XXXIII: Shears
"Han," Nima said, in a quiet but unbroken voice, "We have to hurry. Ekria is coming, and they need a tail gunner."
"You need to see a doctor more than they need a tail-gunner," Han said. "Unless you're going to help out with your Force powers."
Nima took a step towards the hangar door. Her legs were screaming, but she pushed the pain down. It wasn't really that hard, when you thought about it. Brains were complicated, but they could at times be handled simply.
Similarly, it was not so hard to wall off the parts of her that were screaming and crying, the parts that grew only more shrill the more she denied it. But she piled the bricks up, and strengthened the walls, reinforced them, fought every moment to keep them up. If it hurt her, if it destroyed her, did that even matter?
No.
She was a Jedi Knight. The lives of millions rested on her shoulders, and her shoulders alone. "I am," Nima finally answered, turning and saying, "Now, Han, is your neck okay?"
Her voice only quavered a little as she spoke.
"Yes. Mostly. I think I'll have a completely wicked bruise. Felt like he coulda just broken it, if he wasn't too much of a moron to kill me. You meet people like that all the time," Han babbled, clearly more affected than he wanted to appear. Nima couldn't quite understand why he couldn't just show and admit his weakness and open up to others. "So, what do you say now, Zekka?" The pool of stinking blood and exposed bone didn't answer. His head was lolled at a strange angle, his eyes dead of everything, even the malice he'd carried. There was nothing left but meat and blood and bone. Nothing of Zekka there. Han chimed in, after those few moments of silence, "Wait, you can't say anything at all, cause you're gone." Han put his finger just under his eye and pulled down on the skin there while sticking out his tongue. "Okay, so, uh, let's go. Can you get your knife?"
Nima wasn't sure whether she could do so easily, but it wouldn't do any good to say that. So instead she reached out in the Force and let her focus cover the agony of… reaching out. It was as if the Force was unsettled, and angry, lashing out. But she couldn't show that, not when she had work to do. "Got it," Nima said, then turned. "Han, get onto my back."
"You're gonna fly?"
"Yes, I am," Nima said, and the smile she gave him was almost genuine. Even in that moment she loved it, couldn't deny that she loved the idea of sailing through the air, of being a Rider.
"Then, okay, so." Han tried to straighten his clothes as if he was going to pose for a holovid shoot. "Alright!" Then he ran up and grabbed onto Nima's shoulders. It stung, but her arms hadn't specifically been hurt, even if she'd strained all of her muscles pretty bad towards the end.
"Hold on tight. Our ship is here," Nima said, swaying a little bit where she stood. Her ear-cone was still bleeding, and she was clogged up. Luckily it didn't matter that she couldn't smell anything at the moment. She wouldn't want to smell blood and burnt flesh, anyways.
Nima, what are you doing? Master Bell asked in her head. She could feel his distress, feel that he was trapped and in danger itself. But she had to trust him, didn't she? He was her Jedi Master. I can feel your heart, you…
I have to go.
Nima, Master Bell began. Nima could feel that he was fighting for his life, and still he had time for her. But she knew what he'd do if she gave him another moment. He'd give her an order to stop, and then if the ship came in, if a million people died, he'd hate himself for it and Nima would hate herself for listening.
So she sent a mental message, Sorry, I have to go. Please, stay alive Master Bell.
...fine. Likewise. He was afraid of her, and Nima didn't understand why.
The ship wasn't much to look at, but no doubt the ship that carried the poison wasn't either. It had the loading platform down, clearly more concerned with getting them in fast than gliding through the air, since landing would take too long. Nima bent, focused, and jumped. She half-tumbled through the air but managed to make it to the platform, setting Han down and then climbing up to get on the side of the ship and go towards the top.
(Each moment she moved, her body tried to tell her unimportant facts. Things that did not matter.)
"Nima?" Han asked, looking baffled in the moment she could see his face, peering over up at her.
Nima didn't reply, as she got up on the ship.
"Nima, what are you doing?" Ekria asked, in the comms system that was still, miraculously, working.
"I'm hanging onto the ship," Nima answered.
"That is not what I am asking and you know it," Ekria said, as they took off. "Han, get in the tail-gunner. In just a few minutes the announcement will come out. Then Master will strike. What are you going to be doing?"
"Stopping the ship," Nima stated. She was hanging on, but it was also quite clear that if she didn't have the boots she would have fallen off. They were going pretty fast.
"Master Secura will capture the Diktat and tell him to stop."
"And if the pilot is theirs?" Nima spat, trying to reign in the spike of frustration, but honestly failing. At this point all she could do was wall it off, she'd lost control of the storm and it felt like it was spinning out inside of her.
"He has to have an automatic override. He's too much of a control freak, and the ship's right there," Ekria argued.
