Diaspora - Chapter 4: Cursed

It was early evening, and the sky was supposed to be fairly bright at this hour on Bertina VII, but dirt-grey clouds had gathered over the city hours before. The deluge hadn't stopped since then; a storm so fierce it was almost as if the planet itself was trying to halt the destruction being wreaked upon its surface. So fierce, in fact, that it had disrupted surface communication.

Major Thixs had been forced to trudge the last half kilometer through blinding rain and filthy sludge to regiment command. The landspeeder that'd taken him most of the way was currently shoved to one side of the road next to a junction, where it had been rendered immobile courtesy of an out-of-control supply vehicle.

He sat now on an empty crate, nursing a hot cup of caf. The bombed out confines of some old government building, reinforced by Republic pre-fabs was almost pleasant compared to the front lines. A staff secretary even offered him a sandwich; he'd accepted in a second, of course. The entire 221st Mechanized Division was almost completely encircled by the defending Mandalorians, and luxuries such as fresh food were hard to come by.

“The Colonel will see you now, sir,” came an eerily sweet-sounding voice. It was the secretary who'd furnished him with the trappings of brassdom.

“Thank you,” he replied, trying not to stare. Her uniform was impeccable.

“You can take that with you, if you like,” she said, glancing at the cup of steaming beverage he held.

Thixs' brows rose in surprise, but he nodded gratefully and was rewarded with a sunny smile. He hesitated before heading down.

“Are you new here?”

“Oh, yes. I arrived with the Colonel. I'm on her staff.”

* * * *

 

“Wow.”

“What now?” Soli asked, with a start. They'd been sitting in silence for the past five minutes after entering hyperspace, each lost in private reflection of their destructive, narrow escape.

“I guess I'm surprised you actually did that.”

She flinched at that remark; it cut in a way Atton couldn't possibly have been aware, so she resisted the temptation to snap defensively. Sighing and rubbing at her temples with thumb and forefinger, she tried to ignore the self-hate rising from her stomach like reflux.

Surprised at how unJedi-like it was, you mean.

“You alright?”

Amber eyes peered oddly at the man; concern from this guy?

Or just another probe veiled with his idea of subtlety.

“Not really, no. Why d'you ask?”

“Well, you're lookin' pretty pale. It doesn't really suit your complexion.”

As much as Soli did not appreciate his input in this area, she had to admit he was probably right.

Yeah. I must really look a sight. Need a mirror.

And then she giggled. It was a brittle, vacant, slightly hysterical little sound that almost shocked her back into silence when she heard it. But Atton just had to open his mouth.

“Huh? What's funny?” He was staring at her now; his cheesy grin was gone, replaced by confusion.

“Did you notice a mirror in this ship anywhere? Or a little foundation, perhaps?” she managed, struggling to contain the rebellious peals. They became worse anyway when she noticed Atton's clearly perplexed expression.

“Um...”

Any further cackling or conversation was abruptly cut off by the whine of a charging blaster.

* * * *

“Say again, Ma'am? You were cutting out.”

It was already difficult to hear anything over the sounds of battle and rainfall; the waves of static made things almost impossible, despite all the last minute modifications carried out to boost signal strength.

“Your orders are to contin-- the --vance, Major. We c--not afford to -–draw now. I'll be ar--ving shortly.”

“Ma'am, I don't think you qui—”

“Do wh-- must be done, Major,” finished the clipped, cold voice, before cutting the link.

Thixs removed his headset and angrily threw it down on the comms panel, much to the dismay of a nervous looking comm-operator. Jumping down from the back of his MCV, he gave his executive a resigned look and a curt shake of the head. The other officer sighed and fell into step behind him as Thixs peered through a pair of macrobinoculars.

Both his commanding officer and nearly all of regimental command had been killed by a daring assault behind Republic lines. While they weren't exactly the most competent leaders the Army had to offer, Thixs was beginning to miss their overly cautious, by-the-book approach. Now he was in command of a battalion, and was being forced to send a large portion of them to their deaths.

Worst of all, it was a Jedi giving that order. He'd never imagined they could be so ruthless.

“At least these fracking things still work,” he muttered darkly, adjusting his 'nocs.

 

* * * *

 

Solande didn't react quick enough. To her surprise, Atton had acted with far greater alacrity. An old ion blaster they'd found in a locker back on Peragus had materialized in his hand almost as soon as they heard the noise. He was already blasting away at the strange looking droid standing at the entrance, even as she was hit square in the abdomen with a sizzling blue bolt.

Soli slumped to the floor half-conscious and unable to move. Able to stave off the worst effects of a stun blast—largely thanks to her reacquired sensitivity—she listened hopefully for a positive outcome while trying to work the muscles of her limbs and digits.

This whole lying prone on the floor business is getting pretty fracking old.

Atton couldn't believe this thing. He'd had his share of encounters with battle droids before, but none of them possessed the fluid combat acuity of this particular specimen. Unlike most models which had only rudimentary notions of self-preservation and close combat technique, this one had almost all the maneuverability of a human.

With his back pressed against one side of the tactical display, Atton took a moment to catch his breath and come up with a plan. There weren't many options, and he was about to make a desperate run for the med bay when a loud electrical discharge sounded out, followed by the crashing of something falling to the ship's metal floor.

