Chapter Twenty-Three: Cry Little Sister

It felt like a holonet story, a sad tale from some distant planet, the victim anonymous, some poor unfortunate girl. How could she have been stupid enough to get herself captured like this? Chloe pulled uselessly against her bindings. Twisted awkwardly behind her back, her arms were stiff and sore, and the scratches and bruises earned during the explosion at Dex's were starting to throb and sting.

But wait… what if it was happening to someone else? How would someone much stronger than her deal with it? Matty, for example? If her friend was in this situation, what would she do? What would her story be? Would she stand here, miserably, and await her fate?

Or would she…

And then Chloe realised exactly what Matty would do. The question was, could she pull it off herself? Forty-five minutes, Dooku had said. She must have wasted at least twenty of that, which meant if she was going to attempt this, she had to act now, before she ran out of time, and before fear paralysed her completely.

The tears came quickly. Easily. Her breath hitched. She began to sob.

Then she took a longer breath, steeled herself, and called out into the darkness, where she could just make out the shadow of Morlan standing guard outside her cube. "Excuse me?"

No response.

"Excuse me!"

He stepped up to the doorway. "What?"

Tears run freely down her face. "I need the bathroom. Please. I'm desperate."

He paused for a moment, checking his chrono. With a look back to the direction in which Dooku had left, he moved inside, untied her hands, and held them together, behind her back. "Okay. But we have to be quick."

"Thank you." Chloe suppressed a shudder. Just as she'd expected, Morlan had other ideas about what might happen when they were in the bathroom.

He led her quickly through the large chamber, out through a side door and to an old, tattered bathroom. He ran his hand lightly up and down her bare arm and then shoved her in the direction of the toilet stalls. "Here we are. Now hurry up, then you'll have time to show your gratitude afterwards."

She lurched inside and started to shut the door, but his foot stopped it from closing. "Please." Her voice wobbled without any conscious effort. "Just give me a moment."

He grunted, and withdrew his foot.

With trembling hands she closed the door and slid across the bolt.

Aware that he would be listening to her, she made a lot of noise lifting the toilet lid. She looked around the cubicle frantically. The problem was, she hadn't really believed she would even get this far. She had no plan. So what did she need? A weapon. Were there electical conduits running behind that wall? A live cable would do the job well. She ran her palm over the surface. No edges. No way she could get in.

"You're quiet in there," came the voice from outside.

Chloe's hands were shaking. Her time was running out. Not knowing what else to do, she flushed the toilet. Then the thought struck. She carefully, oh so carefully, eased off the lid of the toilet cistern. Inside, yes, just might do...

A second later he banged on the door. "You finished? Do I have to come in and haul you out?"

Silently, Chloe readied herself and then slid the bolt back, letting the door swing slowly open under its own inertia.

"What the..." he said, pushing the door and taking a step inside.

Just there, a little further, a fraction more... there. BAM. She slammed the door into his head, as hard as she could. The second she heard him grunt and begin to stagger, off-balance, she dived out, and in one desperate movement drove the sharp, rusting metal spindle into the exposed skin of his neck, putting all her weight behind the movement, shocked at how easily it buried itself into his flesh.

He grabbed for her, and she would not have jerked back in time, but mid-movement his hands reached to his neck instead, and blood was spurting everywhere, gushing out of the wound she had inflicted, splattering her in face, warm and metallic on her lips, and he was staggering, and falling to his knees, and then toppling, face-first, to the floor.

Chloe stood, unbelieving, unable to move for seconds—minutes, perhaps— before she felt blood drip from her wrist on to her knee, and she relaxed her fingers and let the spindle clatter to the floor. Shaking herself into alertness, she dropped to a crouch by Morlan's side. He was still breathing, rapidly now, in faint, shallow bursts, and groaning, but blood was frothing, pink and disgusting, at his lips, and pouring out of the wound on his neck, and on to the floor, more and more and more of it than seemed physically possible.

"Okay. It's okay. It's okay," she mumbled to herself. "Come on Chloe. Get a grip. Come on. Come on." She fumbled, gagging, through the sticky, red warmth for his security pass, and as soon as her fingers closed around the smooth plastic she lurched to her feet and towards the door. She glanced back at him and immediately regretted it, taking in the sight of what she'd done: the bloody, violent mess that had been a person just a short time ago.

