Chapter thirteen:
As my adrenaline saps away I start to feel pretty exhausted.
Fenric is gone, saved us from the Terror Walker. Time to evaluate how many game pieces I still have on this board.
Primith peeps out from a pile of wreckage and waves me over. I walk to her, Zanna in tow.
"Glad you're alright," Primith says once I get close. "You two could use this." She tosses a bacta packet to me. I snatch it out of the air.
"Aren't you the medic?" I ask.
"Yeah, and I've got bigger stuff to deal with," Primith says, "Since somebody didn't grab the med kit from our ship, all I've got are the painkillers and bandages in my pockets."
Her latest patient sits propped against a piece of metal plating. Stocking has a grimly determined air about him, and a sling around his neck supporting a limp right arm. The sling is made mostly out of Primith's shirt. Seeing her working in her tank top, I'm surprised to see how lean and toned she looks. She's not a little girl anymore. Not that she's all grown up. Some freaky in-between thing. We've got that in common.
Doggs catches up, and waits for Zanna to finish with the bacta before he can address his own fresh scrapes and bruises. "Nice shooting everyone."
"Did you and Fenric plan that move out?" Zanna asks.
"He told me what to do," says Doggs, "Said he had a plan, but I had no idea what he was going to pull."
"Well…he won," I barely stop myself from saying 'better him than me'.
"We going after the hyperspace jammer next?" Stocking asks. "I can still fire a blaster, if anyone's wondering."
"First things first; we've just got to get out of here before the Imperial military and emergency services shut the place down," I say.
"So there's less actually getting things done, and more running from place to place?" Primith asks.
"Classic Force Games," says Zanna.
"This isn't a game," Doggs says.
"Neither were those," says Zanna.
"So is this everyone?" Galen joins us.
"Some help you were," Zanna blows him off.
"Maybe, maybe not," says Galen.
"Saving yourself for the bigger battles?" Primith asks.
"I'm not sure there are going to be any bigger fights than this one," Stocking mumbles.
"Sure, yeah, whatever," says Galen. "Just thought you might all appreciate that I found us a ride."
…
Primith suggests a moment of silence for Fenric and Syra, and Doggs agrees as long as it takes place at a later time. For now, even a moment of memorandum would slow us down and put our lives in even further jeopardy. Smart man. Their deaths were regrettable, and more deaths would be even more regrettable.
Our new ride is a bit of a hot rod. Sure, it's a little beat up now, what with all the buildings and space ship components flying all over the place, but it's still a sleek, slick speeder, the kind Galen used to drool over on the holonet. When we didn't have anything to smoke (or even when we did) we'd while away hour after hour talking about which ones looked the nicest or would be the easiest to steal. The old days. I only missed them when I was really tired.
It's a dark red convertible, with barely enough room for us all. Galen leaps over the door into the driver's seat and hits the ignition. The engine starts with a purr and he revs it up into a series of roars. I see a bunch of wires hanging out from the dashboard. A classic hotwiring job.
"Nice work," says Doggs, "But I'm driving."
"Aw, man," Galen slides over, the rest of us climb in. Zanna sits in the front beside Galen and I take the rear with Primith and Stocking. We all have our blasters in our laps as we pull into the air.
Not a moment too soon: Doggs pulls away from the crash zone just a series of emergency vehicles arrive. He pulls us in close to one of the buildings, and the authorities don't seem to pay us any mind.
I'm curious as to why their response time lagged so much, but as Doggs joins the frantic current of airborne commuters I think I can see why.
The city is afire.
Not all of it, but there are flames all over. Where there aren't flames there are craters and where there aren't craters there are burned out shells where buildings used to be. Ships and speeders do battle in the air above us, there are a few rebel craft fighting the Imperials, but mostly unidentified, unlabeled ships doing battle with the authorities. Civilians. They're not alone. On every bridge and plaza, I see protestors, looters and people being arrested. I think of Ryloth. This is what the mob I'd seen on Ryloth wish they could've been. The Empire has a fight on their hands, and it's not just because of the Rebel Alliance up in the sky.
We come to shuddering halt along with hundreds of other speeders, locked in a traffic jam. I peer ahead intently. I see a glimmer of force fields stretching between two buildings. There are speeders, hovercrafts and ships, and several white helmets to be seen, as troopers catalog and scan speeder after speeder. Multiple probe droids whir through the air around the blockade.
