Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
Note: More action for you today! Thanks again to all of my reviewers/subscribers and readers and to Liisiko who has been such a great help, as always!
Also, a semi-important notice: Due to the fact that I'm spending a lot of time researching my later chapters before I can write them, I'm going to have to change my update schedule to every two weeks instead of every week. This may be on a temporary basis, but it may not. So, the next update will be on: 29th October.
CHAPTER 15 - Weakness
Location: Selonia / XF-32
The shift in the Force was like a slap to the face, tripping Galen's calculated strike. His saber lodged into his latest victim and the droid hung there, stuck on the blade; hissing wildly. His eyes wrenched across the sea and in the long moments that followed, the last of the turret droids fell.
"That looks like the last of them." Juno reported, the Rogue Shadow doing another sweep of the area.
"Juno." Galen touched the com. "He's still on that ship."
"The clone?"
"Yes. I felt his presence." The shriek of breaking servomotors distracted him momentarily. The Selonians were clearing up the last of the herder droids, destroying them with perhaps more aggression than necessary.
"Fighting Kota?"
"I—no, not yet. This has gone on long enough. You need to—" Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "—Hang on a sec."
He turned to see one of the Selonians standing beside him. She was tall with a fur of the darkest shade of brown. Her large, liquid eyes were hard to read, but the lines on her brow were not. She looked worried.
"Are you wounded?" Galen asked, trying to remain patient.
"Retto." The Selonian replied, cutting him off. "Retto…" She trailed helplessly, not knowing any other words to get her message across.
Thankfully, Galen remembered the name of the young male Selonian and cast a brief glance around at the faces. "Retto's not here? Is he supposed to be?"
"I think he was guiding the females down to the submerged bridge." Juno interrupted.
"Should he have been back by now?"
"From what Knim told me about their males, I can't imagine they would have allowed him to stay and fight."
Galen met the Selonian's silent gaze and knew what she suspected. "The droids…"
"Could have attacked him. Yes."
Dead, then, unless he had been able to dive and find cover under the sea.
The Selonian's hand dropped, clearly thinking the worst, and she turned back to the others. Already they had begun lifting the two bodies from where they had fallen; setting them gently on a bed of sand. The relentless rain washed the gritty sand from their fur. The remains of droids littered the shore, some being caught by the waves and dragged back out to sea.
"Juno. Listen to me. I need you to get me to that ship."
"What if there are more droids?"
"There aren't."
"You don't know that."
"We need to go after Kota." Galen insisted.
"And what if we do more harm than good?"
"He needs our help."
There was a momentary hesitation and then: "Okay, I'm coming around. Clear the way."
"Almost there. Almost there…" Giles was clearly apprehensive.
"Hurry it up. We're running out of time." Kota threw a glance over his shoulder, aware that the clone could appear at any moment. Aware that he had already run into the Selonians. Aware that they were probably all dead. Time was running out.
"Got it! We're in."
Kota's hands flashed across the display. "Yes. Yes. This is it."
Text filtered across the screen at a rapid pace before it hitched yet again; a warning sign flashing up on the display.
"Damn, another block. The system is well protected, General. I don't know if we'll—"
"—Is the Rogue Shadow still engaged?"
"I don't know. Would you like me to try and make contact?"
"No. No. Forget it. Just focus on breaking through these security systems. Can you stop the detonator without me at the console?"
"I may need you to accept the override once I've sliced into the system."
The elderly Jedi gave a groan of frustration. "Okay, keep working on it. If you manage to get through send some static over the line."
"Sir?"
"I might not be able to—"
He was cut off by the sound of a sudden shout and, turning, he saw one of Viedas' men raise his blaster rifle and take aim. The single shot cut a red line through the air, disappearing into the same tunnel the Selonians had left by. Where the clone had been all this time, Kota was not sure, but he'd clearly been waiting for an opportune moment to show himself.
Now would be as good a time as any, he supposed.
The rifleman, who had clearly missed with his first shot, took aim again. The vibrating hum of a lightsaber reverberated around the chamber and the shot was sent back, piercing the man straight through the chest. His eyes bulged and, with a muffled croak, he tipped backwards and fell hard against the floor.