Not me. It couldn't be me. Someone else, let me believe that.

Then she noticed the red-blotched footprints leading to her feet. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she bent and yanked off her boots, and ran.

She headed in the opposite direction from the room in which she'd been kept, passing doors, air vents, control panels... where to go? It was a huge place, but disused for years by the look of things, so more than likely all the exits were blocked. Down, she should go down, perhaps there was a fire escape somewhere that would take her to street level. Yes, there was a stairwell, plunging her into inky blackness. She clung to the banister, the duracrete cold and unforgiving beneath her bootless feet. On and on she went, down and down, until it seemed like she would surely end up at the planet's core.

But then, she could see light below, a green-tinged haze, and what was that sound? The roar of something... a door blocked her path, partway opened and jammed. She wriggled through. There. She was in some sort of control room. Dead-screened terminals lined one wall, and a bench was strewn with wires and neglected circuit boards. And there, at the top of the opposite wall, a window! Well, not exactly a window, more like a street-level vent. But she could smell the coolness of fresh air, and narrow shafts of what might be street-light pierced the durasteel shutter. The aperture itself would be big enough to fit through, if only... she ran over and wrenched at the shutter, but it was a finger's width thick, and didn't budge in the slightest.

Her heart sinking, panic rising, she looked around. There was another door, in the direction of the noise she'd heard, and she recognised the sound now: rushing water. Of course, the coolant supply for the energy generators must still be flowing. She twisted the handle and pushed against the door, but it was locked. A security keypad was mounted on the frame. What was the chance of it working? She tapped at the keypad, and to her surprise, the display flickered into life. Grinning at her luck, she turned around, scanning the untidy room until she spotted what she was looking for.

Yes, that would do. She yanked the lengths of cable free, hung them around her neck and began sorting through the circuit boards, holding each one up to the light until she found what she was looking for. Working quickly, she bit off the insulation at one end of a cable with her teeth, twisted the wires together and stuck them into the slot on the board. Then she crossed back to the door, tapped at the keys once more, and jammed the end of the cable in the data jack.

The smell of toasted electrical components had never been so good. A second later, the door clicked softly and swung open.

Chloe retrieved her hacked-together electronics, grabbed a flashlight from the rack, and went through, making sure to do the same to the mechanism on the other side, effectively locking the door behind her.

Ahead lay the coolant passage, a sort of underground canal. A narrow footpath ran along a raised platform at one side so she could avoid the channel of water.

Until, that is, the platform ended. A ladder led down into the fast-flowing stream.

It would certainly flow out of the building, at some point. It could carry her to safety. Or it might carry her to even greater danger. The only way to find out was to jump in and see. She had to just do it, without thinking, was that not how she'd survived so far?

Except, she couldn't do it. She backed away from the edge.

Then she heard the banging: booted footfalls somewhere nearby. Probably not in the tunnel; they were too muffled, but nearby. They were looking for her.

She put one foot on the ladder. No time for second thoughts.

The water hit her like a wall of cold fear, and then there was nothing but the chill, hungry speed of it, bitter with chemicals, greasy with oil, carrying her along, stinging her eyes, her nose, burning her throat as she struggled to keep her head above the surface.

Thankfully, the journey did not last long. After only a few seconds there was flash of something ahead, yes, this was it, a rectangular opening, and she could see up, to street level, and she just had time to wonder where in Sith hells this water was going once it was outside before she slammed side-on into the thick durasteel bars that protected the opening, pinned there by the force of the water's flow.

She managed to grab a bar with her right hand and then her left, twisting and tugging until she was upright and her face was clear of the water's foaming surface. Directly ahead, the water sloshed through an even narrower channel, disappearing into the black mouth of a tunnel below the street. Even if she could squeeze between the bars, the sides of the channel were sheer; with nothing to grab hold of she could easily be swept underground—and to Force-knew where—in less than a second.

