N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! Er...Jen DeClan and TEN10X!It is much appreciated. Hooray, I've now broken the 100,000 word barrier! Here's a lengthy...er chapter to celebrate.
Chapter Thirteen
Three hundred credits won, five drinks, and a black eye. All things considered, it was a reasonably good night for Atton Rand. Probably one of the better ones since he had parted ways with the Ebon Hawk and her crew.
Wise was not the word one would have used to describe how careful Atton had been with his money. Nar Shaddaa was notorious for draining even the most hardened card players, and Atton had spent some frightening time in debt to an Exchange thug. Fortunately he had paid it off and he was now in prosperity again. It had been an adventurous couple of weeks, but that many days on Nar Shaddaa felt like months. He was anxious to leave the place.
Tonight, however, he was celebrating his victory.
The pazaak den was very familiar to him now. He knew most of the regulars personally, but there was always fresh meat on display, leaking credits all over the place.
Atton sat at the bar, his stool wheeled around so he could face the crowds. He had a few drinks in him at this point, and had enough of a buzz to enjoy just doing absolutely nothing for the time being. He rested his elbows on the counter behind him, a glorious beverage sitting to his left, waiting for him to partake.
The night was almost perfect—although that black eye had been a nuisance. Earlier in the evening, one of the patrons had accused him of cheating. It was par for the course, really. Atton was so used to the accusation that he only shrugged and did nothing in response. His nemesis however, a very temperamental Rodian, had slugged him in the face after he had deemed the human's response "offensive". Before Atton could cleave the thug in half, the bouncers had him by the throat. The Rodian was hauled out of the place and thrown into the alley, smashing into trashcans and wall. Atton was awarded a drink for his troubles.
And that was where he found himself at the moment. A fat wallet, a full stomach, and a sore eye socket—but the pain was dwindling due to the effects of the sweet alcohol.
He had long since abandoned wearing his Jedi robes: the ones Caius Lucullus had given him. He had worn them in the company of the other Jedi, but he was not partial to them. And besides, people had an annoying tendency to think he was part of the Order whenever he had them on. They would always come to him and ask for help, which he did not want to deal with. He was back to wearing his traditional ribbed jacket; it helped him blend. However, he held onto the lightsaber, keeping it inside his jacket—just in case.
He enjoyed the pleasant atmosphere for a while, draining the last of his drink, and then decided to call it a night. It was already technically morning, and he figured he would head out by transport after getting some sleep—he was sick of Nar Shaddaa at this point.
After ten more minutes of lounging, the scoundrel got up and left a tip on the counter. He strode somewhat lackadaisically through the crowd as he tried to navigate his way out. For early morning, the bar was still quite crowded. However, he was eventually able to force his way outside and into the dingy, dark night of Nar Shaddaa.
He squinted in the neon lights of the pazaak den, trying to see his way. Having gotten to know the locals in his time on the planet, Atton exchanged brief goodbyes with the heavyset Aqualish, named Lukas, who served as a bouncer.
As he turned his head to the left, he discerned a shadowy figure waiting for him in the darkness. Before he could figure out what it was, he found a blaster barrel pointed in between his eyes and only a few inches from his face.
The figure emerged from the darkness and into the light of the neon signs. It was the Rodian who had given him the black eye.
"Going somewhere, Rand?" he asked.
"Yes, and as a matter of fact I was just about to go see your boss," Atton responded flatly.
The Rodian looked confused for a moment, then said, "Don't get cute."
"Right," Atton said, "I hate cute—it's a women thing. Though, I don't expect you'd know that."
The Rodian lunged forward and brought the blaster closer to Atton's face. Atton looked askance towards the bouncer, who did not budge.
"You going to do something?" he asked.
Lukas shrugged, "My domain's inside, I have no authority in the alleyways. I see this stuff all the time."
"Thanks, man, I owe you one," Atton said back.
Atton looked back at his assailant, who said, "You are going to pay me what you stole, and then two hundred credits on top of that. Then maybe I'll just shoot you in the knee."
"It's an intriguing offer, but I don't think you're really in a position to negotiate," Atton responded.
"What the hell are you talking about? I have the gun, and you're going to suffer."
Atton sighed, projecting an image more like a disappointed teacher than someone with a gun in his face. He said, "Have you ever heard of a little thing called 'The Force'?"
The Rodian barked a quick laugh, said, "The time for jokes is over—you are no Jedi, and you can't use the Force. Now, I'm going to count to three—"
Atton interrupted his would-be attacker and said, "If I can't use the Force, then I shouldn't be able to do this."
The Rodian's right arm tweaked unnaturally, the gun flying from his hand. The alien then inexplicably punched himself in the face.
There was a distinct crack as his face smashed, and the alien shrieked in pain and fell to his knees, grasping his nose. He yelled through fragmented speech, "How the hell…did you do that?"
Atton was holding the alien's blaster by the barrel, inspecting it with interest before looking at the bleeding Rodian. He asked innocently, "Do what? Oh, hey! It looks like you just broke your nose."
The alien was overcome with rage, his bulbous eyes consumed in fiery hate. The Rodian lunged up at Atton from the ground, his hands outstretched to grab the scoundrel by the throat. Atton merely dodged the creature's flailing body and then spun and smacked the butt of the blaster against the back of the alien's head as he careened past him. There was an audible thud and the Rodian fell limp to the ground—knocked out cold.
Atton tossed the blaster to the ground, right next to the face down alien, and brushed himself off. He looked at the bouncer again, said, "You know, you really could've done something."
