Smuggler Archive

More you get then.
This is probably pretty rough, haven't even had time to go back and re-read it once. I'll put it up and check it when I get home. Damned pc here at work is going fritzy, and I don't want to lose it. Behold, Dallet, episode 8: Gravity.

Dallet 8
Tatooine.

*Now*

Gravity draws all things back to its source. If you throw a chance-cube up into the air, for a while it's escaping, then its escape slows, falters, and it begins its return to your hand. Or it shatters on the ground, if you weren't fast enough to catch it. For one brief instant though, a single immeasurably small fraction of a second, that cube was balanced; exquisitely levitated between the forces of push and pull. The cube moves slowly just then, before it starts its return. All bodies obey: fail to attain escape velocity, and you will return to the source of gravity.
NC and I walked down the alley behind the bar, to survey the site of the recent murders and ostensibly pay our 'respects'. In reality, it was a less obvious way of getting back to the High Tide, and being obvious was a sure way to get dead, especially in my situation. I was like that glittering chance cube, propelled to the point of apogee, the high water mark of my escape attempt. It was as if I could feel the gradual pull, the slowing, approaching equilibrium. I wish I was still using Stim, I thought resignedly. It used to take the edge off these feelings.
Someone else stepped out of Belly's door, into the alley behind us. A dread came down over me, as I felt the moment well up into its fullness. Even as I began to turn, I saw shapes ahead of me, coming towards us. Even as I turned to look back to the exit, I knew what I would see. I was aware, but I wasn't prepared. Already the muscles in my arm twitched, the hold-out blaster beginning its fall to my palm. So slowly, too slowly.
"Not an inch, Zillik." Spakta had a little bit of the Voice, but damn little. He delivered that with a kind of growl, a dry sort of rumble that set the nerves on edge. I saw his blaster first, a great hulk of a thing that took both hands to aim. It was aimed at me. I followed the gun back to his hands, worn and calloused, but steady and still. I followed his arms with my eyes, stuck in slow motion like I was wading through blob candy. I met his gaze, and it shocked me.
He got cooked too, I thought distractedly. Dallet-2 didn't let him off easily. I'd been irradiated during my sunward orbit, and barely survived. In most ways, I didn't survive. Zillik died out there around Dallet-2. I'd been reborn by Petra's ministrations, and sheer good luck. I'd taken the name as a grim joke, so I wouldn't forget the importance of the place.
"Good, " he rasped, "now let the piece fall." I thought about it, honestly. Maybe the rads cooked his nerves some, maybe I've got the edge. I was faster than I had been, too, after the last month of exercise and training. The old dealer in me awoke then though, and I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be here if he didn't have the edge. If it hadn't been the enormous blaster, it'd be something else. The shadows in the alley's mouth were probably focusing equally deadly weapons on me while Spakta spoke.
"I said drop it, human. I am not interested in you, I wish to speak with your friend Petra." I let the piece drop from my hand, hoping he'd think I bought his bantha-poodo about not being interested in me. I knew I was a dead man, but I wanted time to warn Petra.
"Good. Take 5 steps backwards, slowly. Good." I stepped clear of the gun, and back down the alley. Probably towards more guns. The droid remained motionless, staring at Spakta. You'd better be sending a warning, NC. If they get her too...
"This is good, Zillik. Now you will sit down. Good. You will tell me where she is, yes? I will let you live if you do."
"She's in Ancorhead, arranging some ship modifications." A lie, she was less than a mile away in the ship, waiting for me to return.
"Is that so? My friends say she has not left the ship. It is not fair to lie to me." He smiled, he'd expected me to lie. Well, I thought, I have to admit that wasn't the smoothest delivery I've ever attempted. He nodded ever so slightly, and pain exploded in my right shoulder.
Something, wielded by someone, had impacted the area between my shoulder and my neck, audibly breaking the bones there, and causing tremendous agony. As I tried to ease the weight of my right arm with my left, the pain got worse, and the muscles spasmed, grinding the broken ends together. I knew I was going to black out. I tried to relax. It didn't work. If I'm still alive to torture, it's because they want something from me, I thought. If I can figure out what it is, I can buy time with it.
"Let me tell you the tragedy of this, Zillik. The tragedy is that I will not get to do what I want to you. I want to watch you cooked alive again but this time there would be no escape. But if I do that, I will lose my prey. Petra is worth more money than you, so you I will kill in this stinking alley, just like the others." He laughed, and his ruined vocal chords turned the rasping, hacking utterance into a nightmare.
"She already knows, Spakta. Droid told her." It hurt to talk. I wished I had something a lot wittier and more memorable planned, but it just hurt too much to be dashing. I settled for wincing and looking really mad.
"I don't think so, human. I turned a nullifier on when you left the bar. Look at the droid, you idiot, he hasn't moved an inch." Uh oh, I thought, NC has been pretty quiet. "He probably can't move, since he's slaved to your ship. My ship."
Petra won't know. Petra will die when he gets to her. I'll die in the alley, and Petra will die in a few minutes, I thought desolately.
The moment peaked; the chance cube stood motionless, waiting to begin its descent, doubtless to shatter upon the street. Failed to attain escape velocity, returned to origin.
The droid began the descent for us.
"Nevermind, Zillik. You die here, Petra we cash in on. She's going to be - " Spakta was interrupted by the droid turning to look at me. Well, maybe he can record my image as I'm blasted to smithereens.
"Contingency invoked." The droid spoke, and the cube fell. I heard the faint clicking of catches in the droid's chassis releasing.
Something else hit my right side, and broke my right arm at the bicep. I didn't hear it break, but I felt it go. Unable to stop myself, I rose rapidly out of my seated crouch, and stiffened my left hand into a spear-shape. It hurt abyssmally to move, and I expected to feel the searing heat of Spakta's blaster any moment. I got turned all the way around, and my left arm came with me. Just before I recognized the shape of the baton-wielder that had crippled me I started to breath out, just like I'd been trained. I fed the pain into it. My hand found the human's throat. Things crunched when I hit, and he started to fall away. His associate, shocked by my motion, hesitated just an instant before taking aim on me again. I was too far, I couldn't make the distance before he fired. A bolt passed over my shoulder, and the would-be murder's head vaporized, never firing his own gun.
I spun, I tried to spin rather, back to Spakta. Why aren't I dead yet? Spakta fired, and turned most of NC's torso into slag. For good measure he slagged one of En-See's arms, but the other came down heavily on the super-blaster, and something broke off of the barrel end. The next shot made the barrel turn from a solid directly into a gas, and a very hot angry gas at that. The explosion stunned both Spakta and me, but Spakta had the good fortune to fall down behind some cover, whereas I sprawled painfully onto my back, my carefully learned falling lessons ruined by my broken bones. It must have taken me several seconds to get past the pain. When I was coherent again, I heard more blasterfire.
I'd landed near the man with the baton. By now he had turned an unhealthy shad of blue, and his eyes were full of broken blood vessels. He was still twitching, looking at me with those bulged, almost comical eyes. His gun had shaken free of its holster, and was by my good hand. It hurt to put my wieght on the right side of my body at all, but I gathered up his weapon and levelled it at him. I was still lying on my side, and it burned like molten metal had been poured all over it.
"You should have killed me, you worm." He couldn't respond, he couldn't breathe. I shot him in the chest until he stopped twitching. It didn't take too many rounds.
I levered myself up with the good hand until I could look back down the alley towards the gunfire. It was still passing over my head, but had become more sporadic. I looked up ahead to a crate, and saw why. NC had collapsed, with head and one chest-gun peeking over a crate's edge. Spakta had been trading fire with him, but the droid couldn't keep up. He had small, concealed weapons meant to fire one or two volleys, not military weapons with huge firing capacities. He was done for, and Spakta knew it. The Rodian stepped around the crate, and kicked the droid free. NC didn't even have the strength left to resist, he tumbled to the street.
Well done, droid. Too bad he got us both in the end. Well, I thought, there is still the matter of this pretty fresh gun, in my off hand...
I fired, mostly blindly. Spakta'd probably expected a more pliable victim, but I don't think he was overly concerned about me. He hunkered back down behind a crate, and set to trying to pick me off. Being immobile in an alley is not such a great way to win a gunfight.
Every shot is one more second she has to escape, I thought. Sell them dearly.
It didn't take as long as I'd have thought for the shock to start stiffening up my right side. The damage was probably pretty bad, and my body was reacting to it. I thought Spakta might have shot me in the right arm too, but I could only feel a dull ache. I knew I hadn't hit him; my aim in the left hand could have been bested by a drunken bantha. Spakta just ducked down behind his cover, and waited for me to weaken. Sometimes I'd see his beady eyes clear the crate's lip, mostly I'd see the loop of the nullifier peeking up behind him when he ducked his head. It wasn't going to end well, I could feel the urge to lay down and rest turning into a driving pressure. I knew that if I let my head hit the pavement, it'd all be over.
The nullifier loop.
It wouldn't have been an easy shot for me on a good day, with no bones broken, and in my shooting hand. It was a hellish shot in that alley, broken and reeling.
Breathe in. Give the breath your anger. I'm going to kill you Spakta. I'm going to kill you twice, you slimy little gletch. Give the breath your fear. Get out of here Petra, run for your life. Take energy from the breath. One last shot, then I'm done. One shot and I'll take a little nap. Breathe out.
I squeezed the trigger, and vaporized the nullifier loop. There was a series of beeps, and a curse. I was already on my way to the pavement. I pulled the trigger a few more times, trying to get him to keep his head down.
I dropped the blaster, and spoke into my comm. In my haste, my bloody hand (when had I started bleeding?) never opened the sending circuit, so I spoke only to the alleyway.
"Petra, run!" I said, into the dead microphone.
I might have heard him running away, but I wasn't really trying. By the time my wrecked shoulder hit the ground, it felt like it was full of broken chance cubes, and I passed out.

