Ord Mantell orbit, four thousand years earlier
Alarms blared throughout the cockpit as Silas struggled to get the hyperdrive to function. "Main drive is fused, switching to backups!"
"Whatever it takes, I know you can get us out of here," I reassured him, holding onto my chair as the ship shuddered in mechanical agony.
"Just don't expect us to get anywhere fast," he replied, snarling imprecations against the Sith under his breath as he pounded the control boards. "Jumping in three...two...one...mark!"
Through the viewport, the stars extended into lines, but instead of the usual muted pink and purple clouds of hyperspace, everything was blue-shifted, and black gaps were intertwined with jarring patterns. The tableau of utter wrongness was nearly enough to make me lose what little breakfast I hadn't yet digested. "What the stang just happened?!" I had to yell over the blaring of alarms and rattling of loose gear.
"I don't know!" Silas bellowed back. "If I had had a chance to learn this infernal contraption's systems, I might be able to tell you!"
"Can you get us back into realspace?!"
"No, the system's shot to Chaos! The backup hyperdrive is showing signs of life, but I don't dare try and fix it. All we can do now is ride this wave until we come across a gravity well, hopefully one that slows us down instead of ripping us to pieces!"
"Assuming we survive decanting, can we make planetfall?" I asked instead, not wanting to think about the idea of being trapped in hyperspace forever.
"I think so," Silas replied, his voice lowering as the ride seemed to smooth out a bit and he succeeded in deactivating most of the alarms. "Hull integrity is holding, we've got one sublight engine, and the repulsorlifts were unaffected. Sensors and instruments seem to be operating normally, but we won't know for sure until and unless we make it out. We've also got enough fuel for a landing in atmosphere, but your guess is as good as mine in regards to taking off again."
"We'll make it, Silas," I said, my confidence returning though I still had only a vague notion of where that assurance was coming from at the moment.
"You sound so sure, Captain," he replied, turning in his seat to face me. "This a Jedi thing?"
"Yeah," I reassured him. "It's a Jedi thing."
"Good. Jedi senses I trust. My mechanical and piloting skills, I don't."
I chanced unstrapping myself and stood in the small tandem cockpit, looking at the forward instrument and control panels. "Looks like we're on course for Lahara sector. When do you think we'll get there, assuming the backup holds out?"
"We're talking more than a few thousand light years, Laera," Silas replied dubiously. "On a Class Ten drive, we could be stuck in this crate for a good deal longer than we'd like."
"Then it's a good thing we took a shuttle instead of a starfighter," I retorted mildly. "If there's nothing else to be done up here, mind joining me in the cargo hold? Maybe the Sith were kind enough to pack us something useful."
After an assenting nod from Silas, I picked my way aft, descending the ladder to the fairly large cargo area of the Herald-class shuttle we'd stolen from Darth Revan's flagship. Flicking on a glowrod obtained from an emergency equipment box tacked to the bulkhead, I passed its beam of light over various plasteel crates and cylinders. According to their labels, most contained mundane supplies like spare components, tools, survival gear and field rations. A few, however, were packed with weapons, and one held more palatable fare. I was disappointed, but not all that surprised, to find that nothing here was useful for fixing a hyperdrive, but what really drew my attention was the locked and unlabeled durasteel cask that had been bolted to the aft bulkhead. Sealed from the inside, it looked large enough to contain two Wookiees.
"No joy getting this open, I suppose," Silas said as he joined me in examining the container.
"Not sure I even want to know what's in there, to be perfectly honest," I quipped. "Hopefully whatever it is doesn't decide to come out while we're asleep."
"At least we won't starve to death. What say we raid the officers' lunch basket first?"
"Sure," I replied with a grin. "Then it's off to sleep, I'm exhausted."