Jak scrambled up onto the debris of the far console and hunkered down to take aim just as the clone's silhouette filled the entrance of the chamber. Jak fired with expert precision and the clone leaned to the side to dodge; the shot skimming the edge of his arm. In the same motion his saber extinguished and the hand came up; sending a surge of blue lightning scuttling across the floor, engulfing the sniper and filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh. Jak's cries of agony had one of the men abandon his post but the clone used the Force to drag him back into the room. He flung the body as if it were a rag doll and the soldier's bones made a sickening crack as they broke against the wall of the large chamber.
Kota leapt forwards to defend the survivors; the band of green coming to life in his hand.
The Apprentice stalked closer and turned his head quizzically towards the old Jedi. His face – reflected with blue and green light – distorted into a horrific smirk. "So, here's where you've been hiding, old man." The red saber hummed to life again and he raised his other hand high – a hefty object swinging in his grasp. It took Kota a few disbelieving seconds to realize what it was that he held.
The severed head of a Selonian warrior dangled there in his hand; her dead eyes glazed in the cruel, red light. The notches across the broken muzzle were easily identifiable.
It was Lesew.
A sickening crawl started in Kota's gut and the hand on his saber trembled with barely contained disgust.
Amusement gleamed in the Apprentice's unnatural eyes. "Pitiful creatures, aren't they? Weak. Fragile. I expected so much more. What a disappointment…"
"So you finally show yourself." Kota replied through a scowl. "I had begun to suspect that you had crept off in fear."
The Apprentice gave him a haughty look and, lowering his arm, threw the severed head towards the Jedi. It rolled just short of reaching him and green joined the crimson reflecting in her dead, glassy eyes.
"Merely looking for entertainment." The Sith's eyes flicked dismissively around the room. "You were a fool to bring them here." He stepped forwards and Kota heard the soldiers instinctively move to retreat.
Of the ten who had accompanied him into the ship, only four now remained standing and one of those was heavily favoring his left leg.
The clone lunged for the nearest but Kota was quick to intervene; green against red. Vader's apprentice arched a brow, seemingly unimpressed.
"So, you find superiority in attacking the weak?" Kota scoffed.
"And you find it in attacking those who are far stronger than you?" Another smirk crawled across the mad clone's face.
"Stronger?" Kota's brows drew together. "We will see." He pushed back against the crimson blade and twisted out of harm's way, spinning the blade out to clash again. The buzz of energy was strangely intoxicating and the sudden flurry of attacks sent the room into a manic spin of light.
The wind and rain was in his face, in his clothes, in his lungs and he balanced on the very edge, peering down at the XF-32 as it teetered beneath him; distant at first and then terrifyingly close. With a double thump against the hull - to signal his leave - Galen threw himself clear of the Rogue Shadow and plummeted down to the ship below.
Landing on his feet on the sloped and slippery hull had seemed like a good idea at the time. Until, of course, he actually did land. His boots failed to gain a good grip, throwing him mercilessly backwards. His arms came out to counteract the unbalance, driving his shoulders forward to prevent himself from being pitched into the sea.
He paused. Took a breath. Then swung down from the ledge, crashing through an already damaged viewport and rolling back to his feet. The room creaked as if irritated by his presence and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the flickering gloom.
"Alright. I'm in." His voice echoed; as did his footsteps as he edged carefully across the floor. A thin film of water covered the metal grate, though at this level, it was probably from the rain rather than the sea. Thin lines of water fed in from the ceiling, spattering angrily against his armor. Dragging the back of a hand across his eyes, he pulled himself through into a ruined corridor and began the task of navigating the wreckage.
"Kota's pilot – Giles – is still trying to disarm the bomb. Kota's down in the control room. Do you need guiding?"
"No. Help the other pilot. Get PROXY on the case, too."
He knew where Kota and the clone were. He could feel their presence.
"Okay. Stay safe."
He felt the tremors in the Force from Kota's duel with the Sith and hastened his pace.
