Competition: [GJW XII Phase II] Fiction - Survival

Fiction submission for 3415- Manji Keibatsu Sadow

The story is written from Orion's perspective. Since Reiden makes a brief appearance, I thought to include his snapshot as well, just to be safe.

***Outer Rim Territories***
***Nancora System***
***Nancora Prime***
***The Badlands***

Nancora seemed bothered. It often found itself driving its scratching winds in an effort to try and bury the insulting blemishes across its surface. Year after year brought the roving scavengers—seeking loose shards of metal and wiring for their trade value—though this only sought to add to the already substantial debris dotting its otherwise clear surface, because inevitably the planet would unleash its suffocating winds and grind them into the surface. Of course, the vessels they came on took a bit longer to wear down. Not that Nancora minded; it was an ancient rock and possessed no sense of time. While most millennia had passed with the same cycle in mind, this current millennia had come to require much more attention. With the arrival of a stubborn bunch of creatures who had developed ways to combat Nancorra’s gnawing winds also came those who sought to destroy them. Now the planet found itself working overtime to try and groom its surface once again. In one section, where a tower of durasteel stood in defiance of Nancorra’s attempts to bury it, a small vessel rocketed to the surface and ploughed a decent trench through the softer portion of a plateau. Within the cracking metal the planet could feel the energy of three beings, with one having a stronger presence in the Force than the others. The winds began to gather in anticipation. One more organic in need of a good eroding…

Were Nancorra capable of determining the specific designation of modern spacecraft technology, it would have noted that this particular vessel was an escape pod bearing codes belonging to parties within the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. And that the “organics” within were a Zabrak and his closest companions. And that the beings pursuing them were not allies.

*****

The air was dry. Not the normal dry when the summer sun beats back the clouds and sweeps away most of the moisture in the air for a week or so. This was another level entirely. The Zabrak lay trying to get his bearings, while with each breath he took the air reached in and dissipated what moisture it could. Though it caused discomfort to do so he continued breathing lest he find himself more akin to a Pantoran in the face than himself.

He was stranded, of that he no doubt. The burning question he came to consider was just where exactly he was on the surface. He whipped his head back and forth in an attempt to jog his memory. He could clearly recall having to abandon the Plagueis frigate he’d been aboard, and the Z-95 Headhunter that had subsequently shot down his escape pod. Again, however, he could not place just where above the planet the pod had ejected towards. He realised he was not standing already and twisted his body to begin the ascent, only to groan in pain as his bruised body complained. He could handle a bit of pain, he was a Zabrak warrior after all, but the true shock came from his mental link with his pet massiffs. It just was not there.

A panicked Kul’tak gripped hard on a piece of pod siding for a bit of support as he probed the gritty sea around him. His fear was confirmed when he spotted two dark brown piles half buried in the shifting sands. Stumbling over to one, he violently scooped the sand and tossed it aside as he pulled the bundle into his arms. It was Shar’kala, his female massiff. He hesitantly checked her vitals, wishing for the best while fearing the worst, but to his relief he found a weak pulse. He carried her to what little shade the torn pod provided then went back out for what could only be Shor’kir, his male massiff. The alpha appeared to be in slightly better condition as his heart beat stronger, but neither showed signs of consciousness. Kul allowed his two hearts to slow their rhythmic staccato and tried to clear his mind. Survival was now the priority.

The Zabrak checked the pod and began rummaging in what appeared to be the remains of the emergency supply bin. Within it should have been the necessary items to survive for a time for whoever happened to be stranded or whatever reason they needed an escape pod for. To Kul’s chagrin, the crash had peeled the walling off in this section, along with most of the supplies. All that was left available to him were his personal items, as well as a sole canteen of water and a few ration bars, and a flare gun with a chambered round. The charred hole that had allowed the wall to be ripped away led Kul to believe the other rounds would not be found. He did seem to recall a blinding flash when they hit the plateau, now that thought about it. Maybe that was why his head was throbbing so much. He took a quick sip of the canteen to wet his throat before forcefully placing it aside. If--*when,* he reminded himself--his massiffs recovered enough to awaken, they would need sustenance. Kul would sooner starve than watch his beloved pets die before his eyes. And to Antei with the consequences. Still...his situation was dire.

*****

Watching the image pulled up before her on her datapad, Kendra Icasta let a slow smile crease the scar on her left cheek. She had been ordered to follow an escape pod that had descended to Nancora’s surface below, and her readings had just informed her that there was a living being that had emerged from its wreckage. She and the rest of the her party of Huntresses had boarded a Collective vessel and followed it down, and now the hunt was worth it. It appeared she might get to have a bit of fun now. The retrofitted LAAT/i gunship her squad was occupying banked down and emerged from the atmosphere. In the distance a plateau rose to challenge the distant tower that was a hub for some of the Technocratic Guild’s scrappers. The pilot zoomed in behind it to provide them cover from the pod survivor’s view, as well as the rising winds.