*Before*

I hugged her, tightly. It was better than I'd imagined. She looked tired, and hungry, and sunburned. She looked ravishingly beautiful. I crushed her in another embrace.
"Where have you been?" I asked, both angry and happy simultaneously.
"What have you been doing?" Probably it would have been better to let her answer in between, but I was liking the hugging bit and the questions gave vent to my anger.
"What were you making?"
"Enough!" She half-yelled, pushing me away. She was smiling. "I can't breath!"
"I'm glad you're back." I said. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, I thought about you a lot."
"So where were you, what were you doing?"
"I'll tell you in the morning." She said, smiling secretly. Walking back to the sleeping berths.
"Petra, it's not going to be morning for like a week!"
"You know what I mean, c'mon."
I knew what she meant. We went to bed.

The next morning, she told me where she'd been. It was a long story, and it was interrupted frequently by the kinds of things that interrupt couples who've been apart for a long time. Petra had been in the desert, spritually cleansing herself. Or at least that's what she said. There were a few holes in the story, to be sure, but I wasn't interested in picking it apart. At least she didn't lie to me, she just refused to talk about some things. She'd been away, and then she'd come back. That was all that mattered.
I told her about my time with Kah and the school, and she was delighted. She said she'd known I would like it, and that's why she'd been so adamant about my attendance. I couldn't have predicted I'd like it, and I considered myself an expert on the subject of myself, but I let that slide too.
For two days, we were blissfully and totally unaware of everything around us. I kept the droid shuffling our berthing so that we didn't stay in one location for very long. We'd pick up and move a few miles, then to a new location a few hours later. As most days go between lovers, those days went by too quickly. Later their speed would seem damningly fast, but that's the way of bodies trying to escape gravity. Fast at first, slowing to nothing, then returning to the source. I didn't know it then, but I was just another body following the age-old pattern.
The third day came, though it was in the arbitrary dimness of the night-cycle, so there was no dawn. I prepared to go meet with my buyer in the Belly. Petra worked with the droid back in the cargo area, and finally I was ready to go. She called me back to the bay, and the droid brushed past me to go back up to the cockpit.
"I wanted to show you what I was working on Dallet."
"Oh yeah? I thought it was either a bomb or a flashlight. The droid wouldn't tell me."
"I know, I programmed him not to. Been working on contingency plans all day with him."
"So, show me."
"I will, but listen, there's something you need to know." She sounded a little nervous.
"Sure, what?" She was spooking me out, but that was ok.
"I'll still be the same Petra in ten minutes that I am now, ok? Nothing changes that. Nothing changes us, ok?" Palpatine's Balls, what's she got? She's as edgy as an addict after an all-night binge!
"Ok honey, but what in the twelve hells are you talking about?"
"It's why I came here. It's why I was using drugs. It's how I know Kah. it's a secret, and you can't tell anyone."
"Ok, ok already, what is it?"
She stretched forth her hand, in it was the now-familiar tube of metal. It wasn't much longer than her hands, and looked for the whole world like a light stick, or a hyrdospanner handle. She didn't treat it like a household item though, she had a kind of reverence and respect for it. An awe, actually. Her thumb twitched, and it came to life.
A lightsaber, searingly bright green, humming ominously in the silence of the cargo bay.
Sweet Alderaan, I thought, she's lost her mind. We're both dead. Vader will come here and kill us both. The Emperor will blow up the whole planet. They'll find us, and they'll torture us, and they'll kill us... I realized that I was bordering on hysteria. Breathe.
"We're dead, you know that, right?" I said slowly. "Just having that is going to get us both killed."
"No Dal, it won't. I have been waiting my whole life for this. I finally know what I am. I'm a Jedi."
"Petra, you're tired honey, you were in the desert, it was hot..."
"Dallet, shut up." I shut up.
"Listen Dal, I've been crazy for years, I'm sane now. I didn't know what was happening, I was scared. I used a lot of drugs. I did bad things. I tried to kill myself. I did it because I wasn't being who I was supposed to be. Now I am! Don't you see? The Force was pushing me, and now I'm doing it right. I'm going to be a Jedi."
"I... Petra, they kill Jedi. They kill anyone who even knows a Jedi."
"Are you afraid?" She looked hurt. "You can leave any time you want."
"Petra, I'm scared spitless! They will hunt for years to kill a Jedi. They would blow up a planet to get to you."
"They don't even know me yet. If you're so damned afraid, run. I'm going to learn how to use this " she twitched the glowing blade, "and I'll hide from them."
It was a good idea, the running part. A few months before, I'd have taken the fat sack of credit I'd made, and left her to her own doom. It was still the most sensible thing to do, but it just wasn't my thing anymore.
"I'm not going anywhere Petra. I'm with you. Whatever happens, I'm with you." For one brief second, I felt her enthusiasm, her sense of knowing somehow that what she was doing was right, just somehow right, and damn the consequences. I was supposed to be with her. I owed her, and I loved her.
She shut the blade off, and tucked it away on her belt. She stood there staring at me for a while.
"You mean it?" She asked, doubtfully.
"Absolutely." She's going to get us killed, I thought, but at least we get to die together.

