Kurik Otela – Jack of Trades
The Miralukan pilot was no longer able to see the glaring red of their assailant, and that terrified him. Worse, he remembered the Sith speaking of being able to sense him, to know that the teenager's eye was on him.
He'd never cared to be blind, but he'd also never thought of the gift that came with it as a curse before now. As he slowly slid in between a pair of access hatches, dropping quietly to the floor below, he realized that the Sith could be running him down, and he wouldn't even know.
For the first time in a very long time, he felt truly blind.
It left Kurik glancing around in fear every few seconds, waiting for the assassin to jump out of one of the many nooks and crannies of the vessel and brutally murder him. It was a paranoia developed after years of running illegal goods through port after port, and now it was working against him in the tight confines of the vessel.
The pilot hadn't heard anything from Dilt. He didn't know if the Devaronian captain was even alive, but he had held up well against the Sith in their brief engagement. But they only had blasters, they couldn't hope to overcome the lightsaber-wielding opponent.
However, he had a plan of his own.
Kurik slapped a hand on the panel of the cargo bay, the door sliding open behind him. He scanned the room for some time before stepping inside, locating one of the smuggling panels in the corner, opening it up and crouching to get inside.
He closed it behind him, then settled down with the holocron in his lap.
The Jedi he'd met years ago had told him he had the Force in him. The Sith had confirmed it. He didn't know much about how the Force worked, but he did know that the holocron had something to do with it. Perhaps it could help him.
The cube in his palm seemed to call to him, seemed to want him to open it. He just had to figure out how.
Kurik's vision was tied to the Force, he'd been told as much. So he focused on that small vein of power that always hummed through him, something he was aware of only when he thought about it, but otherwise faded from thought, much like breathing.
He located that power, then paused, unsure of what to do. But with the Sith creeping around and Kurik doubtlessly calling out to the assailant like a beacon in the dark, he had to hurry. He mentally directed his power against the holocron, silently willing the object to open up.
It abruptly did just that, suddenly clicking and morphing into a strange shape that hovered from his hands and floated serenely in front of him.
All at once, he felt a might swell of power crash into him, like sitting down in front of a roaring wave and trying not to flinch back. Secrets, memories, history, coordinates, all of them flashing through his mind like thousands of stray thoughts.
He managed to follow some, basic instructions on the Force, on centering one's self and finding peace. It was all meditation, all techniques that would do little to help him right now. He continued to look through it all, momentarily stopping to scan through techniques or tricks that would assist him in the fight with the Sith.
Then it stopped, the pilot momentarily confused before finding the panel opened up and the Sith's orange eyes cutting through the darkness. Kurik could easily see the mocking smile on his face as he palmed the floating holocron.
"And you've opened it?" he asked. "You'll be quite the worthy prize."
Kurik needed to get past him, and he needed the holocron. If the Sith got what he wanted, he could just flee the ship. He remembered one technique he'd seen in the holocron, simple enough that even he could do it with little training.
He found that energy connected to his sight, reached for it, then held a hand out.
The wave that pushed out from his palm wasn't as powerful as he'd hoped, but it caught the Sith off-guard enough that he fell to the ground on his back, the holocron tumbling from his hand.
Kurik took the moment while he could, scooping up the holocron and running for the exit before something wrapped around his ankle and stopped him. The pilot didn't need to look to know what it was, kicking out with his other leg.
He got lucky, his foot colliding with the assailant's face hard enough that the Sith let go.
The pilot shot from his grasp and toward the exit, just about to slip through the door when he was stopped once again, this time dragged backward by the Sith. He had an answer ready, palming his blaster and firing at the assailant.
With a hiss of a lightsaber flashing bright red in Kurik's vision, the invader blocked the shots and sent them careening about aimlessly, but it was enough to distract him and release the pilot from his grasp.
Kurik shot out the controls behind him once again, and he went running for the panel to space the cargo. When he got there, he was dismayed to find the controls sparking and broken, a thick black line through them. To his credit, the assailant had left nothing to chance.
"Dammit," the pilot whispered under his breath before carrying on up to the cockpit. He needed to know how close they were to Coruscant, and he needed to find Dilt.
Perhaps, between the captain's skills and what Kurik had learned, they could fight off the invader. It was a wild hope, but it drove him to the cockpit nonetheless. He found no evidence of the captain when he arrived, but was shocked to find the ship out of hyperspace. Another vessel was nearby, one of the triangular frigates of the Republic.
"Jack of Trades, please respond," a voice said over their comms.
Kurik pressed the button to answer.
"This is Kurik Otela," he replied. "We have a Sith on board and—"
A hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him instantly. He was pulled backward, struggling against the attacker trying to drag him into the shadows.
"Quiet, kid," Dilt's rough voice said behind him. "Look at the comms console."
Kurik did just that as the captain let him go, and he found something small attached to the underside of the console. One side of a transmitter.