*****

Kul rolled the flare gun in his hands as he contemplated his situation. What were the odds that someone would fly close enough to see a flare? Even if it was seen, it was more likely that the eyes would belong to someone within the Collective. Not that that bothered him. Confrontation was his specialty, and it would give him a chance to possibly find a way to contact someone in Clan Plagueis. After a few minutes more of bouncing ideas around, the Zabrak checked once again on his massiffs. They still lay silent in their slumber, their leathery hides rising and falling in jerking motions, but otherwise did not stir. If he had to move, it was looking like he’d have to carry them at this rate. That appeared to be his only choice. Sticking the flare gun within the belt of his armor, he gripped midway up his flowing cloak with both hands...and pulled. Against his raw strength the fabric ripped easily enough, and he continued tearing until he had a full swathe of cloth to work with. He fashioned this into a makeshift bag and stuffed the canteen and ration bars inside. The top end he tied to his belt where the interrupted pattern of the silver Krayt dragon embroidered upon it glinted in the sun. He cringed inside at the defecation of such an important symbol to him, but he reminded himself that survival came before pride. He could imagine the bemused look on the face of his fellow beastmaster and ally, Tahiri Drakon, as she scoffed at his expression. She’d have probably already hopped on her Tukata and ridden towards the closest enemy outpost already, throwing him a look of ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ The thought brought a brief smile to his lips, but it vanished quickly when he realized he heard the roar of an aircraft’s engine. It had to be close for him to hear it over the wind and sand as it scratched everything.

Ducking out from under the pod’s shade revealed to him that the vessel was indeed close. It rested floating above the pod while keeping the plateau on its port side to help block the wind. As Kul emerged he raised a hand to guard his vision as the craft opened its unloading door. He could make out a few figures inside, but the one that grabbed his attention was a Chiss woman with a cybernetic eye. His eyes narrowed as he recognized signs of the Collective, but he crossed his arms and maintained a calm appearance, regardless of being obviously outnumbered. The Chiss grabbed one of the deployable ropes and slid down it to the soft sand below. The others, a mixture of Kiffar and other cybernetically enhanced species, remained on the vessel with blasters and slugthrowers locked onto Kul. She took a few forward steps to get into hearing range, with no regard for the wind pounding her exposed arms and face. Kul rested his right hand over the top of his saber, while his left hid behind his back where he could quickly grab a ryyk blade. Both never took their gazes from each other, two hunters observing potential prey. The winds began to pick up intensity, rocking the vessel above them. If no one made the first move they would both be buried before nightfall. The Chiss spoke first.

“Greetings. On behalf of the Collective I am here to inform you that you are now our prisoner. Surrender peacefully and I will let you live. Long enough for us to find out how deep your knowledge of the Brotherhood goes, in any case.”

Kul’s eyes grew dark as he gave her a hard look.

“I did not come with my clan to Nancora in order to surrender to my enemies.”

Kendra clapped her hands together in elation, and her remaining biological eye glinted with excitement.

“I had a feeling you would say something of the sort. You do not have the look of one who knows fear so easily. A hunter, like myself. We enjoy ending the chase more than leading it. I shall kill you quickly, as one hunter to another.”

As the Chiss began to raise her weapon, a slugthrower that Kul had not even noticed her loosen from her waist, her commlink burst into chatter.

“Huntress, the winds are picking up swiftly. We need to get done here before the ship is dragged down by them.”

As if listening, Nancora’s winds shifted and drove into the exposed side of the LAAT/i. Distracted, the pilot was unprepared for the sudden turbulence and could not correct in time. The vessel screeched as it was dragged across the rocks of the plateau. Its port side repulsor cracked and burst into flame, sending the vessel spinning wildly. A huntress was tossed from the open door, her screams lost in the wind as she crashed into the side of the plateau and fell limply to the sand below. The rest were not so fortunate as the landing craft struck the plateau again and again, the winds unrelenting in their battering of the surface. Finally the metal gave way, and the vessel spun dejectedly to land in on the far side where bodies lie beaten and broken within. Kendra cursed to herself at the misfortune, but quickly shifted back her gaze as her instincts flared.

