While his words are not without merit, Dooku is being extreme hypocrite, considering he is in league with Palpatine.
Hah!
Wasn't this what lead him to Palpatine?
The Weaving Force
- Thread starter LD1449
- Start date
-
- Tags
- star wars worm alexandria crossover
Wasn't this what lead him to Palpatine?
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
In Legends, yes. But we're following Canon timeline here for Dooku (which includes him leaving the Order before Qui-Gon's death), so here Palpatine has already recruited him (though not made him his apprentice yet).
Edit.
Ignore the above, OP has corrected me that Dooku's past here is not following 100% either timeline.
Last edited:
chapter 14
LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
Chapter 14:
Satine:
There was a reason it was called "the trappings of power", Satine mused, irritated at the spectacle in front of her.
It should have been a simple thing: Passing through the spaceport to meet Merrick and getting a head start in explaining his responsibilities for the day during which he would be managing her affairs to make room for Korkie's presentation.
But she was the Duchess of Mandalore, leader of her people. Things couldn't just be simple.
Her head of security needed to make certain the spaceport was secure, guards needed to be posted, a private wing reserved.
She understood, she did. She strove for pacifism, not complacent stupidity. There were many Mandalorian purists who would see her dead, and all of their work and forward progress undone. Men and women who had killed her own father before her. The Sons of Man'do'a, the Red Sun Heirs, Basilisk Riders. All of these sects and cults would undo generations of forward progress to return to times of blood and iron.
And the only entity that could stop them… was her.
So yes. She understood.
It didn't make things any less exhausting.
"Duchess." Captain Cadera of the Guard nodded, stepping up beside her. "We've secured the private wing. But with things on such short notice, I'm uncomfortable declaring the whole of the spaceport as a secure location. Please let us collect Lord Tal Merrik in your stead."
Satine shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, Captain, but I'm not going to become a prisoner in my own palace because we're forever scared at the mere happenstance of any potential danger. We've had no credible sign or report of any of the insurgent groups making any moves, and as short notice as it was for you, it would be doubly short notice for them. It will be fine."
"I understand, ma'am." Captain Cadera saluted smartly, giving no further protest. "My men and I will defend you should it be necessary."
She offered a nod, a stray thought crossing her mind as she beheld the glint of almost pride in her Captain's eye.
Pacifist or not, they were still Mandalorian. A leader refusing to run from danger was both expected… and encouraged.
(X)(X)(X)
Hannah
Approaching a planet through the upper atmosphere, Hannah found, was remarkably similar to a plane landing.
There was turbulence, of course, but beyond that the only notable difference was the view outside the small viewport.
Rather than city-scape or cloud cover, Hannah found… a planet.
She wondered how beautiful Earth might appear from this high. Sparkling blue, forest greens. Or perhaps they'd approach at night, and see the lights of the cities.
Even if it wasn't her planet, the sight was still enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
Mandalore was an arid world, with a belt of green around the equator. Stormy skies darkened the furthest horizon, gleaming cities of metal pierced outwards like lances thrust into the heavens along the equator, and giant domes dotted the distant deserts like studs on armor.
It was… beautiful, in a primal sort of way.
Descending down from the upper atmosphere – towards the city of Sundari, according to the droid stewardess – Militia realized it was one of the domed cities. The largest as far as she could tell.
It dismayed her, somewhat, to know they were headed towards another desert, and the possibility of yet more sonic showers rather than hot water, but that was a relatively minor irritation. Truth be told, the prospect of seeing another world, another culture, was more than a little fascinating.
She'd never considered herself a traveling enthusiast – possibly because on Earth Bet there were no such things anymore given the dangers of the Endbringers and parahumans in general – but here, in this place, it was like she discovered a light switch to a previously darkened room. She found herself excited by the prospect.
The number of ships around the city surprised her as well. It dwarfed Tatooine's traffic, and she'd already thought that to be impressive enough. There were not only more ships here, but they were also larger than the smuggler vessels and small freighters Tatooine had primarily dealt with.
Rugess' bulbous head slowly slid into her field of view, the Bith evidently wishing to take a look around the spaceport they were circling for their docking bay.
She felt a smile tug at her lips. Truly, she didn't want to find it funny, but Bith heads were so big and round the alien looked like he would quietly topple over any second now.
When he mumbled something it was quick, and she had to liken it more to a gasp than an actual word, but Alexandria seemed to catch some form of meaning in there.
"What is?" her one time mentor asked. It wasn't aggressive per se, but the demand was implicit in her voice.
Rugess turned to her, big dark eyes blinking before he spoke. Dennis, beside him, was darting his eyes between the Bith and Alexandria.
"What is it?" he asked, eyes moving to the viewport for a moment, searching for whatever had set the conversation off.
"It seems the spaceport has unusual traffic of some kind," Alexandria explained. "Repeat it, slowly," she commanded Rugess.
He did, and Miss Militia couldn't, for the life of her, follow more than a few sounds that perhaps reminded her of the sounds he'd made during the read-along book.
Even Alexandria's features scrunched up. "King?"
Rugess' head bobbed this way and then that way, hands moving in a "so so" gesture. Gingerly, he reached for his datapad, and quietly typed with halting, careful movements so as not to hurt himself.
When he turned the pad around a drawing was in place.
No, not a drawing. On closer inspection Miss Militia realized it was, in fact, some kind of sigil, or seal.
It was an odd thing, swooping curves and a valley dipping into a stylized V… or perhaps a depiction of a human womb?
Very odd.
Rugess pointed at the datapad, saying something before pointing outside.
Miss Militia turned and realized that, indeed, she could spot, distantly on the ground, banners held by armed and armored people bearing the same sigil.
"Apparently, if I'm understanding Rugess correctly, an important official is currently at the spaceport," Alexandria explained, her head turning ever so slightly to peer out the window herself. "The house of Kurze?"
Rugess shook his head, typing again on the pad. The letters were in Galactic Basic, but Alexandria seemed to understand it.
"Kryze," the woman nodded.
"Will it cause a delay?" Miss Militia asked, only for Dennis to smirk her way.
"Got a hot date that we're in a hurry for?" He waggled his eyebrows, cheeky grin making his face look years younger. Nevermind that it didn't quite reach his eyes. Few could smile after a conversation with Alexandria alone when she took them to task.
She smiled back, even as she lightly tapped her toe against his shin in an admonishing "kick". "You know what I mean," she answered.
"Unclear," Alexandria answered Miss Militia's question, rubbing at her chin.
Miss Militia knew that look, and could already see the gears beginning to turn in some form of a plan.
Whatever it was, or might have been, the decision was utterly taken out of their hands.
One day, years later, when she heard men and other things say, "The Force has a will", she'd wonder if this perhaps was a moment of that in action, that cosmic "energy" deciding to tug the strings harder than normal.
She'd never been one to believe in fate.
The intercom crackled to life.
"Hey there, sentients, this is your captain speaking. It appears there's an issue with docking bay E-4. An escort is arriving to inspect the ship before allowing us passage into a different landing bay. Shouldn't be much more than a few minutes."
(X)(X)(X)
Satine:
"Merrik!"
His name escaped her like a sigh, genuine relief flooding through her like cold water as a tension she hadn't even been aware of uncoiled from the muscles along her shoulders and back
Her friend smiled, approaching her with his hands held out to grasp her own in a firm, reassuring grip. "Satine, it's been so long," he laughed.
She felt a pang of guilt, though she knew Merrik didn't mean it as anything more than a jest. She'd sent him away not even a year ago, when the attacks from "purist" Mandalorian groups had grown too close for comfort. They'd nearly killed Korkie, though thankfully her nephew was too young to truly remember the close brush with death as anything more than vague nightmares on occasion, flashes of blaster fire and distant screams of men; or so he told her when he came into her room crying.
So Merrik had been sent away. It'd taken nearly half a year to drive back the insurgent groups until they could do little more than hide. The list of prisoners and… casualties mounted with every failed attempt on her life. So, mercifully, did the list of the rare few converts that left their orders for the ways of the New Mandalorians.
And now he was back, answering her abrupt call for help as quickly as she knew he would.
"Your message sounded urgent," the lines of his face shifted in concern, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's very rare for you to ask for help. What's going on?"
She felt a flush then, embarrassment sending the heat of shame through her.
That she'd called him away for something as… unimportant as her nephew's wish for her to be present at the display of his academic project… It was inconsiderate of her.
But the act was done, no use for such regrets, if any, now. Because she could not, in fact, regret it. Korkie deserved more of her time than she could give.
"It's a personal matter," she evaded hesitantly. "I simply need your help for a day or two, representing myself, house Kryze, and our interests."
"I understand," he nodded, pushing the subject no further. He'd done these kinds of favors for her before. "What are the most critical meetings, and with whom will they be?"
She turned, bidding him to walk by her side as the droids, serfs, and others began to load Merrik's belongings into her private transport, with her guards following after them.
"Well, the first and most pressing talk is with the Cathar diplomats. As you know, our relations with them are… strained," she answered haltingly
Merrik winced. "That is a… kind way to frame our ancestors nearly wiping out their species, I suppose."
"Merrik," she admonished as sharply as she could.
Even so, giving voice to it was unwelcome, but the sentiment was correct.
She sighed. "The Cathar represent one of the worst atrocities done by the old Mandalorians. If we can reconcile with them, it will show the greater galactic community that we are committed to our new way of peace."
"It will give us legitimacy, you mean," he surmised.
It was a rather reductive way of putting things, but on the whole… "Yes. We need this," the more she thought about it, the more she cursed that Korkie's presentation couldn't perhaps be on any other day. She stressed, "Our movement is not even three generations old. In the greater scheme of things, we are considered to be in our infancy, and many believe that we are simply a trend that will not last."
It was insulting, truth be told, to be considered little more than a mere… fashion. Something in vogue that would be gone when the next shiny bauble came along.
Merrik nodded in agreement. "I shall do my best. What should I do if the Cathar take your absence as an insult?"
"Inform them that if they are willing to delay, I will be pleased to meet with them first thing the very next day."
It would drop like a bomb on her already stuffed schedule, but she would do it.
"Alright then," he responded, nodding as they passed through the hangar doors to enter the civilian part of the terminal. "What would come nex-"
That's when the shot rang out.
(X)(X)(X)
Hannah
When the pilot said that a security team would inspect them, Hannah obviously had no frame of reference to really use as a measuring stick.
If this were on Earth, it would be obvious that planes could not be inspected "mid air," and officers on those planes wouldn't be heavily armed and armored for that job.
So she couldn't really identify anything of immediate concern when she felt the ship lurch around them, something clearly impacting the side of the vessel where the airlock seal was. And, while she found the two armored men that walked in… well, armored rather excessively for such a simple task, and the lack of uniform pattern on said armor bespoke of far less organizational standards than a police or security force should have; she didn't know what law enforcement here looked like.
It wasn't until she looked at other people in the cabin around her, that the trickle of unease began to spread across her mind.
"Something's wrong."
The words came from Alexandria, barely a whisper of warning, and they immediately made Dennis tense as Rugess began to look around.
But the men were across the cabin already, opening the pilot bay door. Militia saw the man turn, an easy comment ready on his lips before he caught sight of the armor.
The gun came out of its holster, and the man barely had time to scream before a bolt went through his head.
There was no blood, the heat instantly cauterizing the wound. Compared to a gun, the blaster let out very little sound, more a sharp bird chirp than anything.
The kill was clean in a way bullets couldn't be. The body jerked back, the force of the bolt sending the head and neck jerking sharply, likely breaking vertebrae, the movement of the body arrested by the seatbelts still strapping the pilot to his chair.
Passengers screamed, many hitting the deck. Mothers and fathers curled their bodies protectively over loved ones as Hannah, Dennis, Alexandria and Rugess ducked low into their seats. She, Dennis and Rugess for cover, Alexandria likely to keep up appearances.
The second man turned around, a helmet in his hands that he placed over his head.
It was a brutal, intimidating thing, its most striking feature being the prominent T-shaped visor at its center.
"Alright people, listen up," his helmet's speakers snarled as he pulled out his gun. "Stay in your goddamn seats, and the pilot takes his last flight alone today. Don't stay in your seats, and you'll be joining him."
Miss Militia turned her head, eying Alexandria out of the corner of her eye. The other woman caught the look and signaled her to wait.
"Crash," Alexandira mouthed. Miss Militia took her meaning.
None of them knew how to fly a ship, and the pilot and his murderers might be the only ones who did.
Wait for the landing, then they could move.
The man who shot the pilot shoved the lifeless body out of the seat and took his place, fingers quickly pushing buttons and turning knobs. His armor was a mix of purples and yellows, the other one copper red and rusted browns "Jha'te. Mando'a no krush'te'ka."
She didn't recognize the language, though the sound from the airlock was unmistakable.
Six more armored men moved through the lock, sealing it behind them. All of their armors were missmatched, a mob of militia rather than actual soldiers, but ALL of them had one feature in common, the helmet with the T shaped visors. The people cowered as the soldiers – if they were soldiers -- spread out through the interior cabin, one marching up to stand beside Dennis, blaster rifle far too close to the boy's stone cold face for comfort.
"You." He grunted, and Militia had to take a moment to identify who he was talking to. "Helmet off."
A deathly, tense silence filled the space between them, suffocating in the intensity of it and yet lost on those around them.
"I have a medical condition," Alexandria tried, but the man drew closer, rifle now pointed at her.
It wouldn't kill her, but if a fight did break out… their chances of crashing were much, much higher.
Miss Militia held her breath.
"Your medical condition looks like a helmet that can house a frakking communicator. You think I'm stupid? Take it the frak off now."
The commotion was drawing attention now. The other seven armored men in the cabin started turning to look their way, fingers tense along the triggers of their weapons.
A single second felt like it stretched on for hours.
Militia heard the helmet clatter to the floor, its silhouette black along the edges of her periphery.
Across from her, Dennis suddenly turned a worrying shade of green, closing his eyes as though trying to unsee the sight.
She didn't want to look. But she did.
Staring defiantly into the barrel of the rifle was the face of Rebecca Costa-Brown.
"Slide it over," came the demand.
The helmet scraped along the floor, caught under an armored boot.
The rifle pointed down. Two shots rang out.
"There. Not so hard, was it?"
Alexandria's eyes burned like embers. A promise in them.
Him, him she would save for last.
(X)(X)(X)
Here we go
As usual Chapters 15,16 and 17 are available on Patreon right now for just $1 per month with chapters 15 and 17 in particular being some highlights IMO and carrying some really nice moments, link can be found in the sig below.
Read, review and all that good stuff
Satine:
There was a reason it was called "the trappings of power", Satine mused, irritated at the spectacle in front of her.
It should have been a simple thing: Passing through the spaceport to meet Merrick and getting a head start in explaining his responsibilities for the day during which he would be managing her affairs to make room for Korkie's presentation.
But she was the Duchess of Mandalore, leader of her people. Things couldn't just be simple.
Her head of security needed to make certain the spaceport was secure, guards needed to be posted, a private wing reserved.
She understood, she did. She strove for pacifism, not complacent stupidity. There were many Mandalorian purists who would see her dead, and all of their work and forward progress undone. Men and women who had killed her own father before her. The Sons of Man'do'a, the Red Sun Heirs, Basilisk Riders. All of these sects and cults would undo generations of forward progress to return to times of blood and iron.
And the only entity that could stop them… was her.
So yes. She understood.
It didn't make things any less exhausting.
"Duchess." Captain Cadera of the Guard nodded, stepping up beside her. "We've secured the private wing. But with things on such short notice, I'm uncomfortable declaring the whole of the spaceport as a secure location. Please let us collect Lord Tal Merrik in your stead."
Satine shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, Captain, but I'm not going to become a prisoner in my own palace because we're forever scared at the mere happenstance of any potential danger. We've had no credible sign or report of any of the insurgent groups making any moves, and as short notice as it was for you, it would be doubly short notice for them. It will be fine."
"I understand, ma'am." Captain Cadera saluted smartly, giving no further protest. "My men and I will defend you should it be necessary."
She offered a nod, a stray thought crossing her mind as she beheld the glint of almost pride in her Captain's eye.
Pacifist or not, they were still Mandalorian. A leader refusing to run from danger was both expected… and encouraged.
(X)(X)(X)
Hannah
Approaching a planet through the upper atmosphere, Hannah found, was remarkably similar to a plane landing.
There was turbulence, of course, but beyond that the only notable difference was the view outside the small viewport.
Rather than city-scape or cloud cover, Hannah found… a planet.