There was no time to lose.
Kota would have struggled regardless, but having the soldiers there was certainly more burden than help. Under normal circumstances, they could have been given opportunities to find a defensible position and stay out of harm's way whilst they took out their enemy. Against a Force user, however, they were merely distractions and that was one thing Kota could not afford.
Out in the field, these men would have dropped back to allow Kota to advance, watching his back from a safe distance and ensuring no one saw fit to interfere. Circumstances, on this occasion, had all but forbidden it.
Their fear was strong and Kota could hear the shaking chatter of their fingers against triggers.
Twice now, the clone had feinted an attack at one of the soldiers to bring about a weakness in Kota's defense. Twice he had failed – but only just. A tear in Kota's left sleeve spoke of the cruel mark left behind by the clone's saber—and the near miss.
"Tell me. What lies has Vader fed you this time? Will you fall into the same trap as your original did?" The old Jedi provoked as they circled each other.
"There are no lies." The clone bristled.
"Have you learned nothing from your memories?"
"I have no memories."
"Nothing?" Kota asked, edging slowly around the room to come between the clone and Viedas' men once more. "Nothing at all? Ah, but I think we both know that isn't true. What did you call me when you first arrived?"
The clone merely tightened his grip on his saber.
"Old man, wasn't it?" Kota goaded. "Surely not a coincidence? I recall the original Starkiller – and his sane clone – being fond of referring to me as such."
"Shut up!"
"So they do trouble you, then? These non-existent memories?" Kota's tone became less taunting and more pitying.
With a roar, the clone drove forwards, forcing Kota to retreat with his ever strengthening attacks. The swift, single, red blade drew fiery patterns in the dark – which halted for just a second when he reached out with his free hand; fingers curled into talons. Blue sparks crackled.
Kota was swift to intervene and the ceiling above the clone's head began to shriek in angry protest as he applied just enough pressure for it to cave in. The Apprentice's arm swept up, redirecting the energy which dented the grating above him and saved it from complete collapse. His cruel eyes snapped back to the old Jedi, narrowing accusingly.
Had the clone not expected retaliation?
"We'll play a game, shall we?" The Sith snarled. "Let's see if you have the power to defend the men you brought with you."
Kota's eyes flashed and, brandishing his saber, leapt to intervene; barking only one order to his last remaining troops.
Run.
The sense of rising urgency was all the drive that Galen needed to keep going. The pain of his wounds fading out beneath his rising sense of dread. Every moment that passed was a moment that the clone could land a fatal hit. He just had to trust that the old man could defend himself until he arrived.
He emerged from a wrecked corridor in a crackle of blue energy that sent surrounding debris shooting out – like missiles – in all directions. Some of the larger pieces punched through the hull, letting in the rain and filtered, grey light.
Gone was the need for stealth and strategy. There was no time for either.
Digging in his heels, he launched himself across the room and ran. At the far side, the double doors had been crippled and blockaded – preventing their use. Higher up, on the same wall, was another undamaged door – accessed only by damaged scaffolding and swinging cables. Even as he approached, his eyes tracked the way up, seeking the safe framework that could hoist him up to the overhead access.
He leapt up onto the first platforms that trembled underfoot and immediately dived through the beams, finding leverage to swing himself up to the next. Twisting metal protested as it buckled under the sudden movement and even as he bounded from one beam to the next, he could feel the lower supports begin to give way; toppling like a deck of cards. Galen all but scrambled to the very top, lowering his posture as the whole structure began to collapse. Fastenings twisted away from the paneling and as the supports dropped out from underneath him he ran, throwing himself at the ledge – the drop beneath him growing more perilous by the moment.
He landed at such speed that he dropped and rolled with the aid of an armored shoulder, the sound of metal screeching across the damaged balcony. He regained his feet without faltering and fell into another sprint. The gap between them was dwindling now and he reached out with the Force, crushing any hindering obstacles against the walls of the corridor and out of his path.
An open ventilation system yawned ahead of him and, with a single leap; he dropped down into further darkness.
The men were given no chance to run.