The atmosphere in Carkoon's Belly hadn't improved during my time away. The ambiguous prostitute was gone, but I wasn't going to ask questions about her; better she think I wasn't interested. The problem was that I was interested. If she'd had a serious offer, I might have made a mistake by scorning her. Probably she figured that if I could afford the ship, I could afford her. Ah well, soon enough I'll be off this planet.
My meeting with 'the buyer' had gone well. I'd presented a partial manifest to him, and he liked it. I'd fudged the numbers slightly, but that was almost an understood concept in this kind of deal. He'd been pleased, and offered me a good price. I'd pretended not to hear him, then I'd pretended outrage, and finally we settled on what was a very reasonable price, as far as those things go. Since the shipment was pretty serious hardware, he needed time to put together a team to receive and move the merchandise. He wanted a week. I claimed to have business elsewhere (I did, I just didn't know where), and we bickered down to 3 days. In three standard days, I'd fly out to some coordinates he'd provide, and we'd make the exchange. He'd said my old friend 'Red' would be there, and that he'd spoken highly of me. Meaning of course that this was another Resistance operation, but it wasn't like either of us was trying to convince anyone that the arms were being sold to farmers this time. We'd shaken hands, and he'd left. I sauntered up to the bar, pleased, to tip my go-between. I tipped him very well.
"Thanks. It work out for you?"
"Yeah," I said, "thanks."
"You hear about our little fiasco here last week?"
"No, what happened? Somebody demanded the locals follow hygiene regulations?"
"Nah, some sick ziphead shot Jenner and one of her tricks in the alley. Made a real mess of them." Something tickled my mind, but wandered away. Prostitutes get killed all the time, I thought. Seen it a hundred times.
"Wow, that's too bad. They catch the guy?"
"Nah, but they ain't looking too hard either. Guy turned out to be a bounty hunter, and Jenner turned out to have a lot of debt."
"Damn." I shrugged, looking a whole lot less concerned than I was. "Rodian bounty hunter?"
"Nah, some human. Turned out to be an Imperial, I guess."
I shrugged. No love lost there, and no luck gained. If only someone had shot Spakta in an alley with a whore... but that would have been just too lucky. I know he had a thing for humans, but Jenner? No, he had better taste than that.
"Alright, I'll catch you in a few days."
The bartender nodded. I got my comm, and the channel chirped open.
"NC, meet me round back. I want to have a look at something and then we head home." He clicked the line, a shorthand for 'affirmative'. Droid's getting more likable every day, I thought.

*Later*

Petra was tinkering with her tools in the cargo bay, when the sense of dread overcame her. She set the spanner down softly, and stood up from the makeshift workbench. She sniffed the air, utterly still except for the brief flare of her nostrils. Nothing extraordinary, she slid her hand around to the back of her belt, and unstrapped her lightsaber. She brought it out, but did not ignite it. The forward hatch's locking mechanism disengaged. Someone walked up the steps into the hallway, and paused.
She couldn't see him from there, but she knew it wasn't Dallet. She would have known, somehow. When she thought about him, she was stricken with the certain sensation that he was in terrible pain, but she couldn't say where or why.
He's caught up with us already, she thought, and ignited the saber. A short, limping form stepped into the green light cast by the glowing blade.
"Finally I catch you, Petra."
"Spakta." She spat the name.
"Nice little toy you have. That will be worth a great deal to my new employer."
"Sure, slug. Why don't you come over here and take it?"
"I don't think so. I don't think I want to try that."
"I thought as much, coward. Leave now, and I'll spare your life." Her voice was tinged with contempt.
"No, human whore. I knew this might happen. I am ready." He reached into a pocket, and Petra stepped around the workbench. She had a straight shot at him, only a dozen feet seperated them. She didn't really know what she was doing, but then again with a high-energy beam like she had, she only had to get close. Spakta pulled something out of his pocket, and stuck it into his mouth. It looked like a little breathing tube. His hand, still not empty, dropped something small to the deck. A round ball, it bounced metallically and came to rest in front of him.
"I won't shoot you Petra, if you come willingly. You're worth more alive."
"Where's Dallet?"
"You mean Zillik? Whichever. He's bleeding to death in an alleyway. He cursed you with his last breath."
"I don't think so. I think I'm going to kill you now Spakta."
He inhaled strongly, as if in fear, and then smiled. His scorched, dry lips split and bled with the effort, but he did it anyway. His foot crushed the ball against the decking. A violet gas filled the cargo bay.
Too late, Petra spun, snapping the lightsaber off, and heading for the rear access door. She didn't even make it halfway before she was unconscious.

*Now*

She was talking to me again. I was sick, and she was nervous. I wasn't really awake either, just kind of like a 'pixie rush, but all immobilized like a good downer. This wasn't happening, it happened months ago, and light years away. I could hear someone else telling her to do things, but I couldn't seem to make them out. It was almost as if I only really heard her because she was feeling as much as saying, like I only understood her because I could hear how she was saying things. The other voice didn't care, so I didn't understand it.
"It scared the hell out of me. Sometimes I would know things before they happened. Sometimes I could tell if I'd get beaten up, or which street was gong to be safe to go down." She was scrubbing me down again. It was soothing, but it wasn't enough. I burned everywhere, but at least it was cool for a little while.
"I started using because I thought I was going crazy. I kept getting these feelings. Like I knew I was supposed to be doing something, like I was being a bad girl, but nobody would tell me what I was supposed to do. I thought I was gonna get punished for something, but I didn't know what. Sometimes I'd just get high for a whole week at a time, and the feeling would go away. It was one of those weeks when I met you, but it changed."
More scrubbing, more burning. At least the voice was comforting.
"When I saw you in that bar, pushing spice, I felt like I'd been waiting to catch up with you. It wasn't the right time or place, but I knew I was supposed to do something with you. I liked drugs too, no matter how many times I tried to quit I kept going back. I thought it'd be fun to mess around with you, and maybe it'd make the pressure go away for a little while. It did too, for a few hours."
This isn't right, I thought. I'm not back aboard the High Tide and I'm not sick anymore. And Petra's not a druggie anymore either. It didn't matter that it wasn't right, because it kept happening.
"So I went with you, and I went along with this stupid plan. It almost got me killed, and... well, it got you all screwed up. But I had to. The pressure hasn't come back yet. I was supposed to be here. I was supposed to save you, even after you tried to kill me. I know why too, now."
She stopped scrubbing, and did something that made cold liquid start dripping into my veins again. It wasn't painful, just wierd.
"I had to save you because you're just like me. I can't even tell you because you wouldn't understand yet. You're being driven by the same thing I am, that's why I'm here, to help you find it. We're both here because the Force wants it. We're both here because we can feel the Force. And I'm here because I'm supposed to keep you from dying before you can do something." She started crying. "I have a really bad feeling about what it is though. I wish you would wake up."

