Chapter Fifteen

Skeet leaned against his speederbike, hands gripped tightly to the steering handles, legs working although he seemed to be doing little to propel himself. Emag had an arm around his shoulders, pulling on his nephew hard, moving to the burning repulsortank and the open bay doors quickly. Eilen had her pistol in hand, knowing that the explosion was going to attract more Imperials. She wiped her blurred eyes with and angry hand.

The fire raged from the wrecked tank, flames spewing from its cracked energy core and blowing out over the street like a flame-thrower. What was left of Brey and his speeder wasn’t evident; it was as if the two vehicles had become as one, with hardly enough left to identify as the original craft.

As the three approached they all kept their eyes on the blasted door, moving the bike around the wreck and over the rubble it had caused. Beyond them was the Happy Contriver, seemingly undamaged from the blast. They kept their eyes on the target, hope of escape finally filling their hearts. They also kept their eyes on it so that they didn’t have to look at the burning wreck in case they saw something they didn’t want to see.

Emag pulled at Skeet as they heaved the speeder over the rubble.

“Come on, Skeet!” Emag shouted as his nephew seemed to sag. “Don’t give up now! Eilen, get the ship started.”

Skeet reached into the jacket pocket and pulled out a thick plastic wallet, which contained the details of the vessels start-up sequence and its passcards. He handed it to Eilen and she ran to the freighter. Emag grabbed Skeet by the shoulders and shook him hard, Skeet’s head nodding back and forth like his neck was made of rubber.

“Skeet!” he roared directly into his face. Skeet flinched and looked at his uncle who appeared out of focus through his tear-filled eyes. “Skeet! Get it together!”

“Brey...” Skeet croaked.

“Brey’s gone! We’ve got to go! Now!”

It was if someone had splashed cold water into Skeet’s face and he pulled from Emag’s grip. He steadied himself on the speederbike and gave himself a moment to catch his breath.

“Right... right!” he suddenly exclaimed, standing to his full height and running the speeder to the cargolift doors. “Tell Eilen to open up the cargolift!” he shouted.

“Leave the bike!” Emag shouted back and gestured to the open entry ramp, but Skeet ignored him and headed for the rear of the ship. Exasperated and knowing that Skeet’s mind wasn’t clear from the shock of witnessing Brey’s sacrifice, Emag ran up the ramp and shouted instructions to Eilen who was powering up the ship.

The cargo lift lowered and Skeet began pushing his vehicle onto it. Without warning one of the lifting struts of the lift erupted, and Skeet spun to see half a dozen Stormtroopers moving in a combat stance over the rubble. Sparks rained down on Skeet as another shot hit the underbelly of the ship and he dived over the craft as more bolts flew at him.

He swore as he realised he was on the wrong side of the ramp to activate the lift controls. The Stormtroopers were closing in; moving into the bay and weaving from side to side to avoid any possible return fire. Some stopped and gave covering blasts as others moved forward, taking positions in the rubble from the door and trying to get a bead on Skeet.

He was unarmed. Throughout the flight from the estate he had never even thought about acquiring a weapon. He closed his eyes and bawled for someone in the ship to raise the cargolift. Between the sound of the roaring engines and the fact that the inner doors were probably sealed Skeet doubted whether they heard him.

There were more blaster bolts, which echoed around the bay. One hit his bike and he swore, but then the explosions around his head stopped. There was still weapons fire but it appeared to be aiming away from him. The Stormtroopers were shouting things unintelligible and Skeet felt a wave of shock sweep from their position. He could also hear a faint humming noise, like a loose power panel or interference over a communications speaker. Slowly, he raised his head over the top of the bike.

He knew before he saw the dark blue figure that it was the being from the Malevolent. The tall nightmare literally oozed fear and darkness, which assaulted Skeet’s senses. He had a strange weapon in his hand, a small cylinder with a long spike at one end and an even longer green energy beam from the other, giving the appearance of a sword of pure light.

Fuida Galgen-Jonas’ face swam into his mind. And the Jedis, the peacekeepers and ambassadors of the Old Republic, swung their lightsabres with ease and flowed like a dancer as they defended the weak and helpless...

The figure leaped into the air, somersaulting over the startled trooper who fired at him and still missed, even at point-blank range. He landed behind him and with one swift stroke had cut him down, the Stormtroopers back exploding into sparks. There were already three bodies on the ground.

Skeet could see another trooper coming up behind him, his blade apparently facing forward to do little good against the raising blaster rifle, but suddenly his hand went into his robes and produced another blue blade which hissed into life and stretched out behind him, the blaster bolt being deflected by the light and ricocheting off and into the shooter’s compatriot, who staggered for a moment and then fell to the ground. The figure spun, the cloak splaying out around him, and leaped to the Stormtrooper. Both blades together he swung down at the Imperial, cutting two charred lines across his white armour. The trooper was dead before he had even realised what had happened.

Skeet was already up and moving to the lift controls but the figure suddenly turned to face him from the edge of the landing bay. Both green and blue lightsabres were humming softly; he held them easily with both blades stretching out either side of him.

Come to me, boy.

The words appeared in Skeet’s mind as if someone was whispering in both his ears and yet he couldn’t feel breath on his face. He stared at the figure, startled.

Come to your master.

Skeet stood rock still and stared at the apparition as it started to slowly walk forward.

Take the blade. Join me.

The figure held up the shimmering blue-beamed lightsabre. The being exuded evil, the darkness of his soul seemed to leak from under the robes and sweep across the ground. It felt to Skeet that the darkness was clawing at his feet, trying to draw him down.

It felt so easy. The dark, although it scared him blind, was beckoning to him, seemed almost inviting as the being came closer. He found it easier to breath, now, easier to think. It beckoned him seductively. He took a step off the ramp...

“Skeet!” Emag appeared at the top of the cargolift inside the ship, his eyes staring with fear at the figure and then down at Skeet. “No!” He slammed his hand on the upper control panel and the lift started to rise. Skeet, startled from his thoughts and one foot off the ramp, leaped back. Only one thought was now in his mind... escape to Tatooine! As the ramp raised, the figure roared and leaped forward, blades whirling.

The ramp sealed, gas escaping from hydraulic lifters and spewing out over the bay.

Arcc Nedeen roared his frustration. He slammed the lightsabre into the underbelly of the ship and started to push, hoping to hole the vessel, hoping to severe a major system. As the blade slipped in and started to superheat the metal around it to white-hot proportions the Happy Contriver began to rise. The blade came free and Arcc roared again.

His cloak billowed out from the vessel’s exhaust to reveal close-fitting clothes that were little more than dark blue strips of cloth wrapped around him like bandages. He raised each lightsabre into the air and screamed, his jaw seeming to dislocate and his grin separating to expose a mouth that seemed devoid of internal organs. His mouth opened impossibly large and the scream of frustration and anger bounced from the walls.

The mouth closed and he watched the ship rise.

There were blaster shots from behind, as Queed appeared, his rifle pumping shot after shot into several Imperial troopers as they approached the bay. He thumbed a catch on the side of the weapon and a small point of white light shot from a barrel under the main one, speeding across the open road and into the centre of the troops. The explosions flung bodies into the air and forced the others into cover.

Queed leaped to Arcc’s side.

“It’s getting dangerous down here,” he said. “What happened?”

“They escaped.”

“My ship’s two bays down, we can go after them. Do you know where they’re headed?”

Arcc closed his eyes and filtered through the emotions of the moment. His mind latched on to the very last though that had gone through Skeet’s untrained mind.

“Oh, yes.”