She wondered how beautiful Earth might appear from this high. Sparkling blue, forest greens. Or perhaps they'd approach at night, and see the lights of the cities.
Even if it wasn't her planet, the sight was still enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
Mandalore was an arid world, with a belt of green around the equator. Stormy skies darkened the furthest horizon, gleaming cities of metal pierced outwards like lances thrust into the heavens along the equator, and giant domes dotted the distant deserts like studs on armor.
It was… beautiful, in a primal sort of way.
Descending down from the upper atmosphere – towards the city of Sundari, according to the droid stewardess – Militia realized it was one of the domed cities. The largest as far as she could tell.
It dismayed her, somewhat, to know they were headed towards another desert, and the possibility of yet more sonic showers rather than hot water, but that was a relatively minor irritation. Truth be told, the prospect of seeing another world, another culture, was more than a little fascinating.
She'd never considered herself a traveling enthusiast – possibly because on Earth Bet there were no such things anymore given the dangers of the Endbringers and parahumans in general – but here, in this place, it was like she discovered a light switch to a previously darkened room. She found herself excited by the prospect.
The number of ships around the city surprised her as well. It dwarfed Tatooine's traffic, and she'd already thought that to be impressive enough. There were not only more ships here, but they were also larger than the smuggler vessels and small freighters Tatooine had primarily dealt with.
Rugess' bulbous head slowly slid into her field of view, the Bith evidently wishing to take a look around the spaceport they were circling for their docking bay.
She felt a smile tug at her lips. Truly, she didn't want to find it funny, but Bith heads were so big and round the alien looked like he would quietly topple over any second now.
When he mumbled something it was quick, and she had to liken it more to a gasp than an actual word, but Alexandria seemed to catch some form of meaning in there.
"What is?" her one time mentor asked. It wasn't aggressive per se, but the demand was implicit in her voice.
Rugess turned to her, big dark eyes blinking before he spoke. Dennis, beside him, was darting his eyes between the Bith and Alexandria.
"What is it?" he asked, eyes moving to the viewport for a moment, searching for whatever had set the conversation off.
"It seems the spaceport has unusual traffic of some kind," Alexandria explained. "Repeat it, slowly," she commanded Rugess.
He did, and Miss Militia couldn't, for the life of her, follow more than a few sounds that perhaps reminded her of the sounds he'd made during the read-along book.
Even Alexandria's features scrunched up. "King?"
Rugess' head bobbed this way and then that way, hands moving in a "so so" gesture. Gingerly, he reached for his datapad, and quietly typed with halting, careful movements so as not to hurt himself.
When he turned the pad around a drawing was in place.
No, not a drawing. On closer inspection Miss Militia realized it was, in fact, some kind of sigil, or seal.
It was an odd thing, swooping curves and a valley dipping into a stylized V… or perhaps a depiction of a human womb?
Very odd.
Rugess pointed at the datapad, saying something before pointing outside.
Miss Militia turned and realized that, indeed, she could spot, distantly on the ground, banners held by armed and armored people bearing the same sigil.
"Apparently, if I'm understanding Rugess correctly, an important official is currently at the spaceport," Alexandria explained, her head turning ever so slightly to peer out the window herself. "The house of Kurze?"
Rugess shook his head, typing again on the pad. The letters were in Galactic Basic, but Alexandria seemed to understand it.
"Kryze," the woman nodded.
"Will it cause a delay?" Miss Militia asked, only for Dennis to smirk her way.
"Got a hot date that we're in a hurry for?" He waggled his eyebrows, cheeky grin making his face look years younger. Nevermind that it didn't quite reach his eyes. Few could smile after a conversation with Alexandria alone when she took them to task.
She smiled back, even as she lightly tapped her toe against his shin in an admonishing "kick". "You know what I mean," she answered.
"Unclear," Alexandria answered Miss Militia's question, rubbing at her chin.
Miss Militia knew that look, and could already see the gears beginning to turn in some form of a plan.
Whatever it was, or might have been, the decision was utterly taken out of their hands.
One day, years later, when she heard men and other things say, "The Force has a will", she'd wonder if this perhaps was a moment of that in action, that cosmic "energy" deciding to tug the strings harder than normal.
She'd never been one to believe in fate.
The intercom crackled to life.
"Hey there, sentients, this is your captain speaking. It appears there's an issue with docking bay E-4. An escort is arriving to inspect the ship before allowing us passage into a different landing bay. Shouldn't be much more than a few minutes."
(X)(X)(X)
Satine:
"Merrik!"
His name escaped her like a sigh, genuine relief flooding through her like cold water as a tension she hadn't even been aware of uncoiled from the muscles along her shoulders and back
Her friend smiled, approaching her with his hands held out to grasp her own in a firm, reassuring grip. "Satine, it's been so long," he laughed.
She felt a pang of guilt, though she knew Merrik didn't mean it as anything more than a jest. She'd sent him away not even a year ago, when the attacks from "purist" Mandalorian groups had grown too close for comfort. They'd nearly killed Korkie, though thankfully her nephew was too young to truly remember the close brush with death as anything more than vague nightmares on occasion, flashes of blaster fire and distant screams of men; or so he told her when he came into her room crying.
So Merrik had been sent away. It'd taken nearly half a year to drive back the insurgent groups until they could do little more than hide. The list of prisoners and… casualties mounted with every failed attempt on her life. So, mercifully, did the list of the rare few converts that left their orders for the ways of the New Mandalorians.
And now he was back, answering her abrupt call for help as quickly as she knew he would.
"Your message sounded urgent," the lines of his face shifted in concern, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's very rare for you to ask for help. What's going on?"
She felt a flush then, embarrassment sending the heat of shame through her.
That she'd called him away for something as… unimportant as her nephew's wish for her to be present at the display of his academic project… It was inconsiderate of her.
But the act was done, no use for such regrets, if any, now. Because she could not, in fact, regret it. Korkie deserved more of her time than she could give.
"It's a personal matter," she evaded hesitantly. "I simply need your help for a day or two, representing myself, house Kryze, and our interests."
"I understand," he nodded, pushing the subject no further. He'd done these kinds of favors for her before. "What are the most critical meetings, and with whom will they be?"
She turned, bidding him to walk by her side as the droids, serfs, and others began to load Merrik's belongings into her private transport, with her guards following after them.
"Well, the first and most pressing talk is with the Cathar diplomats. As you know, our relations with them are… strained," she answered haltingly
Merrik winced. "That is a… kind way to frame our ancestors nearly wiping out their species, I suppose."
"Merrik," she admonished as sharply as she could.
Even so, giving voice to it was unwelcome, but the sentiment was correct.
She sighed. "The Cathar represent one of the worst atrocities done by the old Mandalorians. If we can reconcile with them, it will show the greater galactic community that we are committed to our new way of peace."
"It will give us legitimacy, you mean," he surmised.
It was a rather reductive way of putting things, but on the whole… "Yes. We need this," the more she thought about it, the more she cursed that Korkie's presentation couldn't perhaps be on any other day. She stressed, "Our movement is not even three generations old. In the greater scheme of things, we are considered to be in our infancy, and many believe that we are simply a trend that will not last."
It was insulting, truth be told, to be considered little more than a mere… fashion. Something in vogue that would be gone when the next shiny bauble came along.
Merrik nodded in agreement. "I shall do my best. What should I do if the Cathar take your absence as an insult?"
"Inform them that if they are willing to delay, I will be pleased to meet with them first thing the very next day."
It would drop like a bomb on her already stuffed schedule, but she would do it.
"Alright then," he responded, nodding as they passed through the hangar doors to enter the civilian part of the terminal. "What would come nex-"
That's when the shot rang out.
(X)(X)(X)
Hannah
When the pilot said that a security team would inspect them, Hannah obviously had no frame of reference to really use as a measuring stick.
If this were on Earth, it would be obvious that planes could not be inspected "mid air," and officers on those planes wouldn't be heavily armed and armored for that job.
So she couldn't really identify anything of immediate concern when she felt the ship lurch around them, something clearly impacting the side of the vessel where the airlock seal was. And, while she found the two armored men that walked in… well, armored rather excessively for such a simple task, and the lack of uniform pattern on said armor bespoke of far less organizational standards than a police or security force should have; she didn't know what law enforcement here looked like.
It wasn't until she looked at other people in the cabin around her, that the trickle of unease began to spread across her mind.
"Something's wrong."
The words came from Alexandria, barely a whisper of warning, and they immediately made Dennis tense as Rugess began to look around.
But the men were across the cabin already, opening the pilot bay door. Militia saw the man turn, an easy comment ready on his lips before he caught sight of the armor.
The gun came out of its holster, and the man barely had time to scream before a bolt went through his head.
There was no blood, the heat instantly cauterizing the wound. Compared to a gun, the blaster let out very little sound, more a sharp bird chirp than anything.
The kill was clean in a way bullets couldn't be. The body jerked back, the force of the bolt sending the head and neck jerking sharply, likely breaking vertebrae, the movement of the body arrested by the seatbelts still strapping the pilot to his chair.
Passengers screamed, many hitting the deck. Mothers and fathers curled their bodies protectively over loved ones as Hannah, Dennis, Alexandria and Rugess ducked low into their seats. She, Dennis and Rugess for cover, Alexandria likely to keep up appearances.
The second man turned around, a helmet in his hands that he placed over his head.
It was a brutal, intimidating thing, its most striking feature being the prominent T-shaped visor at its center.
"Alright people, listen up," his helmet's speakers snarled as he pulled out his gun. "Stay in your goddamn seats, and the pilot takes his last flight alone today. Don't stay in your seats, and you'll be joining him."
Miss Militia turned her head, eying Alexandria out of the corner of her eye. The other woman caught the look and signaled her to wait.
"Crash," Alexandira mouthed. Miss Militia took her meaning.
None of them knew how to fly a ship, and the pilot and his murderers might be the only ones who did.
Wait for the landing, then they could move.
The man who shot the pilot shoved the lifeless body out of the seat and took his place, fingers quickly pushing buttons and turning knobs. His armor was a mix of purples and yellows, the other one copper red and rusted browns "Jha'te. Mando'a no krush'te'ka."
She didn't recognize the language, though the sound from the airlock was unmistakable.
Six more armored men moved through the lock, sealing it behind them. All of their armors were missmatched, a mob of militia rather than actual soldiers, but ALL of them had one feature in common, the helmet with the T shaped visors. The people cowered as the soldiers – if they were soldiers -- spread out through the interior cabin, one marching up to stand beside Dennis, blaster rifle far too close to the boy's stone cold face for comfort.
"You." He grunted, and Militia had to take a moment to identify who he was talking to. "Helmet off."
A deathly, tense silence filled the space between them, suffocating in the intensity of it and yet lost on those around them.
"I have a medical condition," Alexandria tried, but the man drew closer, rifle now pointed at her.
It wouldn't kill her, but if a fight did break out… their chances of crashing were much, much higher.
Miss Militia held her breath.
"Your medical condition looks like a helmet that can house a frakking communicator. You think I'm stupid? Take it the frak off now."
The commotion was drawing attention now. The other seven armored men in the cabin started turning to look their way, fingers tense along the triggers of their weapons.
A single second felt like it stretched on for hours.
Militia heard the helmet clatter to the floor, its silhouette black along the edges of her periphery.
Across from her, Dennis suddenly turned a worrying shade of green, closing his eyes as though trying to unsee the sight.
She didn't want to look. But she did.
Staring defiantly into the barrel of the rifle was the face of Rebecca Costa-Brown.
"Slide it over," came the demand.
The helmet scraped along the floor, caught under an armored boot.
The rifle pointed down. Two shots rang out.
"There. Not so hard, was it?"
Alexandria's eyes burned like embers. A promise in them.
Him, him she would save for last.
(X)(X)(X)
Here we go
As usual Chapters 15,16 and 17 are available on Patreon right now for just $1 per month with chapters 15 and 17 in particular being some highlights IMO and carrying some really nice moments, link can be found in the sig below.
Read, review and all that good stuff
Last edited:
TheatrclBarristr
Not a barrister
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wait. So, Alexandria has not taken off her helmet for the whole time they've been in the SW universe?
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Merrik.
Lost a planet Hannah has not.
Well, yeah. Tatooine is a backwater place in Hutt Space, Mandalore is a metropolis of trade and culture.
Listen, Hannah, this is not the place to start talking about womb tattoos. This is not that kind of story!
*phew* We were one letter away from the house of Curze and that would have been bad.
Even thousands of years after the fact.
Blasters are powerful and dangerous.
And the cat is out of the bag.
Or at least not when someone has been close by.
- Location
- Russia
I was overcome with a sudden vision of Satine Triggering because of this terrorist attack and need to share this idea.
She got a bud from both Militia and Clockblocker - her Power form a Green Mandalorian Armor in the way it is similar to Militia' weapons, with a lot of integrated weaponry and systems which she can change at will. She also can froze this armor in time making herself invulnerable and immovable at will.
The downside- The Sacred Armor is always on her. She always armed. The Helmet stays on. This will safe her life but will break her political and personal moral standing in very Wormy way
(If she need to eat or drink she got "Kakashi phenomenon " which involve a little of time manipulation)
I understand what this is implausible turn of events but I can not but dream about it
She got a bud from both Militia and Clockblocker - her Power form a Green Mandalorian Armor in the way it is similar to Militia' weapons, with a lot of integrated weaponry and systems which she can change at will. She also can froze this armor in time making herself invulnerable and immovable at will.
The downside- The Sacred Armor is always on her. She always armed. The Helmet stays on. This will safe her life but will break her political and personal moral standing in very Wormy way
(If she need to eat or drink she got "Kakashi phenomenon " which involve a little of time manipulation)
I understand what this is implausible turn of events but I can not but dream about it
No reason why you can't write an Omake about it (unless the OP prefers to have none, some do)
LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
Oh, no- by all means write away. I enjoy Omakes as much as anyone else
Chapter 15
LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
Chapter 15
Vicky:
The Jedi Council Chambers were, to put it simply, designed to impress.
It was minimalist to the point of seeming near spartan in its furniture, but that was as far as that brand of austerity went.
The floors were marble, or the equivalent to marble in this galaxy. Simple but beautiful renditions of plants, almost like olive branches, splayed around the center ring, pointing towards the center of the room. She wondered if it was merely a trick of the eye made by the design and colors, or if, indeed, the central floor was just ever so slightly domed so that the person in the center would be elevated just that little bit when he spoke.
To top it off, surrounding the room were great glass panes, almost three times her height and twice as wide as she could reach if she spread her arms out as far as they would go. It provided a dominating view over this whole city-wide planet, letting her see the ships flying this way and that way across the skyline… or would they be called cars instead of ships?
"Your thoughts, interesting they are, hmm?"
She turned her head, surprised that she didn't have to look down, and found Little Green in a tiny little hoverchair beside her. His legs were crossed, and that stupid stick lay across his knees. It made him look even smaller. She thought it made him look cute rather than wise, if that's what he was going for.
She offered a grin in response. "Not unless you wanna go over the finer points of room decor," she shrugged.
To be honest, she was more than happy to focus on something so… irrelevant. Especially as the fluttering nervousness in her stomach continued to mount in disquieting anticipation. It was easier, after all, to ignore that this Council was supposedly going to help because: A) they were stuck in space and came from a planet no one seemed to have heard of, and B) that someone had screwed with her head.
One or both of those things would be addressed in just a few more minutes. And one or both answers could shape everything about her life going forward.
So yes, she had the right to be nervous.
She cast a look to her left, wondering if Taylor felt the same nervousness, but found the dark haired girl staring out one of the large windows, arms crossed and posture tense.
Yeah… she was nervous too. Either that or thinking how to take over territory in a city like this. Villains did that, right?
She felt a smirk tugging at her lip. "One sec, Green-Bean."
"Hrmph," she heard, and came to the distant realization as she floated away that she may have just dodged a stick whacking by virtue of being out of arm's reach… for the moment, anyway.
She floated up behind Taylor, the brunette catching sight of her in the window's reflection. Taylor turned, looking at Vicky over her shoulder.
She didn't smile, but she did step aside, as if inviting Vicky to stand next to her.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, the soles of her shoes landing softly atop the marble.
Taylor shook her head, typing out a quick reply.
"Can't afford it even at that price. Too many to count."
The smile that came to Vicky then was genuine, but a sad sympathy lingered at its edges. "So you're nervous too, huh?" she ventured a guess.
Taylor's expression shifted then, the usual stony facade cracking to show genuine concern.
