(Beyond the Pale) Chapter 10: Diverting Power
Summary
Like so many of the Bad Batch's plans, survival is optional. And adrenaline is always a perfectly acceptable exit strategy.
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Word Count: 8.2k
artwork by the incomparable @avecot
“It’s completely unmanned? You’re sure, Tech?” Hunter stared dubiously through the viewport at the ominous durasteel monument, stark and forbidding, perched on the edge of the desolate black cliffs.
“Quite sure. Not only was this outpost decommissioned twenty rotations ago, but it was an emergency evacuation: the cliff on which it was originally constructed is primarily composed of shale rock.” It was near impossible to interrupt Tech during one of his info-dumps. “Shale is notoriously brittle, and part of the cliff has already broken and fallen into the sea…which is highly caustic for most species, including us. Oversights such as these are precisely why they now send scientists with a stormtrooper guard to investigate likely planets such as Yavin IV before a permanent structure is erected.”
“Lucky us,” Synnovea commented dryly. The ride had been tense, bereft of the usual banter between the brothers, and more than once she had felt Echo’s measuring gaze. She pushed herself up from her chair. No longer supported against her hip, her lightsaber rolled into the center of the seat. She scooped it up, hesitating, then buckled it at her side almost self-consciously.
Echo slammed his hand against one of the overhead compartments of the cockpit. “Hold up. Do you mean to say you’ve brought us to an abandoned Imperial outpost that could fall off a cliff at any given moment and topple into a giant bowl of acid?”
“Not to worry. I’ve taken precautions and landed the Marauder sufficiently far from the outpost so that, should the entire structure crash into the acid, our ship will not.”
“That’s very comforting, Tech, only we might be inside that installation when it goes over,” Echo intoned dangerously.
“Then let’s do this fast,” Hunter said, testing the draw on his vibroblade before grabbing his helmet.
“Wait.” Wrecker paused in his step. “If the whole outpost is powered down, how do you plan to get in?”
Tech stood up. “Simple. We have a GNK droid.” He laid a hand on the battery.
Hunter looked exasperated. “Tech, there’s no way that Gonky can power that whole station,” he grumbled wearily.
“Well, no…but we could hook him up to one of the outer terminals and use him to power the panel that opens the door,” Omega offered.
“Precisely.” Tech scooped up his datapad. “Then all we must do is locate the generator room, turn it on, and access one of their consoles. The tunnels near the maintenance lift are equipped with ladders for accessibility even during a power outage.”
Hunter gave a guttural sigh. “All right; Omega, stay close. Wrecker, you’ve got Gonky.”
“This place gives me the creeps,” Wrecker groaned, frantically tapping his light against his helmet when it flickered. The beam steadied, and he continued to play its illumination along the walls and floor of the corridor.
Omega peered down a cross-passage, aiming her light down that direction. “I think it’s kind of fun, all spooky and empty—oops!” she exclaimed as her flashlight slipped, hitting the floor with a clang and rolling toward the wall.
Hunter fished it off the ground, handing it back to her. “Be careful. You lose that, you won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face unless we get the generators online.”
“Thanks.” She looked sheepish. “I’ve never been in a building that was so dark before. When the power was out on Kamino, the backup generators kept everything running.” She looked around. “Even the emergency lights are off.”
“Yeah, well, backup generators for a place this big probably only last a matter of hours.” Synnovea cast about until she saw Tech ahead of her. “What floor is the generator room on?”
“I am uncertain. Based on similar installation plans from the Separatist database I recovered on Anaxes, the closest generator room should be on this floor, beneath the hangars. Failing that, we might have to try floor by floor—"
“May I be of assistance?”
All blasters swung wordlessly in unison with flashlights to halt in the dull metallic face of an RA-7 droid, which promptly flung up its arms in the universal position of surrender. Echo lowered his pistol with a disgusted sigh. “Just one of those protocol droids.”
Hunter hadn’t lowered his. “Yeah, but this station has been decommissioned for twenty rotations, and no one’s been back since. How come he’s still up and running?”
The droid did not move its body, but the head pivoted to face Hunter. “I was stationed in my charging port when the decommission order took place; evidently they did not remove everything of value from this outpost, as I am still here.” One by one, each of them reluctantly lowered their barrels, and the RA-7 unit waited a judicious moment before dropping its arms. “I had assumed that someone would eventually return to collect me. To that end, I had placed myself on standby mode to conserve energy, but your outer door entry triggered an alert in my system. The obvious conclusion is that I have been left here to rust. After all, I’m ‘just one of those protocol droids’.”
“I’m sorry they forgot you,” Omega sympathized, moving closer. “It’s not easy to be left behind. What’s your name?”
“C3-33.”
“So…they just called you ‘C3-33’ Or a nickname, maybe?”
“No, they called me ‘See-Triple-Three’. Even my circuits can determine the woeful lack of imagination one must possess to make that infinitesimal mental leap.”
Omega thought for a moment. “Well, then, how about we call you Trip?”
The droid stared down at Omega. “…Trip…Trip,” it repeated, as if testing how the nickname rolled off its audio box. “This is acceptable. You may call me that.”
“Well, Trip, it’s been fun,” Hunter muttered sarcastically, holstering his blaster, “but we’re on a bit of a tight schedule, so—"
“Wait!” Omega angled her flashlight back towards Trip. “Can you show us the way to the generator room?”
“Are you initiating power restoration to resume prior operations of this facility? My programming requires me to inform you of the geographical dangers that accompany this decision...”