We spent the next two weeks in hyperspace, cruising along on the shuttle's backup hyperdrive. Silas and I managed to put together makeshift sleeping pallets, and we survived mostly on combat rations intermixed with occasional dabbling into the more delectable fare that had been meant for the officers of the Sith warship that we'd barely escaped. In a miraculous bit of foresight, it turned out that the Bothan had loaded his armor's internal computer with a compressed file that turned out to contain the complete collection of Rickard Whipstaff's published works—in textual form, of course. With nothing else to occupy our minds, we whiled away the hours engaging in dramatic readings of the ancient holoplays; I soon began to appreciate why Nellus V had been one of Silas's favorites. Other plays that I enjoyed included Sestar III, about a licentious would-be usurper of an ancient kingdom; The Taming of the Gundark, which centered around a pampered princess whose coming of age was a bit bumpy and The Merchant of Coruscant, whose unprincipled protagonist wished to obtain a pound of Taung flesh for consumption at dinner.
On the sixteenth day, with both life support and rations hovering at the halfway point, we began to grow concerned about our circumstances. It was easily the longest time either of us had spent in hyperspace, and I could only begin to guess what was going on in the rest of the galaxy. Silas was determined to hash out the possible ramifications of the mission, but I'd put a stop to that after the first three days; that was when he'd gotten out the Whipstaff. It was as we were finishing up the midday meal that the shuttle began to shudder.
"I don't like the feel of that," Silas said, his ears perking up as he stowed the now-empty ration kit in the waste chute. "We'd better get to the cockpit and check the instruments."
As he reached the access ladder and I rose to join him, the ship suddenly rocked violently, pitching us both to the deck and scattering loose gear everywhere as the interior illumination dimmed almost to nothing. I managed to turn my fall into a roll, coming up onto my left knee near where Silas had slid to a halt. The buffeting continued, and it was no mean feat for us to finally ascend to the cockpit amidst the juking and jinking of a spacecraft caught in the grip of cosmic forces too titanic to comprehend. Silas was about to take a seat in the pilot's chair when I automatically grabbed the back of his body glove, pulling him away.
"What the—?" he began to shout, but the protest was cut off as a conduit ruptured, sending deadly sparks emitting from one of the control panels. We both flung our arms before our faces to protect them as the explosion sent us cascading into the side of the small compartment.
And, just as suddenly as it had begun, the rough-and-tumble ride stopped.
"You alright?" I asked as we gingerly resumed our seats.
"Better than I would have been," Silas muttered shakily as he ran his hands over the helm, attempting to deduce what had happened. "I believe that's four times now you've saved my backside."
"It was either that or put out a want-ad for a new pilot," I said bracingly. "What have we got?"
"Not much more than scrap value at this point," the Bothan replied, shaking his head in consternation. "Looks like we got lucky, though; at least we're back in realspace. It seems as though we got yanked out by a gravity well—and within close proximity of a habitable world, too."
"I told you we'd make it, love," I replied, smiling broadly and patting his shoulder. "Do we at least have communications?"
Silas tapped another panel. "The comm system's still online; looks like we've got everything from radionics to HoloNet transceivers. Trouble is, the HoloNet's not accepting my queries and there's no sign of a hypercomm beacon within ping range. The good news is that we're being bombarded with radio transmissions, both audio and visual."
"Any chance that these transmissions will be useful in finding out what they are and who's sending them?" I asked, concern mounting. Something serious had to have happened if a fully-functional HoloNet connection couldn't find the HoloNet. "I'd hate to go down there without intelligence."
"I wish I could give it to you," Silas replied mournfully. "But at our orbit, the feed is so thick I couldn't even begin to separate the tangle of frequencies. Line-of-sight might help thin things out, if we can make planetfall undetected."
"What about sensors, then? Can you tell what the planet below is like?"
"Negative, the whole system's shot save for visual scanners, and they're barely functional." Silas turned in his seat to look at me. "Judging from what is working, I'd say we've happened upon a planet that has spawned its own pre-hyperdrive civilization."
I nodded at this, then leaned back into my chair to relax into the Force. Following its currents, I extended my awareness to the world below, finding it teeming with life in all its myriad forms. It felt like an exquisite jewel, crafted of the energies of existence, calling to me like a magnificent trove of treasures too valuable to measure. The harmonics of nature within its varied ecosystems intermingled like no other world I had ever visited, and old feelings of belonging began to pound within my breast. This was where I had been led, and though the circumstances could have been more pleasant, at that moment none of it mattered. I was here, now, and with the man I loved.
