Damn self sacrificing Jedi, Jon thought as he ran. His breathing was ragged and his legs ached, and he held the child as tightly to his chest as he dared. Gentleness had never been something he was good at, and he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that the council had sent Elyon or Sa on this mission, instead of him.
He flinched as he heard a distant explosion, but didn’t dare look back. Some part of him was sure that was the one that had done Creon in.
Damn heroes, he thought again, ducking behind some scorched stonemasonry that may have once been part of a roof for some cover as he ran. Damn their theatrics. Always have to put on a show of how selfless you are.
Artemis and Creon’s BD unit were keeping pace, and the ship was just a few meters away by now, and by some miracle the Collective still hadn’t noticed him. Tam himself wasn’t more than twenty paces from where Jon crouched. His first instinct was to take that opportunity, and one hand reached for the daggers at his belt before the child began fussing, and he remembered what he was here for. Silently, he began creeping.
I’m just a guy with some knives. I didn’t ask for all this galaxy saving, and magic!
Silencing the child as gently, and quietly as he possibly could - and thankfully the roar of the battle was enough to drown out the infant’s cries - he gestured silently for Artemis to go ahead of him, and began creeping towards the transport.
Every step he took, Jon was certain would be the one that tipped off the Collective to his presence. He was close enough now he could’ve reached them with his knife in a few step if he wanted to. Yet they were so focused on the Jedi - the Jedi insane enough to take on an entire army no less - that they dared not take their eyes off of him.
So, one heart pounding step at a time, Jon, Artemis, and BD snuck their way around the transport, and slipped inside.
There was a single Technocratic Soldier in the cockpit. As soon as he noticed them he immediately reached for the console to set an alarm. Jon’s dagger ended the man’s life before he had the chance.
“Alright Artemis,” he said to the astromech. “Time to do your thing.”
As Artemis got to work hacking into the transport’s controls, Jon stared out the window, trying, finally, to see how his friend was doing in his battle.
The answer? Not so great. They had him pinned with a variable ocean of blood red blaster bolts hammering into his shield. Jon was no Jedi, and he knew about as much about the Force as he did love songs, but even he could see the man was weakening, and fast.
Jon looked down to the child in his arms. They’d gone through a lot to get this kid to safety. His family hadn’t made it out. Odan-Urr was this kid’s last hope. Jon had heard rumours about what the Technocrats liked to do with Force-Sensitives they managed to get their scalpels on, and he didn’t believe for one second that they’d be any easier on a kid. It was his responsibility to get this kid to safety but…
Hell, why did Creon get to have all the glory?
“Artemis,” Jon said. “We’re about outta time. Can you fly this piece of scrap or what?”
“Artemis = Can do anythin Fleshling//Jon requires.” she responded. “Interjection = bumpy ride.”
“Specatacular,” he said, setting the child into the pilot seat. The one not occupied by a cyborg corpse.
Jon thought for a moment, then moved said body away from the infant. Even he wasn’t that crass.
“Take the ship, take the kid, and get them both back to Kiast. Send out a priority distress signal straight to Aura’s personal chambers.”
”Query = Fleshling//Jon possesses Fleshling//High Councilor’s personal chamber codes how?”
“...The less Aura knows about that the better,” Jon shrugged before heading for the door. “Don’t wait up honey!”
“Query = Fleshling//Jon intent?”
“Something stupid!” he said, jumping from the ship just as it’s thrusters began to lift it from the ground.