Chapter 9. Pins and Needles

- We should not have let him go on his own.

- You're the one to talk - we shouldn't have let him go, full stop! That was the most stupid idea in the whole kriffing galaxy, I can't even believe I allowed it!

- It's not your fault - it's ours.

- Sith, we should have stayed. We just kriffing left him there!

- If we all get captured, who's going to bring help?

- Well, at least I could have stayed…

- He should not have gone alone. There was something weird about him…

- How much time before they can mount a rescue mission?

- We're hours out. I've messaged my Master -

- You did what? Do you have a death wish?

- What? It's not like you'll be able to somehow hide it when you just happen to return like this!

- Yes, but -

- I thought you were concerned with how much time we have left…

- Sith, we shouldn't have left -

- Do you think we should do something about - him? I mean, he's wounded and…

- I've got no idea.

There were voices arguing close by. Tur felt the fog in his head reluctantly dissipate. He was lying on a couch in a small circular room. Definitely a spaceship. Judging by his position, nobody objected to his being on board. They were even concerned about his well-being. So far, so good. Having performed a brief Force scan on himself and grimly assessed his injuries, Tur gingerly sat up, setting his feet on the cold floor. His head went spinning, but he chose to ignore it, swaying on his uncooperative legs towards the door.

– Sir, you can't be out of bed, you were badly injured! – bracing himself against the grimy wall, he met the worried silver eyes of a salmon-coloured Mon Calamarian girl who was flanked on both sides by two boys, padawans, judging by their appearance.

– Thank you, my lady, I gathered as much. And good day to you too, – his wry smile was the best cover for the grimace of pain distorting his face.

– You're wounded! You're in no fit shape to be walking around.

– Listen, my lady, I'm sorry for invading your ship and understand your desire to mother me, but I've had enough patients to have the honour not to be treated like one of them.

At this point his knee gave out and he slid down the wall, preventing himself from landing in an undignified heap by clutching at the bedpost.

– One of you, lend me your lightsaber, – he panted, forcing his voice to be steady. The teenagers were eyeing him warily, unmoving and puzzled, and Tur rolled his eyes, brushing his fingers through his dirty hair. – Oh come on, you already took me on board, to Sith with caution. Lightsabers or not, you're no match for a good ol' criminal like myself.

His joke didn't increase their distrust. Probably the kids noticed how his hand was trembling, since the human, who, as Tur noticed, now had his arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage, slowly unclipped the metal cylinder from his belt and, crossing the room, sat on his heels beside him, handing him the weapon.

– Now go.

– Wait, sir! You cannot do this! We saved your life, how –

– So you want the infection to set in so that this mistake of yours is reversed. I see, – Tur's strength was nearly spent and he needed to act fast if he wanted to find Obi-Wan. That's where sarcasm came to his rescue, only to be cut off by a new stream of white-hot agony coursed through his leg. – Leave me. Please, – Tur looked pleadingly at the human padawan, trying to compose himself. – It's not very entertaining.

The padawan met his gaze, eyes widening in realization, and led the others out of the room, but his own presence lingered, Tur felt in through the Force, but, unable to wait more, only sank his jaws into the soft dusty cloth of the blanket and, having pulled his torn trousers from the wound, thumbed the lightsaber on, holding it close to the bloody gash. As the blade connected with the bare flesh, he could no longer prevent himself from crying out, so he screamed into the blanket, his mouth dry from the rough material, smelling the burnt flesh and with a titanic effort holding onto consciousness, releasing the pain into the Force. He couldn't pass out. Not now. Not when he'd already lost so much precious time. Having cauterized the wound, Tur turned the weapon off, feeling it roll out of his slack fingers, and, releasing the blanket, leaned against the wall, panting as if he'd just run the distance between that Sith-ridden planet and Coruscant, beads of perspiration streaming down his face.

Forcing his eyes to open, he stared directly at the shell-shocked human padawan standing in the doorway.

– Are you alright?

– Fabulous, – Tur gasped through his clenched teeth, berating himself for his weakness.

Two more heads appeared in the doorway, the glances concerned, bordering on frightened.

– That… bad? – he croaked, pulling his lips in a sneer and making a wide gesture at himself.

Nobody as much as smiled, and the trio remained silent and serious. Tur mentally winced. What wouldn't he give to hide from them the seriousness of his predicament! They were still kids, for Force's sake, and now he was making them witness the ugliness of real field work they were not yet supposed to face. Still, the pain clouded his senses and it was increasingly difficult to control his body, which won the debate with his stubbornness.