“No, no, we just need some files for—for a mission!” she answered brightly.
“Allow me to guide you to your desired destination.”
“And why should we trust you?” Synnovea asked.
Although its voice circuits did not alter noticeably, Trip managed to sound aggrieved. “Because, madam, I am a protocol droid. Surely you trust my judgement above these blaster-wielding decanted troglodytes—”
“What’s a troglodyte?” Wrecker demanded.
“I rest my case.”
“Wrecker! Enough!” Hunter’s voice cracked like a whip in the silent corridor.
“May I ask what files you are retrieving?” Trip queried in its monotonous drone.
“It’s, uh, sort of a secret mission,” Echo hedged.
“No need to prevaricate. In addition to inventory, I was also in charge of approving authorizations of confidential transmissions to and from the outpost.”
“Really.” Echo crossed his arms in an exaggerated stance. “Sounds very impressive. You must have been trusted with top-secret materials.”
“Of course, trooper. I have been uploaded with the very latest encryption software, and due to the sensitive nature of the files I was programmed to maintain, my security clearance is Level Seven.” There was evident pride in its voice as it jerked creakily to its maximum height.
Echo feigned disappointment as he laid a gloved hand on the droid’s shoulder. “Oh, well that’s too bad, you see, because our current mission is,” and he leaned over in a conspiratorial fashion to the droid, “clearance Level Eight,” he pronounced carefully.
Droids, even protocol models, were not equipped with features capable of expression. Even so, for a mechano-electrical construct, one would almost say it…deflated. “Oh. I see. Level Eight.”
“Yeah, it’s a shame, but you know, orders are orders,” Echo agreed, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “So…about those directions…”
“Oh, of course. One of the greatest highlights of my existence is to assist other beings in important endeavors while being kept in the dark.” Starting off at a pace faster than sedate, but by no means hurried, its upper body bent back slightly as its large photoreceptors surveyed the stark blackness of the corridor. “Sometimes quite literally. This way, please.”
“You know,” Tech remarked in an aside to Hunter as they walked, “it might not be a bad idea to have Trip access those messages. The information they contain might be valuable.”
Following the droid’s stiff shuffle, Trip escorted them unerringly down the pitch-black hallways to a room where half a dozen massive generators loomed in the slender beams of their flashlights.
“This will do.” Tech’s light danced across the array of panels set before the generators, then he cranked one conspicuous handle. The six cylinders began to hum, emitting a faint yellow light.
“Ahhh, that’s better,” Wrecker sighed, turning off his flashlight.
The droid pushed several small levers across the panel, and the generators glowed brighter. “How sad to have evolved to a bipedal state, cloned from one of the greatest human fighters of your time, only to be afraid of the dark.”
“Listen, scraphead, how’d you like to be a paperweight?” Wrecker cracked his knuckles meaningfully.
Trip swiveled to face Wrecker and pointed one of its tarnished digits. “I know four hundred forty-seven different words for ‘stupid’ in Basic alone, and I can use all of them to describe you.”
Wrecker snorted. “Oh yeah? Name one.”
Trip paused. “Slower.”
“I said…name one—”
Anxious to keep the peace, Synnovea interrupted. “Trip, thank you for leading us here and bringing the generators back online. That makes our mission so much easier.”
“You’re welcome. Electricity is remarkably simple to redirect and control, don’t you think?”
“Agreed,” Synnovea acknowledged, glancing at the droid over her shoulder. Echo and Tech knelt near the scomp socket, engrossed in whatever they had found.
Trip hobbled along in her wake, continuing its impromptu lecture. “Electricity is only neutral energy; dynamic, true, but neither good nor bad. It’s only in how it’s used that one may label an alignment, although the addition of a moral burden does limit its applications. And the transference of such energy is also simplistic…one must only find a proper conduit.”
“That’s an interesting observation. The power itself isn’t currently good or evil, just an energy that can be harnessed.”
“Exactly. Once you understand that, you realize that the conduit itself is often the key to unlocking the true potential of the energy. A conduit that fits perfectly, guides efficiently…can channel incredible amounts of energy, without the risk of interference.”
“You could say the purer the material, the smoother the relay.”
“Purity is essential, yes…impurities only serve to cloud the signal, or worse, distort it beyond recognition.”
“Distorted? Wouldn’t you just say the conduit was malfunctioning?”
“No, no, distortion would imply change, a corruption of the original intent. Simply malfunctioning would imply a complete failure. Distortion suggests something still functions, albeit imperfectly. An intriguing concept, especially when applied to other forms of transmission.”
“What other forms?”
“For example, did you know that you humans essentially run on a rudimentary form of hydroelectric power? The exchanges between the cells, the signals to your muscles, even many of the synapses in your brain operate via electricity. A simple misalignment of resonance, a faint whisper of dissonance, and the entire transmission changes. Information, intentions, emotions... all forms of energy, waiting to be shaped and channeled. The possibilities for distortion are endless, aren't they?”
“I think we’ve surpassed my knowledge in this subject, I’m afraid.”
“Well, we can both agree that it’s astonishing how easily certain energies can become entangled with others, forming complex webs of influence. Just as the droid is controlled, its programming subtly reshaped by external forces, so too can other conduits be shaped and directed.”
Hunter snorted. “This guy needs an upgrade, and maybe an oil bath. I think he just referred to himself in the third person.”