Kul was no new blood to combat. After years of learning to survive in the harsh climate of Plagueis, he had learned an important lesson: when opportunity presents itself, take it. He did not question the fortune of the winds striking as they did that day, but he did take advantage of the lapse in concentration his would-be captor showed. As soon as her eyes were averted he slipped his lightsaber up and out, but left its blade retracted, while swinging with deadly fury from the left with his ryyk blade. As the metal bore down on her he saw victory in his sights, but a sudden ducking motion taught him that he was against no mere soldier. As she bent low Kendra procured a weapon of her own, a stun baton, and thrust it into Kul’s abdomen. With his momentum and balance working against him now, she had plenty of time to activate the baton’s main function. Electricity pulsed into the Zabrak as he stumbled by her, and his muscles clenched in agony. He dropped to the sand as his mind blanked out of existence for a moment, but his churning hearts allowed him to recover enough to roll and dodge a stabbing heel the Chiss dropped downward.

His anger was now manifesting within him. It was always there, in the recesses of his true self. Though he had tried to temper it with patience, he could not deny the fact that his anger is what made him a strong Sith. With eyes blazing like embers, he rose before the Huntress and planted himself firmly. His vision began to cloud, centered around the sapphire glow of his opponent’s skin tone. His rage locked onto that and allowed it to guide him. He came at her, warrior and predator all at once. His mind registered the report of a slugthrower, and the stinging pain that accompanied it, but he continued to bear down. The rage remembered he had tools that he could use to help defeat this enemy. Glowing fire grew from the cylinder in his right hand. He slashed at the blue form with it, but it dashed away. He followed, only intent on destroying it. His rage screamed for blood, and he would satisfy its clawing hunger. On and on he slashed and punched and kicked at the enemy, but it managed to live a bit longer.

Kendra spun away again as the Zabrak bore down on her. He had become more like a beast than anything, his eyes wild with bloodlust.

*So this is the extent of the Brotherhood and their Force? A pity. I had hoped for more of a challenge.*

As she recovered her balance she slipped her baton back into its sling and exchanged it for a metal whip. With a shake of her arm and a flick of her wrist, the coiled strands flicked out and wrapped themselves around the Zabrak’s throat. A press of a button activated the charge within, engulfing Kul in another torrent of shocking tendrils. He resisted, his rage pushing him through most of the pain, by dropping his weapons and grabbing the whip with both hands. Assured that even he could so easily pry loose the tight cords, her remaining real eye went wide when the empowered Sith pulled the whip with all his might suddenly. The yank picked Kendra up and carried her over his head, where she crashed into the sand next to him. She refused to relinquish her grip on the whip, however, keeping the raw energy pouring into him. She could only watch in fear as Kul towered above her, a hand gripping his second ryyk blade. He raised his hand to bring down the fatal blow. The blade sung in the wind as it fell, aimed directly for her heart. Kendra watched as Kul’s eyes burned crimson, waiting for a moment to strike. When she thought she had her chance, the Zabrak’s gaze suddenly shifted and his eyes rolled back into his head. His body fell to the sand with a weighty thud and a splash of sand. His rage had run as dry as the desert around them.

Cautiously, Kendra poked at the Zabrak with a boot before grabbing at the belt buckle he wore that bore the symbol of Clan Plagueis upon it. She shuffled underneath the cover of the pod’s wreckage and rummaged in the pocket of her garment and pulled out a datapad that had been tucked away. Tuning it to a specific channel, she dialed in and spoke into it.

“Command, Icasta reporting. Tell Field Commander Ordam I have a prisoner he might be interested in. If the intel on the Plagueis scrolls is true…” she held the buckle closer to her cybernetic eye, “...then I have a feeling we’ve found a good lead.”

Word Count - 1750~

3160 pin

I knew I should have stayed on the 'Spear.

I don't really blame the Consul for wanting me on his flagship, because it is exactly what I would have done, if the roles

were reversed. Having a Grand Master on deck is a big deal, and not just for morale. But the clever little bait didn't put

together that the same reason made us a priority target. And now I am trying to hold together a sorry escape pod as it is

trying to make what can only be classified as an 'extreme landing'.

Which is to say, something already basically shot it out of the sky, and I am trying to make it out of this thing with my

internal organs still internal. However many years later, and I still am not the best of pilots. I remember back in one of

the last Sith Rites of Supremacy where I...

And that'd be the ground now. The sound of a crashing spacecraft is not what you'd expect it to be, metallic and grinding.

It squeaks more than it grinds, the alloys crumpling against the rocks and whatever else in ways that set your teeth on edge,

if they weren't already there based on the not insignificant fact that you were hurtling at the ground at the speed of

seventeen cursewords a minute.