"And miss out on the show? Of course not!"
"Hmm," Atton said, "glad you have confidence in me."
"Something like that," the Aqualish responded.
"Well," Atton continued, "Lukas…if anyone asks—he shot first."
"Right."
Atton turned to leave. He walked nearly a mile in the dangerous Nar Shaddaa streets before arriving at the semi-presentable hotel that he had been living out of for the past few weeks. He drearily ascended the stairs to his floor and stumbled into his room—the alcohol beginning to set in more. He didn't bother turning on the lights or taking off his clothes, he merely collapsed into bed face first.
He woke with the sun shining upon his face. He felt that dirty, sick feeling one gets from falling asleep in streetclothes. His hair, having been manipulated by his pillow, was sticking up into the air.
He rubbed his face with his hand and then stretched. He would have to take a shower and clean his clothes—if only to feel less…disgusting.
Following that, he grabbed all of belongings and shoved them into a duffel bag. He scanned the room one last time before shutting the door.
The dockyard was bustling. There were freighters going to and fro, and several public transport ships as well. Atton slung his bag over his shoulder and strode up to the information kiosk that was part of the port authority. He waited until one of the aides was not busy and asked, "When is the next transport off this planet?"
The employee was a frantic green Twi'lek who seemed to be surprised Atton was speaking to him. He responded, "Uh…there's one to Telos in twenty minutes."
Before Atton could say that he had been to Telos three times too many, he was interrupted by a message on his personal communicator. There was a simply a brief text message that flashed horizontally across its screen. It read: "Mr. Rand, this is a message from Lieutenant Grenn—Telos Security Force, you remember! Just like I promised, I'm contacting you to say that your friend Mira woke up. I tried to reach General Lucullus, but could not. Anyway, you should come by the Citadel Station Section 3 Medical Complex as soon as possible."
Atton's mouth almost dropped. He had nearly totally forgotten about Mira. He felt ashamed for doing so, and this message was certainly a shock to his system. What should he do?
The dockworker in the kiosk interrupted his thoughts, asked, "Do you want a ticket for it?"
Atton was weighing his options. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was go back to Telos again. The only thing less appealing to him at that moment was running and hurling himself into the expansive oblivion that awaited over the railings at the docks. He was contemplating ignoring the message completely, but that fateful promise he had made to Caius came roaring back into his memory. No, he would have to go back to Telos. Again.
He looked up at the Twi'lek and then said woefully, "Give me the ticket to Telos."
The alien complied and gave him a stub—it was rather cheap too. Atton sighed and shuffled over to the waiting transport ship.
The trip was not exactly enjoyable. Atton had been crammed in a small seat in between two Gammoreans. Once they had landed on Citadel Station and he was allowed to leave, relief poured over him in a magnificent way.
It took a little while to regain his bearings, and following his reorientation to the vast complex he made his way to the Med Lab that he and Caius had visited a seeming eternity ago. He entered the pristine, white facility and strode up to the receptionist's desk. He still had his duffel bag, as he had not gone to get a hotel room yet.
A young woman with dark hair was sitting quietly behind the desk, and seemed not to notice Atton as he stood there. The counter was so big and high up that the woman seemed to be sitting in a pit. Atton coughed and cleared his throat; only then did the woman look up.
She asked, "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Atton began, "I'm here to see a woman named Mira."
The woman's nose crinkled as though this news displeased her, she said, "You related to that girl?"
"No, just a friend."
"Lucky for you—I couldn't imagine having to live with someone like that."
Atton furrowed his brow, asked, "What are you talking about?"
The receptionist sighed, she said, "That girl's been driving everyone nuts since she regained consciousness. The doctors are all in agreement that they wished she hadn't woken up."
"How comforting. Do you always dislike the patients in here?" Atton asked rather acidly.
The woman did not directly answer the quesiton, said rather icily, "If you want to go in and see her, you should go now. Visiting hours are nearly over."
"Don't need to say it twice, lady."
With that, Atton hurredly scurried out of the room and into the nearest hallway. There was a gurney right in front of him, and about a dozen doors in total leading to the patients' rooms. He slowly began making his way through the hall, peeking into the rooms as he went, but he had no luck in finding Mira. Only once he was approaching the end of the hall was he assured of her presence.
He heard her familiarly deep, yet feminine voice ringing out from the room farthest in back. He quickened his pace and strode through her door.
He was not exactly prepared for what he saw. It was not the Mira that he remembered, more like a frail shadow of her. She was pale and very thin. She was lying against an inclined bed, but it looked like she did not have a wide range of movement. She just spoke. But that was proof that she was still Mira. Despite her ghoulish appearance, she was still the same explosive firecracker that he remembered.
"Atton Rand!" she said loudly as he entered the room. "You the one they called here to look after me? Frankly I was hoping for Caius, but you'll at least be better than these idiot doctors. They won't let me do anything!"
"Nice to see you too, Mira."
The doctor who had been present used the opportunity to bolt from the room.
"Good riddance!" Mira said after him.
"How long ago did you wake up?" Atton asked.
"About three days. And where the hell is everyone else?" she demanded.
"Caius went with Bastila and some other Jedi to go look for Revan," he answered.
Mira's mouth went crooked, she said, "And he left without you? That doesn't sound like him—that sounds like…you."
Atton resisted the urge to insult, and stated the truth, "I didn't want to go."
"Why not?"
"That's suicide."
"And Malachor wasn't? You went there."
"I don't want to talk about it," he said bluntly.