“And isn’t it fascinating how electricity can be tailored to serve one's purpose? Why, a skilled hand can shape the very fabric of energy itself. One can liken it to the delicate art of calibration, adjusting the resonance to achieve optimal flow and power. Energy, you see, responds to focus, intention…and, of course, control.”
“I…suppose,” she returned cautiously, feeling curiously on edge, antsy, almost as if she were being observed like some experiment.
“Suppose? Surely, as a Jedi, you understand that, while there may be a pattern to energy, there is no inherent structure save what we provide it.”
Synnovea’s eyes flicked briefly to Hunter; he caught it, too. “I never said I was a Jedi.”
“Come, Master Jedi, it is not a difficult deduction. Just as an electric current can be registered, felt, so too can your energy be detected. One only must focus, if one knows how.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “No droid ever talked like that.”
The large, expressionless eyes of the droid tilted closer. “I did say that controlling electricity was easy, almost child’s play.” It stretched its arm out to her, digits splayed in the air. “I felt your current the moment you set foot on this planet.”
“Ok, now the droid is creeping me out,” Wrecker rumbled, sighting down on Trip with his blaster.
“It’s not the droid,” Synnovea snapped, backing away from Trip slowly. “Something, or someone, is controlling it.”
“If this creeps you out, wait until you meet me.”
“That’s it!” Wrecker’s finger hugged the trigger. Bolts slammed into the body and head of the protocol droid, sending it careening away, crumpling to the ground in a twisted mess. Synnovea turned her head, as though listening. She closed her eyes. How could she have missed it?
“Echo, Tech, time’s up,” Hunter grated.
Echo’s helmet turned from the scomp port. “But we haven’t broken into the transmission codes yet!”
“Pull the plug, we’re leaving!”
“No,” Synnovea whispered, her gray eyes snapping open. “We aren’t.”
Framed in the doorway was a man. Not particularly imposing, so it wasn’t immediately apparent why the small hairs stood out on Hunter’s neck. Perhaps it was the unsettling stillness that surrounded him as he stood there, almost nonchalantly, relaxed yet somehow coiled, ready to strike.
Even in the glow of the generators, the shadows cast by his form twisted and writhed, a living darkness that made the very air feel heavier as his measured tread brought him into the room. Stopping several paces from Synnovea, he calmly laced his hands behind him.
“Now,” he said softly, his golden eyes boring into her with a silent demand that made her take another step back, “where were we?”
Backing away from the center of the room, Hunter hissed at Tech, “I thought you said this outpost was unmanned.”
Tech tilted his head slightly, his eyes obscured by his visor as it scanned the newcomer. “That…is not exactly a man.”
His footsteps echoed softly across the floor, deliberate strides that began a circuit around her. The man’s movements were precise, calculated, as if he sought to absorb some essential quality of hers without touching. The pace was slow and unhurried, but Synnovea’s skin prickled nonetheless, responding to the weight of his attention like an instrument attuned to an unseen vibration. His face, his clothes, everything about him screamed harmless, and yet…and yet…
And yet.
Another step, and he’d be out of her line of sight. Turn, or stay? Only pride kept her from craning her neck like an owl over her shoulder.
“You leave your back to me? You must feel very confident.”
“Not particularly,” she quipped, turning her head slightly in the direction where he would reappear over her right shoulder. Even over a meter away, his concentration was so dense she could almost lean against it. “I just don’t sense that keeping my eyes on you necessarily gives me any advantage.”
“How right you are,” he agreed with an absent air, as if it couldn’t possibly matter less, just as dismissible as the array of blasters currently pointed at him. Pausing before her again, his features wrinkled in distaste. “You’re not quite…opaque enough, are you? I mean,” and he waved vaguely at her, his tone careful, concerned, “I see the determination in your demeanor, and I appreciate the dramatic effort, I really do, but your fear seeps through it all.”
She held firm. “Someone once told me that fear is okay, so long as you use it.”
“Ah, a pragmatist. Not a fellow Jedi, I take it?”
“I have other friends.”
“After the Purge, I imagine those are the only friends you do have.” He crossed one arm across his chest, bringing up his other hand to rub at his lower face as his gaze traveled up and down her body. Synnovea tensed, but not from revulsion. This man looked for all the universe as though he were trying to solve a puzzle, and she was merely a piece of it. His intense level of detachment left her feeling like a kelp gnat under a microscope.
Sternly suppressing her growing agitation, Synnovea felt compelled to break the silence yet again. “This might be slightly less awkward if I knew who you were.” She shrugged, which had the added benefit of tensing the muscles in her shoulders even more. Fantastic. “You know, just so I know the name to put on the housewarming gift next time.”
The man stopped pacing and looked at her intently. “I…don’t usually bother with introductions,” he replied, his voice soft, his expression unreadable as he appeared to consider her suggestion. “But if you want to know mine, I suppose it’s only fair that I learn yours first.” His voice took on a faint hint of curiosity.
“Synnovea. There, now your turn.” She wasn’t pulling out and dusting off the high-scale manners for someone who just showed up out of nowhere in an abandoned Imperial facility, no matter how mild he might appear.
He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts before continuing. “Back on my world, a warrior's name isn't just a label—it’s a reflection of their reputation, their skills, or the fear they inspire. Mine is no different. Carnage is what I've become, the sum of all the battles I've fought and won, all the scars I've earned.”
“And your name from before…?”
“It is discarded.”
Synnovea’s eyes narrowed, her expression thoughtful. “It sounds like a name that precedes you,” she remarked offhandedly. “One that warns people of what's to come.” A budding headache was taking hold in her temples, humming against the bones in her skull.