The one who tried first was thrown roughly off of his feet, shoulder driving into the floor; dislocating the joint. His cry of pain was stifled by the whirr of Kota's blade as he leapt in to defend the men he had brought here to aid him.
The clone's hand came up, shooting three blasts of Force power at the leaping Jedi. All three were direct hits, but only the last one knocked him off course. Kota landed heavily on his knees and the Apprentice, with a sneer, twisted in to land a killing blow. Kota's blade whipped up to parry. The weapons met with a fierce spitting and the Jedi was back on his feet, trading blows with the Sith and hoping that the others would take the opportunity and leave whilst the enemy was engaged.
Without warning, the Apprentice's free hand came up and lightning sparked along the length of his fingers; hurtling across the floor to incapacitate two other soldiers who had tried to take advantage of his being preoccupied.
"It'd be better for you if you didn't keep trying to escape." He chided mockingly.
Kota aimed a swift strike at The Apprentice's hand, forcing him to relent his attack on the soldiers and return to his duel.
"And still you fight the inevitable, Jedi."
"Inevitable?" Kota gave a gruff snort. "We'll see about that."
With a snarl, the clone twisted around to face him. The force of the sabers colliding rattled the bones in Kota's arms; the hilt almost dragged from his grasp with the downward thrust. Widening his stance he twisted the blade, wrenched free and backed up hastily. The Apprentice immediately pursued, flicking his saber with wild, erratic strokes.
Looking up, Kota was surprised to see the clone's white face glistening with perspiration; shiny and sickly as melting wax. The glow of his golden eyes reminded him strangely of PROXY's photoreceptors; wide and maniacal.
"Your 'brother'." Kota began, disengaging from the duel to leap to the side and away from the console. "Told me your visions cause you pain."
The Apprentice lunged, the tip of the saber catching the old Jedi across the knee. Kota staggered, ducking beneath the next swing and reached out to drag a fallen wall panel across the floor towards him. The Apprentice flipped to dodge the debris and flung it aside with ease.
"An interesting piece of news considering that his do not. Don't you think?"
The Apprentice drew short and, lifted a hand. A large canister rose with it, twisting slowly mid-air. Other pieces of debris rose to join it; dancing and swaying in the flickering light.
Kota spared another glance at the console and still the counter chimed down.
How long left? Twenty-eight minutes…come on Giles.
"Would you like to hear my theory?" The Jedi continued, his eyes darting back to the clone.
The canister shot towards him and Kota only just managed to deflect it. It sailed across the room and a pierce in its shell had it gyrating dangerously across the floor.
"I have…more than one, actually." He continued, unfazed.
The clone gritted his teeth and the next object – a piece of metal almost completely bent in on itself – came flying towards him.
Kota's saber came up and severed it in two. The two halves fell to the ground by his feet; an angry red where the saber had burned through it. "I've started to wonder whether your instability is due to your heavy use of the dark side rather than being a clone."
"Trying to turn me back?" The Apprentice snarled.
Kota met his gaze - his face stoic - and pointedly ignored the question. "Or maybe it is because you're a clone. And if it is for that reason, then does that mean your brother is not, in fact, your brother at all?"
The clone's eyes flashed with deadly rage.
"That would mean that the one you call inferior is in fact—"
The clone gave a roar of rage and, from under the arm of the fallen Selonian – the one Lesew and a companion had carried with them – the discarded glaive came loose.
Kota lifted his saber to deflect it, but the dark, obsidian point was not meant for him.
Quicker than he could blink, the wooden glaive had been stuck through the chest of a wounded soldier. The man, touching at the wooden shaft buried in his torso, listed sideways and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The blood was inky dark as it pooled around his body, the rectangles of blue light emitters reflected there on its surface.
One of the men – was it Kavan? – who had been struck by Sith Lightning was attempting to drag himself to safety. Unfortunately he seemed paralyzed from the waist down, his arms straining to pull himself along the floor.
Thankfully, the other victim seemed to have slipped away unnoticed.
