was there, her ramp down and her engines screaming, the Phantom already docked in her aft. Chopper sat in the top hatch, rocking and burbling and spinning his dome like a mad droid whose circuits had been crossed. As happy as Hera was to see him, she still managed to groan. There was never any telling what the pugnacious little scrap–pile would do when his ire, or his jealousy, got the better of him.
Kanan and Hera had to push themselves to get up the ramp and into the ship. The twi'lek woman shouted, hoping her communicator would pick her up.
"We're in Chopper! Close the ramp!"
They set the lasat down on the cargo bay floor and collapsed. Kanan scooted next to the stretcher and caught his breath. He reached out and took a hold of Hera's gloved hand. She felt him squeeze.
The Ghost's ramp clanged shut. Hera jumped up, breaking the contact she had with her partner.
"I've got to get us out of here." She explained, willing herself back into action. "There might be listener ships in the area, and that's the last thing we need."
"Right," Kanan replied, his adrenaline beginning to fade, "I'll stay with him. Jump us somewhere safe."
"Will do." Hera stood up and ran for the ladder.
"Wait… Do you know where we are taking him? You know, a 'safe' medcentre. I mean it's not like we can take a lasat to just any kind of medcentre…" his voice dropped "You know what'll happen."
Hera clung to the ladder's first step, mulling over her options.
"Yeah…I know" she murmured to herself, then she turned to Kanan, "I'm thinking on that. Don't worry about it. You just focus on keeping him alive."
"Aye, Captain." Kanan gave her a simple, militaristic salute.
Within the debris field that still span round Lasan, the Ghost now drifted like the rest of the rubble. Engines running baffled and signatures altered to mimic surrounding carnage helped the illusion their ship was just another casualty of the slaughter. If there were any probe droids, they'd be hard-pressed to spot them. …if there were any listening ships…well, they'd have to hope the latest encryption algorithms were up to the job…
Serene as things might have seemed from the outside, the interior of the Ghost was still a flurry of activity. Even as she set her ship into this dangerous orbit, Hera Syndulla's boots clanged against the Ghost's grated hull again. Dashing to her room, she thumbed the door switch as she entered, and turned her attention to the comms even as a hydraulic hiss ensured her privacy. Reaching over to a shelf mounted in the bulkhead of her bunk, she flipped a few switches on the archaic holo–communications system and brought a small microphone up to her lips.
"She rode the wolf, so wild and free… ." Hera spoke the cryptic words and waited for a response. Purrs of soft static buzzed in her headphones. She spoke again, louder.
"She rode the wolf, so wild and free."
Time seemed to slow, in the heartbeats before the blue beam of the holoprojector hummed to life.
"By the light of Lothal's moons."
As the familiar hooded projection coalesced from the blue blur, she found herself letting out a breath she didn't even remember holding. Communication with Fulcrum wasn't always so simple, but the Force was with her today, it seemed.
"Greetings Hera." the electronically distorted voice continued, "To what do I owe this pleasure? I take it your mission went well?"
It was certainly a strange thought - that theft, the aborted mission for Vizargo - it all seemed months ago now. She blinked away her reflections. She had work to do.
"The A–Wings from Ayin–Resh are secured on one of their moons," Hera confirmed, "and ready for pickup at any time - my droid will send you the coordinates shortly. You'll just have to pick the right squad."
"…you've something else to tell me, haven't you?" The rebel spymaster's voice was neither jolly or judgemental. It was the calm quiet of lake water lapping at the shore. The hood, if it were even real as opposed to some generated image, gave no thoughts away.
"On our way we've passed by Lasan." Hera said, voice controlled as she could manage. She'd hoped Fulcrum knew of the devastation, hoped she wouldn't have to describe what they'd seen. At the silence, she realised there was no such luck.
"Th–The entire planet's been devastated," she closed her eyes, her voice lowered to barely a whisper, "the Empire's work, of course. I–It's clear they used the B–D–Z code on the entire populace…"
"…I had seen reports that hinted at 'a solution to the Lasan problem. That we weren't in place to act against this tragedy," the hologram paused, letting out some noise the voice-scrambler turned into a peal of static, "….this is unfortunate news to hear indeed."
A short silence followed in the dimly-lit cabin. Hera tried to lock away the memories of seeing lasat corpses–both young and old–crumble to dust with a mere breeze. Ashes still coated parts of her flight-suit, she remembered, and that made her skin crawl.
"But," she forced herself to continue, "we found one. A warrior, we think - he's barely clinging to life. We've got him in the Ghost, but I need to know where I can take him for proper medical attention."
"You need not look further than the Lothal sector."
"That's almost convenient," she replied, emotions still too rattled for diplomacy, "where?"
"Garel."
"Garel?" Hera's brow knotted, "But that's almost as heavy with Imperial presence as Lothal itself."
"…Indeed," Fulcrum replied, "but unfortunately we do not have enough time to scour Rebel sympathetic worlds, especially in your new friend's condition."
"You have a point…" Hera conceded.
"Your best chance is Crossroads General Medcentre in the far Eastern quadrant, hours from Garel City. It is mostly a hospital for the city's homeless, but many an unregistered being has been treated there."
"That's good to know, but what about the Imperial presence?"
"As good as we can hope for, given the circumstances - inspections for places the Empire consider 'Sinkhole' Medcentres are few and far between. There was only one instance the Empire threatened to shut it down, but an old friend of mine who works there 'convinced' them to leave it open."
Hera could almost hear the spy laughing. "So, who do I ask for?"
"All you need to say to the admitting nurses is – "I hear all Aqualish prefer Ol' Glazco." That should be sufficient."
"Ol' Glazco. Got it."
"You will need a transport from the spaceport to the hospital - we cannot have you landing in a no-fly zone."
"-and draw attention to the medical centre as well as us."
"Precisely. I'll put you in contact with a suitable transport - a Besalisk named Zupa Craxxsk has a 'bakery wagon' that should be sufficient."
"Thank you Fulcrum, you've been a lot of help."
"It is of no issue. I hope your lasat makes it through."
The message flickered off - both light and sound dying away - and Hera found herself alone in a darkened room.
"So do I," she quietly mused to herself, "so do I…"
Wasting no time, she hurried to the cockpit where she programmed the nav–computer. As she finished calculating a course for Garel, she eased away from the devastation that had been keeping them hidden. If there were any Imperial ships nearby, neither side saw the other before the black of space became a blue tunnel.
Fast as her ship was, it would take several hours before they even reached the planet. She tried to force herself to relax, but couldn't help but wonder - did the warrior have enough fight left in him to make this journey?
TBC