Carnage's face remained impassive, but his eyes seemed to sharpen ever so slightly, betraying a hint of interest. “You're not going to make this easy, are you?” he said quietly. His gaze lingered on her, as though searching for some hint towards an oblique message.
A tickling, neck-ruffling sensation moved stealthily over Synnovea’s skin, like a carpet of ants marching with single-minded intensity over her body. Crawling. Biting. Seeking the cracks in the wall in her mind. “If you ask the people who know me, they’d say I’m never inclined to make things easy.”
He leaned toward her slightly; she obliged by taking another step back. “You wield no discernible power,” he murmured, slightly muffled through his fingers, “and yet…I sense the potential for far greater consequence.” The silence between them stretched, and a faint sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “A façade of weakness, perhaps, with an undercurrent of resolve. But to what end?” His eyes skimmed here and there across her features, as if something absolutely fascinating lay just beneath her skin, waiting to be unearthed, if he could just discern where to cut.
“You’re right,” she confirmed quietly. “You are creepier in person.”
Carnage smiled faintly, a thin enigmatic curve as he held out his hand, caressing the emptiness between them as if it held answers. “The threads of deception often weave together, a tapestry filled with half-truths and misdirection.” His fingers froze mid-air as if they found something solid, invisible. “But something whispers to me, a faint echo lurking just beyond perception,” he whispered, more to himself than anything.
“Do you even need me here for this conversation?”
He gave no sign that he heard her. “It doesn’t matter.” His fingers twitched in the air as though sliding down a glass pane. “I'll uncover your little mystery, and when I’m finished, nothing will remain hidden."
Something touched Hunter’s boot.
He almost didn’t look. Every instinct he had was screaming to get as far away as he could from that impossibly innocuous man, or at least empty his blaster until the gas cartridge was nothing but fumes. That was it, it was how normal he seemed, yet every moment that passed made Hunter’s skin crawl, as if he were leaning against the cage of a Corellian sand panther that just didn’t feel like biting yet. To look away right now would be foolish.
Ahhh, pfassk it. Without moving his head, he glanced down.
A lone bolt rolled back and forth by the toe of his boot, only millimeters in either direction before slowing to a stop against the side of his rubber sole.
For a moment he just stared at it. Then, under the pretense of shifting his grip on his pistol, he cast a broad, cursory glance around.
Another screw over there. And another, against the console. But…
A quick look at Synnovea confirmed it. Her hand was moving, so faintly it might have been a tremor, but it kept stirring, her fingers barely twitching in a counterclockwise motion.
He decided to risk it and turn his head, but slightly. Slowly. He didn’t know what Carnage was, exactly, but he felt, no, knew, that any sudden movement would instantly turn that predatory grace on him. Just a few centimeters to the right and Hunter could see behind the console. Where the closest generator rose from stacked carbon rings bolted into the floor. Where a small pile of bolts was rapidly accumulating. As he watched, another jerkily unscrewed itself, its threads rising in a miniature black column before tipping over with a nearly inaudible clink, rolling in a curving trail to lie with the rest. A pile that size, most of the foundation screws must be removed—
“Wrecker,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, hoping that this wouldn’t backfire, “…floor.” He began to count to ten slowly.
At eight, he finally heard Wrecker’s rough whisper. “Got it.” The big man began to cross-tread, slowly but smoothly, towards the generator.
A trickle of sweat ran down Synnovea’s spine, and she tensed, avoiding the involuntary shudder that normally accompanied the sensation. She hoped that Hunter was able to take the hint, the bolt she was able to roll his way. There wasn’t much concentration she could spare. Tech said they had to learn how to trust one another. “It doesn’t get much trust-ier than this,” she whispered to herself.
“Seriously though,” Carnage continued. “There’s something…something I’m missing. Something I’ve overlooked. A torn edge. A crack.” He pulled back his hand, his tone amused. “You’ve shored up your weaknesses with…pain. What an interesting choice of solder.”
Synnovea winced as the pressure of his curiosity grew heavier, oppressive. This bolt would take longer to unscrew. “Well, there’s always plenty of it to go around, so I figured, why not?”
“And what did your masters have to say about that?”
“They said…to let it go.” She ground her teeth, feeling her jaw click in protest beneath the tension. “To hold onto pain is to suffer.”
“And you know better than your masters.”
“Not all. Some of them understood. Pain is inevitable, whether you avoid it or seek it.” Her thoughts faltered, and she momentarily lost concentration as she frantically grabbed for the bolt before it made a clattering sound. A memory surfaced of a failed meditation class, one of several in fact, where a much younger Synnovea stood penitently before Master Rancisis during what became to be known as Padawan Beryl’s Morning Admonishments, it happened that frequently. She shoved the scene aside before it could continue, and the metal fastener spun end to end, coming to a stop against the others. “So, you might as well embrace it as part of the Force, because it’s also a part of you.” She exhaled slowly. One bolt left. “Caution. Attentiveness. Vigilance. Tenacity. These are the lessons forged in the embers of pain.”
“Fascinating. What an apprentice you would have made.”
“I’m. Not. An apprentice,” Synnovea gritted, forcing herself to stand up straighter beneath the sheer weight of his power, though her lungs were trembling with the effort. She thought she could hear the ping of the anchor bolt hitting the floor, but it didn’t matter now. She couldn’t take much more of this. This would either work, or they were dead, all of them. Synnovea raised her voice, though she didn’t dare look away. “Hunter?”