"He heard me," Kurik said.
"And knows right where you are," Dilt answered. "We need to run, kid."
They tried to do just that, only to find that they weren't alone in the dark confines of the bow of the vessel. Their intruder was back, rage in his blazing eyes and his lightsaber held forward. He seemed far more focused than before, his shoulders tensed and back rigid. His mouth was set in a grim line, trying to hold back the anger.
"You've both been trouble," he said. "Small-time smugglers, criminals, you shouldn't be this much of a problem."
Neither of them answered. This wasn't their first time in a fight, and the smugglers had long ago learned when words were past their effectiveness. Dilt immediately opened up with his blasters, and Kurik threw his hand up and pushed again.
This time, the Sith didn't seem the least bit perturbed by Kurik's attempts to use the Force against him. A sudden wave of power shoved Kurik back, retaliation from the Sith as he used his free hand to deflect Dilt's bolts back at him.
Kurik tried again, with the exact same results. The Sith was clearly far stronger than him, and now that he knew the singular trick Kurik had learned, he was able to effortlessly turn that power right back against him.
Dilt cried out in anger when the lightsaber slashed across his weapons, and the Sith swiftly reversed the lightsaber in order to bring it back around and cut the captain across the chest. The Devaronian spun from the attack, draped over the chair with his breathing shallow.
"No!" Kurik shouted, reaching out to the captain. "Captain, no!"
"This is over," the Sith said, a snarl on his lips. "You've led me on a longer chase than I thought, but you've become a nuisance I don't feel like dealing with."
He raised his lightsaber, and Kurik shut his eyes in preparation for the blow to fall. All the running and fighting he'd done over the last three years, from authorities, gangs, and cartels, and they'd die with salvation literally in sight.
But no attack came. Kurik opened his eyes to find the Sith suddenly stopped in his tracks, the lightsaber hovering mere inches from the pilot's head. The Miralukan was momentarily confused, then looked around the Sith to find another man towering behind him.
Looming and large, the Nautolan cut an impressive enough figure against the smaller and scrawny-looking Sith. He wore the brown and white robes of a Jedi Master, his weapon in hand but deactivated. His other hand was reaching out to the assassin, stopping him from swinging.
"Master Fisto," the assassin hissed.
"You know me?"
"I know all the masters, Jedi." He said the word like it was a curse. "My trainers will reward me greatly for removing a master from the field."
"Trainers? Interesting."
Master Fisto pulled with his hand and clenched his fist, throwing the assailant to the other side of the cockpit and leaving Kurik out of the reach of the Sith.
The Jedi looked none too impressed by his opponent, though it was always difficult for Kurik to tell with Nautolans. Yet he could feel it, perhaps through the Force, that the Jedi Master was completely relaxed while his opponent was unstable and incensed.
"You should lay down your weapon, young one," the Jedi said in a deep, accented voice. "You will not win this fight."
"You Jedi. So arrogant, always underestimating your betters. Underestimating me."
"Sounds like you have a personal grudge. A former student, perhaps?"
The assailant gave no answer, perhaps thinking his opponent disarmed by the conversation. He launched forward, lightsaber sweeping toward the alien Jedi and aiming for his neck.
With little more than a flick of the wrist, the Nautolan's lightsaber was on, glowing green in Kurik's vision as it jerked up to block the strike. The assailant cried out in outrage, pulling the lightsaber back and trying to spear the Jedi.
The Jedi Master almost seemed to be bored as he sidestepped the blow and brought his saber across the assailant's head.
With a cry, the lightsaber sunk in, cutting through the cloth and through part of his head before the Nautolan master stopped. The Sith slumped to the ground bonelessly, the red light retreating from him as he became little more than a grey lump among the swirling shadows around them.
It was confusing from then on. Republic soldiers rushed onto the bridge, the Jedi Master directed them to attend to Dilt, and the captain was hauled off the ship. He gave a couple of reassuring words to Kurik on the way out, his voice wheezing and weak.
Soon, all that was left was Kurik, the Jedi, and a pair of soldiers. The Jedi fished the holocron from Kurik's hand and gazed it over.
"The holocron has been used," was the first thing the Nautolan said.
"I...I opened I," Kurik said. "I'm sorry, Master Jedi, I needed to fight him off, and it was the only way I could think to do it."
"Do not apologize." He crouched down, coming to face level with the young man. "Did you learn from it?"
"Nothing large. Just enough to push him away, I didn't learn anything that would hit him that hard. Certainly nothing like you can do. I didn't—"
"Easy, we're not going to hurt you," he said, cutting off Kurik's rapid-fire excuses. "A shame. You would've been a promising pupil, had we found you earlier."
"That's what I keep hearing, sir."
"You've had a long day, pilot, and your captain's going to be down for medical attention for at least the next day. We'll take you in at the Temple until you're ready to go again."
"I...Yes, Master Jedi."