The heat lamp cast a steady, warm glow over the corner of the central room. Hunter crouched nearby, holding both hands toward it. Even though he wasn't cold, the warmth the lamp emitted was reassuring, especially given how all the flames in Trayus were not real fire.
Rubbing his gloved hands together, Hunter glanced at Wrecker, who was leaning back against the wall, fast asleep. There were no signs of swelling in his brain, so Hunter had been letting him sleep. Once the laceration had stopped bleeding, about half an hour in, Hunter had been less worried . . . about Wrecker, anyway. As the time passed, he'd worried more about Tech and Crosshair and Quinlan. Every few minutes, he'd tried to contact Tech or Crosshair, but he never got a response. Quinlan had continued to check in every quarter hour, each time without news.
And then, finally, the Jedi had commed to report that he'd found Tech and was on his way down. He hadn't given details as to what had happened, but at least Hunter had been able to stop worrying about one teammate. Now, all he was missing was Crosshair.
Though . . . Hunter checked his chrono. It shouldn't be taking this long for Quinlan and Tech to get back. Standing, he commed the Jedi, who answered immediately. "Hunter?"
"Just checking in," the sergeant replied. "It's been half an hour. Everything okay?"
"We're okay, just taking it slow," Quinlan answered. "Had to stop for a bit, but we're almost to you now."
"Okay." After signing off, Hunter checked Wrecker again, made sure Vythia was still in the same spot she'd been in all along, and then neatened up the row of medical supplies he'd set out. With nothing else to occupy himself with, he crouched next to the heat lamp, drew his vibroblade, and spun it idly between the fingers of his right hand. One rotation forward, one back. Two forward, two back. Three forward . . .
A faint clink of metal against stone made him look over at Vythia, who was just setting Lothal's mask on the floor. Hunter didn't know what to think of her at this point. Since Quinlan had first left to search for their missing teammates, she had been studying the scrolls, or fingering the golden mask she'd gotten back in Lothal's temple, or turning one of the daggers over and over in her hand. A couple of times, she'd asked how Wrecker was doing, and when Quinlan reported that he was on his way back with Tech, Vythia had looked honestly relieved.
Now, she glanced up and met his gaze for several seconds before she raised an eyebrow. "Hunter? You seem to have another question?"
The sergeant sat back on his heels, studying her. "I have a lot of questions, and you haven't answered any of them."
"True." She rolled up the scroll and slid it carefully into its metal case. "But perhaps this time you will ask one I feel inclined to answer."
Hunter didn't think that was likely, but any conversation was better than sitting here with nothing to do but worry. He sighed. "Fine. What are you after?"
"What everyone is after," she answered promptly, then looked amused when he glowered. "What? It is true."
"What specifically are you after?"
She blinked slowly and glanced down at the scroll's case. "Artifacts, as you should know by now."
"Not everyone's after artifacts, though," Hunter said. "There's something else you want, something inside Trayus."
As he'd expected, Vythia only shrugged. But at least she seemed more inclined to talk than she had before. Maybe now she'd be willing to answer something that she hadn't been willing to answer earlier.
"Fine." Hunter sheathed his knife with a quick movement. "Then how about telling me why you came back into Trayus?"
"Hm . . ." She tilted her head. "Why don't you tell me why you came after me?"
"I wanted to know what it was you were doing."
"You did not know about the leviathan being nearby?" she asked. "Then why are all of you here?"
"Quinlan figured it out after I went after you. That's why he and the others came after Wrecker and I. If we'd known about the leviathan, Vythia, trust me – you'd have been on your own."
"How touching." The Nautolan woman put the mask back in the satchel.
After a few seconds, Hunter said, "You haven't answered my question."
"No, I have not." Vythia studied him thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Although I will tell you that I did not know the leviathan was so close. Had I known, I would not have entered the academy immediately."
"Why go back at all, though?" Hunter demanded, gesturing at the black satchel that contained her artifacts. "You got what you were after."
Vythia's flicker of a smile was answer enough. She hadn't gotten what she was after, not yet, and something told Hunter she wouldn't leave until she had. If she chose to stay behind after Crosshair and Tech were back, though, she was on her own.
Shaking his head, Hunter got to his feet and looked down at her. "We're leaving as soon as the team's back together, Vythia."
She looked steadily back at him, her large black eyes gleaming in the light from the pillar's white flames. "Are we indeed."
Hunter went to the stairway without answering and pressed one ear briefly to the inner wall. The leviathan was still shifting, the vibrations inconsistent and slow, but there were also lighter sounds coming from the main stairway.