And if they found a way to override the override?
Palpatine was everywhere and unstoppable, able to waste more resources than most people saw in a lifetime on a single trap for a few Jedi, able to post impossible bounties for even someone as worthless as Nima, just because Anakin still pretended he had emotions, pretended he cared about her. Why wouldn't he have an override system in place? Or perhaps the entire ship was actually made on Palpatine's orders years ago for just this moment? Why not?!
It wouldn't be any more absurd or unlikely than anything she'd faced so far. So she had to act as if everything was undermined, as if everyone was under the thumb of the Sith, or else she'd lose. She'd lose and people would die. It wasn't paranoia when the Sith were involved. It couldn't be.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going," Nima said.
"I do not understand why you do not trust or respect us," Ekria said, her voice cool.
"I do! But I can help in ways you can't. You're piloting a giant ship," Nima insisted, stung and defensive. How dare Ekria accuse her of that!
"Whoa, I almost slipped on the way there!" Han interrupted, having clearly not heard the last few seconds of conversation. "What's with that?"
"There were Diktat Guards and CorSec involved, so we made a slippery floor. It was like a comedy, but with a lot of blood," Lark answered, with levity that Nima could feel was halfway faked. So he had been listening in on the conversation. "We should keep this channel open for important communications."
"Very well, but Nima. Please, be careful. You are making a mistake."
"I'm doing what's right," Nima insisted, and then her stomach churned as the ship rose up a little higher. "One moment."
She pulled off her mask, faced so that she wasn't against the wind, and threw up everything she'd eaten in the last day, until she was clinging to the ship dry heaving. The wind took it away, and she put the mask back on, trying not to taste her own mouth. Nima felt light-headed, but still capable of going forward.
(Point her to the darkness, towards the setting of the sun, and there she'd be. Wobbling, broken, but there she'd be.)
"We have incoming bogies," Han said.
Indeed, three Z-95s, four engines humming, were headed their way. Nima vaguely knew that they had turbolasers and possibly concussion missiles, and that while not a bad fighter, it was outdated. But then, so was the Trader's Luck. Along with them were a half-dozen remarkably fast Lancets. She couldn't remember anything about them, all of the memories from the years-ago lessons buried beneath stress, but they looked like a single long plane. They didn't even have wings, but they were pretty fast despite that.
"I will be taking minor evasive maneuvers," Ekria said, her voice cool and calm despite the long odds.
"Keep 'er steady as you can for me to take my shots, too," Han said.
Nima clung on, not yet close enough to the tall, shining buildings--for it was noon, and the sun was high--of the city to leap off yet. She'd need to go from skyscraper to skyscraper in order to intercept the ship as it was rising to the height it'd need to be in order to spread the poison across the entire city.
The ship darted right just in time to dodge the laser cannon blasts of one of the Lancets, and then shifted back again so that its own smaller front-lasers tore into the ship. Nima could feel the pilot's panic, but the shields absorbed most of the blast, and it merely smokeding a little as it continued on its path. It could probably still go, but if Nima was in charge she'd have told them to ground themselves and let the other six work.
It really was difficult to be that badly outnumbered, and Nima had to cling on tight as the ship went up, then around, then leveled back towards the city. The tail-guns winged a few of the ships, but not enough to get through all of their shields, let alone down them, and it was taking precious time to dodge.
Finally, as Nima prepared to jump off, Han hit one of the Z-95s head on. Its already weakened shields buckled, and the lasers sheared into the cockpit. The whole ship fell apart, and Nima felt a knife through her heart at the sentient's death. She had no defenses left except to ignore, ignore, ignore--
She grit her teeth and leapt, rather than sticking close to an ongoing battle like that.
"I got one!" Han shouted over the comms.
"Excellently done, child. But do not get overconfident," Ekria cautioned.
Nima leapt for one of the shining silver skyscrapers. She was exhausted, and each movement drew from strength she didn't have, and yet this still came so naturally to her. It was like breathing--through a collapsed lung, but breathing still. It felt like the Force was a wild, dangerous beast that bit any who touched it, but she knew that was her. Her pain, her weakness. But she ran up the side of the building as she might always have done, as sentients gaped at her as she passed their offices. Then, once she was at the top of the building, her eyes alighted on a higher building and she jumped for it.
She was fast, but a ship at its full speed would be faster. But the Trader's Luck couldn't afford to go so fast as to overshoot its target. It also had to dodge, to fight desperately for every foot of progress.
Nima got ahead of it, kept on racing through a city still not ready for a Rider. CorSec was thick on the ground, but most of its air-speeders were occupied in their dark tasks. Soon, she saw it, looking exactly the same as the decoy. The difference was that this one was flying, rising with the slowness of a balloon more than a ship. Perhaps it was heavy with cargo.
