Carth woke on the medical cot, his body light and refreshed, renewed by a dazzling dream. It was the first time in months, maybe even years, that he had slept peacefully. Instead of the usual nightmare, he was visited by a vision of serene loveliness. In his dream he had wandered a jungle landscape, following the seductive sound of a woman laughing. It wasn't a mocking laugh, no, it was a girlish giggle, a suggestion to follow, to listen, to venture…
And he had followed her deeper into the forest, finding that with every step his heart grew lighter and his spirits lifted. He was smiling, laughing even, his voice booming against the thick, mossy tree trunks that stood in his path. Vines and nettled leaves brushed at his cheeks and hair but he pushed them away effortlessly, following always that beautiful jewel-toned laughter. Every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of the nymph leading him on this chase, just a peek of creamy flesh through the canopy of emerald branches, or a quick look at her bare feet and the mud caking her toes.
The dream ended abruptly, when he felt he was at last closing in on his quarry. He tumbled forward, pushing aside an enormous palm frond only to find that there was nothing there - no more jungle, no more girl, just a bright, searing light. He woke, out of breath, and sat up quickly on the cot, his face damp with sweat. He started, gasping aloud, thinking the deactivated medical droid in the corner was a silhouette watching him.
"Weird," he said, smacking his palm gently against the side of his head. Part of him knew he should feel relief and that he should be grateful for a good night's sleep and a pleasant dream, but it was also out of the ordinary. Why would such a dream visit him now? He had been more or less kidnapped by a man he had hoped never to see again, locked in a freezing cold medical bay, carried across space to an unknown destination. If ever there was a time for nightmares, now was it.
A short hiss and click later, the med bay door opened to reveal a svelte woman in a bodysuit so tight she may as well have been dipped in black latex and dried in the sun. Carth was careful to keep his face impassive, choosing to fasten his eyes on her pinched, angular face. She carried a folded bundle of clothing but she waited, hovering just outside the room.
"Can I come in?" she asked, raising both of her high arched brows.
"If it's absolutely necessary."
"Just doing my job," she added, stepping inside carefully, tiptoeing as if he had somehow rigged the floor to explode at the first hint of pressure. She tossed the pile of clothing onto the end of his bed, next to his feet. Carth nudged them distastefully with his boot.
"They won't bite," she said with a mischievous grin. Carth could imagine that grin skewering a weaker man. He shrugged.
"Nothing wrong with a bit of caution." He reached over to the clothes and pulled out a thin, thermal tee, a pair of synthetic trousers with bumble bee yellow stripes down the sides and a flashy pilot's coat in deep burgundy. Carth recognized his brother in the clothing and hesitated at the thought of dressing in Gatlin's cast offs.
"I picked those out," she said.
Carth noted that the threads were a little bare, aged maybe. He looked over the pair of trousers to the young woman watching him. "How did you know my size?"
"I just have an eye for these things. Sorry if they're not your style, we can get you something better on Onderon."
"Is that where we're going then?" Carth asked, fiddling with the trousers.
"Yup, first stop. We should be landing soon so get dressed. There's some hot grub in the main hold," she said, turning to go. "I can't stand the food in Iziz, spicy enough to strip the lining off your guts."
"It's the heat," Carth replied. She stopped at the door and indulged him with one bemused eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a tropical planet. The spicy food makes you sweat, helps cool you down."
"Yeah? All it does is heat me up, Admiral. Get dressed."
Carth couldn't help but notice the slight note of disappointment in her voice as she commanded him to dress. He shook the idea out of his head, reminding himself that he was a prisoner. He hadn't actually agreed to help these people; there was no use making friends. He vaulted down from the bed, feeling oddly energetic. It was the dream, he knew, but he acknowledged that at the risk of another tense knot springing up in his stomach. He stripped down, wincing at his own sour smell. The 'fresher would be in order after food.
As he finished belting the trousers and pulled on the pilot's coat his mind wandered to the slim girl with the ponytail. She was pretty, that much was obvious, but she had the sly, wounded look of an outcast. She wore her hard life, her lonely life, as plainly as she wore her skintight bodysuit. And that was a defense in a way. He had seen these types before, women who fell from grace, turned to bounty hunting or smuggling and used their sexuality like a weapon. He couldn't blame them; didn't men do the same? Wasn't that exactly how Gatlin operated?