Hunter moved to Wrecker and shook him once. "Hey, wake up, Wrecker. Tech and Quinlan are back."
"I've been awake," Wrecker defended, struggling to sit upright. He swayed dizzily and clapped a hand to his head. ". . . Mostly."
Hunter helped him lean back against the wall. "You have, huh?"
Wrecker shot him a sheepish look. "You said Tech's back?"
"Yeah." A quiet murmur floated down the stairs, and Hunter turned and ran to the base of the stairs. "Tech, Quinlan?"
"Yep, it's us," Quinlan called back, sounding a little out of breath.
They came into view a moment later, walking slowly. Quinlan had an arm around Tech's waist, keeping him upright as he stumbled along. Tech's hands twitched at his sides, and there were dark, bruised marks around the base of his hands and going up his wrists.
"Tech – what happened?" Hunter asked. "Are you okay?"
Tech looked grumpy. "I have answered that query multiple times."
"Um." Quinlan glanced sideways at him. "You've answered me, not Hunter."
Tech glanced sideways at him and frowned.
"Hunter, he says he's fine," Quinlan translated.
"Yes," Tech said. "I am upright and conscious and comprehensive."
Hunter blinked.
"Comprehending," Quinlan corrected as they reached the last step. "And I think you kind of defeated your own point, there . . ."
He released Tech, who promptly sat down on the stairs as though unable to support his own weight.
"What happened?" Hunter demanded for the second time, one hand hovering over Tech's shoulder. He looked like he was ready to keel over.
"One of those four-armed statues picked him up a few minutes after he disappeared and hung him by his wrists and ankles," Quinlan said.
"Oh . . ." said Vythia softly.
Hunter only stared from Quinlan to Tech in shock. The statues were still around, actively hunting?
"I took care of that statue," the Jedi said. "Anyway . . . Tech's arms are pretty bad, and will be for a while. Oh, and he got clipped in the side by the thrown statue. I haven't had a chance to check yet, but he –"
"He is right here," Tech said peevishly, leaning his head on his arms, which he was resting across his knees.
" – says he doesn't have broken ribs," finished Quinlan, completely ignoring him. "I think he's right, but they're probably bruised."
Hunter nodded his understanding.
"Quinlan," Tech ordered, voice muffled against his knees. "Go find Crosshair."
"I only gave him one hypo," Quinlan said, and went over the medpack. "I'll grab some more – just in case Crosshair's in a similar situation."
The sergeant watched as Quinlan picked up a couple of hypos and stuffed them into a pouch on his belt. Hunter didn't want to leave Tech and Wrecker, but the Jedi looked tired and not quite there. . . which was not a good sign, given everything that had happened so far.
"Quinlan," he said, stepping closer. "You sure you don't want me to take over searching?"
"Yeah. I'll –" Quinlan glanced at Vythia, then rolled his eyes, as though irritated at himself for not remembering she knew already. "I'll have a better chance of finding him with the Force."
With the Force? Hunter looked sharply at him. "But I thought you said –"
Quinlan cut him off with a gesture. "I'm going to find Crosshair." He turned away before Hunter could answer and started back up the stairs, patting Tech once on the head as he went by. Tech didn't smack him away.
As Hunter watched the Jedi leave, worry nagged at the back of his mind. Surely Quinlan wouldn't try searching through the Force again, not when no one else was around.
Vythia took a step forward. "Quinlan, wait!"
He paused a little stiffly, then turned. "What is it, Vythia?"
"Where is your lightsaber?"
"In my pack. Emitter's destroyed." The Jedi blinked a little, almost as though he were surprised. "Yeah, I should – Hunter, pass me the other one?"
The sergeant removed the hilt from his belt and tossed it upwards, and Quinlan caught it in one hand. "Thanks."
As he vanished up the stairway, Hunter turned to Tech. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you over to Wrecker."
"I am fine right here."
Translation: I do not want to move. Hunter sighed through his nose. "You'll be fine over near Wrecker, too."
Tech frowned, ignoring Hunter's outstretched hand.
"Tech, come on."
"Hunter . . ."
Hunter folded his arms, looking sternly at him.
Tech huffed and wobbled to his feet, apparently forgot that there was a step down, and only didn't smack face-first against the floor because Hunter was there to catch him.
When they got over to Wrecker, who had been watching worriedly, Tech paused. He observed Wrecker for a moment, tilted his head, and said, "I suspect you have a concussion."
Wrecker's concerned expression cleared a little and he snorted. "Yeah, thanks, Doc."