– Don't suppose you… have any p-painkillers? – Tur heard a faint whisper crawl through his scratchy throat and gulped, wiping the wince from his face.

– I'll go and see, – the Dresselian kid sprung into action, either because he wanted to help or just to be out of there, but both variants were acceptable to Tur. – If this flying piece of junk has something younger than Master Yoda, that is.

Tur snorted, though it must have sounded more like a grunt, since he was desperately fighting the pain and losing the fight. Suddenly, a groan escaped his lips, and the girl rushed to his side, but he waved her off and rolled his eyes again, trying to pass off distress as discontent.

– Flying… in this high-tech bin… without even knowing… where the… em-mmer-gency kit is, – he gasped, shaking his head. The Dresselian returned, and the other boy took the box from him, handing it to Tur. Its contents were indeed obsolete, and Tur smirked, rummaging through it. Older than Master Yoda… Bull's eye, kid. He discarded expired vials and they rolled away, tinkling, but stopped close to one another, scattering around the floor. Locating what he needed, he pulled out the stopper with his teeth, palming a pill and swallowing. Let's hope it's not expired, he thought wildly. He must be scaring these kids to Sith fortress and back. Obi-Wan. He must be safe on that ship. He had to. But he needed to check, and to do that, he had at least to be able to drag that leg along.

A few minutes later a pleasant numbness flowed through Tur's body and he sighed in relief, looking up at his audience.

– Much better, – he smiled and winked at the teens. – However old these little gadgets may be. – As the pain ebbed, Tur's dry humour made its reappearance, and social formalities became an issue. – Speaking of acquaintances, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making yours, but since I'm the intruder here, I'll be the first. Tur Le'em.

– Oh! – the Mon Calamarian blushed, becoming even more salmon-like. – Sorry, sir. I'm Bant Eerin, and this is Garen Muln and Reeft.

– You can't imagine how pleased I was to meet you, – Tur smirked good-naturedly, shaking hands with each of the approaching padawans.

– We actually know who you are. We came to rescue you. But we must return to the Temple. Our friend was captured on the planet where we picked you up, – the human, Garen, spoke.

– What in the galaxy do you mean?

– Yes.

– He'd only just returned to us, – the Mon Cal's eyes were shining more than they should, silver liquid welling in them. – We thought we'd lost him those months ago, but suddenly we just bump into him and he asks for help, and…

– Obi-Wan was captured. He asked us to help us get you out of there, and then our ship was taking fire and we had to leave without him, and… - the human kid, Garen, was talking agitatedly, but Tur was no longer listening. The Universe stopped its spinning and crashed full force down on him like a tsunami wave of darkness, but his horror clawed at it, tearing through, struggling to the surface.

– No, – he panted, his fists clenching and unclenching, the sting where his nails pierced his skin serving as an anchor to reality he longed to, but couldn't, escape.

– Sir? Master Le'em? – the Mon Calamarian tentatively touched his shoulder, her silver eyes filled with concern and sympathy.

– What do you mean you had to leave him? Where are the controls?

– Sir, you're hurt, you –

– We have to turn back! Your friend will not survive there, I know what I'm talking about! We can't wait!

– Sir, your injury –

– You won't be able to help Obi-Wan alone in the condition you're in, – Garen interrupted Bant, trying to reason with the grief-stricken man. – We'll get help –

– Don't you get it? There will be nobody to save if we delay, – Tur scrambled to his feet, steadying himself and drawing on the Force for strength. – Where's the navigation map?

–Sir, we're already fifteen hours away from Eo'ra-A, – Garen stood up, blocking his way. – And only two left till we land on Coruscant. Please, sir, let us get help, –

Tur sank to the floor, his energy spent, covering his face with shaking hands. The meds were apparently old-fashioned, because his brain was short-circuiting, and he was sleepy, his control slipping away.

– He was my Padawan… – a hoarse whisper scratched his constricting throat. – I was no real Master, but… I couldn't even protect him! – Tur's teeth clenched, and he tried to stop talking, but words came as if dragged out of him by some invisible force. Those old-fashioned painkillers really messed with his emotional control. – Just like I couldn't save her…

– We'll help him, Master Le'em, – said Bant, squeezing Reeft's shoulder. - The Council will give us reinforcements, you'll see, it's going to be fine.

– Obi-Wan went through a lot on his own, – sighed Garen. – He'll wait for us, sir.

The spacecraft was cutting through hyperspace, taking them further away from Eo'ra-A. Further away from Obi-Wan. Tur tentatively touched the bond, but it was lifeless and ominously silent. Even you cannot hear me, Padawan… Hold on. I cannot let you go.