"Okay," Mira said, "change the subject."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
She shrugged, though it looked like the action took a lot of energy to do so. She said, "I don't really know. It was kinda hazy—like falling asleep or something. What did happen?"
Atton sat down in one of the chairs next to her, said, "You were shot in the back as we were trying to get to the Ebon Hawk to escape. I had to carry you the rest of the way since Caius had a broken foot."
Mira seemed to be musing in the information, then said, "Thanks, I guess. How bad was the shot?"
"Not good. But I've seen worse. Fortunately I was able to dress the wound and put you in a kolto tank until we got here."
Mira squinted at him, said, "You dressed the wound? Did you take my clothes off?"
Atton was rather stunned by the question, answered, "Well…yeah—I did."
"Pervert."
Atton rolled his eyes, said, "I didn't think that you would mind, given the situation. I see I was mistaken."
"Damn right you're mistaken. How much did you see anyway, you dirty old man?"
Atton blew out of his nose, "Nothing your bounty hunter outfit didn't show. And I'm barely older than you."
"You know what?" Mira exclaimed, "I think visiting hours are up. It looks like you have to leave!"
Atton stood up and said, "I see what the receptionist meant when she said you were a handful. What are you doing to these doctors anyway?"
"Just informing them of their stupidity. They won't even let me move from this bed. I'm going insane! You stay here any longer and I'll tell you about your stupidity too."
"Yes, your highness. I'll be back…later. I guess it depends on my schedule, considering…you know…how immobile you are."
"Shut up, Rand."
"Good evening!"
Atton then vacated Mira's room. She was a handful. No doubt she had never been in one place this long before. She probably was going a little insane.
One of the doctors was standing in the hall. When he saw Atton, he walked over and regarded him grimly. "You Mira's friend?"
"Yes—though it depends on what you call 'friend'. She's a bit agitated, I guess."
"You can say that again," replied the doctor, a bald man with thin-rimmed glasses and a hooked nose, "she's…well…crazy."
"We all go a little crazy sometimes—haven't you?"
"Perhaps I have," said the doctor, "but that's not the point."
"What's the verdict?" asked Atton.
The doctor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. He said, "Well, considering she has just woken up from a very extended sleep—she's very weak. Her thinness is due to a lack of proper nutrition, and her muscles have atrophied from lack of use. In layman's terms—she's not healthy. Which means you're going to have to stay and help, considering you're the only friend or relative that she seems to have."
"It's a complicated story, and Jedi don't have family or many friends."
"She's a Jedi, then? Strange," he mused, "I would think she would act differently. They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel." He looked at Atton curiously, then asked, "You aren't a Jedi, are you?"
"No, not at all."
"Hmm, good. Don't trust those types. But if what you say is true, then she should be able to help herself heal faster."
"What's your plan?"
The doctor put his hand to his chin, began, "Well, before we do anything, we're going to need to get her on a proper diet in order to build up some strength. Or at least give her something to burn. After that, we're going to have to start her on a physical therapy program to build up her muscles again. You'll be able to take her home before that though."
"Home? I don't have a home. I don't live here."
The doctor shrugged, said, "Well, we can't keep her here the whole time. We need these rooms. Once she's able to walk well enough, you're going to have to take her to a hotel or something."
"I'll keep that in mind," Atton responded, making a mental note to check into a two-bed hotel room. "Anything else?"
"Not that I can think of. You can come back tomorrow if you want."
"Maybe," Atton said. "I'll see what happens."
"You should probably do it. Regardless of her…erratic behavior, your friend could use the moral support."
"I suppose so."
The doctor smiled slightly, said, "You seem like a decent fellow. Just ask me if you need anything, my name is Doctor Hywel."
Atton thanked the man and then passed by him to leave. This was going to be more difficult than he had thought. He had promised Caius that he would do this, so he would. Atton was a lot of things, but he'd never go back on his word if he could help it. He made his way to a nearby complex and asked for a two-bed hotel room to stay in for an indefinite period. It was more expensive than he had thought it would be.
He frowned and thought to himself, I'm not going to be able to do this for long. I'm going to need money.
But there was nothing he could do at this point. He took his bag and thew it onto one of the beds. He then left the room and locked the door behind him. He would be in the local bar.
Caius was determined. He was going to speak to Allie about this…thing…right now—and get it settled once and for all. He was committed to keeping any personal attachments of this kind from developing. Ever. He was too set in his ways to think otherwise. No matter how awkward the discussion may be as of now, it had to be done. For the sake of his sanity—and quite honestly—for Allie's too.
He strode through the hallways of the Hawk in search of the mechanic, looking around aimlessly for her in order to have this discussion. He did not know why it was suddenly so important to him, but he felt as though he had to get it out of the way now, before they got to the Sith planet. Somehow it seemed necessary.
Finally he located her working in the swoop hold. She was zapping something or other with an electrical trinket. Caius strode up as amicably as possible and said lamely, "Hey Allie…uh, what are you doing?"
She seemed a little startled and said quickly, "Huh? Oh, nothing. Just modifying one of Elliott's pistols for him. Dunno why, he just asked me about it for some reason."
"I see."
She looked him warily, asked, "So…what's up?"
Caius stared back into her honest, brown eyes. He wasn't sure how to even begin doing this. What would he say? He began hesitantly, "Well…there's something I need to ask."
He gulped and took a deep breath before opening his mouth again to begin. His rehearsed speech, however, ended before it started. With the absence of warning Caius found his body hurled into the air, suspended a good two feet off of the ground. His entire center of gravity was thrown into chaos, and he spun madly. Fear overcame him as he was unsure what was happening. All in the span of half a second he twisted and writhed in the air and caught a fleeting glimpse of Allie flipping over sideways.
