Dark Day: Part Six

Part Six

     A shocked gasp came out of Mission as Lire’s jaw dropped.  What?  Bonded?!  How could that be?  She had not had any sort of romantic encounter with him, so this was not created by a physical union of any kind.  Then again, neither was her bond with Bastila, yet neither of them had experienced anything like this.  Lire tried her best to come up with a relatively intelligent way of posing all her mounting questions to them but failed miserably, instead settling on the simplest way of all.

     “What?”

     “Perhaps I’d better explain,” Master Dorak chimed in as Vrook harrumphed. “You see, bonding is a complicated matter.  This bond with your pilot is similar to yours and Bastila’s, though more understandable.  You and Bastila did not know each other before—”

     “Before Taris,” Vandar offered.  Dorak nodded and quietly cleared his throat; Lire arched an eyebrow.

     “Before Taris.  But you and your pilot have had time to develop a friendship, and that is what this bond appears to be: one created by time rather than destiny.”

     “So,” Lire said slowly, lifting her index finger as if about to make a point, “I’m now bound to Carth, too?  But you said the one with Bassie over there was a whole lot more complex, yet I can never feel any pain off of her.  What gives?”

     “Perhaps it is your training,” Vrook suggested, sounding tired and perhaps bored with Lire’s almost child-like curiosity. “Both of you have had training to block out pain, yet your pilot has not.  Perhaps in thinking back on how he lost his sight, it was as if he relived it in his mind, and he in turn passed that pain to you.”

     “But if we’re just friends,” Lire argued, “and this is a just friends sort of bond, how in the world did I get bound tightly enough to him for his pain to be transmitted to me?!”

     “I sensed your wanting to understand his agony,” Bastila said quietly. “The Force, albeit complicated, does have something of a mind of its own as well as a will.  Perhaps it granted your desire to understand.”

     Lire arched an eyebrow; she had a feeling there was something no one in this room was keen on telling her, some very important little trivia tidbit that was being conveniently forgotten.  She found that horribly suspicious.  As if sensing her mistrust, Vandar moved quickly to placate her.

     “Perhaps through meditation we may discover how this bond was formed and more fully understand its purpose,” he said. “Let Bastila help you.  After all, she is your closest ally.”

     Lire sighed and nodded; she thought this was a little extreme, but if it would help Carth in the long run, then perhaps it wouldn’t be such a difficult burden to bear.  Yet as she took up a cross-legged position on the floor of the Council chambers, Bastila at her side and the Masters around her, she couldn’t help but feel as if they all were hiding things from her, as if secrets were being whispered behind her back.  It was one of those moments where she felt as a young child does when she walks into a room to find her parents talking, but as soon as the parents notice her, they go immediately silent.  Yet Lire pushed aside her misgivings as she focused on Vandar’s somewhat gravelly voice and the instructions he spoke.

     The meditation took three hours too many and Lire still hadn’t gotten any decent answers by the end of it.  Instead, she’d gotten a long lecture from Vrook on how attachments of any sort were to be avoided since they were dangerous and could, according to the Council, lead to the Dark Side.  Lire argued that she’d never asked for this bond, and Vrook just waved her off and refused to say another word to her.  Those Jedi always seemed to be hiding things from her; it’d seemed that way ever since Taris.  It was as if they didn’t trust her.  Oh, sure, they trusted her just fine when it came to sending her out to risk her life by stopping Malak from taking over the universe, but they didn’t trust her enough to tell her things that they could tell Bastila.  She despised that feeling of being left out, kept in the dark—“left out of the loop” as Carth put it.  She certainly knew how he felt on that front. 