"Quick, quick, quick! Or he'll be next." The clone taunted suddenly. The saber dropped from the Sith's hand – moved back to his belt by the Force – and both hands came up. Lightning branched through the air, striking the paralysed man between the shoulders before moving to engulf him entirely.
Kota sprang between them, cutting through the lightning with a clean downwards sweep of his emerald blade. The lightning diverted its cruelty, cutting along the old Jedi's arms and throwing him viciously to the floor.
The clone stalked across to where this limp soldier lay and prodded him with the toe of his boot. "Ah, such a shame. Too late. Too weak." His golden eyes snapped up to glare at the only soldier who had chosen not to run. He was shaking violently, one leg wounded so badly he could barely stand. It wasn't bravery that kept him from running, then, he was simply incapable of doing so. And the one who had escaped? Well, he was as good as dead anyway.
Kota was pulling himself back to his feet. "Why do you allow Vader to delude you? Is it purely a defect of the cloning process? That you have no other purpose but to serve him even when, by doing so, it will end in your death?"
"I am useful."
"To be directed like a puppet; like a tool of the Empire. What do you think happens to the tools that no longer have a purpose?"
"I have purpose!"
"Discarded. No – worse! Destroyed!"
"You better shut your mouth, Jedi." He snarled.
Kota felt his resolve falter. There was rage there but little else. The rage might make him careless. He might waste energy, lose focus and let his emotions rule him. But, suicidal? No. And even lacking finesse and precision Kota could not hope to match his power in a duel. He was leading him to destruction, but not self-destruction and that was dire news indeed.
Swallowing back his sudden lack of confidence, he slipped his eyes subtly across to the console.
The timer still ticked down the seconds and he wished he could contact Giles and ask him how much longer he needed to hold out for.
"Oh yes. The bomb." The clone gave a bout of unrestrained laughter. "I'd almost forgotten about that."
"Vader doesn't have much confidence in your skills, does he?" Kota retorted sharply. The clone's laughter made his skin crawl. "I wonder why that could be..."
The clone's body contorted with sudden fury. "You know nothing of my Master's motives!"
"You are disposable. You are replaceable. He fears your brother's survival far more than he fears your loss."
That hit a nerve. Kota saw it twist in those mad eyes and the Apprentice staggered back just a step, lifting a hand to grip at the side of his head. He was being assailed by pain, then? Had he seen something that rang truthfully in his words? The flickers of maddened visions, perhaps, in the throes of his agony?
"You." The word was snarled, his teeth bared and, ironically, the voice rang a sudden familiarity to Galen's.
That boy was still so angry.
Then that brief familiarity was gone. "You talk too much. You talk TOO MUCH!" The yellow-eyed clone launched himself with such speed that Kota's block almost didn't arrive in time. The high-pitched whirr of sabers thrummed around the chamber, sparks casting stark shadows across their faces.
It was hard to stay calm and tranquil in the face of such unleashed aggression and power and Kota wasn't quite sure how he managed it.
Each strike of their blades sent a painful jolt through the length of the Jedi's arms, forcing him to retreat to give himself a split second of respite. Their duel had them skirting around the very edge of the chamber, each one trying to find an opening in their adversary's defenses. The cauterized wound on Kota's arm burned and, without warning, another gash open up across his hip.
He twisted to escape the bite of that crimson blade; diving, rolling, regaining his feet and turning to counter.
Determined; their blades met again, the spark of the energies seeming to resist against making contact. Kota drove forwards, pushing against that beam of red with everything that he had. His temples glistened with sweat – the white eyes flickering in their sockets.
The clone faltered – though Kota did not know why – and disengaged, staggering backwards again. A vein in his temple pulsed, the tendons in his neck bunching. Kota felt the rise of triumph and closed the gap, lifting his saber to bring it down between neck and shoulder.
The Apprentice let himself fall back, hitting the ground hard but avoiding the hot edge of the green saber in the process. With a flash of fury, his arm swept out and suddenly, between them was the last remaining soldier – suspended in place by the power of the force.
Kota diverted his hand at the last moment, the edge of the blade clipping the man's shoulder.