So I woke up, but not to Petra. I woke up to the big Sullustan bartender dragging me by my shoulders, thankfully the numbness had set in. Someone else was helping him clear the bodies out of the alley, and they even had someone picking up what was left of the droid.
"My cut went up, you dirty bugger. My cut's gone up, for this." I couldn't answer him, so I just kind of nodded, but I couldn't even do that right.

Tap tap tap. Like someone tapping a fishbowl. Fish must hate that, I thought. Then I realized they were tapping on my fishbowl, so I opened my eyes. Sure enough, I was in a bacta tank. I was clad only in the warm pink healing fluid, breathing through a tube. I couldn't make out whoever was tapping on the glass, so I tried to haul myself out. Left arm worked ok, right one didn't respond. Floating, I didn't weigh much, so the left arm was enough. When I cleared the lip, the Bartender looked up at me.
"Doc says you're good enough to come out. If you stay in longer, you have to pay for another day." I pulled the tube out so I could speak.
"Where's Petra?"
"Who?"
"Where's the droid?"
"Parts bin buddy, he was a mess."
I coughed, looked around.
"Where am I?"
"Doc's place. He's a friend of mine, and you were carrying plenty of credit. I didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't. What's the matter with my arm?"
"He took it offline so it could heal faster. Said he numbed it up good so you couldn't thrash around. You were doing that a lot."
"Alright." I found a kind of a ladder, and climbed awkwardly out of the tub of bacta. "I need to talk with that droid, if he can be reassembled."
"Sure, but it's going to be expensive."
"We can graft him on a new chassis or something."
"Maybe, man he was pretty screwed up there, somebody shot the living snot out of him."
"I know, they tried to beat it out of me."
"I think it was the same guy got Jenner, tried to do you."
"I think so too, " I said wearily. "Guy's name is Spakta. You got a comm, got to call my girl, make sure she's ok."
"Sure, use this one. Not secure."
"No problem." I had to comm out to planetary to get her channel, then buzzed through.
"Petra?" Nothing. I requested the docking comms for the berth we were in.
"No ship in that berth, sir."
"C'mon, it's my ship, I'm not on it."
"Log shows Captain and one passenger filed a flight plan for Bestine yesterday. No further information is available." He didn't wait for my reply before disconnecting. I raised Bestine's Port Authority. They were more helpful, they had more information.

"The vessel designated High Tide filed an en-route flightplan change. Requested permission to leave atmosphere. Permission was granted. Orbital control confirms their departure from the system 33 hours ago. Is there any other way we can help you today?" The voice was melodic and insanely cheerful. It only made things worse.

Message Edited by FrankLee on 09-15-2004 06:06 PM

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weaselwarrior wrote:

I <3 Frank

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me too!! it's the only thing I'm reading now, until I get the next book in a series but no one has it

oh yeah, great story!

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Whiteness wrote:

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weaselwarrior wrote:

I <3 Frank

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me too!! it's the only thing I'm reading now, until I get the next book in a series but no one has it

oh yeah, great story!

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Oh yeah, I ended up in another sig!

I wondered when someone would comment on that. I'm going to proof 8 tonight and start 9, I hope.

Hope you're ready for a little more darkness, because I don't have many happy things planned for our intrepid adventurers.

Franklee, I just want to I've really enjoyed your story so far, looking forward to the next edition!

This will be my last installment for a while, I have to figure out what's going to happen. It's considerably grittier than most of the recent stuff, so I hope I don't put you guys off too much. Let me know what you think.


Space

She didn't come awake the way a sleeper does after a long night of rest, nor did she wake the way one did when startled by a bump in the night. Petra woke in stages, as if each layer of protection were being stripped slowly away from her, each buffering level of unconsciousness that she lost left her more vulnerable. She knew she was laying on something hard, and she was cold. Next, she knew she was on a table, and she was naked. Finally she knew she was strapped to the makeshift workbench in the cargo bay of the High Tide, a prisoner of the Rodian bounty hunter Spakta. She was sore all over, but she couldn't remember how she got that way. She'd been taken without a struggle. She knew she was in trouble, and she was scared, but she vowed to herself she wouldn't cry.
She lay there with her eyes closed for a long time, several minutes at least. She lay perfectly still and listened. She heard the sounds of her ship, away from port and under power... but there was something different about the engines. She'd had a long time in the ship to learn to recognize the sounds, so she filed that piece of information away and hoped it meant something lucky for her.
"You can open your eyes, human. You thrashed about a great deal when you were asleep. I knew you were awake when you settled down." The frazzled, grating voice of a Rodian came to her.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Baleetra system. Never been there myself. Have you?" His offhand comment was more chilling than settling.
"No. I can pay you, you know. We can pay you to let me go. I have money."
"Oh, you precious little vutira... what is the Basic word for it? Lover of filth? That doesn't sound right. Vutira, what would you pay me with? The money you took from me? Maybe you would sell me the ship you stole from me? You little ..." he lapsed into his native tongue, made demonic by his ruined vocal chords, "you have nothing I want. And you will be worth so very much to me!"
"To who? I thought this was personal. We can pay."
"Oh, you felk-lover, it is personal. I plan to reward you very well for what you've done to me. But you're worth half a million credits to someone at Garrison 21 in the Baleetra system. Less if you are dead, but still worth a lot. Remember that, because I can kill you whenever I want and still die rich."
"I can make you rich!"
"Oh, you will."
From the sound of it, he stood up. She could hear him breathing, somewhere just 'above' her head, out of her vision. He put is slimy hands on her, sliding his grip down her left arm, to her left hand. He leaned over her, obscuring her vision. He placed something cold and hard on her exposed belly, letting it rest heavily there. It looked like a hammer.
"Now, my little vutira, I am going to show you how happy I am to see you again. And after that, you are going to show me how happy you are to see me!" He walked around to her left side, and pressed her hand flat on the workbench. He lifted the tool off of her stomach. It was a hammer.
"No, please don't!"
"See, already you begin to beg. Perhaps I will show you some mercy." He paused, pretending to consider. "No, I do not think I will." Slowly, with great relish, he began shattering the joints in her fingers. For the first two swings of the hammer, she remained silent, stunned.
I will not cry, she swore to herself.
Before he finished the hand, she was weeping.