Scrambling to his feet, he came across the droid's smoking remains.

“Beep beep dwoooooop,” said Teethree, solemnly.

Atton opened his mouth to say something when he heard the familiar patter of bare feet.

“Did you do that, Teethree?” Solande asked, head tilted to one side and an odd expression on her face. After a few warbles signaled an affirmative, she flopped onto one of the seats facing the tac display and stared at it pensively.

“Huh? What is it?” Atton asked. “Do you know what this thing is?”

“None of this can be coincidence,” she began, voice soft and a little distant. “We're being dragged into something neither of us want any part of.” She turned and looked at him, then, and pointed at a closed door in the corner of the room.

With a cold lump developing in his gut, Atton strode over to the door and opened it. Standing right there in front of him was the same droid that'd just attacked them. It was broken, old, and had a dull, peeling, rust-colored finish, but there was no doubting it. It was virtually an exact replica—and it looked like it'd been standing in that spot for a long time.

He even forgot to correct her use of the word “we”.

 

* * * *

Her attire was non-regulation; a few pieces of olive colored light armor, the rest some kind of flexible black mesh suit. One of the compact spaulders she wore sported the winged saber insignia of the Jedi Order. She was beside him now, extinguished saber held in one hand, surveying the broken tableau before them. She'd certainly pitched in after arriving; gruesome remains of rent and headless bodies decorated the path leading up to the rise they were standing on, all while shouting exhortations to surrounding companies. It wasn't long after that the defenders withdrew; yet, it still seemed a little too simple.

“A success?” Thixs grated, barely able to contain his anger. “Nearly half the battalion—three companies—are gone, utterly destroyed—most of those to land mines alone. Barely half our objectives were met. We couldn't use most of the armor. I'm hearing similar stories from other units down the line. I doubt they even withdrew because of us!”

She looked at him for what seemed like the first time, her uniform neutral expression impenetrable to any kind of verbal assault he might have to offer. Yet, there was a hint of something in those amber eyes as she regarded him.

“Yes, the mines,” she said finally. “I regret that, I really do.”

Despite his rage he could tell she was being sincere. Worse still, he had to admit there was little she could have done about that. The Mandalorians had learned damnably fast that many Jedi were able to sense the energy signatures of proximity mines and detonate them using the Force. So they'd taken a trip back a millennia and deployed old-fashioned pressure, tripwire and vibration mines, requiring no energy source. Exposed and under fire, it was impossible to disarm them on the move. Armored units had done their best to run over and detonate them, but they couldn't catch all of them. The results were devastating.

“With respect, Colonel, your regret does not bring back the lives of my men.”

“The lives of your men were spent saving the lives of other men in other units. Third battalion drew more reinforcements to this point than any other; the Mandalorians must really have thought this was the main thrust. You succeeded in surviving at least four to one odds, and even managed to meet some objectives. You should be proud, and I shouldn't have to explain this to you.”

Thixs couldn't believe his ears.

“You're telling me this was just some feint?”

“Your ingenuity kept your unit largely intact,” she replied, calm and detached voice persistent. “We've almost routed their forces on this planet and the 221st was able to reunite with Revan. That's not bad for three companies.”

“Revan. That's why they left.”

“I've recommended that you be transferred,” she continued, ignoring him. “You'll be under General Tagge.”

“What? When did you... you did this before the operation?”

“Goodbye, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

* * * *

A shower, a clean change of dowdy clothes she'd found—as well as, mysteriously, underwear—and a tasteless meal of goop from the synthesizer later and Solande almost felt good about things. All she had to do was focus on not thinking about Kreia's mysterious pronouncements of destiny, Sith-stalking and death of the Republic.

But she failed.

She wailed, cried and even raged at Kreia's quiet insistence that there would be no way out of this, that nothing she held dear would exist if she simply walked away. The Force was with her again. That damnable phrase of the damnable Jedi. And they would find her, and they would destroy her and everything she knew.

It wasn't for her anymore, Soli said. She'd always been in service to someone else, never to herself. Just a person. Just a woman. Just beginning to find an identity for herself that didn't revolve around war, Jedi, or endless altruism. But she couldn't deny the truth of it.

She thought of home, of her mother and extended relatives. She even thought back to their days on Dantooine, a planet she always found mind numbingly dull as a child; of her father and how much he enjoyed the broad, quiet meadows, and how peaceful it had been. She thought of the towering buildings, spotlessly clean avenues and precisely manicured parks and gardens of Anaxes; its comfortable, orange skies. She thought of the friends she'd made while studying on Coruscant; the idealism, hopes and dreams they shared of making a difference in the Galaxy, how liberating it was expressing thoughts and ideas freely, away from the dogmatic confines of the Order.

Loneliness is an oppressive thing, a dangerous thing, and it weighed upon her now as heavily as any burden of the past. No training in existence could stave away the basic needs that come with being human, and Solande had gone without for far too long. She felt small; the dark walls of the room seemed to close in.

Tears welled up and fell freely, then, her body wracked with painful sobs, a torrent of emotions threatening to drown her.

It's not a gift. It's a curse.

Slowly, she fell asleep, sincerely hoping she wouldn't wake up.