It was also heavy with darkness and hate. Every single person on the ship was an abject slave of Palpatine, whether they knew it or not. Her heart raced faster and faster as she finally jumped onto the top of the ship. For a moment she just crouched there, trying to get her breath under control, trying to master a fear that she was not strong enough to stop.
But she had to. She had to drive forward, or what sort of Jedi was she? To fall apart at the first hurdle, to weep and tremble at the darkness?
She strode towards the cockpit, almost but not quite running, and in a repeat of her previous actions she sliced through the glass and dropped inside. The pilot was an ugly creature, a hook nosed man with greasy hair as black as grime, and weak brown eyes filled with hate and despair. He was hunched, as if guarding some black heart, and stared at her with a stricken, desperate expression. "Jedi?! Get back!" he yelled, his voice a malign squeak, even as he reached for his controls. Nima slashed out, a bluff, but the vicious brute was craven enough to think she would really risk destroying the controls. He backed up in a hurry, reaching into the grey and blue pilot's jacket he wore, with a thousand pockets.
Nima wondered what dangerous weapons could possibly be hidden there. Perhaps there was nothing, but she could feel his heart beating faster and faster. He was a coward, but he was Palpatine's coward, the Diktat's coward. "I will not allow you to destroy this city," Nima said, her voice a low growl. It looked like she held all the holocards, but that just made her worry more that she was missing something.
"Me, destroy the city? You're the one trying to stop us from saving the city!" the man whined. It felt genuine, but how could one be sure? His emotions were slippery, and sharp, and she didn't want to handle them any more than she wanted to feel her own for too long. She just had to keep a watch on them, and on the door, in case.
In case what? (In case everything.)
"It's a trick. Open up your comms-systems. But if you try to bring guards in here, it will not go well for them," Nima said. Her voice was cold, not because she didn't feel, but because she was holding it all back, walling it all off. Her words stank of vomit as she spoke them, and she was glad he wasn't close enough to tell just how little she had left. But perhaps that terrified him. She knew that sentients were sometimes afraid of the way a Jedi could be half-dead and still do the impossible. Nima knew she couldn't do that, not really.
There wasn't enough left. But did he know that?
"No. People's lives are at stake," the pilot said.
Nima shifted, moving over to the controls and pressing the comms button to turn on communication with whoever was around to give an Order. The ship itself was continuing on, air streaming through the hole in the transparisteel. For the moment, though, there was no alarm. No one coming.
Any mistake, any moment of weakness, and a hundred thousand died. More than that. "Just a minute from the target," Ekria said, but Nima barely heard her. She was focused on this moment, on not dying here.
"Take that blaster and set it on the floor," Nima ordered, as she stepped closer. "We're going to stop this here and now." Her voice was hoarse and tired, a river flowing to a trickle and then a trickle drying up. Her lightsaber lit up his body in the faint glow of blue and purple. It was a reassuring hum, but it wasn't enough. She knew that thousands of Jedi had died not that long ago, despite having their lightsabers on them.
There was very little grasp of the Force in her left, but what was left told her he wasn't going to set the gun down. She could feel the spike of anger, and for a moment she saw an actual vision, of him drawing faster than she could imagine, with impossible expert speed. He'd grinned then, smug and arrogant, and fired straight into her belly.
She didn't even feel it, not really, because she was dead enough inside that she just coldly collapsed as he sneered up at her. "Looks like I got you, Jedi."
His fingers dug around in the jacket and she saw him whip out the gun but not fire. Nima flinched, like the coward she was, weak too weak too scared and alone as he shot the controls. The ship listed, and then hurtled downwards. 'Only' thousands would die when the ship crashed and spread the plague.
Her legs couldn't move. She just stood there and died and his fingers gripped on the gun as he fired through his jacket, hitting the ceiling and activating the defenses, which somehow killed her instantly--
He began to withdraw the blaster.
Nima could feel the rage, the anger, the distrust. He'd kill her if he could. He was going to kill her. It was a hot coal clutched in her hands, burning her and burning her and burning her, but she couldn't let go of it.
He was going to kill her. She was going to die. Everyone was going to die if she let him draw on her and fire. She lashed out with her saber, hand not shaking despite the panic, despite the exhaustion. She cut his arm off at the elbow. The pilot screamed in agony as, still holding the blaster, it slapped to the floor.