Tatooine

"Can he be fixed?" I asked again, for about the fifteenth time.
"Maybe." He finally answered.
"How long? When will you know?" I asked, and I'd only asked those things about half a dozen times. I was sure the little guy was getting tired of telling me he wasn't sure, but I figured maybe he'd learn how anxious I was. I'd pay him damned good if he could fix my droid up. Let him gouge me, I didn't care.
"If you ask me that one more time mister, I'm going to cook this head in microwaves and magnetism so that it won't even make a good decoration!"
"Ok kid, sorry. Just, look, he might know what's going on you know? My girl's out there somewhere, and NC might know where."
"You told me that man, you told me that plenty of times. Just go wait out in the garage, I'm working on him, ok?"
Bindi was somebody's kid. Ok, I know, we're all somebody's kid, unless we're a droid or something, but this kid happened to belong to Red, the Resistance guy I'd sold a whole bunch of explosive to a ways back. Bindi was suppsed to be some kind of genius with droids, so we took NC to him. Actually, we took NC's head to him, because there wasn't a whole hell of a lot else left, unless you count slag and an acrid odor. Spakta had turned a big chunk of him into vapor three days ago.
I could still see every moment of it. Spakta coming out the back door, the goons coming up the alley. I took some grim satisfaction knowing that I'd gotten to kill one of the goons personally, and NC'd gotten the other by blowing his head off... literally. In earlier days, the old Dallet, well, the old Zillik, would have counted his money, and then sold the droid for scrap, then left the area to find a safer market. Zillik was dead though, and the new guy Dallet - me, owed too many people too many things to slink away with his share of the booty.
Foremost I owed Petra my life, maybe more than once. Spakta had her, but I was going to get her back. I owed Spakta too, but I was planning on paying him off as soon as possible. Hopefully with a blaster bolt in the eye, and another one up his ass for good measure. Right now though, I had a more pressing problem.
I had no idea where to go. I had no way to get there, if I'd known.
Probably Tatooine ExtraOrbital Control hadn't even tracked their takeoff vector. Probably I'd never get it, without spending thousands in bribes. I'd have been ok with that; I had cash. But certainly Spakta jumped short, revectored, and then repeated the process a few times to throw of any trail. It's what I would have done in the same situation, and Spakta sure as hell didn't slip up too often. If he harmed her, I'd find a way to kill him a thousand times. The doc that fixed me up was pretty good, maybe he could keep bringing Spakta back for me.

Space

"Dallet will kill you, when I tell him what you did to my hand." She was weary, and beyond pain. The hand was so badly swollen it looked nothing like a hand anymore.
"I doubt it, vutira. Who do you think told me where you were?"
"Right. You told me you killed him, and he cursed me. Get your story straight, slug." She didn't have any energy left to laugh, but she would have.
"I probably did kill him, I shot him in the balls. He told me where you were, in exchange for me not shooting him in the head instead. He did curse you. And he sold you out."
"Sure, slug. He's probably right behind us now, and when he sees what you did to me you'll wish you were dead." "Mayhe he did sell you out" a little voice inside her head said to her. He'd left her for dead once. No, she thought. He wouldn't, he loves me.
"Oh, vutira, you make this so much fun. What ship is he in? How does he know where we are? But you're right, I wouldn't want him seeing what I did to your hand, I'm am so afraid of him." He chuckled darkly. "So very afraid of him." He rummaged around in the toolchest for a while, muttering to himself. After a sharp indrawn breath, he stopped searching, pulled something free of the chest. He set another tool down on her belly, grease and metal dust smearing into her pale skin.
"You're right Petra, I must not let him see what I've done. Thank you for pointing that out." He walked around to her left side again, and picked the tool up. This time, it was a saw, with a wicked rotating blade.
She vowed she wouldn't cry, but she knew she was lying to herself. It didn't hurt nearly as much as the hammer had, because of the previous damage. Dallet, she thought, please hurry, please. Counting it a blessing, she passed out before Spakta was quite done.

Tatooine

"Eh? Mister Dallik? Wake up." The kid screwed up my name, but I didn't care. I must have fallen asleep in the garage. That should have been harder to do, what with all the smell of solvents and fuels and burnt stuff out there with the vehicles, but I'd also spent a great deal of time in a healing-accelerated bacta tank, so I was probably about due for a long nap.
"Can you fix him?" Luckily, I'd had the chance to rehearse that line, so it came out pretty clearly.
"Man, I told you!"
"It's bad then, isn't it? He might be my only clue!"
"Dallik, calm down a bit. Maybe you need some tranq." Not funny, kid, I thought to myself. Maybe he saw the look creep over my face. "Anyway man, listen: I fixed him, kinda. I got him rigged up to a synthesizer and a power source. He still ain't got no body, but his head works alright."
"Can I talk to him?"
"I said a synthesizer, right man? Of course you can." Snotty little...

"Captain Dallet, I have lost communication with the High Tide." The droid's voice sounded the same. Of course it sounds the same, you idiot, I thought to myself. It's synthesized. Droids don't feel their parts, and their voice doesn't change because their torso gets blown away. Droids cope just fine.
"I know NC, Spakta got aboard I think. Can you call it back?"
"It is not transmitting to me. My receiving range and transmitting range are almost identical. If I cannot hear it, it probably cannot hear me."
I cursed. I was pretty good at it, and Bindi seemed thrilled to learn a few new words.
"I believe the Rodian was using a nullifier. I lost connection with the High Tide while we were in the alley. I apologize for my delay in action Captian, my droid brain was forced to invoke several contingency plans to resume operation. I had never intended this unit to be totally isolated."
"I understand En-See. I shot the nullifier though, I disabled it. Did you get a message off after that?" I asked, hopeful but pretty sure of the answer.
"No sir, I had been incapacitated before then, I assume. I have no recollection of the field destabilizing. I have had no contact with the High Tide since before the encounter."
She might already be dead, I thought glumly. She's already dead anyway, if she's at his mercy. Maybe I could buy her freedom, if I had cash. I doubt he'd buy from me, but maybe a front man, using my funds... It was a long shot, and I didn't have that much money either.
"Sir, " the droid interrupted my musings, "it is possible to get refitted? This is very uncomfortable. I have no body. I have no weapons."
"I thought droids didn't care about comfort."
"I suspect some part of my programming has been altered by contingency plans sir. Also, I did suffer a great deal of damage."
"You're saying you're not right in the head because you got fragged? You're a droid!"
"Yes sir, that is correct. In fact I am only 'right in the head' as you put it sir. My head is the sole survivor. Unfortunately some of my programming modules and other logc devices are housed in other parts of my body."
"Great, so I've got a crazed droid head?"
"I have determined no evidence of insanity by any index, Captain." I looked over at Bindi surreptitiously, and he nodded a "I didn't find anything" kind of look at me, so I was mollified.
"Ok, we'll get Bindi to refit you like before, if possible. Anything else?"
"We must hurry sir."
"Of course we have to hurry!" I bellowed, like some body-less droid needed to remind me that my lover was zooming away from me in the hands of a sadistic, radiation cooked mad Rodian. "Spakta has Petra and he's getting further away every second! You think I don't know that NC? You think I don't think about it ievery bleeding second?"
"Sir, that statement is not accurate."
"I'm going to melt what's left of your head if you're calling me a liar."
"No sir, she may not be speeding away from you."
"Spakta's no idiot. He's long gone."
"Captain, I said there were certain contingencies invoked when I lost when I lost communication with the ship."
"Yeah?" Did the droid sound nervous? Was that even possible?
"I had programmed a specific set of actions should my remote be disabled sir, or should anyone attempt a wipe of my core navigational systems."
"Are you allowed to do that?"
"Under Imperial Conduct codes, all droids are bound to obey certain programming methods and standards. For instance, no droid or computer may act directly to cause injury or harm to..."
"I know the codes NC, but they're hardwired in all computer systems. Even being allowed to disregard the law shouldn't have let you do that."
"I am an unusual system, sir. The command to disregard the law was all that was required." That was news to me. So old NC had been planning on me double-crossing him, and had set me a nasty little surprise. How nasty?
"What did you have planned NC? Did the ship flush its air when your remote was destroyed? If you killed her, I'm going to rip your... well, I'm going to wreck you. What did you do?"