As suddenly as it began, Caius felt himself thrust downwards into the metal ground, his body crashing down into a pile of contorted limbs. Before he could straighten himself out, he felt himself thrown again. This time he rolled quickly and brutally slammed into a nearby wall, Allie crashing down on top of him. The Hawk was shuddering violently, and he felt as though his brain were beating against the side of his skull. There was a horrid shrieking noise as metal ground against metal, the ship seemingly tearing itself apart. The ringing overcame all else, throbbing inside his mind. He was no longer moving—at least as much—and he clamped his hands down on his ears. Through watery eyes he saw Allie try to move and then lurch onto the ground.
This continued for several endless seconds until the ship stabilized enough for him to get on his feet. He stumbled awfully forward, his hands still on his ears. He looked down at Allie and saw that there was a deep cut on her forehead. He did not know if he was still in one piece, but that did not concern him at the moment.
He lunged for stability and groped one of the walls of the hull, desperately trying to cling to something. Allie was at his feet on her hands and knees. His mind was racing, but one question was screaming within, overcoming all others. He could not find the will to shout, but inwardly was screaming, What the hell is going on!
He struggled mightily to get into the main hold. It was getting easier to walk, but he had to keep both hands on the walls due to the periodic spasms the ship would go through. He saw Bastila was sitting on the ground, her back pressed against the central console of the room.
"What is happening?" he shouted.
She yelled over the din, "I don't know! We fell out of hyperspace!"
"That's…not…possible!" he said back.
"Talk to Elliott!"
Caius fought his way towards the cockpit, leaving Bastila in the main hold. He did not know where Allie was. He trudged forward slowly, bracing for another shudder, and navigated the corridor. Elliott was working frantically at the controls, but it was the image out the viewport that enthralled him. A single planet was pitching and spinning wildly in front of them, the Hawk careening towards it. It was a strange planet. It was very brown and dead on one side, the side facing its star, but the other hemisphere was covered in ice. There was a single gray strip of prime meridian that ran vertically over the planet's surface. All this he surmised in a moment, and then it was too hard to focus on it.
He approached and exclaimed, "What the hell is happening?"
"Another ship!" Elliott shouted, "it must've been waiting! It yanked us right out of hyperspace like it had a net!"
"Can you jump back?"
"No—too risky! One of the engines is only at 25 percent power! We won't make it! I'm going to have to put her down!"
"There!" Caius asked in bewilderment, indicating the polar world.
"Nowhere else to go!"
"What about the ship?"
Elliott cursed and slammed his fist on one of the consoles, answered in labored breath, "Right…on our ass."
"It'll just follow us!"
Elliott flipped on one of the nearby switches and shouted into the comm., "Someone get into the turret! Fire one of those ion charges at the enemy ship!"
"We're being shot at?" came Bastila's voice from behind them, "by who?"
"The Sith! Who else?" Elliott returned.
Meanwhile, Dustil valiantly answered the call to man the gun turret. He stumbled into the gunner's seat and strapped himself in. As soon as he buckled all the straps and looked out into space he got a headache just from watching the spinning stars.
"I can't see anything!" he shouted into the communicator to Elliott.
The ship again suffered a massive seizure, throwing everyone who wasn't Dustil onto the floor again.
Elliott regained his senses and answered, "Just wait, when you see the Sith ship, fire at it! Be sparing, we only have a few of those charges!"
Dustil gritted his teeth and spun the bubble turret around, trying hard to see. As the ship pitched into another spin, he saw the planet below them growing larger. But in its massive, white cap of ice he saw a singular gray object. He readjusted his perception and saw that it was rather close. It was a long, steel colored brick of a thing, with graduated levels of girth increasing horizontally towards its engines. Engines. It was the Sith interdictor.
It was a monstrosity, no aesthetic qualities to it at all. More like a metal conglomeration of boxes than anything like the Republic had. But whatever it was—it managed to pull them right out of hyperspace.
Dustil tried with all his might to steady the crosshairs on the ship. It was moving, but not very fast. It seemed to be more content to hold its position as the Hawk went careening past it. Dustil swung the turrets around as the freighter tumbled down towards the planet. The Sith ship was then behind him, blending very well against the dark backdrop of space. Dustil concentrated hard on it, trying to adjust his trajectory so as not to waste a shot. He was so focused that he did not notice the flames that were beginning to lap around the edges of the bubble turret.
"Dustil!" came Bastila's voice through the intercom, "we're entering the atmosphere too steep—you've got to get out of the turret!"
Xristos's earthen voice suddenly came in as well, replying in the affirmative, "You'll get burned up in there!"
Dustil paid them no heed. The flames rose higher around him as the ship blasted through the dark planet's atmosphere. He felt the heat and began sweating even more. Still he refused to budge.
"Dustil!"
To him, it happened in slow motion. The dancing, fiery arms that grabbed at the crossairs faded from his sight as he squeezed the trigger. An explosion of blue light shot outwards—a beam of energy. From the Sith ship's perspective, it would've looked like a great blue grappling hook had shot out of a torch and ripped into the hull.
There was no noise to accompany the blast, but Dustil knew he made contact. The Sith ship absorbed the blow, but electric discharges pulsed acoss its hull, signifying the hit. The shot itself was nowhere near powerful enough to disable the vessel, but a lucky strike would wound it—or perhaps delay it. Dustil wasted no time in bolting out of the turret, leaving it to be smothered in flames. He shut the airlock and did not look back.