He crumpled then, bawling. "Please," he begged through the sobs, "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything you want. I have a family. I was, I was… I wasn't going to…"
Nima looked down at the smoking arm, stinking of burnt flesh. She could taste it in the air, and her saber lit up the man. His arm hadn't even been close to the trigger. It had been gripped like you would a live animal threatening to bite. She'd… she'd…
Suddenly in front of her, crying and pleading, afraid for his life, was not the monstrous slave of a monster, but a sentient being. A person with hopes and dreams and, more than anything at the moment, fears. He thought she was going to kill him. Why wouldn't he think that? She turned off her shoto and covered her mouth with her hand, as if desperate to keep either words or vomit from leaking out. Her lekku curled in on themselves, as if she was trying to flee her own mind. She was. She failed. She couldn't understand herself. She had been looking at some dark, opaque mirror, and now she saw…
Yes, he wasn't attractive, but why should that have mattered? How should that have become grist for viewing him as some twisted beast, seeking to kill the innocent for fun? Nima was dizzy with terror and horror, throat screaming for water that she knew she'd throw up immediately.
It was in that frozen moment that the comms-unit blared out in an older man's tired voice, "All members of Project Hope, please stand down. I am being held captive, and there is information about the treatment that necessitates temporarily stopping the program. Please acknowledge, and return to the base, or I will authorize all available air-forces and anti-air emplacements to shoot you down as a hostile force. Turn around, or else!"
He was saying it slowly, clearly afraid and no doubt being threatened. "Oh, and all forces, you are to ignore the Trader's Luck vehicle as long as it ceases immediate hostility, until or unless we, er, start a hostage negotiation. Oh, and, come on, give me a moment, I'm authorizing the autopilot to take over, since it seems that there's no one at the controls…"
Of course, the whole time, the pilot was grovelling for his life. Nima almost snapped at him, but instead she just stood there, swaying, barely able to stand now that there wasn't irrational rage and fear pushing her forward. She had nothing to say, not really. How could she apologize? But she had to try. "I'm… sorry," Nima said, though she knew he'd never have any reason to forgive her. She wanted to know their name, so she could… do what?
What could she do?
She'd hurt someone for nothing, for no gain, for no good reason other than her maddened fear and exhaustion and emotions.
Nima Tyruti had failed.
And so she turned, knees aching, and leapt out the front of the ship, landing amid broken glass, and then she made her way to the Trader's Luck, eyes blurred by tears, to collapse as soon as she was safe, as if she could ever be safe, as if others could ever be safe.
She couldn't face her victim, could only hope that he would be okay, because as much as she hated herself in that moment, she knew that staying to be captured would help nothing. So she left them, and something of herself, on the cockpit floor.
******
A/N: So, a lot of housekeeping to do. First off, except for the aftermath post (which will have a vote before it, see below) this is the end of the arc.
Second, you now have a Severe Mental Consequence. To remind those about the system, you have a Mental and Physical Stress track, and a set of Mild, Moderate, and Severe Consequences, one for each 'track.' Nima Tyruti has gained the Severe Mental Consequence 'Jedi Brutality', horrified and guilty and broken by what she did, in a way that even killing Zekka couldn't match, since ultimately she knew that was the right thing to do. This wasn't. A scared, desperate, broken, exhausted child panicked and made an entirely predictable mistake, when you think about the mindset she was in and how tired, stressed people rarely make good decisions. She'll be facing both psychological and social consequences for her mistake for some time to come.
But I would say: do not think this is the end of the game. Ultimately, while it will mean she's more mentally fragile for the next period of time, Fate itself is designed to center around these. It's a mechanics system that would much rather your character survive hurt and changed than just killing them off-hand. Nima was going to be hurt eventually, even if this was an unforced error. But she can recover from it, and in fact almost certainly will. Severe Consequences, however… take time. Weeks or months of time, though because of the genre and other matters I might shorten it. In this case, after you start treating a Consequence, its name changes to represent the start of the healing process (IE: Broken Arm becomes Arm In A Cast), and then… well, Fate lists a chronicle, but in this case, I'm using an 'arc.' That is to say, consider the length of reading/playing time represented by the entire Corellia mission, and then some downtime time, and that's about how long it'll take before she's able to clear the Consequence and otherwise cope with what she did and what she will do better in the future.
It will be an entire painful character arc, but it will be interesting to write for me? So there's that. Mistakes happen, and the idea of playing perfectly is silly. I can even understand why people chose what they chose, after all. There will be a lot of discussion about Nima's actions in the next update, as well as what happens.
Which brings us to the next part of the vote. I'm honestly going to do an even better job of stealing Petals' use of aftermath votes. In other words, you'll be voting on what goes right and what goes wrong. Or rather, you'll be choosing what goes right and everything other than that ends up a lot messier than that.
However, I am going to wait to post that, instead giving people time to react, especially since a part of me fears 'this is bullshit!' reactions and having to conciliate that while also trying to help promote discussion of the voting options/etc. So I'm going to give myself time to address any of those sorts of concerns, and so on.
So yeah, here you go.