But first, we had to land. Once again letting the Force guide me, I attempted to feel for the most inviting population center, only to find that they were strangely closed-off. Oh, I could certainly feel the life-essence put out by the native flora and fauna, but in the areas where sentient beings would likely congregate, the space felt muted somehow, like someone had shrouded every thinking mind with the mental equivalent of a diffuser mat. I opened my eyes at that point to find Silas staring at me, the concern in his brow mirrored by the rippling of his neck fur. "Just pick a city and take us down, I guess," I finally said.
"We'll be going down alright, but I doubt this crate will ever get back up again," he said. "Not without a complete overhaul, at least."
"We'll deal with that when the time comes, Silas," I replied.
"Alright then. May as well buckle up, Laera; this could get a little bumpy."
"Indignant: Bumpy?" said a menacing artificial voice that was hissy and raspy at the same time. "Exclamation: That had to be the 'bumpiest' reversion to realspace that has ever been endured by droid-kind! Statement: It is clear that the meatbags before me must be highly intoxicated..."
The two-meter tall rust-red automaton climbed the ladder with surprising grace, but what was more unexpected was the high-powered blaster carbine he was using to cover us. "Well, that solves one mystery," Silas quipped wryly, and I barely managed to suppress a chuckle.
"Query: What is so humorous, female meatbag?" the droid demanded.
"Oh, nothing," I said, hastily reconfiguring my face into something meant to resemble genuine shock and a hint of fear. This droid was of a make I'd never encountered before; it was definitely a combat unit, but it had none of the characteristics of any sentinel or assault droid variants I'd ever seen. The head was bulbous at the top, with a pair of small yellow photoreceptors set astride a grille-like vocoder. Its body and limbs were skeletal in appearance, with its chassis resembling a number of cylinders welded together. Its appearance was clearly meant to convey menace and induce anxiety; indeed, it clicked and clanked with every movement in a manner that had to be deliberate. "What is your designation, and why are you here?"
"Statement: That is none of your business, meatbag," the automaton replied sharply. "Threat: You will take this vessel away from the planet below and plot a course for the Corellian system. Now."
"Or what?" I asked simply.
"Warning: Or I shall blast you both this instant, and do it myself!"
"I don't think so," I said in an undertone. Reaching out with the Force, I lashed at the droid before it could react, sending it slamming into the bulkhead and ripping the blaster from its grip as it flew. While the unit was falling to the deck, I snagged its weapon in my free hand, aiming the bulky carbine at its former owner's chest. The droid, knowing it had been caught unawares, slowly rose back to its feet.
"Nice going, Laera," Silas nodded.
I kept my gaze firmly on the combat droid, however; my eyes bored into its photoreceptors and my tone was low and deliberate. "I'll say it again, droid. What is your designation, and why are you here?"
The automaton seemed to consider his options for a few moments. Then, as though a switch had been flipped somewhere in its electronic brain, it seemed to adopt an almost servile pose. "Explanation: This unit is designated HK-47, Master, and it is a highly-skilled assassin droid of unrivaled sophistication. Addendum: However, it clearly was not as skilled as its maker would have liked."
I chanced a quick glance back at Silas. "You ever heard of that designation?"
He shrugged. "Well, there's HK-01 of course, and that droid rebellion he started about sixty or seventy years back. Czerka Corporation at one time manufactured units in the HK line, but we've never heard of a -47 variant. And yes, the ones we knew about were assassin models."
"Statement: I was not created by Czerka, Master. Their earlier efforts were crude and inefficient. I was in fact manufactured by the Sith Empire, the initial unit was constructed and programmed by Darth Revan himself. Or so I have been told."
"Awfully talkative for an assassin," Silas observed.
"Warning: Only to my Master, you flea-bitten meatbag. Clarification: My Master is the human female sitting in the passenger seat of this shuttle—the Sith Lord who defeated me with a mere thought. Observation: Perhaps it was because she was dressed in a simple body glove that I failed to recognize her as such."