But if Dooku's men were looked for her, if they knew she was down here, then she had no choice. She had to get out. Chloe tried to turn sideways and begin the wriggle herself through the bars. The icy water was already beginning to take its toll on her muscles. Sluggishly, weakened, all the time pummelled by the current, she struggled to move. She cried out in frustration, banging her palm against the bar, and with a second shout managed to jam her hips half-way through. Nearly there, one more push like that would do it…

But then there was an enormous rushing sound, and she just had time to think oh no, when the water began to swell and a wave was upon her, submerging her completely, stuck fast as she was, trapped in place.

She thought it was over, then, in that instant; that she would die, even when the surge ebbed, allowing her to take a spluttering breath, she knew was too weak; she couldn't last much longer. She took in what felt like half a lungful of the disgusting water with the next breath. Coughing, retching, she let out a sob as pain ripped through her throat.

"Stars, Chloe! Hang on!"

What?

She couldn't see; her eyes were stinging, and blurry with tears. She hunched a shoulder to wipe them on the soaked material of her shirt.

And saw him.

Obi-Wan.

Discarding his robe on the street, jumping into the water, wading, chest-deep, against the current, closer now, right there, grabbing her weak, wavering, numb hand.

"Obi-Wan," she croaked, "They're coming, they must be, and I can't—"

"Hush. I'm here. You're safe. Listen, Chloe, please. We need to be quick. It looks like they're flushing the drainage system. I need you to let go of me, just for a second. That's it. Now hold on at that side, and turn your head away."

His lightsaber hummed, blue in her peripheral vision, warm on the side of her face, and then the bars that trapped her gave way, and she was swept out, into his arms, and the next second he was holding her tightly and leaping, carrying both of them up, right out of the water and to the street surface.

He lowered her carefully to the ground. Overwhelmed with relief, she clung to him, burying her face against his neck, breathing him in, convincing herself it was over; that he was really here; that she was safe.

"Are you hurt? Did he—they, hurt you?" His voice was tight, and angry, but at the same time his lips brushed her forehead, and his hand, so gentle, was on her neck.

"No, no," she murmured, coughing. "I'm…. I'm fine."

He helped her sit up, and brushed a sodden lock of hair out her eyes. "When you said you'd see me around, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

She attempted a feeble smile, her body and mind still numb with relief, because he was here, he'd come for her, and now everything would be okay, and his hand was lingering against her cheek, and eventually she remembered she had no business to be feeling happy about that, so she released her grip on him, glanced down at his tunic and frowned. "You're soaked. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly." He called his robe to his hand. "Put this on." He tried to help her arms into the sleeves. "Whatever were you thinking? You could have given me a little longer to get here."

"It's fine. I can do it," she said, shrugged him off, coughing, then wincing at the pain in her throat. Then she frowned at him again. "Hang on. You're not telling me Dooku gave you the coordinates to this place?"

"No. But Dex saw you get into the speeder. He fired up his old shuttle and followed you as far as he could. And the rest—well, let's call it a hunch. If you'd just waited a few more minutes…" His voice trailed off.

She looked up at him, into his eyes, washed stone-gray by the moonlight, and the intensity of his expression took her breath away.

"Oh Chloe…" he murmured. "You thought I'd leave you here."

She nodded, and looked away, repeating to herself the reasons they had parted ways in the first place: because he'd hurt her, because she had royally screwed everything up; because he could never feel for her what she felt for him; because she continually failed to understand him in a way that made any kind of logical sense. When that didn't work, she forced herself to remember the incident at the Ambassador; of Sabé Essara, fingers intertwined with his. But even that didn't help. How could he destroy all her intentions with a single look?

Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are the most confusing person I have ever met.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. "Chloe, sweetheart, are you all right?"

She coughed. "Yes. Of course. How are you?"

"Well I have to admit I've had better days." He was already on his feet, staring back at the building looming behind her, his jaw set, one hand clenching and unclenching by his side. "What about Dooku?"

She fought the urge to reach for that hand; to smooth those fingers. "He told me he was leaving. I'm sure he'll have long gone by now. Can you feel anything?"

Obi-Wan let out a long breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "You're right. He's not here. But—" he turned his head sharply. "His employees are going to be with us any minute."

She took his offered hand and stood up. "Then let's go."