He scrambled back to the cockpit and found literally the entire crew—even the droids—were present. Dustil stood behind all of them as they anxiously watched Elliott. Bastila was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, furiously working with him to keep the ship from entering too steep and bursting into flames.
"I can't get her to pull up," Elliott lamented. "We're going to have to ride it out!"
"Statement: Meatbags, our chances of survival are an unlikely one in three if the ship is not put into a correct entrance trajectory," said HK.
"Shut the hell up, droid!" Elliott cried. T3 beeped in agreement. Allie and Xristos both sighed nervously. Even HK made a strange whimpering noise.
"What is it, HK?" Caius asked rather unnecessarily.
"Answer: Gulp. Master, are there any religious rites to which we must attend in these our final minutes?"
"Shut up!" Elliott said again.
"What?" Caius asked, letting his curiosity get the best of him, "you're a droid! You don't have a soul!"
"Horror: Master, I resent that! If we die, I know where you will be going."
Elliott raised his voice higher, said, "If you talk again, droid. I will personally rip your behavior core out of your chest. And I won't deactivate you first!"
Despite HK's bloodthirsty nature, even he had his limits. The last comment was one such example of a threat that would surpass even his idea of moral permissiveness. He did not say another word.
The whole crew fell into an uneasy silence as all visibility was lost. Fire enveloped the viewport. All of the crew was sweating not only due to fright but heat. Bastila and Elliott continued with their maddening pace. The rest just strapped themselves into remaining seats in the main hold and watched as they crashed into oblivion.
The command deck of the Sith interdictor, called Deliverance, was cast into benighted darkness. The ion charge that had surprisingly blasted outward from the fiery inferno that was the elusive freighter had irritatingly surprising success. The ship was stunned, and they were rapidly being pulled into the gravitational field of the planet below. The modestly sized crew worked furiously to revive the ship's essential abilities and save themselves.
A tall figure cloaked in black stood ominously in the middle of the large room, staring out of the gargantuan viewport. The viewport was very wide, stretching the expanse of the ship's bow, but only about six in height. The figure watched the freighter descend into the atmosphere of the planet, morphing into a flaming comet as it burned. The ship needed to be purged.
A small Sith officer, the Commander of the ship, approached the intimidating cloaked figure from behind. He strode up respectfully, and looked straight into the pitch-black mask that sat upon the figure's head. The face was a twisted frown, its mouth open and hanging down at the edges like an upside down crescent. The eyes were pointed downwards at the edges, giving it a very disturbingly depressing visage, like a distressed tragedy mask from ancient times. A dark cape seemed a natural extension of the hideous face, dark armor completing the imposing figure.
"Lord Cyaxares," began the Sith officer, "we will not be able to pursue the enemy freighter further. We must set down on planet wherever our course currently takes us."
Cyaxares said nothing, just held still.
"We cannot transmit our position, as the blow knocked out our communications—and we have lost the rudder's movement…with the…ship disabled in this way, we are in danger of falling into the planet below." The Sith officer then bowed slowly, the hood of his cowl sloping over his face.
"Who's failure is this?" boomed the Sith Lord. His voice was dark and deep, almost unnaturally so.
The Commander was confused, as the Sith Lord's voice seemed to be coming from the back of his head. He stuttered, "It was unexpected…we had no idea a ship that small…had an ion cannon."
"You are commander of this ship. It is your responsibility. I am the hand of Lord Ardashir himself—he instructed me to use whatever discretion I deem necessary. Someone will answer for this failure." He took a deep, menacing breath. "This ship is dead," another pause, "and so, now, are you."
The Commander instantly felt his throat swell shut. He could not even muster the air to beg for his life. He fell helplessly to the floor, and then looked up at the disturbing black frown. Much to his alarm, the Sith Lord turned around…yet was still facing him. The head spun. On the other side of the Sith Lord's head was another mask, the same black face was engraved on it though only upside down. It had a horrifyingly devilish smile upon it, a frighteningly comical smirk. Its right side-up crescent mouth and tear drop eyes looked down upon him laughingly and without pity. Slowly his life was snuffed out and he knew nothing more.
"Hold on!" shouted Elliott.
The Hawk screamed out of the fiery inferno of atmospheric entry and blasted through the sky at breakneck speed. Caius thought he was going to be ripped in half by the G forces as they took their toll on him. He thought he was being stretched out an extra three inches. His eyes were shut, not even able to open them and look around. He clenched his teeth as they fell.
Elliott tried to manipulate the ship using its good engine, but he could not slow their ridiculous descent. They had survived the fire, but now they were fated to smash into the planet's surface. Faster—their speed seemed to build during the fall. Caius somehow knew—internally—that they were only moments away from splattering.
Closer and closer they drew to the surface, and then Elliott acted—the final card up his sleeve. He put everything into a hard pull upwards, hoping the swoop the Hawk down and skim across the surface of the gray planet.
The impact threw everyone every which direction, and Caius heard Allie above everyone else. The hull shook violently as they scraped the ground, and then suddenly they were without gravity again. He heard nothing then except for Elliott's voice raising higher and higher. Just as he reached the crescendo, there was another tremendous thud. He felt his head thrown downwards. Had his chin not hit his chest, he may have broken his neck.