"Yes. But different from you, in a way."
That made her curious, blinking once at the message before she found her voice. "How so?" she asked.
"You're afraid they might not be able to help…" Taylor's eyes were cold, her features turning severe. "Part of me is afraid that they can."
"What, why!?" she gasped. Either they could fix their heads or get them back home.
Tay turned, looking away and back out the window, and though soon enough, the placid mask of unreadability slipped back on, Vicky saw it in that brief moment.
Taylor wasn't nervous.
She was afraid.
She opened her mouth, floundering for a moment in indecision - should she press a bit more, or not? - when the decision was taken out of her hands.
"Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert."
She turned, as did Taylor.
Master Windu was there, offering a shallow bow that could almost be a nod; it would be, if it were any shallower.
"The Council members are prepared to see you now."
Behind him, various people began to take their seats. She saw a number of aliens, and humans who probably were aliens, or at least human offshoots of some kind. She even saw another little green, this one female. She wondered, distantly, if that was Yoda's wife.
The black man gestured as two service droids brought out a spare set of hover chairs for them. "Please."
Vicky tried to smile though it died on her lips, wondering what exactly Taylor was afraid of. They hadn't known each other for that long, but Vicky thought she knew enough about the girl's personality to know that Tay didn't scare easily. Paranoid she might be, but she didn't get scared as far as Vicky knew.
"Thanks, Master Windu," she said, voice and mouth working on auto-pilot.
As Windu marched through the Council Chambers to take his seat, she sat in her hover chair first, with Taylor right after her.
Each of the Council members were imposing in a way, like judges presiding over a courtroom. Her thoughts about the room's decor came back to her, this time in a slightly less positive note. The layout of the chamber itself made it near impossible, even from her angle at one end of the circle rather than the center, to see everyone's faces without turning her head. If you were in the center of the room, it'd be even worse… as it was no doubt designed to be.
"As you know already, Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert, I am Master Windu, head of this Council. Beside me are Masters Yoda-" Little Green smiled like a genial grandfather.
"Master Rancisis-" Next Windu gestured to an alien with an epic beard. His lower body was that of a snake. If she saw him in a mural, she'd definitely confuse him for some middle eastern deity or folk tale creature. His fingers were long and gnarled, and his face was flat, all but hidden behind the thick white of his facial hair.
She tried to keep her composure, and momentarily envied Tay of her easy mastery of the poker face. Vicky didn't want to gawp and gape. It would be in fascination rather than revulsion, but staring would still come across as rude.
"Master Poof-" Yup… definitely envied Tay her poker face.
Poof…
That was a name?
The alien was a bit less remarkable, at least relative to the serpentine body of Master Rancisis. But Master… Poof's distinguishing feature was his very, very, very long neck, crowned by a little head at the top. It almost made him look like a reed. But where Rancisis was as stone faced as Taylor (probably because she couldn't see much of his face behind the voluminous beard), Master Poof's features lit up with a gentle, kindly smile as he lowered his head on that long neck in what may have been a nod or a bow of greeting.
"Master Billaba-" Next was a human woman. Her features were Indian, if Vicky had to put her finger on it. She had small studs arranged in a line across her forehead. She was beautiful in an almost serene way.
"Master Ki-Adi-Mundi-" And they were back to aliens. This Jedi Master was an old man–at least Vicky assumed he was old, given the white of his hair–but his distinct feature was that his head was… tall. He, like Billaba before him, kept a calm placidity over his features. No smile to be seen, unlike Yoda and Poof.
"Master Galia" This one… Vicky wasn't sure if she was human or not. Did humans have offshoots? Mutants? She looked human enough, but on her head was either a headdress or very strange… hairs? Quills?
She wasn't sure.
"Master Yaddle-" Ms. Yoda had a name now. Vicky smiled at her, and like Yoda before her, Yaddle smiled back. And there wasn't a stupid stick anywhere near her chair either!
The next three masters–Koth, Tiin and Piel–were all aliens as well. Put a pointy hat on Master Piel and someone would place him in a garden before too long, Vicky was sure.
"Master Jocasta Nu, the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, to offer her knowledge" The second to last Master was an old, stern-looking woman. She eyed Victoria and Taylor as if she were the headmistress of some school, glaring disapprovingly down her nose at the teenaged girls' (hypothetical) frumpled uniforms.
Either that, or Vicky's nerves were coloring her sight.
"And lastly, Master Plo-Koon."
The last Jedi Master nodded. "Be welcome in our halls, honored guests." He capped off Windu's introductions. His voice, clearly filtered through the mask he wore, had a metallic tinge to it. But she hoped he was trying to sound kind.
Master Windu leaned back in his seat, his fingers pressing together in front of him as he looked at Vicky and Taylor.
"While the broad strokes of your situation are known to myself and Master Yoda, the rest of the Council has not been fully informed. So, if you would, Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert: tell us in your own words the specifics of your circumstance and how the Jedi might be able to help you."
She turned her head, sparing Taylor an almost pleading glance as the brunette offered her a hesitant, tremulous smile, as though trying to encourage her before it cracked and slipped off her face entirely.
Vicky took a deep, slow breath.
"W-well…" shit. Why hadn't she planned out an explanation? Now she had to try and make this story coherent and succinct and not boring and- Ahh, hell…
"Ummm… well, I guess I should start with the basics," she began. "We're from a place called Earth…" a pause.
How to sum up her home in a few short words…
"It's kind of a hell hole?" She winced.
…
This was off to a marvelous start.
She felt more than heard Taylor's facepalm.
(X)(X)(X)
Obi-Wan:
This was not the first time Obi-Wan questioned his choice in taking on Anakin as a Padawan. Or more specifically, his fitness as an instructor.
There were others that could have taken on the role. Senior Knights, qualified Masters. Oftentimes, he felt little more than a floundering neophyte, barely able to string two of his own thoughts together, let alone guide a boy in the ways of the force.
But the Council had been reluctant. And he'd been hasty, desperate to fulfill his Master's dying wish. And so, he'd acted. Declared his intent to take on Anakin as a Padawan before he'd even been formally knighted.
Sith Slayer, his fellows and peers whispered with awe and reverence. As if a single fight, a single lucky stroke, made him somehow better than they were.
He wasn't. He knew he wasn't. Anakin would be better served by a true Master, he knew that. And, more and more, he was realizing the full weight of his error. Especially now that Tachi had… left. Abandoned the Order.
One of his closest friends. One he'd come to with his doubts and concerns so many times before, one of the last sources of wisdom he could turn to outside of the Masters on the Council.
It was enough to almost make him want to cry.
But he didn't cry, even as the doubts clawed at the back of his mind. Even as he heard from others that the Council would be in a lengthy session today and so he couldn't even seek out Masters Yoda, Windu, or Yaddle for their advice on how to… how to not mess things up even further.
His training with Anakin was done for the day, another day of frustrations and missteps. He could see it so clearly in retrospect, the way he could explain a question with more patience, clarify a subject in a way Anakin would understand rather than him reciting dogma to the boy as though it should have been obvious. What should have been obvious was that Obi-Wan had learned and heard these lessons as a youngling in the creche, and Anakin had spent those same days as a slave on a dustball, not learning the higher philosophies of the Force and the histories of the Jedi.
Why could he never act with the patience a Master should? Why could he only sit and stew on his mistakes, realizing they existed at all only after they'd gone and truly blown up in his face?
It was becoming a habit. A bad one, and one he needed to grow out of fast if he would do right by the boy.
"Master?"
Obi-Wan startled, turning his head where he sat in the gardens, finding Anakin there with…
"Did…" Obi-Wan felt his features scrunch up. "Did you bring me a sandwich?"
Anakin shrugged, chewing on his own sandwich before holding up the plastic wrapped meal and drink for Obi-Wan to take. "You were hungry."
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, ready to tell him that he was not actually hungry when his stomach decided to remind the fledgeling knight that, yes, yes he very much was hungry, and all he'd had that morning had been a spot of tea and stale crackers.
He blinked, trying not to get too irritated at Anakin's smug-mouthful-smile.
Reaching for the offered sandwich, he began the task of unwrapping it. "How did you know?" Even he hadn't been aware how hungry he was until it was brought to his attention.
He sensed hesitation from his student, who offered a shrug. "Just kinda figured."
Obi-Wan frowned. Was his student hiding something from him now? Was he that bad of a teacher? "Anakin?"
His young Padawan let out a long, suffering sigh. Taking another bite, he mumbled something with his mouth full.
"Don't speak with your mouth full, Anakin. Tell me once you've swallowed," he chastised.
Anakin gave him a half lidded glare, taking an irritatingly long time to chew and swallow the full mouthful, much more than he normally took… which was probably good, considering the time he normally took was just long enough to wolf down his meal half the bloody time.
When he finally finished the hesitation was still present, hanging between them like a pall before Anakin pushed through.
"You're always… impatient when you're hungry." His apprentice answered slowly.
"What!?" Obi-Wan hissed. "I am not!"
He was a Jedi, a Knight, he certainly wouldn't allow himself to get impatient out of something as basic and simple as food. He had far more discipline than that.
Anakin gave him a very flat, very unimpressed glare.
"I am not!" Obi-Wan repeated.
"So you insisting you're not impatient in that tone is you being patient and calm?" the boy questioned, a cheeky smile tugging at his lip.
"I'm telling you I'm not impatient because I am patient and my tone has nothing to do with a lack of food but rather your insistence to the contrary," he argued.
"Uh-huh." The boy tapped at Obi-Wan's hand, urging him to raise up the sandwich and take a bite.
Obi-Wan's face was flat and devoid of all humor.
Anakin just gave him a winning smile.
"I was unaware that the Gardens now doubled as the dining halls."
Both he and Anakin startled, turning in their seats almost completely around to see a man–an old man–lithe and tall. He held himself with a regal air, a posture that was given more credence by the impeccable state of his dress and clothing.
"Forgive me, Master," Obi-Wan said instinctually as he stood.
Turning to face the man, he noticed Anakin shoving the last chunk of sandwich into his mouth before swallowing it down damn near whole.
Honestly, Obi-Wan wasn't sure if he should chastise him for the utter lack of manners he demonstrated, or praise him for quickly getting rid of the offending item. Obi-Wan was still holding a nearly whole sandwich in hand, its folds of bread and meat mocking the unfamiliar Jedi Master in front of him.
The older man raised a delicate eyebrow, the thin strand of silver hiking up to his hairline.
He didn't say anything as he stepped forward, nearly towering over Obi-Wan by half a head. The older Master's stern glare made Obi-Wan feel like a misbehaving youngling.
"Let me have a look at you," the Master muttered, his eye now one of appraisal. Obi-Wan would have brushed a hand across his robes to wipe at dust or perhaps straighten out wrinkles if it wasn't occupied with the bloody sandwich and drink.
"Hmmm…" whatever the old man was looking for, he evidently didn't find it. "Incomplete… woefully incomplete."
Obi-Wan felt both his curiosity and the sting of hurt pride battling within himself. "What is?" he asked.
"Your training," the Master answered curtly, sharply, like a knife cutting through the air. "Though I suppose that is not your failing. Qui-Gon was cut down too early."
Obi-Wan felt his hackles rise and even Anakin took a step back, aware of the rising tension within the "Sith Slayer".
But the Master in front of them did not care. He turned to look at Anakin, freezing the young man in place with his icy gaze.
"And you, boy. Do not hide. It is unbecoming."
Anakin swallowed, but obediently moved to step forward before Obi-Wan, in a moment of either defiance or protectiveness–he couldn't rightly say which–stood between this Jedi Master and his young charge.
"Forgive me, Master, but Anakin is my Padawan. Neither he nor I are here for you to order about. Nor did I catch your name. I was unaware that it had only recently become good manners to begin with introductions.," he said pointedly, as polite as he could force himself to be.
The old man raised an eyebrow, then scoffed, "No. I suppose he wouldn't have told you about me, would he. We did not part on the best of terms." He faced Obi-Wan, his face never becoming anything less than cold stoicism. "My name is Yan Dooku."
His name, if not his face, Obi-Wan recognized, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.
"I am your Master's Master," Dooku drawled. Distantly, Obi-Wan sensed the surprise in Anakin behind him.
Master Dooku stared at the two of them.
"I suppose it falls to me to finish his work."
(X)(X)(X)
Vicky:
"And then Li- ahh, Master Yoda found us."
She finished her story–their story–with another hesitant glance towards Taylor, silently asking if she'd covered everything. The villain–or maybe former villain, Vicky wasn't sure on that front–offered her a stiff pat on the shoulder as reassurance even as her eyes watched the faces of the Council around them… as though scanning the twelve members for any threats.
The sun had long since passed its zenith, and was just starting to dip closer to the skyline. The bright yellow of the day was just that little bit darker than it otherwise would be.
She'd give them credit, none of them had interrupted her story, save to ask the occasional clarifying question. They sat for hours and simply listened, stone faced and stoic, true, but patient with her fumbling attempts at giving "the whole story".
The Council members seemed to be conferring between each other with nothing more than silent glances and pointed looks. She wondered how well they knew each other, that seemingly whole conversations could take place with little more than a side eye or a turned head.
Though… maybe with Poof, a turned head was like a whole speech.
She fought down the bubble of mirth that threatened to place an inappropriate smile on her lips.
"These abilities you have," Master ahh… tower head spoke. She really had to try and remember these weird names. Right now all she had was Yoda, Windu, and Poof.
Oh, and Nu, because it sounded like "new" and the old lady was… well… old. Not new.
"...might you demonstrate?" he ventured, dragging her attention back. "The Force flows strangely around the two of you, and perhaps we might sense the nature of these "parahuman powers" if they were utilized before us."
She nodded, wondering, not for the first time, just how this "Force" actually functioned as a power. From what little she learned from Master Sinube, it seemed like a general grab bag Trump power.
Floating about a foot off the ground, "standing" straight up, Vicky did a little figure eight in the air, finishing with a twirl as she set her feet back on the ground.
A handful–including the scary one with the mask, Poof, and Mr. and Mrs. Yoda–reacted by leaning forward in interest. Others, like Ms. Nu, the Indian-looking woman, and Master Windu, displayed calm neutrality.
But more than a few leaned back in their seats as though bracing themselves, or repelled. She tried not to wince at that, and prayed that Taylor wasn't doing her scary glare thing behind her.
Each of the Council members shared looks amongst their fellows, and when the silence was broken, it was broken by the alien with the mask.
"It feels… odd," he said, clawed fingers touching his facemask like a man rubbing at his chin. "Cold."
"It feels like the dark side," another alien, this one with swooping horns at the side of his face, replied.
"No," Mrs. Yoda shook her head. "Cold it feels, but not like the dark. No hatred. No malice."
"Indeed," Master Poof concurred. "If I had to put words to it, I would say it feels cold like… a clinic. Or a laboratory. There is no passion within it."
"More than that," the Indian woman cut in. "It feels… forced in a way. Brute forced."
Well… Vicky was a Brute. But she doubted that's what the woman meant.
"Yes." Finally, Yoda spoke, stamping his stick into the floors and everyone turned to listen to him. Had he whacked them all with that stupid stick, too? "An apt description Master Billaba has used. Brute force. Not like Jedi. Not like Sith."
Vicky felt a tug at her sleeve and turned, Taylor holding up her little pad.
Ask them what they mean. What's the difference between our power and "The Force".
Vicky blinked, reading over the message again before nodding. It was a good question.
"Do what you can, the Force can help us achieve, too," Yoda said, demonstrating by levitating his chair off the pedestal it was on. The barely-there hum of its anti-gravity function was not active now as he floated above the floor. "But ask it, we do. Its force, its power, we direct. Yours… different, it is. Hmmm… A rock, you should consider."
"A rock?" She raised an eyebrow.
Yoda nodded, his seat floating back down to its pedestal. "Indeed. Water, the Force is. Wearing down the rock, flowing over it. Gently smoothing its surface over time and with patience. Not so your ability. Crushed, the rock is. Brute forced."
"It feels destructive," Master Billaba picked up. "Like something that shouldn't be, but, as observed by the other Masters, it is not destructive in the way of the dark side. It's simply…" She frowned. "...a force of nature, I suppose."
"One cannot call something unnatural a force of nature," Mr. Tower head answered.
A single, gnarled finger came up and for the first time the snake man with the epic beard spoke up. "Harsh, your voice is becoming, Master Mundi," the serpent man warned. "Innocent, these children are. From the words of Ms. Dallon, their powers are simply a part of them. And they are natural."