"They've set up a roadblock," says Zanna.
"Looks like they're scanning for Rebels," I say.
"Rebels like us," Doggs says grimly.
"That was really helpful, Doggs," I say.
"No less helpful than what you just said," Stocking points out.
"Who told you could talk to the Chosen One that way," Primith gives him her best offended face.
"I…" Stocking begins, "Well…all of the rest of you do, I figured I could…sorry."
"Nah, I'm just kidding," Primith grins and pats him on the shoulder. "You can give her all the crap you want."
"So," Zanna turns to me, "Can you do that same thing you did back on the ship with the guards. Weave a little Jedi magic."
"There are a lot more guards," Stocking squints at the blockade.
"It's the droids that I'm worried about," I admit. "I don't think I can do it."
"Not so powerful?" Galen asks.
"Guess so," I don't take the bait. "I don't want to risk it, that is."
"That's good enough for me," says Doggs, and the speeder drifts downwards. We shift through a series of lanes and lines with inches to spare Till Doggs pulls down into an alleyway, a narrow passage between buildings. I'm waiting for Imperials to follow right behind us, sirens-blaring, but there's no sign of pursuit.
"Now we just have to find another route to get where we're going," says Doggs.
"Now that you mention it, where exactly are we going?" Zanna asks.
Doggs turns a corner and a wide balcony full of Stormtroopers looks up at us.
"Oops," Doggs gulps, and shifts the speeder into reverse. We duck down in our seats; the troops are quick to open fire. Blasterfire pings, denting and scorching the hood. Zanna and Galen cover their eyes as the windshield shatters, showering them with broken glass.
I lean up out of my seat; arm outstretched, and squeeze my blaster's trigger. At least two stormtroopers crumple as I shoot them down. I see one of the troopers shouldering a heavy repeating blaster-cannon, the kind you can barely carry-
And we're around the corner, just as its powerful discharge rips up the building's sheer surface before our eyes.
Doggs takes us down several stories as we catch our breath. Till another blaster bolt tears through the seating to my left. More follow, as Doggs takes evasive maneuvers. A pair of stormtroopers descending on jetpacks empty their blasters in our general direction. As his passengers return fire, Doggs takes us down a passageway so narrow that the edges of our speeder raise sparks against the walls around us. Unfortunately, this does nothing to dissuade our more maneuverable pursuers.
Reaching out the force, I manage to catch on of our pursuers in midair, slowing him enough to allow Zanna to shoot him dead. As the body and its jetpack slam into a wall, resulting in a geyser of flame, we emerge over a plaza, sort of a deserted strip mall.
Zanna manages to nail the other trooper too, but only by shooting down his jetpack. As the jetpack spirals away with a trail of black smoke, the stormtrooper ejects and soars through the air, putting several blaster bolts through the dashboard of the speeder. Doggs swears as our ride stalls, jumps and sputters.
The stormtrooper lands in the back seat, ramming Stocking against the door, pressing his boots against the injured soldier. The trooper fires at Zanna, who ducks down out of the way, and I grab his arm and twist, forcing the gun out of his grip. As Primith beats at the trooper with the butt of her gun, he backhands her and she rolls away, mouth bloody. With Primith out of the way, Galen manages to shoot the Stormtrooper point blank through the head. We toss the body from the speeder even as our irreparably damaged transport hits the floor of the plaza with a clunk and a scrape.
Luckily, the stolen speeder died a slow, leisurely death rather than a hard and fast one, allowing us to drift rather than drop to the ground. When we hit there are only a smattering of bruised elbows and stubbed toes split between us, injury-wise. The airbag goes off several seconds after we clamber out of the vehicle.
There's not another vehicle in sight (save for a few civilian speeders knocking about several miles above us), and I'm pretty sure that there are more Stormtroopers searching for us right now, so I lead the group over toward a line of shop fronts, by waving and calling, "Hey, over here."
Nobody disagrees, but Stocking points out, "What about that vehicle, won't they recognize it," He gestures to the smoking speeder.
"Right," says Doggs, and fires several times into the speeder's hood. Primith yelps as the speeder is engulfed in a ball of fire.
"Yeah, says Stocking, glancing at the blackened carapace that had been our getaway ship mere moments ago, "That ought to do it."
