Fifty Nine
Dinner at the Captains table was frugal. Simple fare, typical of a pirate vessel, but Stoyan was glad for the fact that it was at least hot, if not palatable. He sat back in the dusty light of the cabin, and pushed the food around on his plate before deciding to eat. He didn't know when his next meal would come. The Captain cleared his own, washing the food down with ale in a ceramic cup. He waved his hand to the steward who quickly placed three glasses and a bottle down in front of them.
"Are you partial to a good whisky?" Fletcha asked as he packed his pipe before he poured the amber liquid. "Got this for a run in the Cularin system. That was one hell of a flight wasn't it Smee?"
"Aye Captain. That it was," he replied, his mouth rising in a crooked smile.
Stoyan lifted the glass to his lips scrutinizing the Captain and Smee; he sniffed the drink before finally taking a large gulp of faith. The heat from the alcohol filled his stomach prompting him to take another.
"This makes the stuff on Claxis taste like osik,' he thought to himself.
The Captain noticed his satisfaction at the drop. "Take it easy, the last time I overindulged I woke up in a rather sticky situation, right Smee?" He sat back and struck a wooden match and watched the blue and gold flame flicker as the sulphur burned off and angled it to the pipe dangling from his lip. Satisfied it was adequately lit, he settled it in between his teeth before taking long gentle draws.
"Aye Captain, nothing a few gold credits couldn't solve though Sir."
As the bottle diminished in volume, Stoyan sat back and listened as the Captain continued his diatribe of misadventures, monitoring his alcohol intake. He wanted his wits about him on board this vessel.
Fletcha placed the empty bottle back down on the wooden table and stood, a little awkwardly before righting himself with a smile and a deep laugh. "You don't talk much do you? I like you. The Bounty will serve you well, she may not look like much, but she'll outrun any Republic or Sep ship twice her size."
Both Fletcha and his first in command laughed heartily.
"Aye Captain, she'll do."
The Captain stubbed his pipe out before he turned and said, "We'll hit Sondor's orbit in ten hours, I'd recommend you get some rest. You look like you need it."
Smee continued to stay in the room, warily watching their human cargo, swilling the remains of his glass. "Been with the Captain a long time now. He's taken a shine to you he has. Me on the other hand," he paused, twirling his glass in his hands, "you're too quiet for my liking."
"I just need a ride to Grevel IV. I'm not looking for any trouble."
"Somehow I think trouble finds you?"
"As I said, I just need a ride. No trouble." Stoyan pulled himself out of the chair and tipped his hat. The first mate slammed his glass down on the table loud, stood and pardoned his leave. Stopping half way and without turning, he added, "make sure it stays that way."
Stoyan let out a long breath. He was getting tired of running, continually moving and shifting from one end of the galaxy to another.
Then it happened again, the sudden surge.
Grabbing the table in front of him he steadied himself, breathing through the torment. It was severe this time, as if many were in pain, reaching out to him. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, the dullness however, took a little longer this time to leave.
Stoyan headed towards the sleeping quarters on the Bounty. As he turned a corner he walked head first into an Iotran. The humanoid looked stunned at the face staring back at him.
"What the - ? Why, you're supposed to be dead!" he exclaimed. "You've got a nerve, cough, ah – ah – you've got a lot of explain, argh - ,"
Stoyan had to think, and fast.
He had been recognised.
He couldn't afford to be discovered by some low life on a pirate ship. He didn't reach for his lightsaber, no, that would need explaining. Instead he simply held out his right hand, clenching his fingers as if they were around the throat of the unfortunate soul, who fell to his death, silent and unmarked. He quickly stepped over the body and continued to his berth, making sure his hand wasn't far from the hilt of his weapon for the remainder of the voyage.
#
Sighting the four hostages Darman crept up silently behind a scout and caught his mouth, swiftly placing a vibroblade in between its shoulders and waited for the inevitable slump of his prisoner. Shaking him aside, the commando lent forward and peered through the sight of the dead snipers weapon and called it in.