Chastised, Mr. Tower head went quiet.
"But humans have shown no such abilities anywhere in the galaxy," The Master with the large horns spoke again.
"Not this galaxy," Ms. Nu, the old woman, spoke for the first time. "Unless these children came from the very depths of the Unknown Regions where no hyperlanes are recorded, I can promise you there is no planet known as Earth in our records. Nor any planet in any record with the continents, cultures or creatures she has described. Monsters that control oceans, beasts that manipulate all forms of energy?" she gave a single shake of her head, primly dismissing the point. "Measuring them by baseline humanity in our known galaxy is foolish. For clearly they are not part of the known galaxy-"
Vicky felt her heart sink.
"-which means that their next stop right after this should be the MedCorps and healers for thorough examinations and vaccina-"
"You can't get us home."
She hadn't realized she'd spoken. Not until Ms. Nu's voice abruptly stopped and she saw several Masters stiffen in their seats.
The emotion that bubbled up in her chest and throat threatened to choke her, and for the first time since she arrived here the feeling of genuine hopelessness that she'd been beating back with everything she had, be it distractions, explorations, helping Taylor or even the wonder of discovery, threatened now for the first time to crash over her.
She felt tears beginning to burn at her eyes, and it was only distantly she felt Tay grab at her hand, turning her around to look at the villain's soft expression which shone through with pity and that made things so much worse!
Why wasn't she fucking sad about this too!? Didn't she want to get home! Why-?
"None of that, girl."
The Jedi, Ms. Nu, was there suddenly. The woman was shorter than Vicky, yet it was Vicky who felt like a little girl as the stern old woman brushed her shoulders free of imaginary dust, taking Vicky's hands in old, gnarled but gentle fingers.
"You arrived here somehow, child." The woman didn't smile, and her voice wasn't kind, but it was… gentle. "We may not know how, but it's hardly befitting a strong young lady such as yourself to fall apart at a mere setback."
Vicky tried to swallow down the sob. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I- I knew coming in that you might not-"
"But it's harder to hear it… I know. Come now." The woman produced a small handkerchief, wiping at Victoria's eyes like she was just a small girl who scraped her knee. "No more tears child. Your friend clearly hasn't given up. Why should you?"
Vicky nodded. Not wholly consoled, but the… hopelessness was driven back for the moment, if only for the sake of her pride.
She set herself back down on her chair, Ms. Nu taking a seat beside her, her thumb rubbing gentle circles along Victoria's knuckles where their hands were gripped together.
"Perhaps we should adjourn," the masked alien Master suggested. "This cannot be easy for our guests. Some rest might help."
"No."
The sound made many Masters in the room stiffen. Vicky did, too, if only because of the surprise that Tay would show her hand like this.
The brunette hadn't sat back down with her. She turned, letting go of Victoria's hand to march into the center of the council room.
Master Windu's head tilted, adjusting himself in his seat. "You're angry," he observed.
Vicky couldn't see Taylor's expression from her place behind the dark haired girl, but as she turned to stare at Yoda, she could only begin to imagine the look on the girl's face.
Should she run interference? Vicky felt like she should run interference!
When the voice of her insects reverberated around the room, it was a hiss. A low roiling wrath that seemed to choke the very air in the chamber. "You want them to learn to manage without you, fine, but do it on your own time."
Yoda's small, clawed hand rubbed at his chin, Taylor stayed eerily still as she watched him.
"We're not sideshows to be gawked at. You knew what our powers were and how they "felt" long before we came here."
The Masters shared uneasy glances and Vicky prepared herself to stand up and try to mediate this.
She got it. She really did. Little Green was letting a lot of these Masters tread the same ground he had on Kashyyyk before they arrived, but they needed to play nice here. Jumping through some hoops was a very small price to pay considering everything; both how utterly lucky they'd been so far in who they'd met and how utterly screwed they would be if these Jedi decided to toss them out on their asses.
Yoda frowned. "Your story, in full should be told. Much I did not know."
"That wasn't your reason," Tay insisted. "You want them to reach the right conclusion without you. But our lives aren't a lesson plan."
Some of the Masters around the girl bristled, clearly incensed that Tay was talking to Little Green like this. Others remained perfectly still.
Ok so… the crash already happened, but maybe she could keep the proverbial train from exploding in a horrible fireball.
Vicky stood up, an apology on the tip of her tongue, before Ms. Nu tugged at her hand, bringing her attention back to the old woman who shook her head quietly.
"Correct you are… Another mistake in how I've treated you, I've made."
Vicky whirled around surprised to find Master Yoda bowing ever so slightly, his features contrite.
"Distant, my age has made me. Callous it was to treat your situation as such. Much, even we Masters must learn, but humility, and empathy, above all we must have. Thank you, I do. For the reminder."
Vicky gaped at the display, wondering if somehow she'd missed a subtle "fuck you" in there
…
So Tay gets to say all that and gets a "hank you" but she calls out him and his goddamn napping and gets a fucking stick to her shins!
Hobbling off the chair, Yoda's feet touched the ground, the small diminutive gremlin marching closer to Taylor.
"With your permission, delve into the Force, I will. Examine you as best I can, I will. My findings, with the Council I will share," he turned, looking towards Mrs. Yoda and then to Master Windu. "Master Yaddle, Master Windu, if you would aid me."
The two Masters nodded their ascent, standing from their seats.
But Tay suddenly stepped back and as she looked around the room, Vicky caught sight of the edges of concern on her features.
"What exactly will you do?"
"All living beings, in the Force, a place they have. Examine your place, and the place of your power within the Force, we shall. Determine its nature, we will. From there, its place of origin we might find.
"And that might lead us home," Vicky breathed. Yoda turned to her, smiling. Vicky found it in herself to smile back.
But Taylor took another step back, away from the three Jedi Masters. With Taylor's profile now in her view, Vicky could see her properly. Her face was stoic, but her eyes… her eyes told a different story.
Vicky had seen that look in her eyes before. And the name that danced across her thoughts was the only thing that could put that look of sheer, unbridled terror in Taylor's expression.
Khepri.
The brunette shook her head, her mouth opening, seemingly ready to speak before she looked to Vicky, pleading without a voice for help.
"You can examine me," she volunteered before she even realized her mouth was moving, stepping forward. "Tay…" she hesitated. "...has been having trouble with her power since she woke up. But I haven't, so I might help more," she smiled, stepping forward and beside Taylor, who almost visibly sagged with relief.
If Yoda sensed something wrong, he said nothing. "Of course. Thank you again, I do, for your trust."
She smiled, turning to Tay, who offered a curt nod. Whatever steel had entered her spine to stare down Yoda and the Masters seemed to have wilted under the mere whisper of whatever "Khepri" was.
The brunette turned, walking back to her seat and planting herself down onto it.
Yoda and the other two Masters lowered themselves, sitting down into the lotus position, and Vicky realized they were waiting for her to do the same.
She sat down at the center of the Council Chamber floor.
Yoda's little hand reached for hers, and she held his tiny claws in her larger hands.
"One with the Force, we are," the small alien intoned. "Open yourself to it, and become clear, all paths do."
Vicky wasn't very religious. Never had been, likely never would be.
She sat there for a time, wondering after a handful of minutes if they were taking her for something of a ride, but then, suddenly, she did feel… something. A…presence. A force surrounding her, flowing through the three Masters and Yoda like a conduit.
A live wire of something, a sensation she couldn't explain and wasn't even entirely sure was real.
It was… bizarre, to put it very, very, very mildly.
She almost jerked her hand back, almost pulled away from Yoda before his hands, gently but firmly, held hers. He didn't force her. If she truly wanted to yank her hands free, he would let her go. His grip was more like that of a caretaker calming a spooked animal.
She had no words to describe the oddness of this, like opening a third eye she never knew she had.
She felt something from Master Yoda, too indistinct, too nebulous, to make out.
She didn't understand him.
But she did feel the answer bubble up from within her.
Surprise…
Panic…
Another sensation. A wave of calm washing over her from the Jedi Masters, peace and stillness.
Vicky shuddered
The answer was her and yet… not…
Hesitation…
…
Hesitation…
…
Uncertainty. …
Parameters Unknown…
Data Unknown…
Like hands opening in welcome, the feelings of reassurance from the Masters came through into her… an invitation.
…
Data acquisition… possible
…
Hesitation…
Tentative…
…
Greetings….
(X)(X)(X)
And here is the famous chapter 15
As usual the next 3 chapters, 16,17,18 are available on Patreon and All of those were very enjoyable to write as well and all have their own little special moments :3
So head on over there if you're interested, its just 1 dollar per month after all.
Now, as for this chapter.
This chapter has A LOT to unpack within it and the implications are *fun* very very fun
Vicky:
The Jedi Council Chambers were, to put it simply, designed to impress.
It was minimalist to the point of seeming near spartan in its furniture, but that was as far as that brand of austerity went.
The floors were marble, or the equivalent to marble in this galaxy. Simple but beautiful renditions of plants, almost like olive branches, splayed around the center ring, pointing towards the center of the room. She wondered if it was merely a trick of the eye made by the design and colors, or if, indeed, the central floor was just ever so slightly domed so that the person in the center would be elevated just that little bit when he spoke.
To top it off, surrounding the room were great glass panes, almost three times her height and twice as wide as she could reach if she spread her arms out as far as they would go. It provided a dominating view over this whole city-wide planet, letting her see the ships flying this way and that way across the skyline… or would they be called cars instead of ships?
"Your thoughts, interesting they are, hmm?"
She turned her head, surprised that she didn't have to look down, and found Little Green in a tiny little hoverchair beside her. His legs were crossed, and that stupid stick lay across his knees. It made him look even smaller. She thought it made him look cute rather than wise, if that's what he was going for.
She offered a grin in response. "Not unless you wanna go over the finer points of room decor," she shrugged.
To be honest, she was more than happy to focus on something so… irrelevant. Especially as the fluttering nervousness in her stomach continued to mount in disquieting anticipation. It was easier, after all, to ignore that this Council was supposedly going to help because: A) they were stuck in space and came from a planet no one seemed to have heard of, and B) that someone had screwed with her head.
One or both of those things would be addressed in just a few more minutes. And one or both answers could shape everything about her life going forward.
So yes, she had the right to be nervous.
She cast a look to her left, wondering if Taylor felt the same nervousness, but found the dark haired girl staring out one of the large windows, arms crossed and posture tense.
Yeah… she was nervous too. Either that or thinking how to take over territory in a city like this. Villains did that, right?
She felt a smirk tugging at her lip. "One sec, Green-Bean."
"Hrmph," she heard, and came to the distant realization as she floated away that she may have just dodged a stick whacking by virtue of being out of arm's reach… for the moment, anyway.
She floated up behind Taylor, the brunette catching sight of her in the window's reflection. Taylor turned, looking at Vicky over her shoulder.
She didn't smile, but she did step aside, as if inviting Vicky to stand next to her.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, the soles of her shoes landing softly atop the marble.
Taylor shook her head, typing out a quick reply.
"Can't afford it even at that price. Too many to count."
The smile that came to Vicky then was genuine, but a sad sympathy lingered at its edges. "So you're nervous too, huh?" she ventured a guess.
Taylor's expression shifted then, the usual stony facade cracking to show genuine concern.
"Yes. But different from you, in a way."
That made her curious, blinking once at the message before she found her voice. "How so?" she asked.
"You're afraid they might not be able to help…" Taylor's eyes were cold, her features turning severe. "Part of me is afraid that they can."
"What, why!?" she gasped. Either they could fix their heads or get them back home.
Tay turned, looking away and back out the window, and though soon enough, the placid mask of unreadability slipped back on, Vicky saw it in that brief moment.
Taylor wasn't nervous.
She was afraid.
She opened her mouth, floundering for a moment in indecision - should she press a bit more, or not? - when the decision was taken out of her hands.
"Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert."
She turned, as did Taylor.
Master Windu was there, offering a shallow bow that could almost be a nod; it would be, if it were any shallower.
"The Council members are prepared to see you now."
Behind him, various people began to take their seats. She saw a number of aliens, and humans who probably were aliens, or at least human offshoots of some kind. She even saw another little green, this one female. She wondered, distantly, if that was Yoda's wife.
The black man gestured as two service droids brought out a spare set of hover chairs for them. "Please."
Vicky tried to smile though it died on her lips, wondering what exactly Taylor was afraid of. They hadn't known each other for that long, but Vicky thought she knew enough about the girl's personality to know that Tay didn't scare easily. Paranoid she might be, but she didn't get scared as far as Vicky knew.
"Thanks, Master Windu," she said, voice and mouth working on auto-pilot.
As Windu marched through the Council Chambers to take his seat, she sat in her hover chair first, with Taylor right after her.
Each of the Council members were imposing in a way, like judges presiding over a courtroom. Her thoughts about the room's decor came back to her, this time in a slightly less positive note. The layout of the chamber itself made it near impossible, even from her angle at one end of the circle rather than the center, to see everyone's faces without turning her head. If you were in the center of the room, it'd be even worse… as it was no doubt designed to be.
"As you know already, Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert, I am Master Windu, head of this Council. Beside me are Masters Yoda-" Little Green smiled like a genial grandfather.
"Master Rancisis-" Next Windu gestured to an alien with an epic beard. His lower body was that of a snake. If she saw him in a mural, she'd definitely confuse him for some middle eastern deity or folk tale creature. His fingers were long and gnarled, and his face was flat, all but hidden behind the thick white of his facial hair.
She tried to keep her composure, and momentarily envied Tay of her easy mastery of the poker face. Vicky didn't want to gawp and gape. It would be in fascination rather than revulsion, but staring would still come across as rude.
"Master Poof-" Yup… definitely envied Tay her poker face.
Poof…
That was a name?
The alien was a bit less remarkable, at least relative to the serpentine body of Master Rancisis. But Master… Poof's distinguishing feature was his very, very, very long neck, crowned by a little head at the top. It almost made him look like a reed. But where Rancisis was as stone faced as Taylor (probably because she couldn't see much of his face behind the voluminous beard), Master Poof's features lit up with a gentle, kindly smile as he lowered his head on that long neck in what may have been a nod or a bow of greeting.
"Master Billaba-" Next was a human woman. Her features were Indian, if Vicky had to put her finger on it. She had small studs arranged in a line across her forehead. She was beautiful in an almost serene way.
"Master Ki-Adi-Mundi-" And they were back to aliens. This Jedi Master was an old man–at least Vicky assumed he was old, given the white of his hair–but his distinct feature was that his head was… tall. He, like Billaba before him, kept a calm placidity over his features. No smile to be seen, unlike Yoda and Poof.
"Master Galia" This one… Vicky wasn't sure if she was human or not. Did humans have offshoots? Mutants? She looked human enough, but on her head was either a headdress or very strange… hairs? Quills?
She wasn't sure.
"Master Yaddle-" Ms. Yoda had a name now. Vicky smiled at her, and like Yoda before her, Yaddle smiled back. And there wasn't a stupid stick anywhere near her chair either!
The next three masters–Koth, Tiin and Piel–were all aliens as well. Put a pointy hat on Master Piel and someone would place him in a garden before too long, Vicky was sure.
"Master Jocasta Nu, the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, to offer her knowledge" The second to last Master was an old, stern-looking woman. She eyed Victoria and Taylor as if she were the headmistress of some school, glaring disapprovingly down her nose at the teenaged girls' (hypothetical) frumpled uniforms.
Either that, or Vicky's nerves were coloring her sight.
"And lastly, Master Plo-Koon."
The last Jedi Master nodded. "Be welcome in our halls, honored guests." He capped off Windu's introductions. His voice, clearly filtered through the mask he wore, had a metallic tinge to it. But she hoped he was trying to sound kind.
Master Windu leaned back in his seat, his fingers pressing together in front of him as he looked at Vicky and Taylor.
"While the broad strokes of your situation are known to myself and Master Yoda, the rest of the Council has not been fully informed. So, if you would, Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert: tell us in your own words the specifics of your circumstance and how the Jedi might be able to help you."
She turned her head, sparing Taylor an almost pleading glance as the brunette offered her a hesitant, tremulous smile, as though trying to encourage her before it cracked and slipped off her face entirely.
Vicky took a deep, slow breath.
"W-well…" shit. Why hadn't she planned out an explanation? Now she had to try and make this story coherent and succinct and not boring and- Ahh, hell…
"Ummm… well, I guess I should start with the basics," she began. "We're from a place called Earth…" a pause.