"I am not a designated medic. In fact, officially speaking, our squad does not have a medic, although –" Tech paused when Hunter sat him down next to Wrecker. " – I believe Wrecker or I would be the best qualified to fill that position, should the need arise."
"Yeah?" said Hunter, slightly amused. "Why's that?"
"You do not do well with medically-related things involving other people," Tech pointed out. "Crosshair is much better. However, he has a particularly terrible bedside manner, which Wrecker does not have – and Wrecker is nearly as good at Crosshair at treating injuries, except for applying stitches. I, of course, have the most theoretical knowledge of field medicine out of the four of us."
"Uh-huh." Hunter pushed Tech's sleeve up and winced at the thin but dark, finger-shaped bruises that wrapped up his forearm from his wrist and hand. "Well, the need for a medic has arisen, and both Wrecker and you are out. Where does that leave you?"
"In a Sith academy," Tech mumbled, hunching in on himself. After a brief pause, he tugged off his goggles and rubbed at his eyes. "Quinlan said the leviathan is still alive."
"Yeah." Hunter pressed his fingers against Tech's side. He was relieved to discover that his ribs weren't broken, but concerned that Tech didn't slap his hand away. "Vythia says it'll probably reattach its head, though."
Wrecker stared at him, then turned to Vythia and said, "It can do that?" in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat loudly.
"I am afraid it is more than likely." Vythia reached for a water bottle. "Perhaps you should attempt to drink something?"
Hunter looked up sharply, the disinfecting wipe he was using pressed against a cut on Tech's face. "Give me that, Vythia."
She rolled her eyes and tossed it to him. "The lid is sealed. Do you think I intend to poison him?"
"I have no idea what you intend to do." Hunter checked the seal, picked up a different bottle anyway, and passed that to Wrecker instead. "You already knocked us out with a sleeping agent at least twice."
"Three times," she answered, smoothing her skirt. "But that was not poison."
Before Hunter could do more than stare at her, she added, "Hm, I did not realize you were aware of the time in Lothal. Did your scanner pick it up, Tech?"
"My scanner?" Tech shook his head. "No. Quinlan woke up first."
"Did he." Vythia looked down, biting her lower lip. "And yet I could have sworn my calculations were correct . . ."
Hunter shot Tech a warning glance. Do not tell her why it didn't work.
Tech looked back at him uncomprehendingly, then said, "She has no more with her. I checked. Wait. Where is my datapad?"
Sighing, Hunter unclipped the datapad from Tech's belt, set it aside well out of his reach, and picked up the bacta spray.
"Hey, Vythia," Wrecker said, putting the half-empty bottle aside. "Vythia, why'd'ja do that, anyway?"
"To keep you from interfering," Vythia answered. "Naturally."
Interfering in what? Hunter glanced at his comm, which still hadn't blinked – then again, it hadn't been quite long enough for Quinlan to have to checked in yet. He wondered if he was checking the third level now, or if he'd gone right up to the sixth.
Tech shifted, and Hunter turned back to the task at hand. "Okay, Tech," he said, picking up a hypo. "Are your arms still pretty bad?"
Tech hesitated, eyeing the painkiller. "I will not attempt to hit you in the eye if you give me one," he said at last, clenching his fists in his lap.
Vythia laughed softly. "How oddly specific."
"You'd be surprised," Hunter muttered, injecting the hypo as fast as he could. Just as he finished, his commlink blinked twice, and he answered. "Quinlan, any luck?"
"Not yet."
"Which level are you on?"
"The third. I'll check in again soon." He ended the transmission.
Hunter thought for a moment, then handed Tech his datapad. "You think you can try to boost your sensor range?"
Moving clumsily, Tech flicked through three different screens before answering. "I cannot, not in the storm. I do not understand this, Hunter. The storm is concentrated around the Marauder."
Hunter and Wrecker looked over his shoulders at the datapad. Sure enough, the worst area of the storm swirled immediately over and around the Marauder, which was right outside the main doorway. It was like seeing the eye of a storm, except that this time it was worse in the eye than anywhere else.
Hunter sat back on his heels, a strange thought entering his mind. It's almost like the storm – that second presence Quinlan was talking about – doesn't want us to communicate with each other.
Vythia was also looking at the screen, her lips turned down in concern. "I do not understand this either," she answered in a low voice. "Why would . . ."
Wrecker studied her. "Why would what, Vythia?" he rumbled, his gaze unusually serious.
To Hunter's surprise, she answered him. "Why would anything here, anything malevolent or aware, want us to remain instead of to leave?"
