Episode X Dark Hunter

What I Was Made For

Ben, for this time, had been pinned behind the pedestal that harbored the pyramidal relic, with acolytes shooting endlessly in his direction. The pedestal gave only enough cover to protect him if he crouched and kept his torso away from them, and even then his knees were exposed. Blaster fire whizzed past him with electric squeals, and he snapped his legs straight trying to hide his knees. He fell to his hips; a precarious position to attack from. He threw some blind and useless shots around the pedestal when they paused. They advanced, and from the sound of their voices, more had come from inside the mountain.

Ben looked across at Nolan, as he approached Videsse's collapsed form. A few more steps and Nolan would be on her. Without thinking, Ben snapped his arm out and fired two shots at Nolan, the shots we had already seen Nolan deflect. A rebounding shot landed a half meter from Ben's hip. Another acolyte shot shattered his exposed blaster from Ben's hand. Ben whipped his now empty hand back to his chest.

"Kriff!" Ben blurted the euphemism. All he had left was his blade, and he knew that without the Force he could not deflect blaster fire. He looked at the Vigilance, ten meters away from him. There was no possibility of getting to that ship unharmed. He looked up at the hovering Firespray--what is that kid doing up there, he thought.

It may give us some amusement to know that Cam was thinking something very similar. "What should I do, now?" Cam asked himself, as he gripped the laser trigger, finally recognizing the danger of shooting anywhere near Videsse.

The droid speaker crackled in static as if Raider had exhaled a frustrated huff. "Squeeze the trigger," Raider replied, "Or I will." He spun Slave-1 toward the now two dozen acolytes that had emerged from the mountain. Cam followed Raider's orders and a fiery red hailstorm fell like a plague from Slave-1 onto the sacred platform. A few acolytes were destroyed in the erupting blasts, and six or more ducked back into the doorway, the rest scattered.

Ben saw the opportunity and rose like a flash. He sprinted toward the Vigilance, a few blaster shots lapping his heels as he dove behind the ship's main body. His heaving chest struggled to catch his breath.

Ben had tried to help Videsse, but why? He had said it was a penance when Videsse asked him; and that was exactly true. Penance because he knew that he was about to steal her ship, and thus he burdened himself with guilt. This was not the same Kylo Ren the galaxy had known eight years ago; this was a man that walked under an oppressive shadow, a man that questioned every action he made. He was a man that did not trust himself anymore.

However, that is another story and one that interests this narrator very little. The only thing relevant to our story is that he was about to steal the Vigilance, an action he would soon regret; although if he did not steal it, he would have regretted that as well. Oh, the dilemmas we suffer ourselves. This man not only would regret any action he took with the Vigilance but also he would regret the loss of both Kylo Ren's lightsaber, and his grandfather's lightsaber. There was no escape from the prison of regret that he placed himself in. There was no one that would save him from his internal despair. Still, he is of no more concern to me and this story.

It was at this moment, PZ-85 with Donal following in his wake, emerged from the mountain opening, Videsse expended her last mite of energy, Nolan fell to the ground in agony, and PZ-85 cut down the rest of the acolytes with exactly the same number of blaster shots as there were acolytes; headshots. One acolyte, whether from skill or luck, had fired a true shot, and PZ-85's left shoulder splintered in pieces, leaving the arm hanging by a sparking bent metal thread. The droid's right arm, which held the blaster, sufficiently dealt with that acolyte's aspirations.

Donal rushed up to Videsse and put his scaly hand under her head, completely ignoring the writhing Nolan. PZ-85, however, had not ignored Nolan and aimed Ben's blaster directly at the crown of his head. The man, even without sight, having heard the two arrive knew what was about to happen.

"No!" He wailed, his blackened eyes wide so his cooked flesh was apparent to see. "Mercy!"

PZ-85, as a droid, what could he know of mercy?

"I am only doing what I was made for," Nolan bent over in despair as if bowing in homage. "Only what my Dark Master wished." His voice was pleading, desperate, and broken.

What do I, the narrator, know? Still, I am caught in astonishment, for this craft of metal, wires, gears, and bolts, this humanoid PZ-85 unit withdrew the blaster and stepped back. Mercy? I am unsure, and if I could hear your words, maybe you might have an explanation sufficient. Yet, why must we always dwell on the unknowable?

"Is she g-going to die?" PZ-85 asked Donal.

"Maybe," Donal replied, slipping his arms under Videsse and rotating her so he could pick her up. She gripped both lightsaber blades as if in some stage of rigor mortis. "I've had to nurse Boba through this a few times. She needs a little whiskey. If it's going to work, she could feel better in less than a minute. If not--"

The Vigilance's sharp and loud sublight engines resounded, cutting Donal's comment short. Donal and PZ-85 looked up to see the dark T-silhouette rise and rotate before taking a direct line for the sky. As it rose, two Needle-class ships darted after it from a landing pad above them. Ben was gone and with him Videsse's ship.

"That's not good," Donal said referring to the active acolyte starfighters rather than the loss of the Vigillance. "We need to get out of here, now."

Slave-1 came to rest next to them, and its ventral ramp was already down even before it had landed.

Donal having Videsse in his arms took long strides to ascend the ramp. "Quick, Peezee!" The droid followed silently as if still considering if he should dispatch Nolan, and still did not.

Donal laid Videsse on her back in the passenger seat to the left of the ramp and looked up seeing Cam ogling down from the cockpit.

"Kid," he blurted, "Where's her whiskey?"

Cam looked surprised. "She quit that."

"Shut up, Kid. She needs it. Where is it?" Donal opened one of the sliding storage cabinets; no whiskey, but the heated bacta bag was there. "Perfect."

He threw the bacta bag over Videsse like a blanket, not caring about filling it with bacta, but more concerned with the heating elements. He activated the heating elements and clicked the restaining harness over the top of the bag and Videsse.

"Here," Cam called from above and dropped Videsse's whiskey bottle. Donal caught it, opened, and poured just a capful passed Videsse's cracked and dry lips. Almost instantly the alcohol soaked into her mucous membranes, like water on the parched ground of Geonosis, disappearing as if it had never existed. Donal smoothed the strands of hair that had escaped Videsse's braids and looked hopefully onto her closed eyes. He poured another capful past her lips. She swallowed weakly.

"Uh, Mister," Cam called back. "We better get going! They're coming."

Raider closed the ramp. Four Needle-class ships exited from the fighter bay but had not yet positioned themselves to prevent Slave-1's escape. They restrained their attack lest they damage the sacred ground further.

Donal jumped up. PZ-85 had strapped himself into the passenger seat on the other side of the ramp and was lying ready.

"Get out of the cockpit, Kid," Donal barked as he began climbing up. Cam did, happy to let someone else take the reins, and climbed to the lower gun.

In one move, Donal was in the flight seat with his hands on the control arm. "Let's get out of here."

The seven Needle-class ships aimed their elliptical plasma rays in his direction.