How to sum up her home in a few short words…
"It's kind of a hell hole?" She winced.
…
This was off to a marvelous start.
She felt more than heard Taylor's facepalm.
(X)(X)(X)
Obi-Wan:
This was not the first time Obi-Wan questioned his choice in taking on Anakin as a Padawan. Or more specifically, his fitness as an instructor.
There were others that could have taken on the role. Senior Knights, qualified Masters. Oftentimes, he felt little more than a floundering neophyte, barely able to string two of his own thoughts together, let alone guide a boy in the ways of the force.
But the Council had been reluctant. And he'd been hasty, desperate to fulfill his Master's dying wish. And so, he'd acted. Declared his intent to take on Anakin as a Padawan before he'd even been formally knighted.
Sith Slayer, his fellows and peers whispered with awe and reverence. As if a single fight, a single lucky stroke, made him somehow better than they were.
He wasn't. He knew he wasn't. Anakin would be better served by a true Master, he knew that. And, more and more, he was realizing the full weight of his error. Especially now that Tachi had… left. Abandoned the Order.
One of his closest friends. One he'd come to with his doubts and concerns so many times before, one of the last sources of wisdom he could turn to outside of the Masters on the Council.
It was enough to almost make him want to cry.
But he didn't cry, even as the doubts clawed at the back of his mind. Even as he heard from others that the Council would be in a lengthy session today and so he couldn't even seek out Masters Yoda, Windu, or Yaddle for their advice on how to… how to not mess things up even further.
His training with Anakin was done for the day, another day of frustrations and missteps. He could see it so clearly in retrospect, the way he could explain a question with more patience, clarify a subject in a way Anakin would understand rather than him reciting dogma to the boy as though it should have been obvious. What should have been obvious was that Obi-Wan had learned and heard these lessons as a youngling in the creche, and Anakin had spent those same days as a slave on a dustball, not learning the higher philosophies of the Force and the histories of the Jedi.
Why could he never act with the patience a Master should? Why could he only sit and stew on his mistakes, realizing they existed at all only after they'd gone and truly blown up in his face?
It was becoming a habit. A bad one, and one he needed to grow out of fast if he would do right by the boy.
"Master?"
Obi-Wan startled, turning his head where he sat in the gardens, finding Anakin there with…
"Did…" Obi-Wan felt his features scrunch up. "Did you bring me a sandwich?"
Anakin shrugged, chewing on his own sandwich before holding up the plastic wrapped meal and drink for Obi-Wan to take. "You were hungry."
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, ready to tell him that he was not actually hungry when his stomach decided to remind the fledgeling knight that, yes, yes he very much was hungry, and all he'd had that morning had been a spot of tea and stale crackers.
He blinked, trying not to get too irritated at Anakin's smug-mouthful-smile.
Reaching for the offered sandwich, he began the task of unwrapping it. "How did you know?" Even he hadn't been aware how hungry he was until it was brought to his attention.
He sensed hesitation from his student, who offered a shrug. "Just kinda figured."
Obi-Wan frowned. Was his student hiding something from him now? Was he that bad of a teacher? "Anakin?"
His young Padawan let out a long, suffering sigh. Taking another bite, he mumbled something with his mouth full.
"Don't speak with your mouth full, Anakin. Tell me once you've swallowed," he chastised.
Anakin gave him a half lidded glare, taking an irritatingly long time to chew and swallow the full mouthful, much more than he normally took… which was probably good, considering the time he normally took was just long enough to wolf down his meal half the bloody time.
When he finally finished the hesitation was still present, hanging between them like a pall before Anakin pushed through.
"You're always… impatient when you're hungry." His apprentice answered slowly.
"What!?" Obi-Wan hissed. "I am not!"
He was a Jedi, a Knight, he certainly wouldn't allow himself to get impatient out of something as basic and simple as food. He had far more discipline than that.
Anakin gave him a very flat, very unimpressed glare.
"I am not!" Obi-Wan repeated.
"So you insisting you're not impatient in that tone is you being patient and calm?" the boy questioned, a cheeky smile tugging at his lip.
"I'm telling you I'm not impatient because I am patient and my tone has nothing to do with a lack of food but rather your insistence to the contrary," he argued.
"Uh-huh." The boy tapped at Obi-Wan's hand, urging him to raise up the sandwich and take a bite.
Obi-Wan's face was flat and devoid of all humor.
Anakin just gave him a winning smile.
"I was unaware that the Gardens now doubled as the dining halls."
Both he and Anakin startled, turning in their seats almost completely around to see a man–an old man–lithe and tall. He held himself with a regal air, a posture that was given more credence by the impeccable state of his dress and clothing.
"Forgive me, Master," Obi-Wan said instinctually as he stood.
Turning to face the man, he noticed Anakin shoving the last chunk of sandwich into his mouth before swallowing it down damn near whole.
Honestly, Obi-Wan wasn't sure if he should chastise him for the utter lack of manners he demonstrated, or praise him for quickly getting rid of the offending item. Obi-Wan was still holding a nearly whole sandwich in hand, its folds of bread and meat mocking the unfamiliar Jedi Master in front of him.
The older man raised a delicate eyebrow, the thin strand of silver hiking up to his hairline.
He didn't say anything as he stepped forward, nearly towering over Obi-Wan by half a head. The older Master's stern glare made Obi-Wan feel like a misbehaving youngling.
"Let me have a look at you," the Master muttered, his eye now one of appraisal. Obi-Wan would have brushed a hand across his robes to wipe at dust or perhaps straighten out wrinkles if it wasn't occupied with the bloody sandwich and drink.
"Hmmm…" whatever the old man was looking for, he evidently didn't find it. "Incomplete… woefully incomplete."
Obi-Wan felt both his curiosity and the sting of hurt pride battling within himself. "What is?" he asked.
"Your training," the Master answered curtly, sharply, like a knife cutting through the air. "Though I suppose that is not your failing. Qui-Gon was cut down too early."
Obi-Wan felt his hackles rise and even Anakin took a step back, aware of the rising tension within the "Sith Slayer".
But the Master in front of them did not care. He turned to look at Anakin, freezing the young man in place with his icy gaze.
"And you, boy. Do not hide. It is unbecoming."
Anakin swallowed, but obediently moved to step forward before Obi-Wan, in a moment of either defiance or protectiveness–he couldn't rightly say which–stood between this Jedi Master and his young charge.
"Forgive me, Master, but Anakin is my Padawan. Neither he nor I are here for you to order about. Nor did I catch your name. I was unaware that it had only recently become good manners to begin with introductions.," he said pointedly, as polite as he could force himself to be.
The old man raised an eyebrow, then scoffed, "No. I suppose he wouldn't have told you about me, would he. We did not part on the best of terms." He faced Obi-Wan, his face never becoming anything less than cold stoicism. "My name is Yan Dooku."
His name, if not his face, Obi-Wan recognized, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.
"I am your Master's Master," Dooku drawled. Distantly, Obi-Wan sensed the surprise in Anakin behind him.
Master Dooku stared at the two of them.
"I suppose it falls to me to finish his work."
(X)(X)(X)
Vicky:
"And then Li- ahh, Master Yoda found us."
She finished her story–their story–with another hesitant glance towards Taylor, silently asking if she'd covered everything. The villain–or maybe former villain, Vicky wasn't sure on that front–offered her a stiff pat on the shoulder as reassurance even as her eyes watched the faces of the Council around them… as though scanning the twelve members for any threats.
The sun had long since passed its zenith, and was just starting to dip closer to the skyline. The bright yellow of the day was just that little bit darker than it otherwise would be.
She'd give them credit, none of them had interrupted her story, save to ask the occasional clarifying question. They sat for hours and simply listened, stone faced and stoic, true, but patient with her fumbling attempts at giving "the whole story".
The Council members seemed to be conferring between each other with nothing more than silent glances and pointed looks. She wondered how well they knew each other, that seemingly whole conversations could take place with little more than a side eye or a turned head.
Though… maybe with Poof, a turned head was like a whole speech.
She fought down the bubble of mirth that threatened to place an inappropriate smile on her lips.
"These abilities you have," Master ahh… tower head spoke. She really had to try and remember these weird names. Right now all she had was Yoda, Windu, and Poof.
Oh, and Nu, because it sounded like "new" and the old lady was… well… old. Not new.
"...might you demonstrate?" he ventured, dragging her attention back. "The Force flows strangely around the two of you, and perhaps we might sense the nature of these "parahuman powers" if they were utilized before us."
She nodded, wondering, not for the first time, just how this "Force" actually functioned as a power. From what little she learned from Master Sinube, it seemed like a general grab bag Trump power.
Floating about a foot off the ground, "standing" straight up, Vicky did a little figure eight in the air, finishing with a twirl as she set her feet back on the ground.
A handful–including the scary one with the mask, Poof, and Mr. and Mrs. Yoda–reacted by leaning forward in interest. Others, like Ms. Nu, the Indian-looking woman, and Master Windu, displayed calm neutrality.
But more than a few leaned back in their seats as though bracing themselves, or repelled. She tried not to wince at that, and prayed that Taylor wasn't doing her scary glare thing behind her.
Each of the Council members shared looks amongst their fellows, and when the silence was broken, it was broken by the alien with the mask.
"It feels… odd," he said, clawed fingers touching his facemask like a man rubbing at his chin. "Cold."
"It feels like the dark side," another alien, this one with swooping horns at the side of his face, replied.
"No," Mrs. Yoda shook her head. "Cold it feels, but not like the dark. No hatred. No malice."
"Indeed," Master Poof concurred. "If I had to put words to it, I would say it feels cold like… a clinic. Or a laboratory. There is no passion within it."
"More than that," the Indian woman cut in. "It feels… forced in a way. Brute forced."
Well… Vicky was a Brute. But she doubted that's what the woman meant.
"Yes." Finally, Yoda spoke, stamping his stick into the floors and everyone turned to listen to him. Had he whacked them all with that stupid stick, too? "An apt description Master Billaba has used. Brute force. Not like Jedi. Not like Sith."
Vicky felt a tug at her sleeve and turned, Taylor holding up her little pad.
Ask them what they mean. What's the difference between our power and "The Force".
Vicky blinked, reading over the message again before nodding. It was a good question.
"Do what you can, the Force can help us achieve, too," Yoda said, demonstrating by levitating his chair off the pedestal it was on. The barely-there hum of its anti-gravity function was not active now as he floated above the floor. "But ask it, we do. Its force, its power, we direct. Yours… different, it is. Hmmm… A rock, you should consider."
"A rock?" She raised an eyebrow.
Yoda nodded, his seat floating back down to its pedestal. "Indeed. Water, the Force is. Wearing down the rock, flowing over it. Gently smoothing its surface over time and with patience. Not so your ability. Crushed, the rock is. Brute forced."
"It feels destructive," Master Billaba picked up. "Like something that shouldn't be, but, as observed by the other Masters, it is not destructive in the way of the dark side. It's simply…" She frowned. "...a force of nature, I suppose."
"One cannot call something unnatural a force of nature," Mr. Tower head answered.
A single, gnarled finger came up and for the first time the snake man with the epic beard spoke up. "Harsh, your voice is becoming, Master Mundi," the serpent man warned. "Innocent, these children are. From the words of Ms. Dallon, their powers are simply a part of them. And they are natural."
Chastised, Mr. Tower head went quiet.
"But humans have shown no such abilities anywhere in the galaxy," The Master with the large horns spoke again.
"Not this galaxy," Ms. Nu, the old woman, spoke for the first time. "Unless these children came from the very depths of the Unknown Regions where no hyperlanes are recorded, I can promise you there is no planet known as Earth in our records. Nor any planet in any record with the continents, cultures or creatures she has described. Monsters that control oceans, beasts that manipulate all forms of energy?" she gave a single shake of her head, primly dismissing the point. "Measuring them by baseline humanity in our known galaxy is foolish. For clearly they are not part of the known galaxy-"
Vicky felt her heart sink.
"-which means that their next stop right after this should be the MedCorps and healers for thorough examinations and vaccina-"
"You can't get us home."
She hadn't realized she'd spoken. Not until Ms. Nu's voice abruptly stopped and she saw several Masters stiffen in their seats.
The emotion that bubbled up in her chest and throat threatened to choke her, and for the first time since she arrived here the feeling of genuine hopelessness that she'd been beating back with everything she had, be it distractions, explorations, helping Taylor or even the wonder of discovery, threatened now for the first time to crash over her.
She felt tears beginning to burn at her eyes, and it was only distantly she felt Tay grab at her hand, turning her around to look at the villain's soft expression which shone through with pity and that made things so much worse!
Why wasn't she fucking sad about this too!? Didn't she want to get home! Why-?
"None of that, girl."
The Jedi, Ms. Nu, was there suddenly. The woman was shorter than Vicky, yet it was Vicky who felt like a little girl as the stern old woman brushed her shoulders free of imaginary dust, taking Vicky's hands in old, gnarled but gentle fingers.
"You arrived here somehow, child." The woman didn't smile, and her voice wasn't kind, but it was… gentle. "We may not know how, but it's hardly befitting a strong young lady such as yourself to fall apart at a mere setback."
Vicky tried to swallow down the sob. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I- I knew coming in that you might not-"
"But it's harder to hear it… I know. Come now." The woman produced a small handkerchief, wiping at Victoria's eyes like she was just a small girl who scraped her knee. "No more tears child. Your friend clearly hasn't given up. Why should you?"
Vicky nodded. Not wholly consoled, but the… hopelessness was driven back for the moment, if only for the sake of her pride.
She set herself back down on her chair, Ms. Nu taking a seat beside her, her thumb rubbing gentle circles along Victoria's knuckles where their hands were gripped together.
"Perhaps we should adjourn," the masked alien Master suggested. "This cannot be easy for our guests. Some rest might help."
"No."
The sound made many Masters in the room stiffen. Vicky did, too, if only because of the surprise that Tay would show her hand like this.
The brunette hadn't sat back down with her. She turned, letting go of Victoria's hand to march into the center of the council room.
Master Windu's head tilted, adjusting himself in his seat. "You're angry," he observed.
Vicky couldn't see Taylor's expression from her place behind the dark haired girl, but as she turned to stare at Yoda, she could only begin to imagine the look on the girl's face.
Should she run interference? Vicky felt like she should run interference!
When the voice of her insects reverberated around the room, it was a hiss. A low roiling wrath that seemed to choke the very air in the chamber. "You want them to learn to manage without you, fine, but do it on your own time."
Yoda's small, clawed hand rubbed at his chin, Taylor stayed eerily still as she watched him.
"We're not sideshows to be gawked at. You knew what our powers were and how they "felt" long before we came here."
The Masters shared uneasy glances and Vicky prepared herself to stand up and try to mediate this.
She got it. She really did. Little Green was letting a lot of these Masters tread the same ground he had on Kashyyyk before they arrived, but they needed to play nice here. Jumping through some hoops was a very small price to pay considering everything; both how utterly lucky they'd been so far in who they'd met and how utterly screwed they would be if these Jedi decided to toss them out on their asses.
Yoda frowned. "Your story, in full should be told. Much I did not know."
"That wasn't your reason," Tay insisted. "You want them to reach the right conclusion without you. But our lives aren't a lesson plan."
Some of the Masters around the girl bristled, clearly incensed that Tay was talking to Little Green like this. Others remained perfectly still.
Ok so… the crash already happened, but maybe she could keep the proverbial train from exploding in a horrible fireball.
Vicky stood up, an apology on the tip of her tongue, before Ms. Nu tugged at her hand, bringing her attention back to the old woman who shook her head quietly.
"Correct you are… Another mistake in how I've treated you, I've made."
Vicky whirled around surprised to find Master Yoda bowing ever so slightly, his features contrite.
"Distant, my age has made me. Callous it was to treat your situation as such. Much, even we Masters must learn, but humility, and empathy, above all we must have. Thank you, I do. For the reminder."
Vicky gaped at the display, wondering if somehow she'd missed a subtle "fuck you" in there
…
So Tay gets to say all that and gets a "hank you" but she calls out him and his goddamn napping and gets a fucking stick to her shins!
Hobbling off the chair, Yoda's feet touched the ground, the small diminutive gremlin marching closer to Taylor.
"With your permission, delve into the Force, I will. Examine you as best I can, I will. My findings, with the Council I will share," he turned, looking towards Mrs. Yoda and then to Master Windu. "Master Yaddle, Master Windu, if you would aid me."
The two Masters nodded their ascent, standing from their seats.
But Tay suddenly stepped back and as she looked around the room, Vicky caught sight of the edges of concern on her features.