"I thought maybe you'd have an idea about that," Hunter retorted.
"No . . . No, I do not." She also got up and wandered a few steps away, head bent thoughtfully.
Hunter turned to Wrecker and saw his own realization reflected back at him from Wrecker's eyes. They both believed her.
It had been nearly half an hour since Quinlan had left the others. He'd only searched one hallway – the main hallway of the third level – completely, and something told him it was taking too long. Already, it was after midnight; and even though he'd made himself down an energy drink ten minutes ago, Quinlan was exhausted.
And I still have no idea where Crosshair is. Quinlan stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring unseeingly at the area in front of him. The longer it took him, the worse off Crosshair would be. Even if he wasn't hung up like Tech had been, something was wrong or he'd have returned a long time ago.
And Quinlan had a quicker way to find the missing sniper. He could use the Force, like he'd told Hunter. And yet, if he overestimated his ability in dealing with the presence, or made a mistake . . .
Something – it felt dangerously like his conscience – nagged at him. Using the Dark Side is already a mistake.
Quinlan shook his head impatiently. If he hadn't used the Dark Side, Crosshair would have been injured or killed by the statue, and Hunter would be paralyzed, or dead. Using the Dark Side was like using the Light Side, only easier . . . and more dangerous. Supposedly.
What was wrong with just using the Dark Side, anyway? It wasn't as though he was using it for anything evil. The Force was . . . a tool, a gift. Something any Force-user could access and call on. The Sith in Trayus had twisted it until only Dark Side energy remained, but really, what did that even mean? The Force on Malachor had made him sick earlier, but now he hardly felt its presence. If there had been Light Side energy around, then of course he would have used that, but . . . there wasn't.
Quinlan wrapped his arms around himself, hesitating. He knew the Jedi forbade acting out of certain emotions, but only because it was so much easier to become powerful quickly, not because those emotions were wrong. Everyone got angry – it wasn't wrong for non-Force-users, so it wasn't wrong for Force-users. Even Master Yoda said that. It was wrong to act on emotions, not to feel emotions. Of course, it was more important for Jedi than for non-Force-sensitives to control their emotions, because they were capable of incredible acts of power when they lost control – which most Jedi did when they used the Dark Side. It took people over, and over time, it could twist them. Or so he'd always heard. It had certainly happened to the Sith, but they'd let it, they'd used it constantly. And he hadn't used it when he had another choice –
Except when I killed that gang leader, he thought, his soul cringing as his mind flashed back to the horrified realization that had struck him after firing the fourth shot through the dying, struggling man's torso.
Quinlan gave his head a hard shake. He had to stop dwelling on the past and focus on finding Crosshair, and he didn't think the sniper was on the third level. But there was only one way to be sure, and he knew better than to try it here, where the others would have a hard time finding him if something happened.
Suddenly decided, Quinlan broke into a run and headed back to the central room, then darted up the stairs to the fourth floor. It was far enough from the others that Hunter couldn't reach him in time to stop him, if for some reason he decided to.
Quinlan sat cross-legged, heart thudding uncomfortably in his stomach as he rested his hands on his knees. With the other times he'd used the Dark Side, it had been instinctive, not premeditated. Now, he was going to use it deliberately – only if using the kyber crystal from Hunter's lightsaber didn't work, of course. He didn't think it would work, though. The elderly Jedi woman who had owned it had not been especially powerful, and if Bastila's crystal hadn't carried enough strength to defeat the mysterious presence . . . who knew if this one would even have enough strength to even find Crosshair.
Slipping the green kyber from the crystal chamber, Quinlan clutched it tightly in one hand and shut his eyes, drawing on its inner power as he cast his senses out over the lower levels of the academy. The familiar touch of the Light Side calmed him surprisingly, and he realized that the dark presence wasn't quite aware of him using the Force. Not yet.
He kept searching, extending his senses farther and farther. Crosshair wasn't on the third level . . . and now, the presence was aware of him and approaching.
Quinlan gritted his teeth and willed the Force to tell him where Crosshair was. The sniper wasn't on the fourth level, either – or the fifth? Or was he? A spark of life caught his attention, flickering weakly as hopelessness radiated from its core.
Instantly, Quinlan reached for it – and darkness crashed through his awareness like a swelling wave. He barely jerked himself out of his meditative trance in time to avoid being snared by the grasping presence that clutched at his mind. Jerking to his feet, Quinlan swayed and clutched at the wall, panting at the half-memory of the quiet laugh that resounded in the depths of that wave.