The clone gave a hoarse laugh, back-flipping to his feet and then knocked the stunned soldier aside. The shove was weak – all things considered – but his wounded leg meant that he toppled like a newborn foal.
Kota whirled to defend the fallen man, but again the clone's attention had returned to the Jedi and, with an almighty thrust of Force power, he was sent hurtling back against the console.
Kota lay slumped there, legs outstretched, and felt outwards with the Force. Nothing broken but – oh, wait – a slice of pain in his lower back. A piece of damaged console was embedded there. And then a horrible chill ran through him. The console…? Damaged?
His com-link chattered with static and the clone hovered above him; anticipation wrought across his face. His hand moved for the other saber at his hip and then—
–And then there was utter darkness.
Galen's landing was awkward; the floor sliding out from under him as he realized there was yet more wreckage to bar the way. With a precise tumble, he stepped onto slightly more secure ground and winced at the responding groan of stressed metal underfoot. Thankfully, that seemed to be the last of it for now – those pieces probably having fallen down the vent from the room above.
Here everything was intact. The structure of the room was perhaps slightly bowed, but the equipment had all been welded down to the floor which had – thankfully – not buckled under the pressure of his landing.
He wondered, briefly, how Juno and PROXY were getting on with the diffusing the bomb but quickly pushed it out of mind.
He was close now.
Bounding across the room, he flattened himself against the wall and peered down into the corridor. Odd, orb-like shapes had snagged against a broken generator and he recognized them for the battle droids he had fought on the shore. These ones were deactivated – probably too badly damaged to power up.
Even so, he stepped over them carefully, nudging aside three broken cables to avoid garrotting himself.
Somewhere nearby a fire was burning. He could feel it thick in his lungs; turning the air stale. He coughed and edged further down the platform; peering over the edge. He groaned.
What should have been a short drop down to a droid servicing station was now nothing more than a flooded chamber; any dangers or doorways fully submerged. The water churned up from the far side of the room, rippling across the dark surface; uninviting and hazardous. An image of him impaling himself on debris hidden by that dark water stalled him. And yet, the urgency nagged at him. Kota was on that level, under the water, snaking to the right and then up through into another, large chamber. The snap of their energy cracked at his heels and, pushing aside any doubt, he tipped forwards over the rail.
The water slapped against him as fierce and hard as stone. His mouth opened to vent the pain inflicted against his battered side, though nothing but a stream of bubbles gushed forth. Flailing already numb limbs, he attempted to find the surface, though he couldn't quite be certain which way was up any more. Panic gripped him and he cursed himself for his foolishness as he turned and kicked upwards, struggling for the surface and welcoming the air against his fingers. His gasping intake of breath echoed around the chamber. The sounds of water sloshing against metal and his attempts at staying above the surface were horribly audible.
He fell still, treading water, trying to ignore the incredible pain that the icy cold, seeping water brought with it.
Setting his jaw, he peered down into the gloom and, filling his lungs, drove downwards. The water dragged against him, almost as if trying to hold him back from his target and he was tempted to remove the spaulders to lighten the weight of his clothing a little. His wounded shoulder had suddenly become much more of a burden, unable to match the other in strength and making propelling himself incredibly awkward. The constricting space of the submerged corridor was oppressive and, with his lungs straining, he put more effort into his strokes; kicking hard.
A hand reached up to touch the ceiling above him and fingers broke the surface of the water, giving him perhaps two inches of air space to refill his lungs. Hooking his fingers in the grille, he lifted his face up from the water – angling it so that he could breathe through his nose. He breathed in water, too, and choked violently, ever desperate to drag in a lungful of air.
Afraid that the water level might still be rising, he abandoned the 'surface' to continue onwards, using a hand against the ceiling to guide him onwards and rest his aching shoulder. Up ahead, the lights on the untouched ceiling cast a dull blue glow through the water. His vision, though bleary, could make out debris floating through cloudy water. Swimming on, he reached out to gently bat it aside, until he realized what exactly the debris was.
A Selonian.