"What exactly will you do?"
"All living beings, in the Force, a place they have. Examine your place, and the place of your power within the Force, we shall. Determine its nature, we will. From there, its place of origin we might find.
"And that might lead us home," Vicky breathed. Yoda turned to her, smiling. Vicky found it in herself to smile back.
But Taylor took another step back, away from the three Jedi Masters. With Taylor's profile now in her view, Vicky could see her properly. Her face was stoic, but her eyes… her eyes told a different story.
Vicky had seen that look in her eyes before. And the name that danced across her thoughts was the only thing that could put that look of sheer, unbridled terror in Taylor's expression.
Khepri.
The brunette shook her head, her mouth opening, seemingly ready to speak before she looked to Vicky, pleading without a voice for help.
"You can examine me," she volunteered before she even realized her mouth was moving, stepping forward. "Tay…" she hesitated. "...has been having trouble with her power since she woke up. But I haven't, so I might help more," she smiled, stepping forward and beside Taylor, who almost visibly sagged with relief.
If Yoda sensed something wrong, he said nothing. "Of course. Thank you again, I do, for your trust."
She smiled, turning to Tay, who offered a curt nod. Whatever steel had entered her spine to stare down Yoda and the Masters seemed to have wilted under the mere whisper of whatever "Khepri" was.
The brunette turned, walking back to her seat and planting herself down onto it.
Yoda and the other two Masters lowered themselves, sitting down into the lotus position, and Vicky realized they were waiting for her to do the same.
She sat down at the center of the Council Chamber floor.
Yoda's little hand reached for hers, and she held his tiny claws in her larger hands.
"One with the Force, we are," the small alien intoned. "Open yourself to it, and become clear, all paths do."
Vicky wasn't very religious. Never had been, likely never would be.
She sat there for a time, wondering after a handful of minutes if they were taking her for something of a ride, but then, suddenly, she did feel… something. A…presence. A force surrounding her, flowing through the three Masters and Yoda like a conduit.
A live wire of something, a sensation she couldn't explain and wasn't even entirely sure was real.
It was… bizarre, to put it very, very, very mildly.
She almost jerked her hand back, almost pulled away from Yoda before his hands, gently but firmly, held hers. He didn't force her. If she truly wanted to yank her hands free, he would let her go. His grip was more like that of a caretaker calming a spooked animal.
She had no words to describe the oddness of this, like opening a third eye she never knew she had.
She felt something from Master Yoda, too indistinct, too nebulous, to make out.
She didn't understand him.
But she did feel the answer bubble up from within her.
Surprise…
Panic…
Another sensation. A wave of calm washing over her from the Jedi Masters, peace and stillness.
Vicky shuddered
The answer was her and yet… not…
Hesitation…
…
Hesitation…
…
Uncertainty. …
Parameters Unknown…
Data Unknown…
Like hands opening in welcome, the feelings of reassurance from the Masters came through into her… an invitation.
…
Data acquisition… possible
…
Hesitation…
Tentative…
…
Greetings….
(X)(X)(X)
And here is the famous chapter 15
As usual the next 3 chapters, 16,17,18 are available on Patreon and All of those were very enjoyable to write as well and all have their own little special moments :3
So head on over there if you're interested, its just 1 dollar per month after all.
Now, as for this chapter.
This chapter has A LOT to unpack within it and the implications are *fun* very very fun
Fencer
Writer
- Location
- 2nd shift
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hot daaaaaaaaaamn! Oh man where do I begin? No stupid question. I know exactly where to begin. Taylor in a beautiful display of putting her foot down calls out Yoda in front of the council and she is correct to do so. And yoda proving he is nothing like any authority from earth bet acknowledges her point. Then they make contact with a shard! Holy fucking hells yes. Fantastic update.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
It is a very impressive place.
Because if they can, it is going to dig up lot of unpleasant things.
Don't laugh, Vicky.
Oh, Vicky...
Obi-Wan and Anakin had a rather rough start as a master and student. But they became one of the best master and student pairs.
Hah!
Well, if Dooku deciding to train both Obi-Wan and Anakin leads him not to join Sidious, that is going to butterfly a lot of things in the SW universe.
The Shards are just pieces of a larger being with very clinical and unemotional look to everything.
Well, that was fast.
Of course Taylor would be afraid what they'd find.
Well, now this is interesting turn of events.
- Location
- Finland
I believe QA would have been less antagonistic than you think, and more eloquent, considering this would have been a QA that had been Khepri. She would have had an even better understanding of how to person than most others Shards.
YuffieK
(Verified Ninja Princess)
Yes, but Fragile One just figured out that Shards MIGHT be able to channel The Force. You know, UNLIMITED POWER?
Regardless of how much Fragile One likes Vicky, seeing a possible solution to Entropy? OMNOMNOMNOMNOM.
I don't know if has been mentioned before but when whoever or whatever messed with all their minds, did they remove all knowledge of Star Wars or is this an AU situation in which Star Wars doesn't exist? Because Taylor has seen the original trilogy and two version of the prequels and I'm certain the others did, too.
There's also the question how they can still have powers or even contact with their shards when they are in an entirely new galaxy but I guess that will be revealed over the course of the story.
I adore the scene of Taylor calling Yoda out. She's absolutely correct and she pointed out one of the weaknesses that contributed to the fall of the jedi order. Combined with all the other butterflies this might change things dramatically down the line. Or maybe not, this won't be enough to overcome the inertia of the order unless Yoda and Mace push for it.
There's also the question how they can still have powers or even contact with their shards when they are in an entirely new galaxy but I guess that will be revealed over the course of the story.
I adore the scene of Taylor calling Yoda out. She's absolutely correct and she pointed out one of the weaknesses that contributed to the fall of the jedi order. Combined with all the other butterflies this might change things dramatically down the line. Or maybe not, this won't be enough to overcome the inertia of the order unless Yoda and Mace push for it.
- Location
- Cambridge MA
I would have expected a discussion here about the aura, with her dismissing it as the bluntest of blunt instruments and not useful for nefarious purposes.
I think she could make the point that decoding a 100-billion-node neural net is ridiculously difficult and he can't possibly be doing it, but he would just say that he isn't reading her brain, he's reading her Force presence.
Which of course raises the question of whether she always had a Force presence, before she came to the Galaxy Far Far Away.
I'd be happy to beta this story. (I am also a patron)
I do think that her multitasking is unlimited and her perception is passive. I'm not certain that it's always portrayed that way in practice, though.
I'm not sure if you're taking the (I'm not sure if it's a WoG or canon reference) that her power makes a (partial?) simulation of her brain for every insect.
Except, the whole reason they are doing this is because they could feel her shard doing things with the force. So, they've already got their fingers in it - and now its more an issue of learning new ways to control and use the power.
LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
No. The Shards absolutely are not using the Force.
The Masters sense it because The Force is invariably linked with basically "everything" in the universe to some degree or another, even some machines have a "path" in the Force in some interpretations.
So when the entities/shards use their powers and are bending the rules of the universe to accomodate their manipulations of reality, the "Force" is affected to a degree as a "byproduct" like, for example, if you *dump* a bucket of water into a bowl of oil, even if the oil and water never exactly mix the oil is still displaced from the bowl because of the water. THAT is what's happening to the Force and THAT is what the Masters are sensing.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
There's also the fact that while the Shards are... limited in their perspective, they're still minds with thoughts and linked both to their hosts minds as well as to their source, so it is not surprising that Force sensitives can sense/feel them.
Cloak&Dagger
Definitely Insane
The bigger issue is what happens when Taylor 'Literally a billion minds and an unbreakable will' Hebert and Glory 'Floating violence and mindrape bubble' Girl learn how to use The Force.
Because Vicky will have the innate force presence of a super tanker, and Taylor that of a hurricane, without either of them really trying.
Taylor won't even fall to the dark side. The dark side will fall to Taylor. She eats higher dimensional superintelligent gods for breakfast.
Because Vicky will have the innate force presence of a super tanker, and Taylor that of a hurricane, without either of them really trying.
Taylor won't even fall to the dark side. The dark side will fall to Taylor. She eats higher dimensional superintelligent gods for breakfast.
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LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
Oh Hello, I hadn't seen this until recently, so sorry for the long reply time.
But if you're still interested; I'll need your Email in order to send you an invite to the Google Doc.
Chapter 16
LD1449
To the last; Kill them all
- Location
- The other side of the labyrinth.
Chapter 16:
Satine Kryze:
It was less a bolt of blaster fire and more a lance, bright and yellow. It struck like lightning, felt like a hammer blow, and had enough power in that single shot to disintegrate her entire torso.
Her personal shield flared bright, the generator growing hot at the small of her back as she stumbled, nearly falling before the sheer brute force of the shot punched through the shield like a needle through a bubble. The heat of the plasma scored across her left shoulder as the last of the shield's power diverted it just enough to be a near miss.
She heard Merrik scream behind her.
Her body hit the floor, head whirling around to look, finding her old friend on the floor as well, the shot seemingly having knocked him around to land facedown on the floor, a bloody, burnt hole in his upper collar bone.
Her royal guard moved quickly, surrounding her, beskar shields and full plated suits of armor now between her and the sharpshooter, as calls rang out through the comms and harsh voices barked orders.
An alarm blared through the spaceport, yellow warning lights and loud klaxons telling everyone that there was an emergency.
"Duchess Satine!" Commander Cadera was at her side in an instant, bodily interposing himself between her and whatever might slip past the guard through the barely there cracks in the formation. "Delta! I want confirmation that you have that shooter! Now!"
"Merrik!" She gasped, thorns of pain snaking across her chest and arm, radiating out of her shoulder. "H-help Merrik!"
He'd only come to help her… if he died-
Cadera didn't move from his place, reaching down to coil an arm around her waist and pulling free a backup shield generator to place right at her chest, its powercore shining bright as the tingle of energy raced up her flesh, indicating that she was now within its protective envelope.
"I'll get to Tal once I get you to safety, Duchess."
"N-no!" she snarled, but her head of security ignored her protests, damn near carrying her as he stood up, dragging her to her feet.
Another shot rang out, loud as a thunderclap. The yellow bolt crashed into a beskar shield with enough force to send her guard stumbling back, grunting in surprise as he reeled before taking up his stance again.
"We're moving!" Cadera snarled into his helm. "Back into the hangar! Break line of sight!"
Her honor guard fell around her like a living shield curtain. One of the men whirled his shield onto his back in order to grab hold of Merrik's arms and dragged him along even as her friend screamed in pain.
Another sound made itself known, and it made Satine's stomach drop.
"Why are those hangar doors opening!?" the Captain roared into his comm link. "Close them immediately!"
Satine, in spite of her relatively young age, had lived long enough to trust her instincts and her feelings when they spoke to her. And right now they were screaming in her ears.
If we go into that hangar, we die.
She grabbed hold of Captain Cadera, planting her feet onto the ground. "Stop!"
Her instincts were proven right.
As the hangar doors howled open, the one way particle shielding flickered off, the howling desert sands beyond sending grit and heat through the bay as a civilian transport swooped in front of the doorway.
Its passenger deck opened behind it, and Satine didn't need a Jedi's foresight to know Mandalorians in jetpacks would be swooping out of it.
Captain Cadera unholstered his blaster in one hand, vibrosword drawn in the other.
"Defend Duchess Kryze!"
(X)(X)(X)
Miss Militia:
The soldiers moved like a well drilled, well practiced unit.
Once… Alexandria's… helmet was removed, they wasted no further time. The ship lurched and swayed as it moved at speeds whose sheer inertia caused notable stresses on the hull and the occupants in the gravity well of the planet as it banked. The sharp turns and hard accelerations had Miss Militia quickly becoming queasy with air sickness.
The soldiers barked out orders and phrases in a language she didn't understand, rough and harsh. It reminded her, perhaps, of Russian or Romanian.
There were ten soldiers here, and eight of them moved quickly towards the passenger bay ramp as the ship lurched to a stop. They never stumbled or lost a step, either, no matter how the ship moved. Magnetic boots? Some kind of stabilizer in their armor suits?
The ramp door opened, the howling winds swallowing up the panicked and alarmed screams of the passengers as the soldiers did last minute weapons checks before stepping off, on wings of fire from screaming jetpacks.
Two of the Mandalorians stayed behind: one pilot, and the other watching the passengers with a blaster rifle at the ready.
"Can you handle them?"
The question was a whisper, nearly lost amidst the sound of screaming winds and panicked people.
She turned her head ever so slightly, looking at… Alexandria… who stared back at her.
Her expression was so stoic, so grim-faced, that it was like she still had that helmet on, and Miss Militia realized that whatever talk they would have – and they would indeed have one – would have to wait for later.
Alexandria could do more outside the ship. If it might crash she could help there too. Keeping the Brute inside to help deal with these two was less risky to Militia herself, but perhaps more risky for the passengers overall.
Miss Militia turned her eyes back towards the soldier. She didn't recognize the material of his armor, but like all armors, it had weaknesses: gaps, places she could exploit with a knife, or with a gun if it came down to it.
She didn't know what training he had, what martial arts, if any, they practiced here for CQC. But he didn't know her training either, and she had Dennis as backup…
She nodded.
Her former mentor didn't need any further confirmation.
"On my mark, we move."
That whisper Dennis caught, his head turning from the soldier towards the two of them, darting quickly between them, as if asking with his eyes alone what his role was.
(X)(X)(X)
Satine Kryze:
Blaster fire burst through the air around her. Blue, green, red and yellow bolts scorched the oxygen and sent the stink of ozone into her nostrils as she ducked behind the shields of her honor guard.
She didn't recognize the colors of their armor, hell they had no colors. It was a mixture of reds, greens, purples, blues and everything else. The only thing that identified them were the signature helmets of the Mando'ade. They fell on her outnumbered guard with howling jetpacks and sharp blades. Blaster bolts bounced off beskar plates harmlessly on both sides
She had four of her honor guard, with Captain Cadera as a fifth. She counted eight attackers.
Even with possible reinforcements on the way, these weren't odds she liked.
"Inside, Duchess!" Captain Cadera barked, opening a maintenance closet and shoving her inside, as he took cover at the doorway and returned fire with his blaster pistol.
"Get Kryze." She heard the shouted command echo through the hangar, the hail of blaster fire rounding on her hiding place with enough ferocity to tear the walls down bolt by bolt. "Nothing else matters!"
It was always this way, she thought. She was always the target. When her father was alive, it had been him.
She could carry on her father's work.
She had no one to do the same…
Distantly, she wondered if Korkie would do for her what she had done for her father after his death. She felt a cold dread coil in her stomach, reaching around and strangling her at the thought.
She couldn't die here!
"Tossing grenades!" a female shouted this time, and Satine felt her heart drop.
Even if the blast or the shrapnel didn't kill her, the concussive force from an explosion very likely would.
"Gods damn it!" Cadera seemed to realize it too, rounding the doorway and opening fire even as his armor was scored and glancing hits punched through the beskar, keeping him suppressed.
"Get back, Duchess!" he shouted, all but shoving her to the far wall in the hopes of diminishing the force of the blast. "Make yourself small! Fetal position! Hands over your head! Mouth open!"
The orders were a rapid fire staccato, reminding her of countless drills and previous experiences as she struggled to keep her breathing under control.
She heard the clatter of something bouncing across the floor.
Cadera all but threw himself over her.
Time slowed, she felt she could almost count the seconds .
Then there was a sound, a muffled whump and a blow that felt as though her whole body had been walloped by a rubber maul as it knocked the air out of her.
Did they miss?
A dud?
She wasn't sure.
One eye cracked open.
For a moment, she thought an enemy was at the door; the armor wasn't one of her guards. But then, she realized that the signature helm of the Mando'ade was absent, leaving dark hair exposed even as she – and it was a she – turned around with the metal remains of something falling from her fingertips.
"Who the hell are you?" Captain Cadera coughed, audibly struggling to suck down a full breath of air.
"Stay here," the woman said rather than answering before she marched out of the door.
The shouts of alarm and confusion reached her, sending a thrill of confusion and concern down her spine as she stood up.
"Duchess!" Cadera protested, grunting as he moved too quickly, aggravating something broken or bruised in her guard captain.
"We need to know what's happening," she insisted. Were her guards dead? Was the woman part of the attack somehow?
Cadera grunted, clearly displeased even through the helm. He forced her behind him and inched his way to the door.
By the time they dared to look around the corner…
(X)(X)(X)
Miss Militia:
"Go!"