The six of us slip through a door, and find ourselves in a dim room filled with empty tables in, lit only through the blinds pulled low over darkened windows. A counter and bar are positioned at the far end. The smell of grease assaults my nostrils. It's a diner. The kind of dive Osca told me she wouldn't let me be caught dead in when she took me to different clubs and restaurants.
A tubby Bothan appears behind the counter, toting a bulky blaster rifle that he aims right at us. "If you're looking for trouble, you've come to the wrong place," he growls. "Uh. Or, if you're looking to make trouble. I give you trouble. If you make me any."
Primith gives the latest in a long string of yelps, as a waitress droid emerges from the shadows to loom over her, a blaster in each hand. A young human woman with curly blond hair blocks our way to the door. She's wearing big boots and a short blue dress, and has a little blaster pistol pointed right at my head.
"We've got no quarrel with you," says Zanna.
"Damn strait you won't," says the Bothan. "Hermia, take their guns."
The human girl, Hermia, bites her lips, doesn't move to take our weapons.
"There's more of us than you," Galen points out.
"But we're good people," The Bothan shoots back.
"I don't think these are your standard looters," says Hermia.
The Bothan shrugs, "They do seem a bit scantily armed now that you mention it."
"That, and one or two faces seem mighty familiar," says Hermia.
"We're just passing through," says Doggs.
"We're no friends of the Empire," says Primith. "Unless, um, you were, you know…hoping we were."
The Bothan huffs, "If I had a credit for every scumbag who told us that little lie I'd be richer than Kara Evenstern."
"Funny you should mention that," Hermia looks straight at me. "Since I'm pretty sure she's in the room right now." I sense a familiar twinge, a mental sign of danger. She does have a gun pointed at my head, so it's probably overdue.
"Hey," Stocking steps toward her, in front of me, "Let's all take it easy now and-"
He never finishes his sentence. He falls against me, a hole in his skull.
We all dive for cover. There's a sniper somewhere outside. Stocking just unintentionally sacrificed himself to save me.
As another blaster bolt tears through a nearby chair, the waitress droid opens fire, smashing out the window with its hail of energy blasts. Two sniper bolts, and the droid is no longer functioning.
Doggs and Zanna take a few potshots out the window. Galen eases out into the open to move for different cover, but jumps back as he's almost shot down.
I reach out with my mind to try to find the sniper, and through the open window I see an Imperial speeder pull up in front of the diner. Stormtroopers pile out and open fire. the air fills with blaster bolts as we return the favor. Troopers fall left and right.
"Maybe you folks was telling the truth," the Bothan joins our efforts. I note that Hermia is a better shot than he, even with a blaster with less rapid fire features.
The Bothan disappears behind the bar, with a fresh bloodstained spattered on the wall behind where he'd stood. The sniper is still in action.
A grenade sails through the window; I catch it with the force and send it flying right back. The Imperial speeder explodes, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of me. Especially because the grenade detonates an instant later. I close my eyes, searching for the sniper, but he's gone. Already dead. More stormtroopers fall, and I sense a whole new group of people shooting them down. To the rescue! Or something like that.
A couple flaming stormtroopers seek refuge from their attackers by diving into the bar. Hermia shoots one, so does Zanna. Doggs would have but his blaster's power battery has chosen that moment to deplete. I push with the force, and throw his attacker into the wall. I hear the snap of a neck, and turn to watch a white-armored fist curve right into my face. I spin away, and the rim of a table rushes up to crack me over the head.
Time to get some rest, I find myself thinking as blackness surrounds me.
…
Faces fade in and out before my eyes. Images, moving pictures, just like the ones in my memory. Because they are my memories. Perrin. Galen. Osca. And then we move past the naked people. Coy. Zanna. Doggs. Sharon. Fen. I see blood and I hear screams and I smell meat and I feel heat and I taste salt.
After that comes the evil.
I don't really believe in evil. Never have. There are people who were assholes to each other, sure, but pure evil is just an idea. Till now. I feel it.
Maybe evil is the wrong world. It's like a hole. A hole in life and emotion and reason pulling everything around inside, pulling in all the force.
I see Coruscant in flames, people fighting, people dying, everywhere. And I feel the blackness. Linking it all, feeding it all and feeding of it as well. There's a building, a modest spire, I've never seen it before. And then my eyes snap open.
I sit up in bed. It's more of a cot really. Bare un-plastered walls surround me, a couple of dirty sheets hung on racks to hide me from the rest of the room.
