Chapter 41
Several minutes later, Jaina's muscles trembled with fatigue as she dragged her limp Master to relative safety, behind a nearby cluster of large boulders several meters away from the smoldering wreckage of their gunship.
"It'll have to do for now," she muttered, collapsing to her knees beside him. She gently moved his torn tunic, revealing the full extent of the wound in his side.
The small, jagged piece of shrapnel was still embedded several inches below where his chest plate ended, surrounded by an alarming amount of blood.
"No, no, no," Jaina muttered, her hands hovering uncertainly over the injury. She knew removing the metal piece could cause more damage, but leaving it in wasn't an option either.
But without a medic, or broad-spectrum antibiotics, or larger bacta strips, she ran the risk of him bleeding out.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jaina reached for the small medkit attached to her belt.
She took the antiseptic wipes and began cleaning the area around the wound, before picking up the bacta patches and attaching them beneath where the shrapnel had been embedded, covering the gash where she could without jostling the metal.
The Padawan then unclipped her belt from around her waist and shrugged the tabards off her lavender tunic, quickly wrapping them tightly around his waist to apply pressure on the open wound.
Her hands trembled as she worked, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. What if help didn't come? What if she couldn't stop the bleeding and he died right under her very hands—
"No," she muttered to herself, running a shaking hand through her bangs and smearing dirt and blood across her forehead. "No. Focus on the here and now. Think. Think."
Jaina fought to catch her breath, her chest heaving as she surveyed their surroundings.
The Geonosian landscape stretched endlessly in every direction, a barren sea of orange rock and dust.
In the distance, she could make out the billowing smoke from other crashed gunships, and the blinking lights of continuous explosions, a grim reminder of the battle raging all around them on this Force-forsaken planet.
"First things first—stop the bleeding. Medpack. Need a real medpack."
She tore open the few nearby supply crates that had been flung from the gunship, but found only ammunition and grenades amongst the scattered contents.
Jaina froze, a sickening realization dawning on her that the medical supplies were likely still on the person of the squad medic—
…whose lifeless body was currently entombed in the wreckage.
"Not good…" she muttered, her eyes darting anxiously between her Master and the twisted metal of their downed ship.
The smoke had mostly dissipated, but flames still licked at portions of the craft.
The Padawan sighed heavily, then snapped her belt back onto her tunic and covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve.
She ducked under a chunk of the twisted wing back inside the gunship wreckage.
Her heart raced as she surveyed the devastation around her, the lifeless forms of their fallen comrades strewn about.
Jaina pushed aside her rising panic. He'd want her to check on each of his men, wouldn't he? A Jedi was meant to defend and protect life, but—
There was a strange, bitter taste in her mouth as those thoughts continued to invade her mind, her eyes slowly scanning each of the bodies for any signs of life.
But she couldn't sense anything, and she simply did not have the time to check each and every person.
Not with her Master's life on the line.
"…I'm so sorry…" Jaina whispered, trying to ignore the throb of guilt in her stomach as she continued to search.
The heat from the smoldering wreckage pressed against her skin, sweat beading on her forehead as she pushed deeper into the crash site.
In the dim light, she spotted the familiar red symbol of a medic on a nearby trooper's pauldron.
Jaina began searching the fallen soldier's body with trembling hands. "I'm sorry, Bast…" she whispered, her voice cracking as she worked.
Her hands finally reached what she had been looking for—a medic-grade backpack, still strapped behind the trooper, beneath a pile of metal and debris.
The Padawan carefully lifted a mangled chair off his side, then reached for the slightly dented medpack and clutched it to her chest.
Her eyes fell on Bast's helmet. The cracked visor stared back at her, lifeless and almost accusing.
Jaina briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Focus on the living," she murmured, her Master's voice practically ringing in her ears. "The dead are one with the Force. We honor them by helping those who still need us."
She tightly clutched the trooper's forearm. "Thank you."
The words felt hollow in her mouth.
But it was what he would have done.
With a deep breath, Jaina steeled herself and rose to her feet, slinging the medpack over her shoulder.
As the Padawan turned to leave, her eyes fell on the cockpit. She carefully climbed over the pile of debris, gazing around the mess of glass shards, shattered displays, and sparking wires.
The main communications console looked relatively intact, with the forward bulkhead taking most of the damage.
Jaina's fingers flew over the controls, desperately trying to establish a connection. "Come on, come on," she muttered, her brow furrowing as she tried to reboot the system.
The Padawan lowered into a crouch, yanking open the access panel and revealing a tangle of wires and circuits.
As her fingers traced along the power cords, she felt the jagged edges where the crash had severed them from the main grid.
Jaina peeled away at the melted rubber around the wires while her mind worked furiously.
"If this blows up…Anakin, I swear…" She muttered, haphazardly wrapping the copper wiring around the auxiliary power output. "Please don't blow up, please don't blow up..."