It wasn't a shout, Militia needed the element of surprise, not Alexandria. The command was a whisper, but she heard it all the same.
She lunged forward, the green "novelty lighter" hanging from her belt becoming a shotgun filled with beanbags as Alexandria rushed behind her, diving out of the passenger bay door.
The lone guard swiveled around, rifle at the ready. Militia could almost see his confusion as Alexandria simply leapt out of the door. This distraction meant that he didn't realize that she, the woman hiding behind the row of chairs, was the actual threat.
It was only as she stood up, bringing her weapon to bear, that he started to turn to shoot her.
She was faster.
Two beanbags boomed out of the weapon. At point blank range, the sheer blunt force would be felt through almost any armor on earth, and she hoped it proved to be so here.
The rounds struck, one in the chest the other on the helmet. The soldier was sent reeling, sputtering out a strangled cough as the beanbags bounced off the sheet of armor to ricochet into the bulkheads of the ship over his head and behind him.
She was moving before the bags hit the ground.
What little distance had existed between them in the tiny passenger bay was swallowed up in an eyeblink. The gun in her hands shifted to a shoulder mounted shield, and she used it like an oversized battering ram as she crashed into the soldier's stomach, lifting him off his feet.
Men and women screamed, scrambling to get out of the way as the soldier and Miss Militia crashed and tumbled over various civilians. She could hear the other soldier cursing behind her; she had three seconds, tops, before he undid the straps holding him to the pilot's seat and rounded the corner behind her.
In the first second her fist came up, spiked knuckles coming down over the T-shaped visor of the man with whom she was still engaged.
The metal held against her blow, the impact thrumming up her arm. The visor didn't.
Glass broke, hundreds of pounds of force puncturing through the visor with a crack she felt in her teeth, she saw the spurt of blood and heard the scream of pain.
But he was trained, experienced. Not a green recruit. There was urgency in his response, but no panic as his training kicked in, one arm rising to grab at her bicep, arresting a follow up punch before it even got started, his other fist rising to try and crack her ribs.
She realized, as he moved, that she was straddling him too high, a result of their fall, sitting almost on his chest rather than his waist.
He realized it too.
Straddling him as she was, she had no defense when the kick rose up and slammed against her shoulder blade, sending a bolt of white hot pain down her whole body as something cracked.
She gasped, her left arm losing all strength as she tumbled over him, rolling before her back crashed into several passengers. The soldier scrambled to his feet, reaching for his rifle as her own weapon transformed from knuckles to an armor piercing handgun. She readied it, but then froze as she remembered the people around and behind the soldier.
A little boy – he couldn't have been more than eight – yanked himself out of his mother's grip, much to the woman's horror. He kicked the rifle away from the reaching hands of the soldier, sending it clattering under the aisle seats.
The second soldier finally emerged from the cockpit.
His handgun was already raised, taking aim square at her before Dennis crashed into him.
The soldier stumbled an elbow cracking into the top of Dennis' skull to send the boy straight down into the deck.
But his gun didn't move.
"What in the frakking hells-" The pilot cursed, struggling to budge his blaster even a single inch where it hung in the air.
He didn't even look as Dennis touched his armored boot.
The boot froze.
The soldier stumbled, now panicking in his confusion, but Militia didn't have the luxury of watching because the other one, now left without a rifle, drew a knife. He backhanded the poor boy, sending him flying across the passenger aisle with blood and broken teeth spraying from his young mouth as his mother screamed.
That was enough to wake the other passengers from their stupor.
The first to act was an alien – a bird of some kind – leaping onto the soldier's back. A second alien passenger grabbed at the soldier's wrist, lizard-like mouth with needle teeth trying to bite through the armor into the bits of flesh in his hand, trying to force him to let go of the knife.
Miss Militia moved, the pain of what must have been a cleanly broken shoulder blade stealing the breath from her lungs before she forced herself to ignore it. The armor piercing gun became the most high powered taser she felt comfortable using as she lunged at the now-grappled man and jabbed it into his throat.
The aliens struggling with him yelped, yanking away as the soldier spasmed. His body convulsed before Militia yanked the weapon back, hearing a gut wrenching crack and an agonized scream immediately beside her.
She turned, finding the Mandalorian with the frozen boot and gun… on the floor.
The boot was still frozen.
One of the passengers shoved him or tackled him… Either his knee or a time frozen boot would give way first.
The obvious won out.
She, Dennis and the passengers lingered in the silent tension after the fight, broken only by the agonized whimpering of the former pilot and the sniffling cries of others in the bay.
She breathed, struggling to keep the pain from overwhelming her as she gasped out her next words.
"Does anyone… know how to fly this thing?"
There was a moment of silence.
The familiar babbling of Rugess came behind her.
She turned, finding the Bith hesitantly raising his bandaged hand.
(X)(X)(X)
Torald:
They had it. They had her! Stuffed in a corner and trapped like a rat! The woman that wanted to geld the Mandalorian people was finally about to meet her much deserved end.
Ten thousand years of culture, history, tradition, pride. Ten thousand slights against all of it would finally be avenged and their world and people set to rights.
Her royal guards were trying to push through, to reach her, but Argavald was pinning them down with his heavy repeater. Beskar armor or not, the sheer force of the heavy weapon would be enough to break bone and tear limbs out of their sockets even with glancing shots.
"TOSSING GRENADES!" Darae howled, and Torald could hear the glee in her voice as she primed the weapon. She'd have the place of honor tonight at the celebration for delivering the killing blow. He couldn't help but be jealous. Though a pacifist was hardly fitting prey to take pride in, it was still an enemy that needed to be killed, and she was gonna be the one to do it.
He watched as the grenade primed out the corner of his eye, adding his own suppressing fire to keep the royals pinned down before Darae tossed it.
The explosive sailed through the air, arcing perfectly as he saw it hit the edge of the doorway and bounce inside.
Mission accomplished.
Torald braced himself, knees bending, lowering his center of gravity ever so slightly in preparation for the force of the blast.
Only… it didn't come.
He heard the sound, saw the flash but the force, the blast, the power, was missing.
He shared a look with the others, and even through the helmets he could see the surprise, the confusion. Darae started swearing up a storm, firing bright yellow plasma bolts from her blaster as she howled in wordless anger
A dud grenade?
Now of all the frakking times!?
"Cover me!" He shouted, moving to get a better angle. Maybe the room had been small enough that even the dud caused damage? Possible. She wasn't wearing armor, the fracking moron. It would be almost… ironically fitting for Kryze to die at the end of a broken weapon.
He started to move, booted feet pounding across the hangar bay when he stopped cold.
There was a woman standing at that doorway…
A woman he very much recognized.
Torald had to blink, his head actually swiveling up to the transport ship hovering above like a blithering idiot as he tried to reconcile the fact that the woman he'd left, helmetless and as a member of the hostages on that ship was somehow here, standing not five feet in front of him, glaring with a level of contempt you wouldn't even look on a shit covered mongrel with.
"Who the f-"
Darek's voice cut off, the woman quite literally vanishing from view in little more than a blurr. Torald whirled around, eyes frantically searching for his target where he found her, twenty meters away grabbing Darek by the throat and lifting the Mandalorian in full beskar plate off the ground with one arm.
Darek kicked and twisted, choking and struggling in surprised panic before he remembered his training, boots striking with force and precision into places that should have left the woman if not injured, at least hurt enough that her grip would let up.
Apparently she didn't get that memo.
The woman took the blows like a solid block of stone, unflinching and unmoving. When Norvos lined up a shot beside her she suddenly turned, Darek flying off of her hands to sail across the room before crashing into Norvos in a tangle of limbs, beskar and weapons.
"What in the Corellian shit is going on back there?" Argavald roared his heavy repeater glowing red hot at the barrels as he kept a constant fire up. The weapon would overheat soon. They needed to end this now.
"Take the schutta down!" Torald ordered, he and the four others raising up their rifles to shoot.
The flash of blaster fire was all that was needed for him to lose sight of her.
She was there, right in his goddamn sights, but then a flash of green and she wasn't. She was ducking, her fingers – her damn fingers – digging into the metals of the hangar floor before she ripped it straight up, holding it as a shield before she lunged forward.
That shield served as a damn good battering ram too.
Scian took the blow, right in the front. Torald saw the rifle get crushed between the woman's sheet of metal and Scian's own beskar plate, his repeater rifle breaking into so many component pieces and his wrists snapping under the sudden impact, his body scraping across the floor.
"You-"
Whatever Darae was about to say never left her lips, as the "shield" was tossed like a spinning disc in the air, the edge of it ringing Darae's helmet like a bell, and it was probably only the fact that her helmet hit her high shoulder guard that stopped her skull from snapping right off her goddamn shoulders. Her body flipped end over end and she ended up slamming into the hangar floor, limp like a dead fish
The woman's boot kicked up the broken, discarded rifle at her feet, she herself rising up into the air, before she caught it in a single smooth motion and, in that same motion, whirled around, arm already halfway up before she threw the rifle, with all the speed and power of a goddamn turbolaser. She caught Agarvald square in the back, his cousin's shocked scream emerging as a pained breathless gasp as something broke, his heavy repeater falling silent as Agarvald hit the ground, writhing in obvious agony.
Torald turned, his eyes returning to where the woman should be only to find her there, her fist punching into his chest with all the power of a Corellian bullet train that made the air burst out of him, and his heart feel like it exploded in his chest.
He was vaguely aware of his body tumbling, end over end as he tried to consciously remember how to breathe!
The muscles in his chest jerked and spasmed, breaths starting and stopping halfway through as his lungs refused to work, his chest refused to expand.
He felt like he was sucking air through a straw when the armored boot cracked down on his helmet.
Even if he had the strength to move, he doubted he could; it felt like a titanic Zakkeg was pressing down on his skull.
"I liked that helmet." He heard her, her voice seeming to bounce around his skull, even as she spoke so very softly.
"Do you like yours?" She hissed.
(X)(X)(X)
Satine Kryze:
It was over.
Just like that.
The attack began with no warning. It ended with less.
The attackers. Seven were injured.
Three were dead.
The sniper – the one with the illegally modified rifle that had nearly taken her life outright and would have punched through her personal shield if not for its recent upgrades – had escaped.
But Satine had other things to concern herself with: seeing to the injuries of her guard, her friend Merrik, helping the citizens directly affected by this horrible attack.
And she realized, with so much frustration it almost brought her to tears, that she likely had no choice now… she would miss Korkie's presentation regardless of what she tried.
Whatever emotions currently tore up her insides now, must've been visible in her expression.
"Madam Duchess… are you alright?"
She nodded, though her voice… failed her.
She swallowed down the tears, the frustration and anger.
"I want the guard on Korkie doubled, Captain," she made herself whisper.
"Already done, Duchess," he affirmed.
"Merrik?" she asked.
"On his way to the medical station. His shoulder took a bad hit, but he'll recover."
"That bolt nearly killed him!" she lamented. "The one meant for me…"
Gods… she calls him for a favor and this happens.
"Not your fault, ma'am," Captain Cadera reassured her, then shifted somewhat nervously before clearing his throat. "... We've, ahh… gathered witness statements, preliminary reports. There are certain people of interest amongst the passengers."
"The woman." It wasn't a question, not really. Whoever that woman was, Satine needed to know why she was here, and who exactly she was or was working for. Very few people could simply rip through a squadron of Mandalorians single-handedly.
"She wasn't traveling alone, my lady." Cadera nodded. "We're… detaining them for now, if you'd like to speak to them."
"As prisoners?" she asked, genuinely curious. Captain Cadera was competent but perhaps… overzealous at times.
"They're cooperating for now, so no need." He shrugged.
Satine nodded.
Pushing back the sadness, the guilt, the despondency, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and once again became the Duchess of Mandalore.
"Take me to them, if you please, Captain."
Her guard nodded, snapping out a crisp, "Yes Ma'am," before turning to escort her.
Marching past the police, the emergency responders, the lingering civilians, med droids, and space port security, Satine stood at the top of the small flight of steps.
The armored woman caught her eye first, stern and scowling at the world. Standing beside her was another woman with what seemed like a shoulder injury, a Bith, and a young man.
(X)(X)(X)
Here is this weeks chapter
Hope it was fun for all of you as it was for me
As usual the next three chapters (17,18,19) are available right now on Patreon for just 1 dollar per month. Chapter 19 in particular, I know has something everyone has been looking forward to :3
Read, review, give me internet cookies; macadamian chocolate if you please and I'll catch you all at the next one- peace
Satine Kryze:
It was less a bolt of blaster fire and more a lance, bright and yellow. It struck like lightning, felt like a hammer blow, and had enough power in that single shot to disintegrate her entire torso.
Her personal shield flared bright, the generator growing hot at the small of her back as she stumbled, nearly falling before the sheer brute force of the shot punched through the shield like a needle through a bubble. The heat of the plasma scored across her left shoulder as the last of the shield's power diverted it just enough to be a near miss.
She heard Merrik scream behind her.
Her body hit the floor, head whirling around to look, finding her old friend on the floor as well, the shot seemingly having knocked him around to land facedown on the floor, a bloody, burnt hole in his upper collar bone.
Her royal guard moved quickly, surrounding her, beskar shields and full plated suits of armor now between her and the sharpshooter, as calls rang out through the comms and harsh voices barked orders.
An alarm blared through the spaceport, yellow warning lights and loud klaxons telling everyone that there was an emergency.
"Duchess Satine!" Commander Cadera was at her side in an instant, bodily interposing himself between her and whatever might slip past the guard through the barely there cracks in the formation. "Delta! I want confirmation that you have that shooter! Now!"
"Merrik!" She gasped, thorns of pain snaking across her chest and arm, radiating out of her shoulder. "H-help Merrik!"
He'd only come to help her… if he died-
Cadera didn't move from his place, reaching down to coil an arm around her waist and pulling free a backup shield generator to place right at her chest, its powercore shining bright as the tingle of energy raced up her flesh, indicating that she was now within its protective envelope.
"I'll get to Tal once I get you to safety, Duchess."
"N-no!" she snarled, but her head of security ignored her protests, damn near carrying her as he stood up, dragging her to her feet.
Another shot rang out, loud as a thunderclap. The yellow bolt crashed into a beskar shield with enough force to send her guard stumbling back, grunting in surprise as he reeled before taking up his stance again.
"We're moving!" Cadera snarled into his helm. "Back into the hangar! Break line of sight!"
Her honor guard fell around her like a living shield curtain. One of the men whirled his shield onto his back in order to grab hold of Merrik's arms and dragged him along even as her friend screamed in pain.
Another sound made itself known, and it made Satine's stomach drop.
"Why are those hangar doors opening!?" the Captain roared into his comm link. "Close them immediately!"
Satine, in spite of her relatively young age, had lived long enough to trust her instincts and her feelings when they spoke to her. And right now they were screaming in her ears.
If we go into that hangar, we die.
She grabbed hold of Captain Cadera, planting her feet onto the ground. "Stop!"
Her instincts were proven right.
As the hangar doors howled open, the one way particle shielding flickered off, the howling desert sands beyond sending grit and heat through the bay as a civilian transport swooped in front of the doorway.
Its passenger deck opened behind it, and Satine didn't need a Jedi's foresight to know Mandalorians in jetpacks would be swooping out of it.
Captain Cadera unholstered his blaster in one hand, vibrosword drawn in the other.
"Defend Duchess Kryze!"
(X)(X)(X)
Miss Militia:
The soldiers moved like a well drilled, well practiced unit.
Once… Alexandria's… helmet was removed, they wasted no further time. The ship lurched and swayed as it moved at speeds whose sheer inertia caused notable stresses on the hull and the occupants in the gravity well of the planet as it banked. The sharp turns and hard accelerations had Miss Militia quickly becoming queasy with air sickness.
The soldiers barked out orders and phrases in a language she didn't understand, rough and harsh. It reminded her, perhaps, of Russian or Romanian.
There were ten soldiers here, and eight of them moved quickly towards the passenger bay ramp as the ship lurched to a stop. They never stumbled or lost a step, either, no matter how the ship moved. Magnetic boots? Some kind of stabilizer in their armor suits?
The ramp door opened, the howling winds swallowing up the panicked and alarmed screams of the passengers as the soldiers did last minute weapons checks before stepping off, on wings of fire from screaming jetpacks.
Two of the Mandalorians stayed behind: one pilot, and the other watching the passengers with a blaster rifle at the ready.
"Can you handle them?"
The question was a whisper, nearly lost amidst the sound of screaming winds and panicked people.
