Fragments of the Dark

Chapter Five

Celene listened to the Mandalorian's retreating footsteps and let her shoulders drop.

Anger still coursed through her, humming in her blood.

His whore.

She ground her teeth, wishing for another drink. How dare he accuse her of picking the fight? Her fingers gripped the controls tightly as the Falcon rose from the landing pad and into the upper atmosphere. She hoped the velvety darkness of space would calm the roaring in her head but it did little.

She became aware of the stinging pain in her hand, the bruised and split knuckles. She flexed her fingers, hissing at the tiny glass shards embedded in her flesh. Celene charted the navigational course and waited as the ship made the jump to hyperspace. Then she engaged the auto pilot and listened to the noises of the ship. When she didn't detect any footsteps or movement from the Mandalorian, she rose to her feet and left the cockpit.

He was the last person she wanted to see right now. Once she'd calmed down maybe. First the Imp had set her on edge and then the bar... she swore to herself. Food first, then her wounds. After hunting around a few cabinets she finally located the bottle of liquor stashed there and snagged a ration packet. Without her partner around to judge, she poured a hefty amount into a glass and settled at the table.

The ration packet tasted like dirty cardboard but the liquor was a welcoming burn in her throat. She couldn't get drunk, her modified body made sure of that but she could get tipsy. At least for a short period of time.

The floor creaked behind her and Celene let out a deep sigh.

The Mandalorian stalked over, his footsteps somehow light despite the armor he wore. He moved into her line of sight.  "Your hand."

Celene looked at the ripped skin and flexed her fingers experimentally. "It's fine. I just have to dig the glass out."

But he had already turned away to the sealed container where she kept their sparse medical supplies and retrieved a bacta patch, bandage and tweezers. He sat down at the table across from her, his knee brushing hers.

"No- I can do it-" she started to pull her hand away but he shook his head.

"You won't be able to do much using your left hand for this."

He had a point. She slowly spread her hand out towards him again. He bent his head down, the lights reflecting off of his silver helmet. The tweezers were gripped between his gloved fingers. "Some of these are embedded deep."

She winced slightly, more blood leaking from a cut as he withdrew a shard of glass. Celene reached for her drink. "It's fine."

He worked in a silence for a few more moments. "I'm sorry," he started hesitantly. "I'm sorry for blaming you for starting that fight in the cantina." He swallowed audibly, like it was a strain to speak. "It wasn't your fault."

Celene closed her eyes, briefly feeling the crunch of the man's bones beneath her fist again. "It doesn't matter."

He paused for just a second and somehow she got the feeling that she'd said the wrong thing. But that didn't make sense- there was nothing wrong to say.

They were business partners. Not friends.

The sting in her hand brought her back and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around her wrist. She could feel the heat of his grip through his gloves.

"What was in the vial the imperial gave you?"

The question startled her. How could she have forgotten the tiny blue vial tucked in her pocket? Her control and focus really were slipping.

He paused, tilting his head up to look at her expectantly. "Whatever it is... has to be of great value if it's anything equal to the down payment he gave me."

She remembered the slab of Beskar, the tentative way he had handled it. Celene let out a sigh. "It's called Amnetris.  A powerful and rare drug that helps to cure cyber fever." 

"Cyber fever?  I've never heard of it."

"And I suspect you never will again.  It's extremely rare and almost always ends in death."

His body stilled.  "You're dying?"

The tone of his voice surprised her.  "Yes." 

For a moment the hangar was heavy with silence. Then she explained, "Cyber fever occurs when someone is implanted with cybernetic modifications either improperly or without the right time to allow their body to calibrate.  The... people who did this to me were very inexperienced in cybernetic modifications."  Her gaze slid downward and she resisted the urge to rip her hand from his grasp.  "I was one of the lucky ones."

The words were difficult to say. Lucky was an understatement. What had happened to the ones before her... Celene pushed the memories back to the far recesses of her mind.

"They experimented on you?" He asked quietly, something like anger laced in the words.

Celene's eyes fell on her empty glass, wishing she hadn't already finished the liquor. "And others, yes." Strands of hair had come loose from her braid and she swept them from her face with a hand.  "The symptoms are relatively mild, fatigue, headaches, oversensitivity in hearing or eyesight.  Sometimes touch. It starts slow, can take months or even years to develop.  Your body slowly begins to reject any of the cybernetics that have altered you.  Eventually, it begins to escalate.  Coughing up blood, skin bruising."

His shoulders tense, he asked "Are you..."

Celene forced out a dark laugh.  "No.  It's only been a few months.  But don't worry, I'll let you know when I plan on dying."  She tilted her head up, looking at the lights along the ceiling.  "I'm sure you'll want the ship."   

He withdrew his hand from her wrist, the sudden lack in contact a shock. Cold air replaced the warmth. "Do you need me to do the rest?" He had already backed away from the table.

"No," she said, concealing her surprise at his sudden retreat. "I can." She peeled the sticker off the bacta patch and when she looked up again to thank the Mandalorian, he was already gone.