Not one he recognized, though it would hardly matter if he had met her before this siege. Her body was so mauled by blaster fire that he was surprised she had managed to get this far. And to die here; in a confined, dark place…to drown alone. Her legs had gotten entangled in some cables and though she'd clearly struggled to free herself, it had all been in vain.
His stomach lurched as he passed her by.
Galen counted the seconds as they ticked by, urging himself onwards, urging himself to go faster. And then the edge of a doorway; forcing him to drop lower to pass through.
There, perhaps five meters ahead of him he could make out the dark rectangle of a missing vent cover. Ignoring his own pain he put more energy into his escape, drawing the Force around him for the much needed support. And then he was surging upwards, breathing deep to ease the ache in his lungs.
Distantly, he heard the whirr of lightsabers.
He heaved himself up out of the water, his body shuddering uncontrollably from the cold, and crossed the room with somewhat ungainly strides. As if sensing his approach, the echoed hum of sabers fell silent. Ominously silent.
On the platform, by the raised door, another corpse lay sprawled out on his stomach, his fingers curled around the edge of the dais. One of Viedas' men. The stink of his burnt flesh was thick in the air as he stepped gingerly over the prone body.
Galen started when a hand curled – with surprising strength – around his boot; holding him fast.
"He-elp me." The croak rattled in the man's chest.
"Let go!" The order came with a surprising amount of vehemence, perhaps born from the shock of the 'corpse' still being alive.
"No. You can't. Please."
When tugging didn't work, he backed up instead, managing to pull free from the grasping fingers. The man released a strangled cry, much like a wounded animal.
"Wait here." Galen said, a little kinder. "I need to get to Kota."
"No." He rasped. "No. Don't—"
With a sharp breath of impatience, Galen crouched at the wounded man's side. In the poor light he couldn't tell whether the injuries were fatal or not. The back of his jacket had been badly burned and still emanated heat from the Sith Lightning.
"I have to go." He said, at last, worried now that the sabers had not picked back up again.
"He'll kill you." The soldier warned.
"No, he won't."
He moved to stand and, in that moment, the last of the lights went out.
The silence was deafening and, matched with impenetrable darkness, it was akin to drowning. Disorientated, Galen reached out for the comfort of the Force and listened.
There was truly nothing. No sound of buzzing electricity or active lights or distant generators softly churning away. Nothing. The wounded beast of a ship had finally succumbed to death. At his feet, the man gave a strangled gasp as death claimed him and Galen's hand closed over the com-link device.
"Juno?" His voice was a hiss in the dark. "Juno!"
Nothing.
It was too dark to see, but Galen assumed the device had been water-damaged. Riled, he cast it aside and turned to leave the chamber behind. For a brief moment, the clash of sabers filled the silence, hastening his step.
"What have you DONE?" The eerily silent ship sent his voice bouncing across the walls. The Apprentice's rage crackled through the air. "You have thwarted my Master's plans for the last time."
The lack of light was not a hindrance for the elderly Jedi and he was quick to make the most of its mask, pulling his body away from the console and swinging around to the clone's right.
The saber in his hand was extinguished and he fell back into the shadows.
Giles had come through – at last – and the threat of the impending explosion was gone. Perhaps there was still time to pull this back under control.
"I'm done playing, now." The Apprentice warned. His other saber snapped up into his waiting hand and when it flared into life it was a piercing blue.
So that's where Galen's other saber had gone.
The clone came for him and he danced out of the way, his thumb resting on the activation switch of his saber, preparing to defend himself. The Sith was so angry that the twisting sabers were an imprecise rush in the dark and, though tired and wounded, Kota managed to evade them.
"You have failed your Master." Kota replied gruffly – a mistake because that helped his adversary zone in on his location.
Activating his blade, Kota's saber met both of the Apprentice's with a horrendous crack and then, with a shove, the elder man was off again, deactivating the weapon and sliding back to the safe shelter of darkness.
"What are you waiting for?" The clone roared. "For him to come and save you?"
Kota's grip tightened instinctively.
The Apprentice shot forwards again. His crimson saber bled the air.