"Hi there," says Doggs
"Hello," I say. I gingerly climb out of bed, head still a bit foggy. I'm still aching all over. Doggs whistles to himself as he stares at the wall. I'm in my underwear, but the rest of my clothes have been left in a nice pile at the foot of my bed. I put them all on. The latest blaster I'd been using is nowhere to be seen.
"So what'd I miss," I ask Doggs.
"You took a nasty fall," he says, "But the medics say you're going to be just fine."
"Who swooped in and saved us? Rebel alliance?"
"In a manner of speaking. Sort of the local chapter. All the attitude, none of the weapons, tech, information, and really everything else. Still, they helped us out. The battle is raging, and we've taken refuge in one of their bases, sort of a command center/abandoned warehouse type deal. It wasn't far. You've only been out a few hours."
"Good. We lose anyone other than Stocking?"
"No."
"Okay." I pull on my boots. "Let's meet the neighbors."
The warehouse is full of crates and Rebels. Bedraggled fighters scattered about cleaning weapons, bandaging wounds, and eating hot soup. They look more like mercenaries than the Rebel soldiers I'm used to. I think of the Jayze. A young boy runs up and passes me a cup of salty, very thin, broth. It scalds my tongue, but that doesn't stop me from gulping it down.
We reach a holonet port projecting view of the battle above, surrounded by Rebels. Primith appears and hugs me tightly so that I spill the rest of my soup all over her. Zanna punches me on the arm good-naturedly and Galen nods sullenly.
"Hey," Hermia catches my eye. "She's up."
"Welcome back, victor," says a gruff voice. I find myself looking up and a broad, muscular Zabrak man wearing a thick army jacket. I wonder if he's as bitter about my killing Fen a year ago as half his planet seemed to be. Probably not, because he says, "They're all yours."
"Who's all mine?" I ask, as Hermia hands me a comlink type device.
"Everyone who's listening," she says. "You give such good speeches on the holonet."
"But I just got up, and I don't have any context and-"
"You're live sweetie." Says Hermia.
"Right." I speak into the comlink, try to remember the kind of lines Menissa was always having me read. "Um. This is Kara Evenstern. I'm a victor, I'm a Jedi and I'm a Rebel. I'm also the chosen one, meant to bring balance to force. Because it is not in balance. The force flows through the galaxy, binds it together, unifies all life. But it's got a gaping hole where its heart should, a black pit of shit and evil right here in Coruscant. You can see the battle, hear the sound of violence. You know what's happening. What's happening is a final stand. We can stand. We will stand. As long as we fight back against the murderers and tyrants who seek to dominate us, we are strong. We have hope, because we are hope. We are the force. We will be the change we want, we need, or will die trying. See you on the battlefield."
I hand the comlink back. "That was alright I guess," Hermia says. "Not your best."
"Thanks sweetie," I tell her.
"Name's Kelsch by the by," the big Zabrak takes my hand and shakes it. "My troops and I are at your disposal. Within reason of course."
"Okay." I say. "What does that leave me with?"
"About a thousand guns," he says, "We could probably pull together some more. We're all spread a bit thin at the moment."
"Oh," Hermia adds. "And lots and lots of explosives. I mean lots. We raided this demolitions company."
"I thought you were a waitress," I glance at her.
"Day job," she huffs, "Freedom fighting doesn't exactly pay the bills."
"Has the hyperspace jammer been put out of commission yet?" I ask Kelsch. It feels weird to have everyone looking at me to line up the next big decision. Is this what Coy feels like?
"No," he shakes his head, "The Rebels are strafing the planet for it, but they haven't found it yet."
"Maybe that's not the worst thing ever," I say, looking at the destruction broadcast against a holonet. "When an animal gets backed into a corner, that's when it really starts to try and scratch your eyes out. Looks like that's what the Rebellion's going through, and we just might win."
"So are we taking out the jammer now?" Primith asks.
"No," I say, "Something better."
"Cut the suspense," says Zanna.
"I had a dream," I say, "Actually; it was more of a vision. A prophecy. Maybe. A thing."
"You're the Jedi," Doggs shrugs. "Just tell me who to shoot."
I nod, calmly, injecting a little dramatic presentation. Maybe all that while with Menissa had paid off (though it still wasn't worth the superlaser she cost us).
I take a deep breath. "I know where he is. We're going after Palpatine."