He grumbled at the tightness of the shirt and trousers. Gatlin was right; he was out of shape. His trim waist was expanding and the muscles in his arms had lost some of their definition. With a pang of embarrassment he groped for the last time he had exercised; he couldn't remember.
There was a sharp knock at the door and Gatlin's voice rumbling on the other side. "You okay in there? Pants too tight?"
"I'm fine."
Carth shuffled to the door, reaching out to grab the handle. By now they would've unlocked it. On the other side he heard his brother's muffled voice and the girl's.
"My, he has… an attitude," the woman said.
"That's putting it mildly."
Carth opened the door, preparing a fierce, fake smile. He pretended he hadn't heard them, pretended his brother wasn't in dire need of a hiding. The pretty woman, Gatlin and a Zabrak sat around a central table in the hold, a steaming pot of something smack in the middle. Carth pulled down the thermal shirt, trying and failing to mask the little paunch at his midsection. Gatlin looked up from his food, chewing quickly and swallowing with a big, audible gulp.
"Admiral! Join us!"
Carth nodded, clearing his throat as he took the only empty spot next to the young woman. She stayed put, crowding him on the bench. Yes, he knew this type.
"Let me introduce Spryte and Akil. Spryte's a crack pilot and Akil can repair just about anything."
Carth nodded in turn as they were introduced. The woman called Spryte winked at him, but the Zabrak stared outright, giving no sign that he had heard anyone speak. Carth stifled a shiver. He didn't like the look of Akil; there was a deadness in the blank expression, a detachment that made him nervous. Carth was also perfectly sensible of the fact that "repair" was generally a criminal's euphemism for "upgrade" or "trick out." Gatlin served him a healthy portion of Spryte's cooking and Carth tucked in, chewing frantically to keep the others from noticing how completely vile the food tasted. He chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, simultaneously starved and tortured by the thought of taking another bland, gluey bite.
"We should make Iziz in forty-five minutes, maybe an hour depending on landing traffic," Gatlin said, chatting amiably as he finished his meal. He wiped roughly at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He had changed into another long, double-breasted coat with square buttons. Carth could make out the unmistakable bulge of a shoulder holster secured at the shoulders. "There's a festival this week, some kind of parade or whatever. We should be able to blend in with all the tourists and out-of-towners. Akil's got us a prime little landing spot in the industrial district. Nobody will bother us there."
"What's in Iziz?" Carth asked, only too happy for an excuse to put down his spork.
"Jedi, what else?"
"What sort of Jedi?"
Gatlin cleared his throat theatrically and Spryte and Akil quickly got the hint, silently standing and heading to different parts of the ship. When they were alone, Gatlin pushed his plate aside and leaned toward Carth, resting his elbows on the table. He looked tired, harried, as if he couldn't wait for the mission to be over and to say goodbye to Carth.
"Alright, Carth, there's something you should know," Gatlin said, leveling him with a dark look. "This Jedi we're hunting… They've been giving the Republic a hard time. Sith have been trickling into the core worlds, just a few at a time. They show up, try to put down roots, recruit a few apprentices and do as much damage as possible. Rattle local authority, intimidate officials, cause some panic, that kind of thing."
"I know all that," Carth muttered.
"Okay, but did you know that lately… Well when the Republic gets a tip about one of these little bases a team is dispatched, sometimes soldiers, sometimes Jedi from the new Order on Dantooine. But lately when they show up the Sith are already taken care of."
"Dead?" Carth asked, feeling a reluctant stab of curiosity. He knew of one important woman who could and would dispatch a couple of annoying Sith with no trouble at all. His heart rate increased and he felt hope, like a terrible pain, rising in his chest.
"No, not dead. That's the weird thing, the Sith are just… there. Tied up, left for the Republic to deal with. Sometimes there's a cheeky note or the Sith are wearing tiaras, bloah like that," Gatlin explained.
"It's one Jedi doing this or several?" Carth asked, his interest piqued despite himself.
"No way to tell," Gatlin replied. "The clever bastard's shorted out the security cameras with their mind or whatever. But I've seen holos of the crime scenes, and it strikes me as just one very ballsy fellow."
"You're a detective now?" Carth asked, laughing quietly. He turned to eat again but quickly reconsidered when he noticed the food had solidified into one gelatinous mass.