"I see the hostages; Sarge is bringing in the trade. I count three. Over."
"Copy that."
Niner alighted from the speeder and pushed the Duros out, hitching his hand blaster tight into the blue skinned humanoids back and moved him towards the exchange point.
The pair halted four metres away from the small, guarded group and Niner then raised a gloved hand and pointed towards the hostages. Saying nothing the Weequay's wielding the guns knew what he was asking and turned the three towards the commando holding the saboteur.
Niner hoped this was going to be a smooth mission.
Trade the Duros and get the three civilians home.
Pakod.
Omega had been well trained in the art of extraction.
The hostages walked over slowly, two men and one woman.
"Looking good Sarge," Darman said all the time watching the events unfolding in front of him.
Niner saw the flash before the bolt hit the Duros he was holding in the head and watched in disbelief as he dropped to the ground at his feet.
He took immediate action, whipping his blaster around and assuming a defensive stance.
"Darman?" His voice raising in question.
"Not me Sarge. Eleven o'clock."
The hostage for the swap was dead.
The shot came from a group of trees on Niner's left. Darman was on it, pumping laser fire into the heavily armed Weequay's surrounding the hostages. Niner swung forward and immobilised permanently the two to his right, moving towards the two coming at him from his left.
Darman was meticulous in his firing. Each shot bringing down an alien.
The hostages thought quickly enough to hide behind a mound of dirt, their hands covering their heads from the rapid fire of red and blue.
Darman had to move, his cover now blown. Niner yelled at the hostages, "Get in the speeder! Get in the speeder," as he cover fired and jumped in behind them. He placed a foot on the accelerator and sped off, checking on their status as he wound the vehicle around a corner.
Niner stopped the speeder in five hundred metres from the extraction point and called in over the comm's.
"Dar, where are you?"
The hostages were anything but silent, distracting the sergeant.
"Why aren't we moving?"
"Darman, call in." He was anxiously scanning the area.
"Why are we waiting? Just keep going. Get us out of here!"
"Shut up or get out and walk," the female could clearly see how agitated the soldier was becoming.
Niner stopped for a second to give her a quick nod in acknowledgment.
They waited.
"Come on, come on Darman."
He came rushing out of the bushes.
"Zero on our six, ON OUR SIX," he yelled as he jumped in the back with the others, a masked Weequay followed him out from the bushes and Darman instinctively lifted his DC17M and fired two shots, the second found it's intended target. Niner sped off, the acceleration causing the occupants to surge back and grab onto anything to prevent them from falling out.
Darman was back on the comm. "Fi, Atin?"
"We're both in the transport awaiting orders."
"Get ready for immediate evac. Fire up the engines." Niner replied, grunting to regain control as he took a corner too fast.
"Whoa, you right there Sarge?" Darman fell back onto the woman. "My apologies Ma'am."
"Hey Fi," Darman continued to bounce around in the back of the speeder, "did you pop the Duros?"
"Nah, not that it didn't cross my mind. He deserved it the hut'uun. You didn't see anything Dar?"
"Nope, Jeez. I think the Sarge needs a trip back to Kamino to hone his driving skills."
"Cut the chit chat," Niner barked back down the comm, "ETA less than a minute. You ready?"
"Copy that Sarge," Atin replied.
Niner pulled into the clearing and saw the small yacht start to blow orange from its rear thrusters.
"Almost there, almost there," he said quietly in his bucket.
Darman heard the comment followed by the familiar clicking Niner would make with his teeth when under pressure, he then grabbed a support and readied himself for the speeder to come to a halt.
When it did he sprung up and jumped free, scanning the area he held a hand out to the occupants and yelled, "Move it, move it."
The two men pushed their way past the woman and scrambled to the ramp of the yacht. The woman alighted unassisted followed quickly by the Sergeant.
"Let's clear out."
The two commandos came in last, dropping their kit as they swung into the cabin holding the three civilians.