Kota's arm rose to defend himself and the blue blade arched around to catch him in the side. The old Jedi span to fend off the attack but the wound in his lower back shot pain through his muscles. The red blade slid and a searing pain cut through his hand; severing fingers. Thankfully, having both hands on the hilt kept him from dropping the lightsaber and he managed to parry, disengaging himself.
In desperation he reached for the Force and dragged the remnants of what had once been a maintenance droid across the room.
The clone turned it back on Kota, slamming cold metal hard against him. The Jedi's feet left the floor and he hurtled backwards, crumpling with a sudden wave of fatigue. A little voice argued with him to get back onto his feet but another voice urged him to give in to his fatigue. Kota had not survived this long by listening to that voice of defeat. Broken shards crunched under his boots as he tried to find his footing. A hand fisted in the front of his jacket and shoved him back and when he looked up it was to see the clone looming over him, the pulse of the blue lightsaber matching the palpitations of his own heart.
"I wonder if that 'brother' of mine will feel it when you die." His intense eyes glowed vibrantly in the dim lighting. "I imagine he'll be quite upset. Angry, in fact. Wouldn't it be ironic for you – the one who weakened him in the first place – to be responsible for returning that strength to him?"
"You think he was weak for turning away from the dark?" Kota growled. "Is that what Vader said? You let him fool you even when you know the truth? You remember pulling a Star Destroyer from the sky. You remember infiltrating the Death Star."
"He died!"
"But not because of weakness." Kota hissed. "He gave his life to ensure the continuation of the rebellion."
"And that in itself is a weakness. Your caring is what will kill you now."
"Caring is what drove that 'failed' brother of yours into destroying the cloning facility on Kamino. It almost crushed your master."
"But what happens when he fails to save those he cares about? He will turn back to the Dark Side. And willingly."
"And then what? Will you succumb and be tossed away like an outdated droid?"
"No! I am superior. He will die and then there will be no one left to get in the way of my destiny."
"Destiny?" Kota trailed. "You don't have a destiny. Not on the path you're on now. Can't you see that?"
The fingers tightened on his jacket and, without warning, Kota swung his saber up, bringing it around in an attempt to reduce the clone's restraining arm to a bleeding stump. The green blade clipped his elbow with a greedy hiss; the clone reacting faster than the Jedi could have expected.
Green met blue once; twice; thrice and then, with a powerful blast, Kota was sent sprawling again. His body protested in agony, but the Jedi gathered his feet beneath him once more. The clone was stalking forwards again with all the power and ferocity of a krayt dragon.
"You know nothing of my destiny or the power of a Sith."
Kota took a step towards him, surprised by the ferocity of the pain in his back. He could feel the heat of the blood against skin and his injured hip protested.
The clone's free hand came up, grabbing him by the throat, slamming him down against the console and pinning him there.
Kota's wounded hand – with the stumps of three missing fingers – groped at the clone's arm, trying to free himself from the vice grip. It was clear that there'd be no more dueling. He needed to reach him; his anger, his memories, his guilt. Something to stay his hand or get him to see how futile this struggle really was.
"You don't need to do this, boy." His voice was calm, the use of the nickname a subtle way of trying to reach him.
The familiar name sent a tremor through the clone. His eyes flashed. "Need? Need? You misunderstand. I want to do this. Need doesn't come into it."
Kota's brow furrowed. "Then get on with it. I don't have all day."
"You seek death, Jedi?" There was surprise there and hesitation, too.
"I neither seek nor run from death. And nor should you."
"I fear NOTHING!"
Kota continued to press him. "You have always been afraid."
"Shut up!"
"It's not too late, boy. You can still turn away from this."
"SHUT UP!" The lightsaber flared in the dark. "I'm not listening to you anymore."
Kota's weary face smoothed with defeat and acceptance. If the clone could be talked into a defeat it would not be by him. And yet, the hand at his throat trembled violently and he could sense the fear rolling off of him.
He was hesitating. He did remember and he was afraid of it.
But he was afraid of Vader's malice more.
Distantly, the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching rapidly. Kota let himself relax; his breath rushing out with his words. "It's about time, boy."
To be continued...