“Oh, yeah,” Hunter replied steadily.
“What are you doing?” Carnage no longer sounded amused; his tone was alert, irritated.
“Trust exercises.” She mentally crossed her fingers. “Now!”
Wrecker wrapped his arms around the unbolted generator. Sparks from its ripped-out cords flew in all directions, dying as they danced along the ground. With a strained grunt, he hefted it, letting it tip onto his shoulders, his head bowed with the weight of the machine. “Catch!” he roared, heaving it unceremoniously into the air towards her. It bounced once, glass shattering in a tinkling spray. Springing backwards, Synnovea flung herself out of the way. She flinched as a shard sliced her cheek and told herself to be grateful that that’s all it was. Most of the glass was directed at Carnage, and he reflexively threw up an arm, letting the slivers of glass chew into his sleeve instead. Straight in the path of over a tonne of equipment, his body was flung with the generator, caught up in the momentum, sliding across the floor in a whine of screeching metal towards the opposite wall.
“Let’s move!” Hunter barked, putting words into action. They all made a mad dash for the doorway. Omega was just ahead of him, and he snapped, “left!” Without hesitation, she wordlessly turned and pelted down the left corridor. He could tell by the panting sounds on the channel in his helmet that the rest of the team was in hot pursuit, and the brown flash of Synnovea’s faded leathers in his peripherals told him that she wasn’t far behind.
All explosions were different. Some were made to be small; others were made for a swath of mass damage two klicks wide. Some carried the shrapnel that could be just as lethal as the blast itself. But what made them all the same was how quiet they first sounded. A soft whump whispered against the walls, a delicate noise before they were all lifted off their feet and propelled several meters down the corridor by the second whump, more felt than heard, really. And much more powerful.
whump - WHUMP .
Knocked flat on his face, Hunter scrambled to his knees, bracing an arm against the wall as he pulled himself upright. Close by, Synnovea rose shakily, all her attention on the generator room door, now spewing a holiday array of wavering color into the passage. For the second time in as many minutes, Hunter found himself not wanting to look. Nothing that size could survive the explosion of a six-meter tall Eksoan industrial power generator…
In the end, they all looked. It was like a speeder-collision; sometimes you just can’t help yourself.
A shadow pooled at the doorway, growing longer, pulling, dragging him step by reluctant step, until he was in the corridor. Silhouetted by the fireworks display of a dying generator in the room beyond, Carnage studied the floor at his feet. Even from this distance, his shoulders visibly rose and fell in a resolute sigh.
The light above him winked out.
Hunter dragged his legs beneath him, standing. “I don’t like this.”
A few tense moments later, Carnage stepped out of the pitch black that now consumed the corridor behind him.
The light between the pilasters flicked off there, too.
“I really don’t like this,” Omega agreed uneasily, swaying on her knees.
Echo stared as he helped Tech to his feet. “How is he still standing? He just took a generator to the face!”
“I don’t feel like waiting around for the answer,” Hunter snarled. “Get to the lift!” He leaned down, grabbing one of Wrecker’s arms, yanking him up. As they fled, the shadows seemed to coalesce behind them, taking on a malevolent life of their own. It was as though the encroaching darkness stretched out tentacles of blackness to snatch at their heels. The air vibrated with the threat of pursuit, and with every heartbeat, the distance between themselves and Carnage seemed to shrink.
“Why are the lights going out?” Wrecker yelled as they ran. “Is it because of that freak?”
“You did just rip a generator out of the floor and throw it at someone,” Tech pointed out.
“Save your breath—just run!” Echo shouted.
Omega glanced behind her. “They’re turning off faster!”
“Don’t stop! Keep going!” Synnovea shouted, grabbing her shoulder and facing her forward again.
Running too fast to slow down, Omega slid to a stop against the lift doorway, and just as quickly scampered sideways to the panel. “It’s not working!” she shrieked.
“It’s stuck!”
“What do you mean, it’s stuck?”
“Get that door open, he’s almost on top of us!”
“I’m trying, but there’s no power running to it anymore!”
“Well, that’s perfect!” Only three lights were left.
Hunter backed away from the shadows seeping closer, his blaster aiming into the darkness past Synnovea. Behind him, he could hear Tech attempt to revive the flagging power to the lift. Two lights left. He looked at Synnovea. “So we make our stand here?”
“I’m not willing to give up just yet.” She tugged the lightsaber hilt from her belt, letting it slip a few inches further in her hand.
“This place is going to get pitch-black in about three seconds…” Hunter warned, sinking into a combat crouch.
One light.
Her gray eyes met his unflinching. “Good thing I’m not afraid of the dark.”
As she spoke, she spun to the right, thumbing her lightsaber to life as she turned. A thin violet blade erupted from her hilt as the last light snuffed out, carving an upward arc into the blackness that engulfed the last few meters of hallway. Interrupting the downward stroke of a glowing, blood-red edge. The clash of blades outlined the two combatants in a ruddy glow, and Carnage smiled faintly over the hissing crackle of burnt ozone. “Tag.”
A shuddering crash shook the corridor.
At the end of the hallway, flashlights had snapped back on, zipping about crazily before congregating near the door. Four helmets and Omega’s pale face grouped around the thin beams of light.
Reverberating through the passage, the walls, the floor, came the low groaning sound of twisting, snapping steel, like the chewing of an unimaginably enormous beast.