I immediately burst out laughing, doubling up as the gales of mirth exploded out of me so that I almost dropped the heavy carbine. The droid made no move toward the weapon however, which struck me as odd even as I giggled myself silly.
"Query: Was it something I said, Master? I did not think that this situation was particularly humorous."
Finally able to wrestle myself back under control, I stood up, hefted the carbine to shoulder arms, then looked the droid in the faceplate once again. "Are you ready to serve me, droid?" I asked brusquely, letting a hint of veiled threat creep into my voice.
"Affirmation: As you command, Master, so shall I obey."
"And I have your service no matter what?"
"Repetition: As you command, Master, so shall I obey."
"Excellent," I said, my tone switching from Sithy to downright perky. "Then you should know that I am actually a Jedi Knight and a captain in the Republic Marines. Sixteen days ago we—that is to say, the Bothan and I—escaped from the battle that saw your beloved Darth Revan captured. And my Bothan friend here is actually a senior naval lieutenant serving with Republic Intelligence."
There was a pregnant pause while the droid considered this. "Observation: Master, I am deeply disappointed in you."
"Get used to it," Silas interjected bluntly, a snarl curling his lips. "We're not exactly thrilled to have a Sithspawned assassin droid along for the trip."
I plastered a big, glowing smile onto my face then strode the three paces toward the droid as though meeting a cherished companion who had been absent for years. Then I shoved the blaster carbine roughly into its arms and patted the top of its head none too gently. "No killing unless I say so, got it?" I said sweetly.
"Regret: As you command, Master, so shall I obey."
“Good. Because I would hate to have to carve you up for scrap when we might still need your services,” I said under my breath before turning and resuming my seat. “Silas, take us in. Before I change my mind about this...thing.”
As predicted, taking the damaged shuttle into the atmosphere was quite a harrowing experience. As the air became thicker, things got so bad that I very nearly lost my lunch; it was worse by far than any combat drop that I'd endured during my career as a Marine. The ship rolled, rattled, and damn near shook itself apart as we continued to lose altitude, and the viewports soon became obscured by the fires of atmospheric reentry. I clutched the armrests of my chair in a death grip despite the straps that secured me, hoping that we wouldn't slam into a pocket of heavy turbulence or, even worse, a thunderstorm. The grueling ordeal lasted for at least five minutes, before the braking thrusters fired and the repulsorlifts engaged in a desperate attempt to bleed off velocity.
"Brace for landing—this one's gonna hurt!" Silas yelled as the shuttle bucked still harder. We'd plotted a course that would take us near a lake, so that if things didn't work out as planned, we could try for a water landing that would, theoretically, mean the difference between survival and splattering ourselves over the landscape. A keening wail erupted as the repulsorlifts strained against the forces of gravity, until we finally impacted the surface.
The abruptness nearly tore our seats from the deck; the assassin droid, not having secured itself, was thrown off its feet once again. The cockpit was plunged into near-total darkness as the ship's powerplant shut down, with only a few curtains of light piercing the shroud of charred transparisteel. A subtle yet noticeable ticking began to reverberate throughout the hull as it cooled from the descent.
"You okay?" I asked Silas, massaging my ribcage as I unbuckled the seat harness. Nothing broken, but there might be some bruising...
"Nothing a good nap wouldn't cure," he groaned in response. "However, I am required to inform you that any landing you can walk away from is a good one."
"You say that like you don't believe it," I said, helping the Bothan to his feet and giving him a reassuring peck on his cheek.
"Request: Master, please tell me that the meatbag at the controls is not a certified pilot," the droid put in as it got back to its feet.
"Shut up," I grunted as Silas and I descended the ladder to the lower compartment and the exit. He walked with a slight limp, as though he'd banged his left leg on something during the crash (I was still hesitant to call it an actual landing). Motioning for him to stay back, I went ahead and cranked the manual actuator in order to open the egress hatch. The droid took up station at the back of the hold, clanking as it walked, aiming its carbine down the descending ramp. Silas accepted his sidearm from me after I'd summoned our weapons with the Force.
"Cover me," I said in a whisper, glancing back at the mechanical murderer before walking into the brilliant shaft of sunshine ahead.