The circuit sparked to life, bathing the Padawan in a blinding shower of blue sparks. A few indicator lights flickered to life in the cockpit's overhead control panel.
Meanwhile, the main communications array remained stubbornly dark.
She tried rerouting power from non-essential systems, watching helplessly as the console sputtered and died again, plunging the cockpit back into darkness.
"Come on!" Jaina hissed, slamming her palm against the dead controls.
She blew out a sharp breath. She had already wasted enough time.
The Padawan sighed softly, then clambered once more out of the wreckage. She squinted, the harsh Geonosian sun and the sudden change in light temporarily blinding.
In the distance, she could see plumes of smoke rising from other crash sites, and the faint flashes of ongoing battle as Separatist tanks advanced towards the Republic lines.
They were alone out here, cut off from the main force.
Jaina's mind raced. They needed water in this desert, and shelter, and a way to signal for help.
But first, he needed antibiotics.
With renewed determination, the Padawan set off towards the boulders where she had left her Master.
When Jaina returned to the boulders, she found him still unconscious, his breath coming in shallow rasps.
His face was deathly pale, a stark contrast to the blood-stained auburn beard, and the ugly scratch on his cheek.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each one seeming more labored than the last. The tabards she'd tied around his waist had already reddened, her heart clenching at the amount of blood he'd lost—
No.
Jaina clenched her fingernails into her palms, refusing to entertain any of those thoughts.
"Master, I'm here," she murmured gently, kneeling beside him and placing the medpack on the ground. "Hold on, you're going to be fine."
The Padawan blew out a shaky breath, fumbling with the clasp and desperately trying to open the large container.
As she finally pried it open, her heart sank.
The contents were a mess.
Vials smashed, bandages soaked through with leaked bacta, stim-shots and syringes shattered. The few remaining intact items were never going to be able to—
"No—no no no—" Jaina choked, her voice cracking.
She carefully reached for his uninjured cheek, her throat closing up, her chest closing in—
"Master—" she whispered desperately, gently shaking his face, her vision beginning to blur with unshed tears.
"I-I don't know what to do next—Please, please wake up—I-I need you to tell me what to do. Master. Master, PLEASE!"
Jaina reached out, searching for that familiar warmth and strength that was always Master Obi-Wan's presence, but instead only found a faint flicker.
She picked up an intact bacta strip from the medpack and carefully applied it to the scratch on his cheek, keeping her touch gentle as she smoothed it over his skin.
"Master, please…" Jaina whispered. "I can't do this alone…I need you…"
In her mind, her Master's voice responded with it's usual gentle, yet chiding, sarcasm.
Now now, my dear one. You are more capable than you realize.
"I'm not you," Jaina muttered, forcing back the tears burning in her eyes. "I'm not you, you need to tell me what to do! You always know what to do."
In her mind, her Master's voice chuckled, a low, soft murmur only she could hear.
You are my Padawan, are you not? She could almost see the smirk. The slight arch of his brow. I do not raise Jedi who quit.
In her mind, her Master's voice urged her to—
"Calm, Jaina," Jaina muttered to herself, closing her eyes wearily. "Focus on the situation at hand…focus on what is in your control…clear your emotions…think…think…"
She reached for her emotions, focusing on easing back the panic and the fear that clawed at her, tunneling her thoughts, taking a deep, slow breath.
And then another.
Slowly, her hands stopped shaking. Her chest loosened, air finally able to flow properly into her lungs.
She focused her senses into every detail around her, allowing her mind to center itself on the present.
In her mind, her Master's smirk softened into a gentle smile.
There you go, darling. Focus on what you can do.
Jaina paused, silently going through the gunship's schematics and inventory in her mind.
What could she possibly use to either stem her Master's bleeding, or inform their forces of their whereabouts? The communications console did still seem functional, perhaps if she found an alternative energy source—
The ground shook violently beneath her, nearly knocking her off balance.
Jaina whirled around, her eyes widening as another gunship slammed into the orange soil, less than a kilometer away.
A massive fireball erupted from the crash site, sending a plume of thick, black smoke billowing into the air.
Jaina glanced back and forth between her Master and the newly crashed gunship .
He would want her to check for survivors—there might be wounded men in need of help.
Or perhaps even a working comms console to call for aid.
But the thought of leaving her Master's side, even for a moment, filled her with fear and dread. What if his condition worsened while she was gone? What if she returned to find him—
"No," Jaina whispered fiercely, pushing away the dark thoughts. "Focus."
The odds were slim, but the probability of either finding a working comms console—or a functional medpack—were higher than if she stayed, and did nothing.
My little one, you must make a choice.
In her mind, her Master's voice had hardened, that familiar crease forming between his brows, his lips pressed into a thin line.
You know what you must do.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Jaina gripped her Master's hand tightly, her small fingers intertwining with his larger ones. "Sit tight, okay?" She murmured. "That's an order."
"I'll be right back, Master."