The hab block shuddered as it descended through Tythas City’s atmosphere, the vibration almost soothing in its regularity. But Jovian, standing in the control room with the engineers and soldiers, knew better. He felt the shift, that telltale deviation in the thrusters, like the tremor before an earthquake. The hair-thin scar along his cheek tightened as he clenched his jaw, his crimson lekku twitching in anticipation of disaster. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered, his voice low, but carrying an edge of authority.
His crimson eyes, still glowing faintly from the internal power that pulsed through him, scanned the room. The engineers worked at their stations, oblivious to his mounting concern. They were too used to minor malfunctions, the usual chaos that came with deploying Mon Calamari habitation blocks. But Jovian wasn’t. His lekku draped across his shoulders, their intricate tattoos shifting as he moved, a silent testimony to years of violence and captivity. He was no longer a mere ornament, no longer the slave he once was.
The suit of dark, ceremonial armor he wore made him feel invincible — and yet, the feeling of danger prickled at the edge of his mind, more than just intuition. Something deeper, darker, stirred inside him, warning him of the storm to come.
The command panel flickered. A voice crackled through the comms, panicked, though the words were barely decipherable through the interference.
“—thruster malfunction—course deviation—”
Jovian didn’t wait for confirmation. He turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he stormed toward the main viewport, where the glowing outline of Tythas City’s terraformer loomed in the distance. Too close. The hab block was veering off course, inching toward the massive structure meant to terraform the planet into something livable. One of the engineers, a Mon Calamari with wide, panicked eyes, leapt from his station, running calculations on a nearby terminal.
“We’re going off course!” he yelled. “The thrusters — they’re malfunctioning again! We’re going to hit the terraformer if we don’t correct this now.”
The room erupted into chaos, engineers shouting over one another, soldiers barking orders, trying to secure the situation. Jovian watched the chaos unfold, his gaze cold and calculating. The urge to take control burned inside him, but the darkness within urged patience. The solution would present itself. It always did.
“Can we shut down the malfunctioning thrusters remotely?” one of the engineers asked.
“We can try, but it’ll take time,” came the reply from another.
“Time we don’t have,” Jovian said, his voice cutting through the noise. His piercing red gaze locked onto the lead engineer. “What’s the manual override procedure? How do we stop this thing from smashing into the terraformer?”
The engineer blinked, caught off guard by the Twi’lek’s sudden demand. “Manual override? We’d have to go outside — EVA suits, thruster controls are external. And even then, with the speed we’re descending—”
Jovian nodded, already moving. “Get the suits ready.”
“I—what? Are you serious? That’s insane!” the engineer sputtered.
Jovian turned, his movements graceful yet filled with tension, his crimson skin practically glowing in the dim light of the control room. “The choice is simple,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with an undercurrent of barely restrained fury. “You either get the suits, or we all die when this block crashes into the terraformer.”
A silence fell over the room. For a moment, the only sound was the distant roar of the malfunctioning thrusters, vibrating through the metal walls of the hab. Then, reluctantly, the engineer nodded.
Minutes later, Jovian stood in the airlock, the EVA suit constricting around his frame. The sensation was suffocating, a stark reminder of his time in captivity, but he pushed the memories aside. The task ahead required focus, not the ghosts of his past. He flexed his fingers inside the thick gloves, feeling the weight of the suit restrict his movements. The helmet hissed as it sealed, and his breath echoed in his ears, steady but tense.
Behind him, a team of soldiers and engineers prepared for the dangerous task of venturing outside. Their fear was palpable, their movements hesitant. Jovian could sense their unease, and part of him relished it. They didn’t know who he truly was, what he was capable of. They saw only the surface, the scars and tattoos, the armor that whispered of violence.
The airlock hissed, and with a violent jerk, the outer door slid open. The howling winds of the atmosphere buffeted against them, and the moment they stepped outside, they were greeted by the dizzying sight of Tythas City far below, the terraformer gleaming ominously in the distance.
Jovian activated the magnetic clamps on his boots, his steps steady as he moved across the exterior of the hab block. The others followed, their voices crackling over the comms, a mixture of fear and determination.
“We need to reach the starboard thrusters first,” one of the engineers said, his voice trembling slightly. “They’re the ones causing the most deviation.”
Jovian nodded, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. The hab block rumbled beneath them, the metal creaking under the strain. The malfunctioning thrusters sputtered, firing intermittently, veering them dangerously closer to the terraformer with each burst. He led the team to the thrusters, his sharp eyes scanning the control panel embedded in the block’s exterior. It was sparking, wires frayed and exposed to the harsh elements. Without hesitation, Jovian reached into the damaged panel, his hands moving with surprising dexterity despite the bulky gloves. He pulled at the wires, rerouting the power, overriding the malfunctioning systems with brute force.
“Thruster two is back online!” one of the engineers shouted over the comms. “The course is stabilising, but we’re still heading toward the terraformer!”
Jovian growled in frustration, pulling harder at the wires, his movements becoming more frantic. The darkness inside him stirred again, a familiar presence that whispered promises of power, of control. He could feel it pulsing in the insignia on his chest, begging to be unleashed.
No. Not yet
.
“The port thrusters!” the engineer yelled. “They’re still malfunctioning! We need to—”
Jovian didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. He moved with purpose, heading to the port side of the block, the others scrambling to keep up. The wind roared around them, threatening to rip them from the surface of the hab block, but Jovian’s focus remained unwavering. As they approached the second set of thrusters, another burst of fire erupted from them, sending the block into a violent spin.
The soldiers and engineers were thrown off balance, tumbling across the surface of the block. Jovian barely managed to hold on, his magnetic boots straining to keep him grounded.
“Get those thrusters shut down now!” the lead engineer screamed, his voice laced with panic. Jovian didn’t respond. He was already at the control panel, his hands moving faster than they should have been able to, his mind racing as he calculated the right sequence of wires to pull. The darkness inside him surged, lending him strength, and for a moment, his eyes burned with an unnatural light.
The thrusters sputtered once more, then went silent.
The hab block shuddered but began to stabilise, its course slowly correcting as it moved away from the terraformer. Cheers erupted over the comms, the tension releasing in a flood of relief.
But Jovian stood still, his hands trembling, the glowing insignia on his chest pulsing faintly. He had done it. They had survived. But the darkness inside him remained, always whispering, always waiting.
And next time, it wouldn’t be so easy to resist.