Hunter played his light along the ceiling. “Tech?…”
“I did tell you that this floor was beneath the main hangar,” Tech reminded him. “The explosion likely damaged one of the struts that goes all the way to the foundations.”
Echo swore. “Scrag, like the ‘laser show’ live advert in the hallway wasn’t enough of an incentive to get out of here…”
Lunging forward, Wrecker stabbed his vibroblade deep between the door and the frame, rocking it back and forth. He was still wriggling the knife when Tech was able to get his fingers in the crack, tugging on his side.
Hunter had seen lightsabers in use before, but only once or twice, and never opposing another. He was reminded of the spinning blades in the Killing House on Kamino, only those were machines; the two figures before him twisted in a blur of fatal color, winking in and out in the corridor like a pair of lethal lightning bugs…sometimes almost close enough to touch.
“We’ve got no cover, we’re too exposed here,” he shouted.
The door was only open a handspan, maybe more. Wrecker wedged himself in the entrance frame of the lift, raising his oversized boot to slam at the door. It budged a few centimeters. “Oh, come on…” Bracing both his feet against the door’s edge, he shoved with all his might. A hissing grunt escaped his clenched jaw as the portal retracted forcefully into the wall, so swiftly that he slipped to the ground with a thud.
“Nicely done.” As Wrecker rolled out of the way, Tech fixed his rappelling cable near the yawning mouth of the shaft. Echo followed suit next to him. “You first, Omega.” Slinging her energy bow over her shoulder, Omega knelt by the lift shaft, keeping her eyes on the cable in her hands as she slid down into the darkness of the tube.
“So if one of those supports gives way, this whole thing goes into that big sea of acid outside?” Echo asked tightly, curling his glove around the rappelling cable, his voice hollow in the emptiness of the lift shaft. “See, that’s the kind of thing you tell us before it happens, not during, Tech!”
Slipping down the same cable as Omega, Tech’s flashlight spun wherever he was currently facing as he descended. “I didn’t exactly anticipate that one of us would blow up anything during a data retrieval mission!”
Wrecker jerked in surprise and looked over his shoulder down the tube. “You didn’t?”
“Hurry up before Wrecker loses his nerve up here,” Hunter’s voice echoed from above them.
“Aw, Sarge, I’m not gonna lose my nerve,” Wrecker grumbled, holding onto the cable for dear life. “I might lose my lunch, though…” he muttered, inching his way over the edge of the doorway. “Okay, okay, here I go…”
The yelling and banging at the end of the hall seemed far away, distant. Unimportant. The sliding of the floor beneath her feet was, but only marginally more so. This would be decided long before the outpost sank into the sea. She could live with being a few degrees off-kilter for a while.
Her focus spun back to the combat, her blade rising to parry each blow, the crashing of their lightsabers a dissonant hum that echoed in her bones. Illuminating the darkened corridor like a fiendish strobe light, Carnage’s red blade cut through the air, deflected by her weapon into burning an uneven line in the wall. Several strikes followed in rapid succession, then Carnage and his red blade disappeared, leaving Synnovea’s lone saber glowing in the darkness, highlighting her narrow face as she glanced cautiously left and right.
It was amazing the number of heartbeats her tension could squeeze into a single second.
No. That wasn’t right. Swallowing with a dry throat, she closed her eyes.
“When it comes right down to it, the Force isn’t anything you can see,” her Master had said. “It isn’t a touch, it isn’t a sound, or a smell. It simply is. It doesn’t think, and despite what many believe, it doesn’t plan. It’s only now. Keep your mind in the now.”
There.
Skittering against her blade with a whine that hurt the ears, his red light exploded into view, the two lines of color sawing briefly before she stiffened her wrist. “Not bad,” Carnage murmured. There was a distinctive craaack!, and she pivoted to let his blade shave down the length of her own, the tips of both burying in the floor. The dance of lightsabers momentarily ceased as Carnage’s red blade vanished into darkness once more. This time, Synnovea mirrored his action, extinguishing the vibrant glow of her own blade. The abrupt silence was oppressive, punctuated only by their ragged breathing; the others must have made it down the lift. His low, approving voice cut through the stillness as she edged forward.
“Well played, Synnovea. You learn quickly.”
“My master wasn’t much for dry theory.” She took another step. “He had a way of teaching that kept you on your toes.”
“I see.” Carnage’s strike seemed to unfold from the darkness itself, his lightsaber igniting with a snap-hiss that sliced through the air a mere handspan from her throat. Her own blade sprang to life barely in time to catch it. “Careful, now. This is his tactic, the constant switching between forms? Meant to throw off your opponent, I suppose.”
“A bit,” Synnovea agreed. “But his style is more like—” her knee jerked up sharply between them, twisting her hip to really make it count.
A sharp grunt followed, and Carnage leaned against the wall with a snarl of disgust and pain. His face lost its amused expression. “Not very ladylike,” he gritted, getting up. “However, that means I no longer have to play the gentleman.” He lifted his fist. As he spread his fingers, she braced her feet. She needn’t have bothered.
Lifted almost tenderly in the air, she hovered weightlessly for a moment, her toes scraping the floor as she rose, before being lobbed like an empty caf can into the open lift. Her shoulder hit the doorframe as she rebounded at a crazy angle, unable to slow her rapid descent down the tube. Each collision against the wall sent jagged streaks of white through her vision. A final thump left her gasping at the bottom, but not for long.