     After that fruitless meditation session, Bastila had remained behind with the Council while Mission had vanished into the depths of the Academy’s refectory, claiming she was “starving.”  Lire, on the other hand, returned to the Ebon Hawk to see how Carth was getting along.  When she entered the ship, the first thing she noticed was how quiet it was inside.  A quick scan revealed that the vessel had not been abandoned: Canderous was simply cleaning his weaponry as Jolee tinkered with the medbay’s equipment and Juhani meditated in the cargo hold.  But when she reached the men’s dorm, she found quite a surprise.  Carth was nowhere in sight, and he certainly wasn’t in any other part of the ship.  She’d checked the cockpit and he hadn’t been there, but then she remembered how she’d offered him the opportunity to leave the ship if he wanted.  She just hadn’t expected him to take her up on that offer!  As she stood staring at the empty dorm, a something clanked up behind her.  A moment later, she heard a familiar mechanical voice.

     “Query: Master, are you looking for the defective Republic meatbag?”

     Lire turned and sighed, her gaze falling on HK-47, the assassin droid known for enjoying killing and taking pride in his bloodthirstiness.  She recalled how that droid had cost her more than she ever would’ve normally paid for a droid and that Mission had remarked in shock that he stood at least a full head above Carth and Canderous.

     “Yes, HK,” she replied. “Where did he go?”

     “Answer: The defective meatbag left here approximately three-point-two-seven hours ago, or approximately ten-point-eight minutes after you left,” HK stated rather matter-of-factly. “He took the annoyingly cheerful astromech droid with him and was last seen headed in the direction of the Academy’s courtyard.”

     The droid cocked his triangular metallic head from side to side as if in curiosity as he studied his master.

     “Statement: I don’t know why you insist upon showing such concern for the Republic meatbag, Master.  Probing Query: Are your female meatbag hormones overwhelming you and perhaps interfering with your normally sensible—however pacific—thought and behavioral patterns?  Proposition: If it would help any, Master, I would gladly relieve you of the offending party.  After all, it has been excruciatingly boring here lately, and my circuits crave a good firefight.  And even droids—”

     “I know, I know,” Lire sighed, raising a hand. “Even droids deserve a little fun from time to time.”

     “Pleased Statement: Master, you are learning.  That warms my sadly rust-covered frame right to my behavior core.”

     Lire turned away so the droid wouldn’t see how she rolled her eyes in exasperation.  After a moment, she turned around and sighed again.  Sometimes HK and all his bloodlust could be quite exhausting.

     “So, the courtyard?” she said, and had HK been able to nod, he would’ve. “Well, T3 doesn’t go very fast in grass . . .  His motivators get stuck too easily.  They can’t have gone very far.”

     She turned and darted down the hall back toward the boarding ramp even as HK whined after her about longing desperately for combat.  If she hadn’t needed his translational skills back on Tatooine, she certainly never would’ve wasted her hard-earned credits to purchase him!

     Jogging back through the Academy, Lire eventually reached the courtyard.  A quick interrogation of the Jedi milling about revealed the information that Carth and T3 had indeed set off across the plains and that the little droid had been doing quite a good job at giving directional instructions to Carth so that the two of them would not get lost.  Inside, she was grateful that T3 had more concern for humans than HK did; sometimes the little astro droid seemed almost human himself.  But Lire wasted no time.  She shot off across the plains at less of a casual jog and more at an out-and-out sprint.  Worried?  Perhaps. 

     She almost tore those plains apart that afternoon.  The odd kath hound attack only slowed her momentarily, for she was so deeply involved in her quest that she wouldn’t let anything stop her.  Yet she eventually reached a point where she wondered how in the galaxy she’d ever be able to find Carth and T3, and she was mulling this problem over when her comlink buzzed—and she realized suddenly that she could’ve saved time and called T3 to ask where they were.  Grumbling under her breath at her own ignorance, Lire clipped her lightsaber back onto her belt and tugged out her comlink, flipping it on.

     “Yes?”

     A hurried series of concerned beeps and whistles answered her.

     “Whoa, whoa, T3!  Slow down!”

     One apologetic bleep.

     “That’s okay.  Now, what happened?”

     She may have asked the little droid to slow down, but he most certainly did not.  Instead, the crazed beeping only grew worse, and Lire found herself actually struggling to understand the little astro.