He was lost in the confusion for a few moments, unsure if he was dead or alive. His eyes were still shut, but slowly he opened them. As he blinked through the blurred vision he saw the others. And then he heard them too. Xristos was unmoving and Dustil was hyperventilating. T3's head was bobbing erratically and HK was leaning against a wall. Lastly he saw Allie. She was doubled over, hanging half way out of her seat and buckle. She twisted and groaned as she unlatched the buckle and then slumped onto the ground. Caius looked closer and then his stomach leapt at the sight of her arm.
She turned over and tried to push herself up with her good arm, and he saw her left one was hanging limply but pointed in the wrong direction. Right above her wrist there was pyramidal bulge as one of her bones seemed to have been snapped clear in half. Her hand was almost upside down, palm facing upwards. She was not crying or doing anything, she was just looking at her hand and holding her bad arm.
Caius quickly unbuckled himself and tried to get up. He stumbled and fell on his knees—apparently he was still alive. He scrambled and crawled over to Allie, who looked somehow detached from reality.
"Allie!" he said, "your arm! Don't move!"
She was in another world, said to him slowly, "…what?"
He picked her up by her good arm and raised her onto her chair. She was just looking around the room as though she hadn't seen it ever before.
"Don't move, Allie. Your arm looks broken."
"Is it…?" she asked, aloof. "Hmm, I guess so. That's funny, it doesn't hurt."
Xristos and Dustil had both come out of their trances and were simultaneously stuggling to free themselves.
"Are we still alive?" asked Dustil.
"I believe so," answered the old man.
HK interrupted, said, "Statement: Mast- mast- master…I seem to have suf- suf- suffered damage in th- th-…" He could not finish his sentence, just punctuated it with, "Statement: Damn."
Dustil then posed another question, "What happened?"
Elliott's voice came shouting down the corridor from the cockpit, he said, "We crashed! What the hell do you think happened?"
"Are you two all right?" Xristos asked.
"Yeah," Elliott answered.
Bastila confirmed as well, said, "I'm okay. What about you?"
"We're all right," answered Dustil.
Caius then interrupted, said, "No we're not. Xristos—Allie's arm is broken, look at it."
He rubbed his eyes and then obeyed. He was noticeably unnerved as he saw how grotesque the limb was. It was still fully intact, but clearly not in the way it was meant to be.
"That is…not good," he said to no one in particular. He quickly stumbled over to the mechanic and looked at her arm closer.
Allie was just looking at her hand. She decided to see if she could wiggle one of her fingers, and then the pain became real to her. She grimaced and shuddered, making a pained grunt. "I can't…move it…" she said.
"Don't!" Caius shouted at her, upset that she was not listening.
Elliott and Bastila came wobbling into the main hold as the ship was no longer capable of moving. Bastila spoke, asked, "What's wrong?"
Elliott saw Allie's arm first and said, "Oh hell…that is sick."
Bastila noticed right after, though she kept her qualms to herself. She said, "Xristos, what should we do?"
He tapped his foot, answered, "Well—it didn't pierce the skin, which does a world of good, but we're going to have to set it pronto. Otherwise she could get it cut real easy and on a strange planet like this infection would probably set in quick. She could lose the whole arm."
Bastila gulped, said, "All right—do you want to do it, or should I?"
"I don't…know," returned the older Jedi. He looked at Allie, who was now more connected with reality. He asked, "Who do you want to set the bone?"
"I don't care! As long as someone does it!"
"I'll do it," Bastila volunteered. She approached, looked over a nervous Allie, and then said, "She should probably lay down." She looked around, "Caius, help me carry her to one of the beds in the dormitories."
Caius obeyed and scooped her up as gently as possible. She was preoccupied with her contorted wrist, staring at it the whole time. He went quickly to the starboard dorms with Xristos and Bastila right behind him, leaving the rest behind. He laid her down on one of the beds, and then Bastila began directing everyone.
She asked, "Do we have any anesthetics—analgesics, anything?"
"No, and none of us are qualified to apply those—even if we had them. We can only give her kolto," Xristos answered.
Bastila sighed, said, "Caius, go get some kolto shots. And get a towel, too."
He obliged and returned shortly. Allie was looking more panicked as she saw what lengths they were going through.
Xristos rolled up her sleeve and gave her two shots of kolto in the damaged arm. He then used the Force to funnel as much healing energy into her as he could, lessening the pain and her fear.
"Give her the towel to bite down on," Bastila ordered. Caius did so. The female Jedi then cautioned, "Allie, this is going to hurt—but it'll be over in a second. All right? You ready?"
Allie tried to speak, but the cloth muffled her voice. She nodded grimly.
Caius wasn't sure what to do. Xristos was trying to lessen the pain with the Force, so he decided to do the same. He put his hand on her shoulder and lent her some of his strength. She looked at him thankfully, and they locked eyes for a second before Caius heard the pop.
Allie's eyes shut instantly, and her face wrinkled as she bit down on the towel. It took a full two seconds, but Bastila worked the arm back into a natural position. It would not have been so bad had her wrist not been turned around. Bastila had to, in essence, unscrew her hand and then piece the bones back together.
In a moment it was over, and Allie's eyes opened again, beads of sweat falling down her forehead. Caius thought of how much he hated this. He did not like seeing Allie in this kind of way at all. To see her pretty face contorted like this was horribly unpleasant. He knew he would not like seeing that happen to anyone, but this particularly affected him. He gently removed the towel and tossed it to the ground.
Allie, in between breathing, asked, "You done?"
"Yes," Bastila answered, "that's it. Here, Xristos, help sit her up."
The old Jedi slowly helped her up, making sure not to move her arm. Once her back was against the wall, Bastila brought her some water. Allie asked, "Well—I guess that wasn't so bad. The way you were all acting, I thought you were going to cut my arm off."