The kyber crystal had not been sapped of life, but it was worthless, at least as a source of Force-energy against the presence. He had used the Light Side, and very nearly succeeded in finding Crosshair, but the crystal hadn't been enough. A candle was useless against a shadow as vast as the presence. And from what Quinlan had felt – he hoped he was wrong, but he thought Crosshair was barely aware. For a moment, it had felt as though the sniper was running out of time.
Fumbling a little, Quinlan put the crystal back in the lightsaber and hooked it on his belt. "Okay," he said aloud. His voice shook a little, and he paused to clear his throat before activating his comm. "Hunter?"
"What happened?" Hunter's tone was anxious. "Where are you?"
Blasted enhanced senses. Quinlan made himself take a slow breath before answering, his voice back to normal. "Crosshair's not on the third or fourth levels."
"How do you –"
"I'm on the fourth level," Quinlan answered shortly, sitting back against the wall. "If I don't comm you back within five minutes, maybe you could come up and make sure I'm not comatose or anything."
There was a startled half-second pause, and then Hunter snapped, "Quinlan, tell me you're not about to –"
Quinlan ended the transmission, muted his comm, and shut his eyes. Even without using the Force, he could feel the malevolent presence hovering around him, blocking and deadening his Force-senses, and he knew he'd never find Crosshair unless he could get through it. And he couldn't do that with the Light Side. It was time to fight fire with fire.
Taking a deep breath, Quinlan immersed himself in the Dark Side. For an instant, as he set his will against the presence's slow encroachment, he felt its overwhelming surprise at his actions. Before, he had been defenseless, struggling to maintain shields in the face of its far greater power. Now, he could draw on the power of everything around it, and he had a physical connection to the Force. This presence did not – whoever or whatever it was.
A name, familiar somehow, hovered at the very back of his mind, but before he could recognize it, the presence gathered in on itself and flung an attack at his mind, trying to trap him in wandering darkness as it had earlier. It was both fascinated and outraged by his use of the Dark Side, and for a long moment it hovered on the edge of his mind, hesitating to enter.
Let me through, he demanded, but didn't attack it.
It laughed softly. It wasn't a physical voice, but it was there. Again, Quinlan was distracted briefly by the thought of a name – a name he couldn't remember, but should know.
Let me through, he thought.
Tendrils of thought snaked into his mind and soul at his order, strangling his intent until he felt himself physically draw a sharp breath.
You use without embracing, he heard, almost like a warning. You will fail. You are failing.
Quinlan knew he was failing. Already he was feeling sick all over from his willful exposure to the darkness, and he couldn't open his eyes. The presence laughed again as the Jedi realized he would never outlast it. He had to defeat it swiftly –
No, that is impossible. . .
He didn't know if that was his thought or the presence's. At the realization, a flash of fear pierced the fog settling over his will, and Quinlan gathered the Force and hurled it out, channeling it through himself to fling at the presence in a mental attack of his own.
To his utter shock, it retreated. It was only for an instant, but that instant was long enough for him to be suddenly aware of five other beings – living beings. Four were below him, close together in the swirling eddies of darkness: Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Vythia. And one was flickering dully above him, surrounded by dead, dormant evil. Crosshair.
The malevolent being was gathering itself, and as it hesitated, Quinlan sensed its emotions. It hated him, and yet it didn't want him to leave.
Before it could compel him, Quinlan opened his eyes and closed himself off from the Force, drawing up what shields he could to prevent its searching his mind. Stumbling to his feet, he leaned back against the wall and wiped his face with one sleeve. He hadn't had time to really recognize the dead thing near Crosshair, but using the Dark Side had worked. He knew where the sniper was.
Quinlan ran up the stairs two at a time, bypassing the fifth level. His comm blinked at him – wait, it had been blinking at him for some time – and he pressed it. "Hunter, how long was that?"
"Too long." Hunter's tone was furious. "Don't shut off your comm!"
"I didn't, I muted it." Quinlan stole a glance at his chronometer as he entered the sixth level. "I meant how long has it been since I last commed, and it's been barely three minutes. I located Crosshair. On my way to him now."
"Where is he?"
"Sixth level. I'll call you once I have him."
"Fine." Hunter sounded uncertain, but ended the transmission anyway.
Quinlan kept running. Not five minutes later, he was slowing to a quick walk as he turned right. Crosshair was in one of the rooms along this hallway, which was not particularly well-lit.
As Quinlan pulled his collapsible lantern from his pack, he thought he heard footsteps ahead of him, then a mumbled phrase. He paused, but the words were too soft to make out.