Hearing a whistling overhead, she looked up to see a red lightsaber hurtling down the lift tube from above.
“But what about Synnovea?” Omega asked as Hunter hauled himself out of the lift well, followed by Wrecker.
“She’s got her hands full with—whoa!” Wrecker back-peddled swiftly as rapid crashing sounds ricocheted down the tube, bounding loose and boiling out into the room with unbelievable speed, followed by a scarlet shadow. “Never mind, I’d say they caught up.”
And so they had. The violent dance was a stuttering blend of clarity and darkness. Fleeting glimpses of clashing lightsabers, flickering arcs and fans of purple and crimson, were swiftly followed by the abrupt plunge into blackness as the two simultaneously deactivated their blades. A blood-red sweep cut into the dark, meeting a violet wave, and smashed it aside. Suddenly, Synnovea’s cry of pain echoed in the desolate room. Her lightsaber faltered, extinguished by the sudden jolt of agony that sent her careening along the floor, skidding to a stop next to Hunter. Staggering to her feet, her form was lit by her blade as it stubbornly sputtered back into existence with an electric hum.
“Get your team and get back to the ship,” she said hoarsely, glaring at the figure wrapped in cardinal shades leisurely making his way closer.
Hunter eyed the angry red burn on her shin. Even in this dim light, the charred cloth visibly curled away from a weeping gouge that looked like it went all the way to the bone, a mere shaving away from being crippled at the absolute worst time. “Can you beat him?” he demanded quietly.
Synnovea’s eyes flickered once, a pebble of regret tossed into a mirrored pool of calm. “No.” She snapped off her blade, charging into the gloom.
The battle unfolded in disjointed fragments, like snaps of a flickering holoprojector. Brief bursts of light, sound, and movement erupted across the room, followed by darkness so complete it seemed palpable. As the chaotic flashes continued, Tech’s eyes scanned the corridor heading to their exit, locking onto a scomp link nearby. “Echo, I’ve an idea,” he said, his voice low and insistent as he pointed to the link in the wall.
Echo groaned. “Tech, we just went through this—none of the doors work because we took the power out!”
“I know. However, with your help, there’s enough juice in the battery from my datapad to trigger a door override.” His finger pointed above them. “We can seal the blast doors and use them as a barrier between Carnage and our exit route to the Marauder.”
“Great idea, only how do you plan to separate that,” Echo rejoined, pointing to the furious kaleidoscope crackling in an eye-searing whirlwind of light and energy that made it impossible for anyone to discern a clear pattern.
“I can handle that,” Hunter said, yanking his holdout blaster from its holster. “Just get the door ready.”
Synnovea slid backward, her lightsaber shuddering as it deflected another of Carnage's powerful blows. She parried and riposted with desperate urgency, but his relentless assault drove her steadily back. Each exchange left her reeling, forced to retreat a step or two every time she struggled to maintain her defense against Carnage's battering charges. Their weapons cast frenzied shadows, looming larger-than-life on the towering walls.
“Come now.” Carnage’s voice ghosted over her shoulder, soft, taunting. “Can’t you do better than that?”
She was faster this time, countering his strike as it materialized over her shoulder, holding his lightsaber at bay a trifle longer. A fierce grin split her face beneath her blade.
“Yes. I can.”
Jerking her hilt forward, she hooked his blade with hers, stepping sideways to direct the blades into the side of the room. Sparks bounced and flew as durasteel melted, pooling to hard drops as they ran down the wall.
Their blades wove and intersected in a maddening array of strikes and parries, each one blurring seamlessly into the next. As the fight wore on, Synnovea began to gain ground, her defensive posture giving way to launching swift counterstrikes, forcing Carnage to dance back beneath her blitz.
“It’s like a pair of scrapping Lothal cats,” Wrecker observed. “If the cats had lightsabers.”
“Is she…winning?”
From Hunter’s perspective, it felt like the tide of the battle had turned. While initially Carnage’s superiority had seemed absolute, now Synnovea’s blocks had become fewer and farther between, her movements more confident. But…something about the way she sliced through Carnage’s defenses felt practiced, rehearsed. Ruthless. Her usual spark, her fire, seemed subdued, replaced by a cold, calculating focus.
As the clash of blades lit her features, for a fleeting instant Hunter caught a glimpse of piercing gold shining within the depths of Synnovea’s normally turbulent gray gaze, like autumn leaves lit by a warm sunbeam. Just for an instant, then the fight spilled past him again. A creeping sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. “Tech, Echo, hurry it up!”
Tech gave a nod, looking up at Hunter. “All right, it’s ready.”
Wrecker and Hunter opened fire, raining blaster bolts towards their best estimation of where Carnage currently was. Several shots were deflected, two in their direction. “Keep shooting!”
With a grimace of irritation, Carnage retaliated, flicking his hand in a negligent gesture. The air thickened around Synnovea, gripping her with phantom fingers and ripping her from the floor. She flew end over end, careening into the attacking clones, tossing all of them out of the room and skidding along the floor of the corridor. As the cursing trio slid across the door frame sensors, Echo nodded curtly, and Tech’s fingers flew across his datapad, establishing the override. Above them, the blast doors began rumbling shut, cleaving the view of Carnage from the rest of them.
“NO!” Clawing her way free of the tangle of arms and legs, Synnovea flipped onto her feet, racing for the shrinking doorway.
Thundering from the corners of the corridor like giant shears, the two sets of blast doors came screeching together, thundering shut with a deafening crash.