     “Carth did what?  I tell ya, T3, you’re talking too fast!”

     If droids could sigh, T3 would have.  However, the story came in again—much slower this time.  Lire listened intently until the tale came to an end, at which point her eyes widened.

     “What?!”

     Disbelieving and annoyed blips answered her.  She chuckled.

     “No, no, I don’t want you to repeat it.  That was disbelief.”

     One whistle: “Oh.”  Lire smiled faintly, but that vanished instantly as she processed what the droid had just told her.  Her jaw dropped open as she took off across the plains again.

     “Look, T3, don’t move from there.  Don’t let him move, especially.  I’ll be there in a minute.  Just don’t move!”

     There was an affirming beep before the comlink went silent and Lire tucked it back into its safety pouch on her belt.  Then she poured more speed into her stride, drawing on the Force to fuel her feet.  The nearest town wasn’t all that far from the Academy, but she certainly wanted to get there before any more damage could be done.  Oh, she surely hoped things weren’t as bad as T3 had made them out to be . . .  She just kept going.

     After a while, Lire came to the outskirts of the town.  It was a good five miles from the Academy, and she was exhausted.  Her Force energy, as well as her natural stamina, was drained.  Yet she didn’t stop.  She paused momentarily to regain her breath before striding determinedly through town and straight to the cantina, shoving open the door and walking right in.  She ignored the whistles and catcalls of the half-drunk male patrons as she headed for a back booth—the one beside which T3 was anxiously rocking back and forth.  He hooted miserably when he caught sight of his master, who nodded once at him and slid into the booth.  Carth looked hazily up at the sound of someone settling down across from him, his already bleary eyes even more so.  Lire groaned to herself as she frowned ever so deeply at him, reaching across the table and pulling the whiskey bottle and shot glass from his hands.  He whimpered pathetically, but she remained firm.

     “I thought I told you not to get into any trouble you couldn’t get out of again,” she said calmly yet with a tone of authority.  Carth shrugged limply.

     “Y’ di’n’t say I couldn’t come out,” he answered, words slurred. “A’tually, y’ said I could have fun.”

     “Not this kind of fun, Carth,” Lire replied with a sigh. “What’s wrong with you?!  I thought you knew better than to come out and get drunk for no reason.”

     “Oh, I got a reason.  Got a good one.”

     He felt around and found the bottle in Lire’s hands, snatching it back before she could react.  She tried to yank it away again, but he held tightly to it as he chuckled under his breath.

     “Yep, got me a good reason,” he went on. “Y’see, I find it ain’t likely I’m gonna see so much as m’ own hand, so . . .”

     He shrugged and took a long swig from the bottle.  Lire’s jaw dropped open as T3 whistled mournfully again.  After a moment or two, Carth looked up in Lire’s direction again, and she did not like the dull eyes she saw.  So she took the initiative and grabbed his hand.

     “C’mon, Flyboy,” she said. “We’re going back to the ship, and you’re going to just relax.”

     “Don’ wanna . . .”

     “Well, that’s nice, but I say you should, so c’mon.”

     She clambered out of her side of the bunk and hefted him up, and the way his legs turned almost to rubber as soon as he stood on them made her wonder just how much he’d been drinking anyway.  She handed T3 a few credit chips and instructed him to pay Carth’s rather large tab, and the droid scooted away to do so.  Though Carth protested—and loudly—Lire helped him out of the cantina.  She wondered what would’ve happened to him in the Republic fleet if he’d gotten this drunk on duty.  No doubt he would’ve been disciplined quite severely.  She sighed to herself; she should’ve known something like this would’ve happened, so she should’ve been able to prevent it!  She had had a feeling that this blindness would lead to depression that would, in turn, lead to mischief.