Space

"What did he do, Petra?" The Rodian practically screamed at her. He would have been screaming, if his ruined vocal chords could have handled it. It might have been hours, or days, or months since he'd last visited her with the power saw. She couldn't stay conscious for very long now. She'd lost a considerable amount of blood, and when she was lucid she knew she had the beginnings of a fever. Amputation with nonsterile equipment, she mused darkly. Spakta had unstrapped her head, and she only needed to tip her gaze up once to realize her left hand was gone, cut off somewhere above the wrist. She didn't know what she must look like anymore, after Spakta had realized something was wrong with the ship, he'd beaten her soundly. She'd confessed ignorance, and it had been the truth. It hadn't spared her. He unstrapped her legs briefly to torture her in new ways, but apparently wasn't up to the task. That had infuriated him more, and intensified the beating. Oh Dallet, she thought hopelessly. You're too late. He's going to cut me up until there isn't anything left. I'm sorry. "Don't worry about him, " a voice in her said, "he put you here."
"What have you done to my ship Petra? What did you do to the computer?"
"I don't know. I don't know. I swear I don't know."
"I will untie you if you tell me, you know."
"I don't know. I swear it, I swear it."
"You have another hand Petra, the warrant only says alive. Do you want to keep your other hand? You have two eyes too, I have plans for them, and if we get stuck out here, I'll have so much time!"
If she could have stayed conscious, she'd have lied.

Tatooine

"Certainly not sir!" The droid sounded offended. "I merely programmed a round-trip navigational route in case of disconnection. The ship and its Navigational Computer will return to the point of last transmission and attempt to regain two-way communication with my remote."
"And if it doesn't?"
"The ship will inform all occupants that they need to leave. It will then seek to negotiate terms for the purchase of another remote droid unit."
"What if they don't leave?"
"Then the ship may be forced to vent the living compartments, or take other drastic measures to evict the occupants."
"Well well well, my little NC, " I said, tapping the droid head lightly. "Seems like you've got the business of a Trandoshan Standoff figured out just fine. We'll get you a new chassis, and we'll get you talking to the High Tide again. After that, you and I will sit down and talk about some programming modifications."
"These terms are acceptable to me, sir."
"I'm glad, NC, I really am. Because if I don't get her back, I'm going to pay someone to think of imaginative things to do to what's left of you."

"Listen Dallet, I feel bad for you." Red began, obviously a speech he'd thought out ahead of time. "But the bottom line is, you don't have the merchandise that you promised us, and we're going to have to go elsewhere. Nobody's accusing you of anything, ok? We saw what happened to you, we know it wasn't staged."
Staged? They'd considered that it could have been staged? Who 'stages' a fight that breaks plenty of his own bones?
"Of course it wasn't staged. I'm not asking for a handout Red, I just need a couple fighters, and some scanning equipment. We need to sit above the port in orbit for a while, just babysitting. Droid says 2 weeks, tops."
"We don't _have_ any fighters here pal, ht Hutts control the airspace and near-orbit."
"C'mon, who are you trying to kid? You think I haven't sold refit kits here for the last five years?"
"Well, we might have a few, but you can't have them."
"I need a ship, a ship with some firepower. I want an escort. NC rigged the ship to double-back on autopilot."
"Dallet, think about it. All that scumbag has to do up there is think about how to reprogram the ship, he has all the time he needs to bypass the navicomp."
"Sure he does - "
"Like I said yesterday: it's sad, and we'll skin the maggot alive when we catch him, but you have to face the fact that you've never going to see her again. She's already dead man."
"No she isn't!" I grabbed a couple handfuls of his shirt, lifting his weight onto my forearms. I guess the month of exercise had helped. "I would _know_ if she was dead. I would know already. He can't change course midjump. It's coming back. We have a window."
"Ok buddy, ok. Just calm down." He seemed shaken by my outburst. See, in my line of business, you didn't get hot when things went crazy, you got cold. You didn't yell and curse, you got your gun and you killed someone. I'd never grabbed anyone like that in my life, certainly never somebody that big. Maybe I was losing it. "Listen, I know this guy, runs a salvage shop. He might be able to get you set up. We're looking to him for your droid."
"Good, thanks Red. Really, thanks a lot."
"No problem, but you know how expensive ships are, right?"
"Yeah, that's why I usually steal them."

Between the ship, the droid refit, and the necessary lubricant of bribery (the Hutts suddenly became huge sticklers for proper liscensing and vehicle inspection), my nestegg was gone. I let NC handle his own negotiations, again. He'd done well enough last time, and I was too preoccupied trying to wheedle our seller down to something I could still afford, that had reliable atmosphere. My choices were limited.
I ended up with a model they called FL-22, or the FireLance. He said it didn't have its own name, but we could probably call it the Fire Lance... because we weren't likely to find another one in service anymore.
"What, they don't use them for training or anything?" I looked at the fat little chadra-fan.
"Nn-nn-no, nn-nnot ex-x-x-actly." His language skills needed work, but he was a genius with repair and refit. He and Bindi seemed to have some kind of psychic connection. They'd done wonders with NC.
"What do you mean not exactly?" I asked, dreading trying to interpret his answers.
"Nnn-oo-oo-t 'zakly. They u-u-uu-uu-se them in training for t-t-t-t-t-t-tt-..."
"Testpiloting?" I aske,d hopeful and anxious at the same time.
"T-t-t-t-t--t-TARGET PRACTICE." He finally spit out. "They handle like poo-oo-oo-oo-do."
"Oh." I waved Bindi over to translate, I could see my fuzzy little technician was getting antsy.
"They're too long, he says." Said Bindi. "They can't turn fast. Shoot real good, but cruddy maneuverability. Like driving a big gun." The thought of getting the word maneuverability out of the jumbled mess that the chadra-fan had just said startled me. Then I wised up to what the kid was actually saying.
"You're saying it's a bad fighter."
"Yeah, it's a terrible fighter. They went out of style a hundred years ago."
"Tell him I like it, and it's ok. I'm a terrible pilot."
The lousy control characteristics didn't bother me. I'd been telling the truth, I'm no great pilot. It was long enough to have a small living section that would let me stay aloft for long periods of time. It had oversized powerplants to drive the steering thrusters and weapons, so it packed a whallop. It predated the Y-wings, and had a long, single-shaft appearance to it, with its drive thrusters spreading the rear frame a bit. In all, it looked a lot like one of those tools janitorial droids use to sweep things up... a broom. Wide at the back, then long and narrow. The pilot sat midframe, with the guns making up the leading bulk, along with directional thrusters. The rear spaceframe widened enough to allow minimal cargo and living space. I wouldn't have paid a hundred credits for it a year ago, I paid almost a thousand times that much now.