The stink of ozone, burning air, and crackling electronics are the first things you notice when the adrenaline slows down.

It's going to take me forever to get that smell out of my warcoat. And of course, the escape hatch is jammed, half buried

under debris and whatever other junk that the planet has lying about on it. Not terribly sure why this Collective set up shop

here, unless they have some sort of giant smelter that they can use to reclaim all of this junk. I suppose it's not out of

the question. Oligard was a resourceful man. Probably still is.

Twisting in my chair, I try to determine how bad the door is shoved in, wondering not so idly if the fool in the headhunter

had any idea who was riding in this pod, or if he was just stabbing at the low-hanging fruit. The way my luck has been,

probably the former, which means I can expect company, and soon. I go to release the safety harness and get up, but find

myself held back. The console to my left had collapsed down, pinning my arm to the seat, a pretty heavy gouge in the metal.

I'm not entirely sure of the provenance of the stream of profanity that rushes from my lips, not that it mattered anyway.

I go to move the fingers, my ear trying to tune into the sound of those tiny servo motors, the fine ears and electronics that

have quite literally been at my side ever since...That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that I can't hear them, and

the synaptic interface isn't giving me any feedback anymore. At the very best, the neural interface is fried. At the likely

worst, the whole arm is scrapped. I find the release at my bicep, detaching the failsafes and breaking free from the

wreckage. If I have the luck to come back and get it, I will. The last thing I need is to have one of these half-droids

bouncing around the galaxy with my arm strapped to them. I'd never hear the end of it.

I take a quick look around the pod, finding a few odds and ends that might make the next few minutes a bit more bearable

before trying to shove on the escape hatch. At least there was water on board. Someone was thinking. I try the door. It

doesn't even pretend to budge. I try a second time, then decide there's no time for any of this. The throb behind my eyes

tells me the door is gone before my eyes themselves do, the thick metal skittering across the ground a few paces away like a

kicked pet.

Brown. This planet is brown, there's no other real way to describe it. A thousand year old rust, dirty sand and filth from

what must have been a hundred wars just caked the entire landscape. It was not winning any awards for vacation destinations,

that was for certain. If I had to guess, this was what they called 'the Badlands'. Inventive.

It occurs to me that standing this close to a crashed escape pod is a good way to be found by things that would rather you

hadn't escaped, so I bolt toward a dune a few hundred paces away. A dune of what exactly, I am not entirely sure, but it at

least gets a little distance between me and the bullseye. Not that the black warcoat didn't make me stand out already in this

endless brown.

The whine of engines reminds me that this was not a sightseeing trip. I close my eyes for a moment, reaching upward, barely

into orbit, finding the point I recognize. Confused and worried beneath a veneer of bravado and a lifetime of callouses.

Kojiro.

I survived. Here.

I speak into his mind, then show him what I see as I open my eyes before stopping, the swell of pain behind my temples

growing. The landing must have rattled me more than I wanted to give it credit for. There would be time enough for that

later, because right now, there are a few things coming my way, and odds are pretty good they aren't trying to sell me a

holonet subscription.

The engines stop suddenly. I let their essences wash over me, reaching out, sensing my surroundings. Three of them. That

tells me that they don't know who was in the pod. Oligard is going to be angry when he figures it out.

The first one falls too easily, smashed into the pod, pulled back and pounded into it again, her neck going all floppy by the

third time her flesh met the metal. I let her go, then send the golden sabers from behind my coat take flight. They drop at

first, then scream toward them, igniting at the last moment, their golden light leaving the second girl in a neat and steaming

pile of what used to be angry. I step up, cresting the dune, calling them back to me with a thought. The third girl has some

spunk, lowering her center of gravity and raising a bow similar to what I had seen Ashia play with. Nightsister toys didn't

seem to make sense with what I had heard about the Collective.

She draws back the weapon and let loose, the frozen in the air in between us as I narrowed my eyes at her. Her boots dragged

at the sand and rust as she found herself pulled forward suddenly, the blast from her own weapon ripping through her as she

stumbled forward against her will. I watch her gasp for breath against the ruin of her lung and probably heart, trying to

place her race. The tattoos look Kiffar, which stands to reason with the skintone, but it was weird. The other two look like

clones. Did Oligard buy himself some crazy premium grade clones?

The dull roar of atmospheric entry focuses me for a moment, looking up to see a lambda-class. Good, Sanguinius did not decide

that he wanted to take advantage of the situation. I imaging that Locke would have. I reach into the bag of stuff from the

escape pod, finding the flare gun and using it, the wide arc of colored light and smoke letting everything know where I was.