      As soon as they left the cantina, Lire helped Carth to the edge of town, where she settled him on a nearby boulder.  She gave T3 one instruction: to call one of the others and get them to bring out a landspeeder so they wouldn’t have to walk the five miles back to the Academy.  T3 whistled an acknowledgment as he rolled off a short distance to get a better signal on his implanted comlink.  Lire sighed thinly and settled next to Carth on the stone, holding him steady with one hand and neatening his mussed hair with the other.  As she gently smoothed his hair back into place, Carth turned in her general direction and exhaled slowly through his nose. 

     “Lire,” he said, voice low, rough, drunk . . . tired, even. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a helluva woman?”

     Lire’s head jerked up at that.

     “What?”

     “Y’ are, y’know,” Carth said. “A helluva woman.  Got this . . . spirit, y’know.  Makes ya strong.  And . . . I seem t’ recall that you’ve got a body that’s like to make grown men cry like little bitty babies.  Yep . . .”  He chuckled almost wickedly.  “Got a backside no Twi’lek dancin’ girl could top . . .”

     He chuckled again, and Lire felt heat rise in her face as she shifted uncomfortably on he boulder.  She knew he was most certainly drunk, but she didn’t know quite how to respond.  After a moment, Carth leaned over and nuzzled the side of her neck.  Had Lire not already known he was intoxicated, she certainly would’ve known it then!

     “That ain’t all,” he murmured at her ear, voice almost . . . sultry. “Y’ don’t tell me t’ shuddup when I come an’ talk about all my frackin’ issues.  An’ you keep everybody in line.  An’ . . . you attempt t’ look nice jus’ ‘cause y’ can.  An’ you always smell so pretty, so feminine, and . . .”

     The next moment, he kissed the side of her neck, and Lire thought she sensed lust in that kiss.  She instantly stiffened, for she didn’t know how to react.  She thought she should push him away and hold him at arm’s length because she knew very well that he wouldn’t do this were he sober.

     “Carth, stop it,” she said, trying to shove him away as he kissed her neck again—much longer this time. “You’re just dead drunk.”

     “That don’t matter.”

     “Yes, it does.  You’re doing things you wouldn’t normally do—Force!”

     Her sudden exclamation was evoked by his hand trailing up her arm and his fingers lacing through her hair.  His other arm snaked around her waist and held her close.

     “What’s th’ matter?” he asked when she tensed and tried to struggle away.

     “You’re drunk—that’s what the matter is!” Lire replied. “For Force’s sake, don’t do anything you’re going to regret!”

     “I ain’t gonna regret it.”

     He kissed her neck again, nipping almost playfully at her, but this time . . . Lire found herself succumbing to enjoyment as his stubbled jaw brushed across her skin.  She didn’t know whether to be horrified or relieved that she didn’t feel like struggling.  She knew Bastila would have a conniption fit if she ever found out, but at the moment . . . she didn’t care.  For some reason, she no longer felt like resisting.  She just sighed as she pressed her cheek against the top of Carth’s head, tenderly stroking his hair.

     “What was it you said I was, Flyboy?” she asked softly, all too quickly drowning in his arms.

     “Said you’re a helluva woman,” came the intoxicatingly husky reply.

     Lire smiled to herself as she carefully pushed back, taking Carth’s hands and putting them to her face so he could “see” her smile.  A lopsided—and drunken—little smile quirked at his mouth, and Lire just reached over and caressed his strong jaw.  For a split second, she wondered if she were wrong to be allowing this to happen.  Maybe she should’ve refused to give in to him from the beginning.  But she wasn’t exactly forced to let this continue until they both had reason to be ashamed.  There were some things she could ignore; the animated pounding of her heart was not one of those things.

     “You know what I think, Carth Onasi?” she murmured, and he shook his head.  Lire took a slow breath and put one of her hands on either side of his face. “I think . . . that you’re a helluva man.”

     She certainly could have stopped herself but didn’t as she gently kissed him.  Her kiss was sweet and tender, perhaps like a teenaged schoolgirl’s first kiss might be, but the kiss she received in return was anything but innocent.  She sensed that it could’ve only come from Carth’s drunken state, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from enjoying it.  The pressure of his lips on hers sent a strangely pleasant tingling all the way down to the tips of her toes, and she readily wrapped her arms about his neck.  The whole time, she questioned just why the Jedi frowned on relationships when they could be so . . . wonderful.