"You got ships' tools in your new configuration NC?"
"Yes sir, along with the... amenities my other frame had."
"You got a spare power supply this time?"
"Three sir."
"Good. I want to make some modifications to the ship, fast. They don't have to be pretty, just effective."
"If I subcontract droid labor from the Hutts sir, I can operate very quickly. More quickly than a sentient technician."
"Do so then, but we only have twenty large left to play with."
"What modifications sir?"
We got to talking about the modifications. The weren't actually expensive, except for the spare thrusters. I had him trim the overall length by several meters, almost a third, and reconfigure the forward guns for a wider spread. We'd lose most of our weapons range, but we'd be lighter and faster. I meant to run away more than fight, so the close-in weapons were for devastating suprise, not for planetary bombardment. We got a bacta-coffin installed back in the living quarters, and rigged it under the bed. If you got tired, you slept. If you got tired from being all shot up and could be hauled into the back, you rolled the bed back and slept in the coffin till you got fixed. The bacta itself was more expensive than the equipment. We doubled up the outlet ports on the nose and aft directional thrusters, giving us a little bit more range of maneuverability. We also rigged a copilot/navigator's station, but it wasn't meant to be used by a living being. It was meant for a humanoid droid form, to be bolted in and interconnected to the ship's computers.
It was NC that looked the most different after the operation though. He had premium parts; we'd paid well, but sometimes you have to take what's in stock. En-See ended up with a protocol-droid frame, which he hated. We had them enamel it black with some blast-resistant material, but he still hated it. He especially hated having his old head attached to the new bodyframe, because the head was proportionally too large, and looked menacing compared to the otherwise well-known and widely-loved 3P0 series of body. I almost laughed myself to incontinence when I saw him for the first time. He had guns still, with a higher capacity, but they were in his arms now. When he showed me their make and installation, I couldn't stop laughing. It was like watching a toy armed with a blaster. Deadly, terrifying, but somehow funny too.

We skipped the superstitious mumbo-jumbo about naming it, and got our wreck into space. NC came up with a good position and vector on the most probable reentry point for the High Tide, and we waited. I'd had NC refit the control cabin. At first Bindi didn't understand why I'd adjusted everything, but then he'd understood. I spent most of my time flying cargo haulers and light craft, never anything this military or oddly shaped. I had NC make the cabin's controls into a perfect (near perfect) replica of an old X118 cargohauler, because I was most at home in it. After only a few hours of almost bouncing us off of other ships, I had a feel for the long, knobby gun that we were riding. Thus I named the ship the Angry Knob. I know, it's a terrible name. I loved it.

Space

Spakta hadn't visited her in a while. She didn't know how long he'd been gone. Could have been years, but she didn't remember eating. She remembered being hot, and thirsty, but not much else. She also remembered that she was crippled and hideous and that Dallet hadn't rescued her in time. She was angry, but mutedly, because she knew she was going to die one way or the other.
I will go at peace, at least, she thought.
"Seems like a stupid way to die," another aspect of her mind said. That aspect suggested she fight. But she had no strength left. The torture, the violation, the deprivation... all these things stacked up against her, and she couldn't take it.
"Weakness, the voice said, is failure. Weakness is death." She liked that other voice of hers, it didn't offer false comfort, it wanted revenge.

"Hah!" Spakta said. "You are fixed, filthy computer!" He chuckled heartily. "I cannot stop us, but you will jump again in 60 seconds after we drop from hyperspace. You will jump to the Baleetra system, I have taken you apart. You must comply."
"Coordinates confirmed sir."
"There is no way you can change it now. This is correct?"
"Correct sir. Reasoning functions offline. Logic functions offline. Personality emulator offline. Self-preservation initiative offline."
"Excellent. When do we drop?"
"Eleven minutes sir."
"And the course, it cannot be changed or shut down?"
"Not as long as I still function." The Navigational Computer was all business.

"Dallet, I am detecting a trace." NC sounded excited. Maybe he was going crazy.
"Show me." The screen lit up. A vessel of the correct mass was distorting nearby space. It would penetrate in minutes. I let the droid handle the gross navigation, I tuned up the guns and precharged the thrusters. "What have we got for shields?"
"Fore and laterals are online sir. Aft shields failed during primary ignition."
"I guess we can live with that, they aren't expecting us."

"Let me show you," said the voice in Petra's head, "how you can get yourself out of this."
"Ok," she said, knowing she was losing it again. It was alright with her, she didn't have any drugs with her to help her lose it this time.
"What you have to do is stop being in control so much. Control is like torturing yourself, just like that pig Spakta does. Do you see?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"Good. Let go some of that control. You feel how angry you are, how hurt?"
"Yes." She whimpered. The voice knew what had been done, the voice _was_ her.
"You feel how strong that makes you now? You feel how angry you are? That's good. Feel it and use it."
"But I'm tied up."
"You are going to be a Jedi. Do Jedi get tied up?"
"I don't know. Probably?"
"No! Jedi know how to use their anger. Feel the wires holding you. Hate them. The wires cut off your hand as much as Spakta did. Hate them. Make them break."
She did hate them. She was worn raw from chafing against them. She was bruised and battered, beaten and her dignity had been shredded. She hated the wires, and they broke. They stung when they peeled away from her, but the stinging only made them snap faster.
"Finally, excellent! You see, you don't have to be weak, you don't have to try to control. Let go. Be angry, it is natural." The ship jostled, bumped, came out of hyperspace.
"Now you can get out of here, but you have to do something first, don't you?"
"Spakta." She said to herself. She could be natural.
"Spakta, indeed. You're learning."