"Blasted leviathan," he muttered, letting his gaze drift over the closed doors. Crosshair would be in one of the rooms towards the center of the hall, just about –
Quinlan froze as his eyes focused on a sealed door edged in runes with a metal handle spanning its width. Darth Ghant's tomb. It was closed now, but had been open when he and the others left it. No – oh, Force, I hope he didn't get trapped in there!
But Quinlan already knew the answer. He darted to the stone door, gripped the handle, and yanked upward. Instantly, the door slid up and disappeared into the wall above it. As Quinlan lifted the lantern and stepped through the doorway, the sour, acrid smell of vomit made him wince.
The first thing he saw was the body of Darth Ghant. The dead Sith was still sitting on his throne, hands positioned exactly as before, his rich robes undamaged by the passage of time. But his eyes had been obliterated. The dull, staring yellow had been replaced with black holes, the telltale burn of the laser shots through either eye giving Ghant's red face the appearance of a bloodied skull. Crosshair wasn't in sight, but his pistol was lying in the center of the floor.
Quinlan took a step forward, struggling against his own fear as he entered the crypt fully and glanced around. Crosshair was huddled in the corner to the left of the doorway, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared unseeingly at the floor.
Suddenly weak, Quinlan dropped to his knees beside him. "Crosshair, I've been looking everywhere for –"
His relief evaporated in a flash when Crosshair failed to move, and Quinlan set down the lantern. The sniper's face was streaked with dried tears, and his expression was blank and still.
Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, Quinlan put a hand on Crosshair's shoulder. "Hey – Crosshair. You okay, buddy? You better be, you've had us worried sick."
When he shook him again, Crosshair shifted, eyes coming into partial focus as he whispered something.
"What is it?" Quinlan was increasingly concerned that he'd hit his head or something, but he couldn't see any signs of a head injury – apart from the fact that he'd thrown up. "You weren't hurt, were you?"
Crosshair continued to gaze fixedly at nothing, but he stirred again. Gritting his teeth, Quinlan got up. Get him out of here first, check him after, he decided.
He grabbed Crosshair's wrists and pulled him to his feet. The sniper rifle was leaning against the wall close by, and Quinlan picked it up and slung it over one shoulder. As he used the Force to summon the lantern to his free hand, he caught a glimpse of the small flashlight Crosshair had carried – it was in pieces on the floor.
Almost unwillingly, Quinlan followed his companion's half-focused gaze to Darth Ghant's mutilated face. When he looked back at Crosshair, the confused, lost look on the sniper's face made him wince. "Come on," Quinlan said, tugging Crosshair towards the open door. "Let's get out of here."
"He –" Crosshair stumbled suddenly and nearly fell, grasping at Quinlan's arm with both hands. His voice was hoarse and trembling as he said, "He wouldn't stop – he kept looking!"
Quinlan felt a sudden, harsh chill. "I know."
He didn't know. He could only guess that Crosshair had shot Ghant's eyes out because the Sith Lord seemed to be watching him. Had he been in the crypt ever since he'd disappeared, over five hours ago? Probably, if he was in this bad a condition.
Remembering the pistol on the floor behind him, Quinlan paused. Crosshair stopped also, as though unable to move without guidance, and the Jedi let him go for a moment to grab the pistol. Abruptly, his vision split and reformed.
His hands were unsteady as he drew his pistol. Pointing it at Ghant's face, he blinked against the blurred vision he'd had ever since he woke up the second time. The yellow eyes had been staring at him for over four hours now, watching while the room got smaller and smaller and his flashlight dimmer and dimmer.
Footsteps paused outside again, and he suddenly realized that the illusions might come in, without opening the door. A surge of terror, so strong it made him sick, brought him to his hands and knees, but he didn't drop the pistol. As soon as he could straighten, he brought the gun back up. Ghant kept watching him, unconcerned by the thought of being trapped in here forever with another corpse. Drawing in a sharp breath, he steadied his aim and pulled the trigger once, twice.
The staring eyes were gone, replaced by black holes, but Ghant hadn't moved – he didn't care – he could still see! With a panicked gasp, Crosshair grabbed the flashlight and smashed it against the nearest wall, then dropped his pistol.
Quinlan's normal vision returned with a rush, and he blinked a couple of times to reorientate himself. He stared down at the pistol for a moment, then checked the safety and slid it into Crosshair's holster. His mouth was dry for some reason, and he felt numb as he gave the sniper a slight push forward.