"No, but any idiot can see that this is some kind of game. This Jedi, whoever they are, they're sending a message, playing around with the Republic."
"You won't find them," Carth said slowly, "Jedi can hide their feelings, their thoughts, their locations. What makes you think they'll come peacefully?"
"We've set up a bit of a trap," Gatlin said, rubbing his hands together. "There's no Sith presence on Onderon but we've leaked fake transmissions from Iziz hinting at one. So while the Jedi hunts invisible Sith, we hunt the Jedi."
"I don't get it, Gatlin. It sounds like they're doing you a favor."
"Yeah well, the Republic is sick of it. This Jedi's making the Republic look stupid, real stupid. It's hard to garner support from the public for a push against the Sith when there's no evidence that they're back," Gatlin said. He leaned back, sighing and pushing his hand through his hair. Carth felt uneasy, watching his brother, knowing that he did the exact same thing when he was stressed.
"But you said the Jedi is leaving them," he replied. "Isn't that proof?"
"Yeah, sure, but not proof anyone can take credit for."
"Hah. I see. So this is political. Who is it this time? Who needs a promotion?"
Gatlin checked, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Carth had hit a nerve, a big one. At once he could just imagine the conversation that got his brother on board for this mission. Credits, thousands of them, and all for making some pathetic politician look good. He knew his instincts were right; Gatlin couldn't find meaningful employment even after going legit.
"I never thought you'd sink this low," Carth said, lowering his voice. "You know these things never work out well for the peons doing the dirty work, right? There'll be inquiries, questions, and you'll be pulled through the mud right alongside your boss."
"You don't know that," Gatlin said, crossing his arms defensively. "And anyway, this is important. Wars are political. Without public support there's no money and no soldiers. You of all people should know that."
"Yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?" Carth felt a dangerous flush rising in his cheeks, his skin prickling with irritation. His hands curled into fists instinctually, readying for a fight.
"Oh give me a break, Carth. You were everyone's favorite after Malak fell. The fleet couldn't get enough of you! Carth Onasi: the prodigal pilot farting rainbows and belching pure gold," Gatlin said, snorting at his brother, "That is until your special Jedi girlfriend ran out on you. Then who were you? Then who gave two shits about what you had to say? Sure, they let you stay on as Admiral but they knew you were finished. They just didn't want to hurt your precious feelings, unman you. They didn't need to. Revan took care of that."
Something cracked, tore, and Carth was flying across the table, knocking the pot of stew off the table. It crashed onto the floor alongside Carth and Gatlin, who tumbled in a mess of flailing limbs and lashing fists. Carth hit him hard on the eyebrow, rolling until he had pinned Gatlin, his elbow wedged up under his brother's chin.
"I should kill you," Carth hissed, snarling in Gatlin's face. "I should kill you for that."
"But you won't," Gatlin gurgled at him. "You don't have the balls."
"You're right. I won't. You're not worth the effort."
Carth released his stranglehold, getting clumsily to his feet. When he turned around, Spryte and Akil watched him from opposite corridors. Two pairs of blasters were aimed at his chest, charged and ready to fire.
"It's fine," Gatlin wheezed, climbing to his feet. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. "I'm fine. Put those away."
Carth stormed off, shutting himself in the medbay, ignoring the furious glares of Gatlin's henchmen. He wished he could lock it from the inside but he was alone, no one came to bother him. Outside, he could hear Gatlin talking them down.
"It's my fault," he heard his brother say, "I'm an idiot. I pushed him too far. Just… Just get ready for landing."
It didn't help. Carth didn't need to wonder where his fury came from, but he did wonder where it went so quickly. He was already calm, his breathing had returned to normal. An impotent sadness welled out of his heart and he thought—for just a moment—that his anger was really and truly gone - and not just his anger, but all of his feelings. He was utterly exhausted, sapped, as if the years of crying and grieving he had done over Revan's departure had depleted his spirit to the point of irrelevance. As he stood in the medbay, his hands perfectly still, his eyes dry, he wondered if he would ever feel again.
The dream returned to him, called to him from some shadowy corner of his subconscious. Had he not felt happiness last night? His spirit had been light, buoyant, but now he felt nothing, absolutely nothing. Carth longed to sleep, to slip into oblivion and maybe run through the jungle of dreams again, but there was no time. Gatlin would summon him soon and Carth would be forced to hunt the unhuntable.