"Well," Xristos answered, "we had to set it or else you arm might really have had to come off."
"Thanks…" Allie said, somewhat intimidated by the thought.
Bastila put her hand on Allie's formerly twisted wrist and used the Force to fuse the bones back together. "There," she said, "you are in one piece again." She thought for a second, said, "But you still shouldn't move it. We should probably get you a sling and some sort of cast to keep your arm protected for a few days. The Force will help it heal quickly, though."
Xristos exited and came back with a sling and some wrappings. Caius made sure Allie was okay and then announced he wanted to take a walk, disgruntled by the whole experience. He strode out of the dorm and found that Dustil and Elliott were gone. HK and T3 had plugged themselves into recharge stations in the hopes that they could rekindle their functionality. Caius searched for a brief moment, and then he realized that the loading ramp was down. Dustil and Elliott had gone outside. Caius determined to follow them. He strode down the ramp—which was rather askew—and found them both standing a few feet apart from each other at the foot of the ramp. It appeared to be dusk outside…or perhaps dawn.
Caius made their conversation a triangle. He saw Elliott remove a cigarette with shaking hands. He asked, "Could I bum one of those off of you?"
"Absolutely," Elliott answered, his voice a little shaken as well.
He gave Caius one of the cigs and tossed him a lighter. Caius turned his back to the wind and, at length, lit the cigarette. He then returned the lighter, said, "Thanks."
"I didn't know you smoked," Elliott said.
"I don't," Caius responded. "How's the ship?"
"No idea," Elliott answered. "She looks to be in one piece, but I mean…we can't expect her to be all right after a fall like that. I hope we aren't stuck here forever."
Caius instinctively looked around. He wanted to see the place that they would potentially be stuck on forever. It was a dead planet that was certain. Everything was gray and rocky, as though the entire place were composed of canyons or steppes. But it was too dark to really see far. There were dozens of mysteriously shaped things in the distance, old structures, maybe. The climate was odd, it was neither hot nor cold—merely an uncomfortable middle ground. It occurred to Caius that they must've crashed in the seemingly temperate latitudinal zone that made up the planet's geographical meridian. He remembered the image he saw of the planet. It must be one of those rare planets that only rotate its sun once per revolution. That meant that the same side was always facing it. He thought for a moment, and realized that that explained why one half was so hot looking and the other half was so white with snow. That also meant that this dusk-like sky would be permament. They would be stuck in a perpetual gray world.
The most glaring aspect of the world, though, was it's apparently weak force of gravity. Even as Caius walked he noticed how much less it exerted on him, and he felt that he could probably jump higher on this place than most other "habitable" worlds. In all honesty, they probably owed their survival to the lesser force, as their crash would have been softened as a result.
Dustil interrupted his thoughts, asked, "How is Allie?"
Caius removed the cigarette and blew. He did not like the feeling of smoke in his lungs, but this narcotic effect was something he needed at the moment. He answered, "She's all right. Bastila set the bone. Gotta give her credit—she took it in stride. She's rather…tough."
"Sounds like she impressed you," Dustil said.
"What's your point?" Caius fired back.
"Nothing," Dustil said innocently. "Did you break the news to her?"
"What news?" Elliott asked in Caius's stead.
"Caius was going to tell Allie that he didn't want to get involved with her," supplied Dustil.
Caius sighed, smoke expelling from his mouth and nose. He tapped the cigarette and let ashes fall, said, "I'm glad everyone knows about this."
Elliott said, "It's not as if we didn't already know. It seems you were the last one to figure it out."
"Well no," Caius said flatly, "to answer your question. I didn't have the opportunity. What with us getting shot down and all."
"I gotta say," Elliott began, "from an objective viewpoint, her interest in you does not seem to be unrequited."
"Force damn it," Caius said, "did I not already explain this to you? It doesn't matter what I feel. I'm not going to get involved with anyone ever. That is who…I AM. Nothing is going to change that."
"I just think it's stupid to be…that way," Elliott said.
"I disagree," Dustil responded, "he should stay out of that kind of thing. He's a Jedi, we can't fall in love or anything or else we'll fall to the dark side. It already happened to me once."
Caius smirked and shook his head. "That does not concern me. I could easily get with Allie and not fall to the dark side," he boasted.
"Men," said a fourth voice from above them. All three of them looked up to see Bastila standing at the top of the loading ramp. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was frowning tremendously.
"How long have you been up there?" Caius asked.
"Long enough," she said dryly. "Now, I was going to tell you we are going to have a meeting and discuss what to do, but I think I'll leave you all to your smoking break. Come in when you're older." She jetted off quickly after finishing.
"That was unfortunate," Caius said.
"I hope she doesn't think I was encouraging you…" Dustil said sheepishly.
"Encouraging me? I already said I want nothing to do with Allie—at least not that way. I was only stating that, for the record, the Dark Side does not concern me."
Dustil frowned and looked at Caius warily. He said, "That is an arrogant attitude. We are all susceptible to it—even you."
Caius dismissed him, said, "I have not been affected by it since Malachor V. It has no hold over me."
"But I've felt it in you," Dustil said quietly.
"What?" Caius asked. Elliott merely looked on with renewed interest. "What do you mean?" Caius asked again.
"After that last planet. You came back—there was a taint on you. You did something there."
Caius shrugged, said, "I killed a Sith—surely that is the last thing to be a sign of 'dark side' corruption."