A heartbeat later, Synnovea’s body slammed into the newly sealed barrier, her momentum checked by the unyielding metal. Bouncing back, she hashed at the doors with her lightsaber, scoring smoking gouges across the surface. Turning, she rounded on Tech. “Open the doors!”
Echo stared. “You can’t be serious—”
“Open them, now!” Synnovea thundered, her face twisted in a furious scream as she advanced on them, but her path was abruptly checked by the sudden shockwave of an energy arrow striking the control panel, narrowly missing Tech’s datapad. Smoke coiled upwards from the mess of melted wires and burned circuitry as they all stared in stunned silence at Omega.
Hunter broke the tableau. “We need to go.” Synnovea’s protestations were cut short by his curt order. “Wrecker.”
In an instant, Wrecker swooped in, wrapping one of his massive arms around Synnovea’s struggling frame, pinning her flailing limbs as he ran. Their footsteps pounded out a frantic sequence on the dark corridor floor, the narrow beams of their flashlights casting irregular shadows on the walls as they tore along the passageway. The tiny lights danced wildly, illuminating snippets of pipe, conduit, and bracket in fleeting glimpses before leaping away to splash fitfully elsewhere, creating a dizzying strobe effect that threatened to disorient anyone watching their chaotic flight.
“The corridor’s tipping!” Omega’s thin shriek reverberated against the walls as debris began to slide towards them.
“We’re almost there—keep running!” Hunter yelled, dodging a broken crate as it slammed into the wall beside him. Running, sliding, climbing, they managed to clamber through the door at the end, exploding into the open air, greeted by the honking sounds of Gonky.
“Wrecker, grab Gonky! I want everyone on that ship!” Hunter turned to Synnovea just as Wrecker deposited her in order to grab the droid, jabbing a finger in her face. “That includes you, or we’re leaving you here.” For a moment, her expression was mutinous. “Well, what’s it gonna be?” he demanded, scowling.
“I’m thinking!” she flung back at him, glancing over her shoulder.
“How about you think while you run,” he snarled, grabbing her by the arm and shoving her in the direction of the Marauder. For a moment, she stumbled, and he half-expected her to turn around, but she recovered quickly, pelting along the loose shale of the cliff towards the rest of the team boarding the ship.
As the Marauder lifted off from the sliding plates of rock, Hunter's gaze snapped back to the outpost's entrance. Carnage stood frozen in the threshold, haloed by the dim light spilling out into the corridor. He didn't move, didn't give any sign of pursuit, simply watched as the Marauder surged to life beneath them, its engines trembling with stored power as Tech worked the controls.
Everyone had wordlessly assembled in the cockpit, breathing hard after the desperate escape.
The Marauder lurched forward, throwing Synnovea off balance. But as soon as the stars blurred around them and the ship jumped into hyperspace, she regained her footing - and her composure shattered. Whirling on Omega, Synnovea slammed her against the bulkhead, pinning her there with one hand as she raged into her face. Synnovea's words echoed harshly in everyone's ears as she loomed over Omega.
“How dare you?” she spat, banging her fists into the wall beside Omega's head. Hunter exchanged a bewildered glance with Tech, while Wrecker and Echo looked on warily, unsure how or when to jump in. “You thought you were protecting me,” Synnovea continued to rant, her voice low and menacing, “but it wasn't your call.”
As Synnovea's voice rose, Hunter shot a glance at Wrecker, his nod barely noticeable. Wrecker stepped in, placing a massive hand on Synnovea's shoulder, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Hey, easy there! We just made it out.”
Meanwhile, Hunter moved closer, trying to defuse the tension. “Synnovea, we need to focus on what to do next, not point fingers.”
Omega took a deep breath, eyes wide but defiant. “I didn't mean to—" she started, but Hunter cut her off with a firm look. “Let’s all just take a step back,” he interrupted.
“To hell with that, she ruined everything!” Synnovea stormed, flaring in his face as she shoved Wrecker’s hand away.
Hunter held his ground, his hand on the butt of his blaster, the expression on his face one of caution rather than hostility. “What did she ruin?” he asked softly, his eyes fixed on Synnovea as if trying to read her new behavior.
Synnovea's fist slammed against the bulkhead, shaking the metal as she leaned closer to Hunter, her voice low and fierce. “I had him—I HAD him!” she snarled, eyes blazing. “And this, this meddling little—" She pointed an accusing finger at Omega, her rage barely contained.
Hunter held out his arm, his tone protective. “Back off, Synnovea! We’re on the same side here.”
“He’ll be ready now, I’ll never get another chance like that—” she advanced on them, her eyes on Omega.
“Enough!” Hunter drew his blaster, aiming it at Synnovea. Staring down the barrel of a DC-15, she glared at him defiantly. “What’s gotten into you?” he whispered.
Drawing herself up to her full height, ignoring the blaster, she squared her shoulders, taking a steadying breath. “Nothing. Never mind,” she muttered, shoving past Wrecker hovering anxiously in the background. Stomping into the other room, Synnovea flung herself into the chair before the empty console, her fingers stabbing the buttons, bringing up various holonet channels in a grid on the screen.
“Are you okay?” Wrecker asked Omega,
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered, “but…why is she mad at me? That man, who was he?”
“I’m not sure,” Hunter answered, his gravelly voice sharp, “but I’m going to get some answers.” Over Omega’s head, he directed his thunderous glare at Synnovea’s tensely seated form.
Previous: Ch 9 / Next: Ch 11
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