Crosshair stumbled out into the corridor and Quinlan followed, closing the doorway behind him. Forever, he thought, wishing he could collapse the whole crypt. I hope no one ever opens that door again.
The image of Darth Ghant staring eternally at nothing with his mutilated eyes made him feel sick. He didn't know why.
Just ahead of him, Crosshair suddenly collapsed to his knees, then sat down, shaking all over.
"Hey." Quinlan took two quick steps and turned, kneeling in front of him. "Can you hear me? What's'a matter?"
It was a stupid question, but it didn't really matter because he didn't get an answer.
Quinlan tapped the side of Crosshair's face, trying to get some sort of response, and immediately the sniper clutched at Quinlan's forearm, gripping it painfully hard as he tried to twist it.
"Hey –" Quinlan pulled free. "Crosshair, it's just me." He hesitated as he noticed the sniper's hands, which were covered in bruises and dried blood, fingertips badly cut and the nails torn. "What in space did you do to yourself?"
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he caught Crosshair's hands and turned them over. Similar injuries, but not as bad. Quinlan grimaced. "You were trying to get out, weren't you? Kriff it all, Crosshair –"
He wanted to get him back down to the others, but Crosshair didn't even seem to realize there was someone with him yet, let alone that he was out of the crypt.
Activating his comm, Quinlan said, "Hunter, come in."
The response was immediate. "Did you find him?"
"Yeah." Quinlan sat down and wrapped an arm around his knees. "He's been trapped in Ghant's tomb pretty much the whole time."
There was a short silence, followed by a worried sigh. "Is he responsive?"
"Not – really."
"I'm coming up," said Hunter, voice farther from the comm.
"No!" said Quinlan, suddenly nervous at the thought of anyone splitting up. "No. Once I can get him to walk it'll only take us about fifteen minutes to reach you."
There was a brief pause. "Ghant's tomb," said Hunter. "All this time –"
Quinlan winced. "Yeah, I know. We'll be there shortly, just – don't leave the central room, Hunter. We don't need anyone else getting lost."
". . . Fine." Hunter ended the transmission.
Lowering his wrist, Quinlan glanced at Crosshair again. Even without trying, he could easily sense how terrified and lost he felt. "Can you hear me?"
Crosshair gulped, then inhaled sharply through his nose and leaned forward, still shaking all over. "He wouldn't stop looking," he rasped almost absently. "Even – after."
"He's not here now." Quinlan sighed. He'd seen this kind of thing before. "Come on, snap out of it – you're not there anymore."
Careful to move slowly, he put a hand on Crosshair's arm – and promptly got his wrist twisted for his trouble. Again. "Ow," he said, breaking free again.
Crosshair pulled away, then slumped back down, his breaths rapid and shallow.
Quinlan rubbed at his wrist, frowning. "Okay," he mumbled. "Enough's enough. I'm probably gonna be risking my life here, but whatever."
Moving quickly, he got up and knelt behind Crosshair, then leaned forward and wrapped both arms around him, careful to keep his face out of range of the sniper's head.
It was a good thing he did, too. Despite how much Crosshair was shaking, and even with his arms trapped, he put up a good fight. After a full quarter minute of twisting and struggling, he went abruptly and suspiciously still. "L-let me go," he demanded, voice hoarse.
"Uh – no, I like my nose where it is," Quinlan answered. "You'll probably break it the second I step back. Tell me where you really are, and I'll let you go."
There was a silent, confused pause. Then – "Hunter?"
"No," said Quinlan. "Hunter's downstairs with the others. Soon as you feel up to it, we'll head down to join them. Everyone's doing okay. Mostly. I mean . . ." The Jedi paused. "Well, Wrecker's got a concussion. And Tech's having a hard time moving his arms, because he got caught by a statue. You guys sure picked the worst places to get trapped."
The sniper was still trembling – not as much as before, but enough. And he still wasn't really answering. Fortunately, Quinlan had always been good at talking. "Hunter's okay, far as I know. The leviathan's not. We more or less decapitated it, but that won't hold it forever. So we're still hearing things that aren't there, like – wait."
He paused, tilting his head to one side. He thought he'd just heard the same strange mumble from before.
Crosshair suddenly jerked against his arms, and Quinlan tightened his grip, caught off-guard. "Hey, listen to me."
"I know where we are." Crosshair's voice was alert, if weak. "We have to leave, the illusions . . ."
Quinlan frowned. "Coming here?"