"Everyone alright?" Niner asked as he removed his bucket.
They nodded and he was immediately caught by the woman smiling back at him, the brief interaction between the two not lost on Darman.
"Well done Sarge," he said as he slapped his brother's shoulder hard, heading to the pit where the other two were beginning the lift off sequence.
.
Two hours into the flight back to Coruscant, Niner sat heavily down next to the woman. They had eaten some of the rations that the soldiers shared, commenting in the usual way at the lack of taste.
She sat looking quizzically at the bland coloured fare.
"You eat this all the time?"
Niner laughed as he too, removed a cube from his belt and unwrapped the portion before popping it into his mouth.
"Yup," he couldn't help but smile again, before beginning a conversation about 'how a woman like you ended up on a planet like that?'
#
"You're making great progress Echo."
It had been three weeks since the ARC had the surgery to attach his new prosthetic legs.
Echo nodded his head and allowed himself a small break from his vigorous regime.
Each day he would push himself a little harder, a little longer until he regained full movement.
He was focussed, and she could sense him lifting it up a notch, heading towards the inevitable.
Escape.
Echo blew out a breath and with his dark skin glistening with sweat, he made his way over to the gurney where she would regularly check the synthetic skin attachment. The right leg had been slower to rejuvenate and mesh with his own. Marlo had tried all sorts of treatments, resorting to a minor surgical procedure to try and encourage the growth, but to no avail. It was frustrating to them both.
She expected perfection and would accept nothing less.
He quickly removed the grey prison pants and stood before her wearing only his black shorts.
"Up," she ordered and he immediately lifted himself onto the table, his legs dangling like a small child's over the edge. Marlo turned and washed her hands before drying them and studying the failing graft. Echo also looked at the pink skin, angry and weeping slightly.
Slap, slap!
A pair of surgical gloves snapped onto her hands and she quietly moved in front of him, his knee precariously close to her stomach. Echo, averted his eyes as she pushed the material of his shorts up high to his crotch, the proximity of her hands to him causing him to flush.
He looked up and around the room and mentally went through the cleaning and reassembling of a DC-15 hand pistol.
"Echo?"
Marlo waited for him to answer.
"Pardon?"
He stared in to her eyes, her golden brown hair falling over one shoulder. She had been making more of an effort in her appearance recently and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the soldier.
Or the warden.
Echo knew what was happening. He had read about it during his ARC training on Kamino.
'It is not uncommon for a captive to associate and bond with its captor.'
Although Marlo wasn't necessarily his captor, Echo was yet to determine exactly why she had kept him alive.
"Can you wiggle forward for me so I can wrap your thigh with Bacta?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry," he stammered as he shifted forward, trying to ignore the proximity of her body.
She either didn't notice or was too professional to comment.
Marlo meticulously wound the bandage around Echo's thigh and smoothed the material down with an adhesive strip. It was too late for the young trooper who cleared his throat as she remained still and looked at the reaction his young body had independently initiated.
Her hand remained on his thigh as she slowly looked up into his eyes. Echo closed his and breathed through the familiar feeling in his stomach which began growing, along with his anatomy.
Marlo, now between his thighs, was in line with his face. She dipped her head and lightly brushed his lips with her own, holding them there for a moment. Echo's hands moved up slowly behind her and held her steady.
He had committed to the kiss, reciprocating, all the time holding her in place against him.
It took them both by surprise; the intensity, the urgency and the feeling of hopeless need, taking all cognitive, rational thought and throwing it to wild abandon.
It wasn't until he heard a sound escape her that he stopped.
The complex amalgam of desire, embarrassment, and finally guilt stopping him from continuing.
Pulling her back gently he buried his head in her chest. Marlo held him into her, her chin resting on top of his thick dark hair and looked stunned at the white walls in front of her.
"I'm so sorry Echo."
"Me too. I think I might - "
"Yep," she said interrupting him and moved aside. Marlo avoided his eyes as he moved quickly off the steel guerney and left the room.
#