It occurs to me how remarkably un-clever that was a moment after I pulled the trigger, throwing the flare launcher to the dirt

in disgust with myself. I watch the shuttle circle, then come in closer. It would only be a minute now, but with the roar of

the engines, I wouldn't be able to hear if any more of those clone whatevers were coming.

It took a moment for me to recognize the armor of the Black Guard, the black washing out against the gray of the shuttle,

surrounded by that fecal brown. He asks the normal questions, almost by rote. I barely answer him, as usual.

"Did you have any trouble, Lord?"

I gesture to the huntresses, then walk up the ramp past him. He laughs to himself. "Only three of them."

Yes. Only three of them. I could handle twice that number with my hand tied behind my... never mind.

Something seemed different to Kelviin about his surroundings. He was no longer surrounded by metal, or people, or anything besides sand, really. And the horrifying wreckage of what used to be a perfectly delightful ship. He couldn’t resist the urge to try and fix it, but his efforts might be better spent trying to find a new one.
[LOOKIT], he called out via his datapad, and his anxious courier droid flitted out from the wreckage.
“D-d-d-did you need any assistance, master?” asked the droid, before it glanced around and realized their predicament.
“MAKER HELP US, what happened?! Did we die? Is this death? Can droids die?!”
The droid began physically shaking and flitting about. After a few attempts, Kelviin was able to catch it and make some internal adjustments to the droid.
“Ah yes, we’ll be fine, no sense in panicking. What do we do first?”
[WE MAYBE NEEDS FIND SHIP. ARE YOU SEE SHIP PLS?]
“Of course!” replied the droid “Brilliant deduction, sir, I will return immediately!”
[NO IMMEDIATE, ARE FIND SHIP FIRST HOPEFULY]
“Right, immediately after- never mind!”

The ramshackle courier droid jetted off into the distance and disappeared. Then reappeared, and disappeared in the opposite direction.
Kelviin returned to the ship and began piecing scrap together. All the major components seemed intact or quickly recoverable, but the hull itself wasn’t going to hold together in outer space. This would have been so much easier if all he had to do was cross an ocean or something. He sat dejectedly on the scraps of metal and contemplated, when his droid returned, visibly panicked, and perforated with approximately as many blaster holes as possible without completely losing function.
“Sir! I have good news and bad news!”
But before the droid could continue, a chunk of ship debris landed on Kelviin’s head and he lost consciousness.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Something seemed familiar to Kelviin about his surroundings. He was no longer surrounded by metal, or people, or anything besides sand, really. And the horrifying wreckage of what used to be a perfectly delightful ship. He couldn’t resist the urge to try and fix it, but his efforts might be better spent trying to find a new one.
[LOOKIT], he called out via his datapad, and the mostly perforated courier droid in front of him sprang to life.
“D-d-d-did you need any assistance, master?” asked the droid, before it glanced around and realized their predicament.
“MAKER HELP US, what happened?! Did we die? Is this death? Can droids die?!”
The droid began physically shaking and flitting about. After a few attempts, Kelviin was able to catch it and make some internal adjustments to the droid.
“Ah yes, we’ll be fine, no sense in panicking. What do we do first?”
[WE MAYBE NEEDS FIND SHIP. ARE YOU SEE SHIP PLS?]
“Of course!” replied the droid “Brilliant deduction, sir, I will return immediately!”
[NO IMMEDIATE, ARE FIND SHIP FIRST HOPEFULY]
“Right, immediately after- never mind!”

The ramshackle courier droid jetted off into the distance and disappeared. Then reappeared, and disappeared in the opposite direction.
Kelviin returned to the ship and began piecing scrap together. All the major components seemed intact or quickly recoverable, but the hull itself wasn’t going to hold together in outer space. This would have been so much easier if all he had to do was cross an ocean or something. He sat dejectedly on the scraps of metal and contemplated, when his droid returned, visibly panicked, and perforated with slightly more blaster holes than before.
“Sir! I have good news and bad news!”
But before the droid could continue, a chunk of ship debris landed on Kelviin’s head and he lost consciousness.

--------------------------

Something about Kelviin's surroundings seemed to meet the word count minimum.

Not finished, but it's what I got done.

Snapshot is checked below as "Locked In (the Desert)".

See attached.

Tried something new - 1st person. Sorry about making you my lab rat.

Additional characters:
- Arvalis Raith #7722: https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/members/7722/character_sheet
- NPC Celia Aurum: https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/members/7722/character_sheet/1

https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/members/13299/snapshots/517/1029

Sorry, Farrin. You're collateral damage.