My first impression of this world upon setting foot on its surface was that the gravity was lighter than standard, and that its oxygen content was above the norm. Breathing in the sweet-scented air made me feel alive and invigorated, and the sun was warm on my face as I stepped out from under the shuttle's shadow. Lightsaber and blaster pistol tucked into loops in the body glove that I wore, I put my right hand to my brow to shield my eyes as I gazed upon the landscape.
The vista before me was of rolling hills covered with blue-green grass, broken only by a few clusters of buildings that bordered the lake to the right of our landing zone, as well as a few copses of tall trees here and there. The sun was bright but not harsh, the ambient temperature was mild and a pleasant breeze rolled off the water. It felt good as it rustled my hair, and I caught myself searching for a familiar scent on the wind. A few broken clouds scudded across the azure sky, accompanied by a flock of quite large birds that glided serenely by; as I watched, one of then dove toward the ground and came back up with something clutched in its talons. By contrast, the spot where the shuttle had impacted was bare dirt, charred slightly by the heat put out by the ion engines and repulsorlifts. One of the shuttle's landing legs had collapsed, and it was streaked with scorch marks, particularly around the area where the errant turbolaser shot had grazed the hull. A thin but noticeable pall of gray smoke rose gently from the wreck, carried aloft by the wind.
Neither seeing nor sensing any other life forms of note within my immediate vicinity, I began to scrutinize the structures on the far side of the lake. They seemed to be residences, but the architectural style seemed more appropriate for a desert planet. Domes topped multileveled cylinders, and most of them shared similar hues, ranging from lilac to violet; no more than four of these dwellings were grouped together in any one cluster. It was unclear if they had been painted that way, or if this was the natural color of the material used in their construction. The grass itself seemed to be surprisingly well cared for, or perhaps it just grew naturally short. Here and there, evidence of a network of interlaced roads was visible.
"All clear," I called as I walked back toward the ship. "But let's suit up just in case, someone's bound to have seen our less than stellar landing, and I want to be prepared."
Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. The rough ride had scattered our equipment, and we had to search the entire cargo area to make sure we had everything. By the time we were all geared up and ready to go with weapons in hand, the faint drone of engines could be heard off in the distance. As I'd predicted, someone had come to investigate.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Silas said as the three of us descended the ramp.
Three wheeled vehicles, each one painted black and white and topped with lights that flashed red and blue, were rolling right toward us in a triangle formation. Kicking up dust as they continued to approach, whoever was at the controls of the lead groundcar triggered some sort of siren; this continued until all three of them stopped and took up station about a hundred meters back from where we stood. Doors opened and a quartet of tall, armored figures emerged from each one, taking up positions and drawing what looked like slugthrower pistols.
"Zoet! Jeto vasi kei'geht!" one of them shouted as they took aim at us. "Kei'geht! Kei'geht!"
Though the words were incomprehensible, through the Force I could gain a vague impression of the intent—it was definitely an order of some kind. Holstering my blaster and motioning for Silas and HK-47 to do the same, I raised my hands and reached out toward the natives with my mind.
"We are not here to cause trouble!" I called back, then very slowly I removed my helmet, Silas doing the same. This caused a stirring amongst the gathering of troopers, and a sudden spike of emotion indicated that one of them had come to within a micron of opening fire on us.
Six figures, including the person who had issued the initial order, detached themselves from the gathering of armed natives and began to approach cautiously, weapons still drawn and trained on us. As they drew closer, I recognized that they were taller than Silas and I by at least half a head and that they were all female; or, at least, feminine in form. This group continued to pace toward us, halting at about thirty meters away. The leader approached by another ten. "Yuv te iti?" she asked, her veiled eyes wide behind her visor.
"Observation: Master, I believe I almost understood that," the assassin droid said suddenly. "Explanation: This being is speaking an offshoot of an ancient trade language that no protocol droid in the Republic would know, but it is part of a special suite that was programmed into the HK-47 line by the Sith."
"Spit it out, then!" I hissed.
"Translation: She wishes to know who we are, Master."