She turned her head ever so slightly, looking at… Alexandria… who stared back at her.
Her expression was so stoic, so grim-faced, that it was like she still had that helmet on, and Miss Militia realized that whatever talk they would have – and they would indeed have one – would have to wait for later.
Alexandria could do more outside the ship. If it might crash she could help there too. Keeping the Brute inside to help deal with these two was less risky to Militia herself, but perhaps more risky for the passengers overall.
Miss Militia turned her eyes back towards the soldier. She didn't recognize the material of his armor, but like all armors, it had weaknesses: gaps, places she could exploit with a knife, or with a gun if it came down to it.
She didn't know what training he had, what martial arts, if any, they practiced here for CQC. But he didn't know her training either, and she had Dennis as backup…
She nodded.
Her former mentor didn't need any further confirmation.
"On my mark, we move."
That whisper Dennis caught, his head turning from the soldier towards the two of them, darting quickly between them, as if asking with his eyes alone what his role was.
(X)(X)(X)
Satine Kryze:
Blaster fire burst through the air around her. Blue, green, red and yellow bolts scorched the oxygen and sent the stink of ozone into her nostrils as she ducked behind the shields of her honor guard.
She didn't recognize the colors of their armor, hell they had no colors. It was a mixture of reds, greens, purples, blues and everything else. The only thing that identified them were the signature helmets of the Mando'ade. They fell on her outnumbered guard with howling jetpacks and sharp blades. Blaster bolts bounced off beskar plates harmlessly on both sides
She had four of her honor guard, with Captain Cadera as a fifth. She counted eight attackers.
Even with possible reinforcements on the way, these weren't odds she liked.
"Inside, Duchess!" Captain Cadera barked, opening a maintenance closet and shoving her inside, as he took cover at the doorway and returned fire with his blaster pistol.
"Get Kryze." She heard the shouted command echo through the hangar, the hail of blaster fire rounding on her hiding place with enough ferocity to tear the walls down bolt by bolt. "Nothing else matters!"
It was always this way, she thought. She was always the target. When her father was alive, it had been him.
She could carry on her father's work.
She had no one to do the same…
Distantly, she wondered if Korkie would do for her what she had done for her father after his death. She felt a cold dread coil in her stomach, reaching around and strangling her at the thought.
She couldn't die here!
"Tossing grenades!" a female shouted this time, and Satine felt her heart drop.
Even if the blast or the shrapnel didn't kill her, the concussive force from an explosion very likely would.
"Gods damn it!" Cadera seemed to realize it too, rounding the doorway and opening fire even as his armor was scored and glancing hits punched through the beskar, keeping him suppressed.
"Get back, Duchess!" he shouted, all but shoving her to the far wall in the hopes of diminishing the force of the blast. "Make yourself small! Fetal position! Hands over your head! Mouth open!"
The orders were a rapid fire staccato, reminding her of countless drills and previous experiences as she struggled to keep her breathing under control.
She heard the clatter of something bouncing across the floor.
Cadera all but threw himself over her.
Time slowed, she felt she could almost count the seconds .
Then there was a sound, a muffled whump and a blow that felt as though her whole body had been walloped by a rubber maul as it knocked the air out of her.
Did they miss?
A dud?
She wasn't sure.
One eye cracked open.
For a moment, she thought an enemy was at the door; the armor wasn't one of her guards. But then, she realized that the signature helm of the Mando'ade was absent, leaving dark hair exposed even as she – and it was a she – turned around with the metal remains of something falling from her fingertips.
"Who the hell are you?" Captain Cadera coughed, audibly struggling to suck down a full breath of air.
"Stay here," the woman said rather than answering before she marched out of the door.
The shouts of alarm and confusion reached her, sending a thrill of confusion and concern down her spine as she stood up.
"Duchess!" Cadera protested, grunting as he moved too quickly, aggravating something broken or bruised in her guard captain.
"We need to know what's happening," she insisted. Were her guards dead? Was the woman part of the attack somehow?
Cadera grunted, clearly displeased even through the helm. He forced her behind him and inched his way to the door.
By the time they dared to look around the corner…
(X)(X)(X)
Miss Militia:
"Go!"
It wasn't a shout, Militia needed the element of surprise, not Alexandria. The command was a whisper, but she heard it all the same.
She lunged forward, the green "novelty lighter" hanging from her belt becoming a shotgun filled with beanbags as Alexandria rushed behind her, diving out of the passenger bay door.
The lone guard swiveled around, rifle at the ready. Militia could almost see his confusion as Alexandria simply leapt out of the door. This distraction meant that he didn't realize that she, the woman hiding behind the row of chairs, was the actual threat.
It was only as she stood up, bringing her weapon to bear, that he started to turn to shoot her.
She was faster.
Two beanbags boomed out of the weapon. At point blank range, the sheer blunt force would be felt through almost any armor on earth, and she hoped it proved to be so here.
The rounds struck, one in the chest the other on the helmet. The soldier was sent reeling, sputtering out a strangled cough as the beanbags bounced off the sheet of armor to ricochet into the bulkheads of the ship over his head and behind him.
She was moving before the bags hit the ground.
What little distance had existed between them in the tiny passenger bay was swallowed up in an eyeblink. The gun in her hands shifted to a shoulder mounted shield, and she used it like an oversized battering ram as she crashed into the soldier's stomach, lifting him off his feet.
Men and women screamed, scrambling to get out of the way as the soldier and Miss Militia crashed and tumbled over various civilians. She could hear the other soldier cursing behind her; she had three seconds, tops, before he undid the straps holding him to the pilot's seat and rounded the corner behind her.
In the first second her fist came up, spiked knuckles coming down over the T-shaped visor of the man with whom she was still engaged.
The metal held against her blow, the impact thrumming up her arm. The visor didn't.
Glass broke, hundreds of pounds of force puncturing through the visor with a crack she felt in her teeth, she saw the spurt of blood and heard the scream of pain.
But he was trained, experienced. Not a green recruit. There was urgency in his response, but no panic as his training kicked in, one arm rising to grab at her bicep, arresting a follow up punch before it even got started, his other fist rising to try and crack her ribs.
She realized, as he moved, that she was straddling him too high, a result of their fall, sitting almost on his chest rather than his waist.
He realized it too.
Straddling him as she was, she had no defense when the kick rose up and slammed against her shoulder blade, sending a bolt of white hot pain down her whole body as something cracked.
She gasped, her left arm losing all strength as she tumbled over him, rolling before her back crashed into several passengers. The soldier scrambled to his feet, reaching for his rifle as her own weapon transformed from knuckles to an armor piercing handgun. She readied it, but then froze as she remembered the people around and behind the soldier.
A little boy – he couldn't have been more than eight – yanked himself out of his mother's grip, much to the woman's horror. He kicked the rifle away from the reaching hands of the soldier, sending it clattering under the aisle seats.
The second soldier finally emerged from the cockpit.
His handgun was already raised, taking aim square at her before Dennis crashed into him.
The soldier stumbled an elbow cracking into the top of Dennis' skull to send the boy straight down into the deck.
But his gun didn't move.
"What in the frakking hells-" The pilot cursed, struggling to budge his blaster even a single inch where it hung in the air.
He didn't even look as Dennis touched his armored boot.
The boot froze.
The soldier stumbled, now panicking in his confusion, but Militia didn't have the luxury of watching because the other one, now left without a rifle, drew a knife. He backhanded the poor boy, sending him flying across the passenger aisle with blood and broken teeth spraying from his young mouth as his mother screamed.
That was enough to wake the other passengers from their stupor.
The first to act was an alien – a bird of some kind – leaping onto the soldier's back. A second alien passenger grabbed at the soldier's wrist, lizard-like mouth with needle teeth trying to bite through the armor into the bits of flesh in his hand, trying to force him to let go of the knife.
Miss Militia moved, the pain of what must have been a cleanly broken shoulder blade stealing the breath from her lungs before she forced herself to ignore it. The armor piercing gun became the most high powered taser she felt comfortable using as she lunged at the now-grappled man and jabbed it into his throat.
The aliens struggling with him yelped, yanking away as the soldier spasmed. His body convulsed before Militia yanked the weapon back, hearing a gut wrenching crack and an agonized scream immediately beside her.
She turned, finding the Mandalorian with the frozen boot and gun… on the floor.
The boot was still frozen.
One of the passengers shoved him or tackled him… Either his knee or a time frozen boot would give way first.
The obvious won out.
She, Dennis and the passengers lingered in the silent tension after the fight, broken only by the agonized whimpering of the former pilot and the sniffling cries of others in the bay.
She breathed, struggling to keep the pain from overwhelming her as she gasped out her next words.
"Does anyone… know how to fly this thing?"
There was a moment of silence.
The familiar babbling of Rugess came behind her.
She turned, finding the Bith hesitantly raising his bandaged hand.
(X)(X)(X)
Torald:
They had it. They had her! Stuffed in a corner and trapped like a rat! The woman that wanted to geld the Mandalorian people was finally about to meet her much deserved end.
Ten thousand years of culture, history, tradition, pride. Ten thousand slights against all of it would finally be avenged and their world and people set to rights.
Her royal guards were trying to push through, to reach her, but Argavald was pinning them down with his heavy repeater. Beskar armor or not, the sheer force of the heavy weapon would be enough to break bone and tear limbs out of their sockets even with glancing shots.
"TOSSING GRENADES!" Darae howled, and Torald could hear the glee in her voice as she primed the weapon. She'd have the place of honor tonight at the celebration for delivering the killing blow. He couldn't help but be jealous. Though a pacifist was hardly fitting prey to take pride in, it was still an enemy that needed to be killed, and she was gonna be the one to do it.
He watched as the grenade primed out the corner of his eye, adding his own suppressing fire to keep the royals pinned down before Darae tossed it.
The explosive sailed through the air, arcing perfectly as he saw it hit the edge of the doorway and bounce inside.
Mission accomplished.
Torald braced himself, knees bending, lowering his center of gravity ever so slightly in preparation for the force of the blast.
Only… it didn't come.
He heard the sound, saw the flash but the force, the blast, the power, was missing.
He shared a look with the others, and even through the helmets he could see the surprise, the confusion. Darae started swearing up a storm, firing bright yellow plasma bolts from her blaster as she howled in wordless anger
A dud grenade?
Now of all the frakking times!?
"Cover me!" He shouted, moving to get a better angle. Maybe the room had been small enough that even the dud caused damage? Possible. She wasn't wearing armor, the fracking moron. It would be almost… ironically fitting for Kryze to die at the end of a broken weapon.
He started to move, booted feet pounding across the hangar bay when he stopped cold.
There was a woman standing at that doorway…
A woman he very much recognized.
Torald had to blink, his head actually swiveling up to the transport ship hovering above like a blithering idiot as he tried to reconcile the fact that the woman he'd left, helmetless and as a member of the hostages on that ship was somehow here, standing not five feet in front of him, glaring with a level of contempt you wouldn't even look on a shit covered mongrel with.
"Who the f-"
Darek's voice cut off, the woman quite literally vanishing from view in little more than a blurr. Torald whirled around, eyes frantically searching for his target where he found her, twenty meters away grabbing Darek by the throat and lifting the Mandalorian in full beskar plate off the ground with one arm.
Darek kicked and twisted, choking and struggling in surprised panic before he remembered his training, boots striking with force and precision into places that should have left the woman if not injured, at least hurt enough that her grip would let up.
Apparently she didn't get that memo.
The woman took the blows like a solid block of stone, unflinching and unmoving. When Norvos lined up a shot beside her she suddenly turned, Darek flying off of her hands to sail across the room before crashing into Norvos in a tangle of limbs, beskar and weapons.
"What in the Corellian shit is going on back there?" Argavald roared his heavy repeater glowing red hot at the barrels as he kept a constant fire up. The weapon would overheat soon. They needed to end this now.
"Take the schutta down!" Torald ordered, he and the four others raising up their rifles to shoot.
The flash of blaster fire was all that was needed for him to lose sight of her.
She was there, right in his goddamn sights, but then a flash of green and she wasn't. She was ducking, her fingers – her damn fingers – digging into the metals of the hangar floor before she ripped it straight up, holding it as a shield before she lunged forward.
That shield served as a damn good battering ram too.
Scian took the blow, right in the front. Torald saw the rifle get crushed between the woman's sheet of metal and Scian's own beskar plate, his repeater rifle breaking into so many component pieces and his wrists snapping under the sudden impact, his body scraping across the floor.
"You-"
Whatever Darae was about to say never left her lips, as the "shield" was tossed like a spinning disc in the air, the edge of it ringing Darae's helmet like a bell, and it was probably only the fact that her helmet hit her high shoulder guard that stopped her skull from snapping right off her goddamn shoulders. Her body flipped end over end and she ended up slamming into the hangar floor, limp like a dead fish
The woman's boot kicked up the broken, discarded rifle at her feet, she herself rising up into the air, before she caught it in a single smooth motion and, in that same motion, whirled around, arm already halfway up before she threw the rifle, with all the speed and power of a goddamn turbolaser. She caught Agarvald square in the back, his cousin's shocked scream emerging as a pained breathless gasp as something broke, his heavy repeater falling silent as Agarvald hit the ground, writhing in obvious agony.
Torald turned, his eyes returning to where the woman should be only to find her there, her fist punching into his chest with all the power of a Corellian bullet train that made the air burst out of him, and his heart feel like it exploded in his chest.
He was vaguely aware of his body tumbling, end over end as he tried to consciously remember how to breathe!
The muscles in his chest jerked and spasmed, breaths starting and stopping halfway through as his lungs refused to work, his chest refused to expand.
He felt like he was sucking air through a straw when the armored boot cracked down on his helmet.
Even if he had the strength to move, he doubted he could; it felt like a titanic Zakkeg was pressing down on his skull.
"I liked that helmet." He heard her, her voice seeming to bounce around his skull, even as she spoke so very softly.
"Do you like yours?" She hissed.
(X)(X)(X)
Satine Kryze:
It was over.
Just like that.
The attack began with no warning. It ended with less.
The attackers. Seven were injured.
Three were dead.
The sniper – the one with the illegally modified rifle that had nearly taken her life outright and would have punched through her personal shield if not for its recent upgrades – had escaped.
But Satine had other things to concern herself with: seeing to the injuries of her guard, her friend Merrik, helping the citizens directly affected by this horrible attack.
And she realized, with so much frustration it almost brought her to tears, that she likely had no choice now… she would miss Korkie's presentation regardless of what she tried.
Whatever emotions currently tore up her insides now, must've been visible in her expression.
"Madam Duchess… are you alright?"
She nodded, though her voice… failed her.
She swallowed down the tears, the frustration and anger.
"I want the guard on Korkie doubled, Captain," she made herself whisper.
"Already done, Duchess," he affirmed.
"Merrik?" she asked.
"On his way to the medical station. His shoulder took a bad hit, but he'll recover."
"That bolt nearly killed him!" she lamented. "The one meant for me…"
Gods… she calls him for a favor and this happens.
"Not your fault, ma'am," Captain Cadera reassured her, then shifted somewhat nervously before clearing his throat. "... We've, ahh… gathered witness statements, preliminary reports. There are certain people of interest amongst the passengers."
"The woman." It wasn't a question, not really. Whoever that woman was, Satine needed to know why she was here, and who exactly she was or was working for. Very few people could simply rip through a squadron of Mandalorians single-handedly.
"She wasn't traveling alone, my lady." Cadera nodded. "We're… detaining them for now, if you'd like to speak to them."
"As prisoners?" she asked, genuinely curious. Captain Cadera was competent but perhaps… overzealous at times.
"They're cooperating for now, so no need." He shrugged.
Satine nodded.
Pushing back the sadness, the guilt, the despondency, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and once again became the Duchess of Mandalore.
"Take me to them, if you please, Captain."
Her guard nodded, snapping out a crisp, "Yes Ma'am," before turning to escort her.
Marching past the police, the emergency responders, the lingering civilians, med droids, and space port security, Satine stood at the top of the small flight of steps.
The armored woman caught her eye first, stern and scowling at the world. Standing beside her was another woman with what seemed like a shoulder injury, a Bith, and a young man.
(X)(X)(X)
Here is this weeks chapter
Hope it was fun for all of you as it was for me
As usual the next three chapters (17,18,19) are available right now on Patreon for just 1 dollar per month. Chapter 19 in particular, I know has something everyone has been looking forward to :3
Read, review, give me internet cookies; macadamian chocolate if you please and I'll catch you all at the next one- peace