When they dropped out of hyperspace, I put us on a medium speed intercept, and fired our main gun across her flightpath. They call that a warning shot. I call it a distraction. I had one ion cannon with a terrible recharge rate, so while the High Tide's computer tried to figure out what I wanted, and turned on its scanning equipment, I fried everything I could with my one burst. I could try again in thirty seconds... if I needed to. I didn't, they came to a stop.
"NC, hail them. Tell them we're boarding them."
"Sir, we have no universal hatch."
"I don't care, I'll suit up and board them. Tell them I'll blow them up otherwise!" Should have thought of that, I guess. I got up to leave my chair, and get suited up. That's when Spakta woke up.
His 'Tide was maneuverable, we knew that. We didn't expect a controlled two-axis snap turn after he'd been ionized, so the first salvo caught us off guard. My ion cannon took the hit, and it bled some residual back into its own fire-control circuits. I strapped back down.
"Not responding sir."
"Gotcha, let's move around a little. Start setting up some disabling targets."
"Affirmative."
I juked a little. Damn little. I punched us up to full pre-jump speed and stretched our legs a little; we were bloody fast, after all. We couldn't turn very well, but we could outpace everything except an A-Wing, and we had pegged the 'Tide with the ionizers. He tried, but he couldn't catch us. At speed, even my little moves made it hard to target us. Better pilots, or working computers and I'd be dead, I thought. If I don't slow down, I'm going to be dead anyway. I had a trick planned, but I needed to be about twice the pilot I was to pull it off.
"You locked in?"
"Affirmative."
"Hang on, this will be interesting."

Breathe. I flamed out one of our engines, making it look toasted. He got a lucky hit in, and then it really was toasted. Breathe. No rear shields. Breathe, another round, caught the dead engine again. He matched us. My grip loosened on the stick the tightness in my shoulders lessened. My left hand reached out and turned the control damper all the way off; I'd have 100% throughput on my controls, so if I twitched wrong, the ship would tear itself apart. Breathe.
A funny thing happened then. I slid past my meditation, and out beyond the walls of the ship. I could see Spakta crouched in the cockpit as he prepared a salvo that should cook our remaining thruster. I could _feel_ the slew and slip of the High Tide as she started to catch up to us. I could see the inside of the cockpit light up with a familiar green light. I could almost hear the hum. Breathe. Petra! What in the name of...?
Petra had changed.
Her beautiful pale face had been marred by bruises, and both eyes were blood-red, surrounded by ugly purple welts. Swollen, and even her teeth had blood on them. She'd been beaten badly. She's alive, I thought to myself, that's all that matters. I knew it! She's alive, everything else can be fixed. Then I saw her move the lightsaber into the guard position, and saw that she didn't have a left hand anymore. The image wavered, faltered. Breathe. Spakta had to see her now, the light was blinding. She raised the saber, slid up behind him silently. To this day I swear she looked right at me then, and her eyes burned as green and baleful as her blade.
"You're too late, Dallet." She said it in a voice I'd never heard before, as cold and hard as the unforgiving emptiness of space. The image shattered.

Petra saw him, saw his accusing eyes.
"Don't worry about him, pet. He betrayed you before, now twice! How many times must he try to kill you?"
"I love him."
"Control nothing, feel everything. You fear him, he tried to kill you. You try to control him by loving him."
"Maybe, I don't know."
"Worry about it later. Now make Spakta pay."
"You're too late, Dallet." She said outloud, and brought the saber down.

I would have wept, if I'd had time. What Spakta had done... he'd pay for. He might be paying for it right now. I couldn't feel her now, and it gnawed at me. I couldn't feel her because she might be dead. Or maybe she just wasn't Petra anymore. Either way, I'm disabling that ship, and we can sort it out from there.
"Sir? Are you conscious sir?"
"Bolt down, I'm coming about."
"Our velocity... " he began a warning. I stopped listening. I dropped back into my focus, ignoring the other ship, ignoring everything. This turn would need to be perfect... the ship whipped around too fast, too hard for the structure to handle. I let it slide, feeling the centripetal force pulling my eyes out of their sockets. Another rotation, we must look like a top. I couldn't say when I fired the retrothrust, the focus wasn't conscious anymore. I could feel some huge, inexorable Force guiding me, making me do it right. All I really knew is that I fired it and we didn't explode, and I keyed my main gun half a second later. The effect was pronounced, and burned the forward shields from the 'Tide in a single shot.

"Oh, you wish to escape?" She sneered at him. "You have one arm left, Spakta. I have so very long with you..." He whimpered.

An escape pod burst from the High Tide, and I ignored the main ship to chase it. Petra's in there, common sense told me. She'll want to give me a clean shot, but I want her aboard so I can be sure first. It took me some time to decelerate and match it, and maneuver around to bring it alongside. Our hatch wouldn't support ship-to-ship umbilicals, but it would pick up emergency pods. It was going to take several seconds for the airlock to cycle, I started back to the lock.
"Program a full volley for his cockpit windows NC, when we get her aboard, we introduce him to space."
"Sir, incoming signal."
"Tape it, tell him I'm going to blow him up in just a minute. I'm busy."
"Sir, I have also infiltrated the main computer."
"That fast?"
"It has been largely disabled... Sir! The computer indicates an automated return trajectory to be activated in ten seconds."
"Open that comm, override the computer!" A blip, I was on. "Spakta, you maggot, I'm going to find you, no matter where you go!"
"Don't follow me, or I'll kill you." I expected his voice, but I got a violent suprise. It was like Petra's voice, if you let it blow across the glaciers of Hoth for a while.
"Petra? Who's in the pod?"
"Dallet, if you follow me I'll carve you up. You'll never betray me again! Some day I'll be back to settle accounts."
"Petra wait! What are you talking about?"
The ship jumped. She was gone.

The airlock cycled. What was in the pod was still alive, in the technical sense. It breathed, it bled. What had happened to Spakta could not rightfully be described as torture, but more as a kind of obliteration; a writing-over of what he'd been. There weren't any limbs left, the face was gone, the eyes and facial-stalks had been removed and stuffed into a pocket of his flight suit. His wounds bore the cauterized markings of a high-energy weapon, and he might live for hours.
I'd like to tell you that something basic and human in me took him back to the planet for anesthetic, or that I tended mercifully to his wounds, or even that I gave him a coup-de-grace like a worthy Jedi in a holovid story. I didn't. That worthless maggot had taken Petra from me. First my old life, then my new soul. I recycled the pod's door, leaving his blubbering body inside. I was almost numb, but I knew well enough what I'd do to him.
We entered a flawed orbit around Tatooine, and orbital control screamed at us. I didn't want to skip off, and I didn't want to burn up, not quickly. When I'd hit the sweet angle, I kicked the pod loose again. I figured it'd get awfully hot in there for a few minutes before the pod breached and blew up from the heat. Its thrusters had been manually disabled, there'd be no corrective burns. We pulled up clear to good orbit and I followed it around the planet target-synched while he burned. He made half an orbit before the pod ceased to be.
Burn in Hell Spakta, I thought. Burn forever for what you did.
Then I took off my flight helmet and wept like a child.

Message Edited by FrankLee on 09-18-2004 04:09 PM

Wow, that was evil..