     The moment, however long Lire would’ve willed it to last, was fleeting.  It was cut short by the sound of a landspeeder grinding to a halt nearby.  The next moment, the relative peace and silence of the plains were broken by one horrified exclamation.

     “Lire!  Oh, my Force, eww!”

     Lire rather quickly pulled away from Carth, breaking the kiss and compromising his already tottering balance.  Her gaze immediately fell on a wide-eyed, wide-mouthed Mission, who stood by a landspeeder that bore markings which identified it as belonging to the Academy.  She hurriedly neatened her appearance and tidied her hair, clearing her throat.

     “Oh, hey, Mish.”

     “That’s it?” Mission asked, incredulous. “I come up to find you two practically makin’ out, and all you’ve got to say is ‘Hey, Mish’?!”

     “Never mind,” Lire replied, feeling mortified heat rise in her face. “Just help me get him into that speeder and back to the Academy.  He’s had a little bit too much fun today.”

     “Aw, now, Lire,” Carth complained as Lire helped him to his feet.  Once again, he wobbled rather precariously. “I ain’t so very drunk . . .”

     “Yeah,” Mission scoffed, deadpan. “You always suck face with the closest Jedi girl.”

     “I said that was enough,” Lire said, voice firmer this time.  She certainly was not pleased that Mission wasn’t letting this go.  Mission shrugged.

     “All right, but I can’t say it’ll be pretty when Bastila finds out . . .”

     Lire wheeled around on the girl, face bright red and eyes narrowed.  The hand that wasn’t keeping Carth from falling over in a cold faint was clenched into an angry fist.  It was evident that she wanted this . . . incident forgotten, and she wanted it forgotten now.  Mission just laughed at her expression as she wandered over to help finagle Carth into the waiting landspeeder.  T3 rolled up alongside Lire, beeping morosely.  Lire glanced down at him and sighed.

     “Yes, T3?”

     “Dee-dweet dwoo.”

     “What?!  Well, for Force’s sake, why didn’t you say something?!”

     “Dee-reet.  Dweet!”

     Lire’s face turned crimson again as Mission burst out laughing.  T3 rocked back and forth on his wheels, gazing almost apologetically up at Lire.  She sighed.

     “I get it.  You didn’t want to ruin the romantic mood.”

     “Aw, man, this is awesome!” Mission guffawed. “You even grossed the droid out, too!  ‘Cause, I swear, Lire, it totally looked like Carth’d swallowed your face!  He must’ve been givin’ you a whole lotta tongue action!”

     Lire’s face flushed once more as she settled in the back seat of the speeder to keep an eye on Carth, who was half-passed out as it was.  Mission helped T3 into the passenger side, still chuckling under her breath.  Lire just cleared her throat as nonchalantly as possible.

     “Should you even know that phrase?” she asked.  Mission looked at her, eyebrows raised mischievously.

     “Look, you don’t grow up on Taris without learning something.”  She glanced at Carth and giggled before vaulting into the driver’s side of the speeder.  “One of those things is ‘that phrase,’ and the other is how to drive a speeder.  Now c’mon; let’s get him back before he pukes all over the back seat.  ‘Cause, seriously, that prune-face Master Vrook?  He ‘bout gave birth to an iriaz when I came for the speeder.  He ain’t gonna be happy if this thing ain’t in perfect condition.”

      Lire sighed and nodded her consent, and Mission shoved the speeder into gear, headed back for the Academy, giggling off and on the whole way.  Lire just hoped the girl would silence herself and stay that way before they got back to the others.  As far as she was concerned, there was no reason whatsoever that the others should know this had happened.  Of course, as they sped away from the small Dantooine village, none of them—especially not Lire—noticed the dark-cloaked figure slinking along the outskirts.