"You know as well as I that intent can make any action depraved, no matter how 'noble' it looks on the outside."
"I told you exactly what happened, I killed a Sith—that's it."
Dustil pursued him, said, "Surely there must've been more to it. Did you kill it in cold blood? Did you enjoy doing it? Did you torture it? Those are signs of the dark side—even if you don't recognize them."
"Look," Caius said flatly, "I hate the Sith. This I will admit. But does righteous anger mean nothing to you? They killed one of our friends; I got even. That's it."
Dustil then spouted off one of the old lines of Jedi wisdom, said, "Anger leads to hate…hate leads to suffering."
Caius was annoyed, talking to Dustil at the moment was kind of like reading a Jedi textbook. He said, "I told you, it means nothing."
"Caius—listen to yourself? Don't you think that's how all the Sith talk to themselves? Of course they don't start off thinking that they're evil—even though they are."
"That's different," Caius began, spitting out his cigarette and stamping on it.
"Is it?" Dustil interrupted. "I don't think it is. You can be under the influence of the dark side and not know it—I was."
"I…I…" Caius stammered. Despite all he wanted to do to resist it, he could see the truth in Dustil's words. And he remembered that the Jedi had an annoying tendency to be right more than they were wrong.
"I know you were let down by the Order," Dustil said, "but that doesn't mean you should take such a flippant attitude towards the dark side. You are still a Jedi. Perhaps not in name, but you are in spirit. And you should act like it."
"I…see…" said the Exile.
"So…" Elliott began, hijacking the conversation and steering it back to a topic that interested him more, "Allie."
"What of her?" Dustil asked.
"Love leads to the dark side…" Caius said mechanically, as though he were in a trance. Dustil's words really rattled him—his confidence was honestly shaken.
"Love?" Elliott asked, somewhat surprised. "You love Allie?"
"I…" Caius began and then motioned for another smoke. He lit the cigarette quickly and finished, "I guess I don't know."
"I'll take that as a yes," Elliott answered.
"It's not a yes…" he retorted, "I just don't know."
Dustil took a step closer to Caius, said, "You should resist it, like you said. If you're already in danger of the dark side, love will only make it worse."
Elliott then chimed in with knowledge neither of them thought he had, said, "What about the old man? He doesn't seem to think that love is so bad."
"He did say that," Caius thought out loud, "I wonder why."
"Don't think about it," Dustil said, "I don't want you to get confused and corrupted. I'm saying this because I'm your friend, and I don't want to see you fall just like I did, because let me tell you—this is exactly how it happened with me."
Somehow Elliott waxed philosophical even further. He asked rhetorically, "Isn't that a kind of love, too?"
"What?" Dustil and Caius asked in unison.
"Friendship—that's love, isn't it?"
Dustil stuttered, said, "Well…it's not, it's just…"
"He has a point," said the Exile.
There was an awkward pause as none of them spoke. Dustil was furiously wracking his brain to figure out a way to defy Elliott's statement, and Caius and Elliott merely smoked in silence.
Caius's mind was under siege again. Was love what he really felt for Allie? Maybe it was. No, it couldn't be. No one would fall in love with someone just like that—someone they did not even know. But what if it was? What did this mean? What would he do about it? His confidence in himself had been destroyed by Dustil. If he had really slipped into the dark side and not even known it…he was truly in a precarious position. He could not allow himself to be compromised, especially by a woman.
I need to talk to Xristos, he thought to himself, he'll know what to do.
For the first time in a long time, he found himself in a position where he didn't think he knew the answer. Dustil was right—he was a bit arrogant.
He looked up at the sky, and suddenly his thoughts rerouted. What the hell are we doing out here? He thought, we'll get killed! It suddenly dawned on him that the only reason they were having this conversation was because they had been shot down by an enemy ship—a Sith ship. What where they doing just standing around? They had to prepare! They could get attacked again at any moment!
Just as he was about to voice his fears, the skies silenced him.
"Whoa," said Elliott, "look at that."
Caius and Dustil looked up. Miles away they saw a great fat object blasting through the planet's atmosphere, much in the same way that they just had. This ship was bigger; perhaps three times the size of the Ebon Hawk. It was moving fast, but almost straight down.
"Is that the Sith ship?" Caius asked.
Dustil nodded in the affirmative.
Flames were lapping at its underside as it plunged downwards. Still ion charges seemed to orbit it, as it was paralyzed by their shot. The three men watched it in awed silence as the aesthetic monstrocity continued its meteoric fall.
It disappeared behind a mountain range, into the snowy area of the planet. They exchanged brief glances and then felt the ground shake briefly and violently. A huge plume of smoke and dirt and metal blew up from behind the mountain range, signaling the destruction of the Sith ship.
"Damn," said Elliott. "Too bad they didn't have me as a pilot."
"Do you think anyone could've survived that?" Caius asked.
"I wouldn't think so," Elliott answered. "It hit the ground pretty damn hard."
They were cut off by Bastila again, who had returned to her perch above them. She said, "I was not serious when I said I'd leave you out here! Come on! We have a lot to do!"
"Did you see that?" Dustil asked.
"What?" Bastila said acidly.
"The Sith ship," he answered, "it just crashed."
Bastila's eyes widened, she said, "What? Where?"
Dustil gestured far away, said, "Over in the polar area. It hit hard and blew up—maybe gravity solved our problem for us."
Bastila mused, "Be that as it may—we still have to figure out a way to get off of this planet. Now come inside!"
"Yes, ma'am," said Elliott.
With that, all four of them re-entered the Hawk.