"Ghant," said Crosshair. "Two of them. Every fourteen minutes. They stop outside the tomb –"
Quinlan released him cautiously and stood up. Illusions kept to a preordained path, and they were said to be harmless even if they walked through you. Quinlan didn't exactly trust that, though, and it didn't look like Crosshair could even manage to stand on his own right now, much less walk. They'd have no luck dodging illusions.
After looking around, Quinlan darted a few meters down the hall to peer through the empty doorway of what appeared to be a training arena. Even though he could see every corner of the vacant room, he paused to look around again, making sure it was truly safe.
When he was satisfied that there were no hidden threats, he moved back to Crosshair and hauled him to his feet again. "Come on," he said. "We'll wait for them to go by, and then we'll head down."
Hunter was pacing again. He was pretty sure he'd memorized the pattern of the floor stones around the area near the stairs, he'd walked around it so much. He couldn't settle down, though, not while the leviathan was slowly healing itself a level above them. And not while Crosshair and Quinlan weren't back, Wrecker and Tech were sleeping, and Vythia was still awake.
The instant his comm beeped again, he answered it with a quick push of a button, channeling the audio through his helmet. "You guys almost back?" he asked, even though it had been only six minutes since Quinlan reported finding him.
". . . No?" Quinlan answered. "We're just sitting here, waiting for Darth Ghant's twin illusions to leave the corridor."
Hunter gave his head a shake. "Twin illusions?"
"Before you ask, I don't know why they're here. They just went by half a minute ago, so I figure it'll take about – uh – okay, just a sec." There was a slight shifting sound, and then he muttered, "You had to go and pass out, huh, Cross? Well . . . guess I can't really blame you."
Hunter stopped pacing. "Quinlan?"
"He's fine. I think he just finally realized he was out of there for real," Quinlan said, not sounding in the least alarmed. "Anyway, I was saying it'll take us a good fifteen minutes to reach you guys."
"That's what you said last time." Hunter turned back across the room, drumming the fingers of his right hand against his gunstock. Vythia looked up as he passed, arching a curious eyebrow, but he ignored her. As he neared Tech and Wrecker, he lowered his voice and said, "Something's up with Vythia, and I can't figure it out. We're leaving for the Marauder, storm or no storm, the moment you guys get back here."
"Yeah. We'll move as fast as we can," Quinlan promised. "Keep an eye on Vythia."
Hunter glanced at her as she got to her feet and stretched her arms. "I'll do that."
Quinlan signed off.
Hunter turned to Wrecker, then decided against waking him quite yet. He went back to walking across the room, casting intermittent looks at the stairway.
"They are nearly back?" Vythia asked from beside him, and he nearly jumped. She moved a lot quieter than most people.
Right after I said I'd keep an eye on her, too, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Yeah. Fifteen minutes or so, and we'll be out of here."
"Excellent." Vythia nodded. "Well, Hunter . . . I do apologize."
"What?" He tilted his head warily. "What are you –"
She stepped closer and snapped her elbow up, landing a solid blow beneath his chin that knocked his helmet off. Hunter reeled back, grabbing at his knife, and Vythia leaped at the wall and kicked off, locking her knees around his neck and throwing him. Hunter fell hard, converted his momentum to a roll, and slashed at her while still on his knees and one hand.
Vythia dodged with a single step back, caught his shoulder, and jumped onto his back, landing on her knees. Her strong fingers wrapped around his neck and pressed hard against the base of his throat, yanking his head back as he gagged. Hunter twisted onto one side, flinging her off, then got to his feet, coughing so hard he staggered.
She was on him again in an instant, utterly silent as she leaped on him, clutching an arm around his throat. He grabbed at it with his left hand, reversing his knife in his right. The strong stab he aimed at her waist made her gasp, but he knew it hadn't gone through her dress. At the same moment, he heard her knife slicing across his left vambrace.
His vision was going black, and he doubled and bent to one side, throwing her off as he grabbed her arm and yanked her towards him. This time, he stabbed directly at her chest, but she sidestepped and caught his knife arm, yanking it back against her waist to immobilize it. As Hunter twisted towards her, she slammed her elbow against the side of his neck, and he dropped. His ears rang shrilly as he shook his head, forcing his vision to reset, but by the time he looked up, Vythia was gone.
She was gone, and she had destroyed Hunter's commlink. The knife had gone right through it.
Breathing heavily, Hunter stumbled over to pick up his helmet. She'd destroyed that comm, too. Utterly bewildered, the sergeant ran back across the wide room to Wrecker and Tech. Their commlinks had also been destroyed, but they themselves were completely unharmed.
