Saga - PT Resh Squad: Vibrance

Chapter 26: Vibrance is Golden



“Coming up on the Indy,” reported Comms. “They’re lowering the shields. That’s it – keep it steady…” The gunship dropped onto the floor of the landing bay with a loud clank.
“I can tell you’ve only been in the simulator!” cried Lingo. “My stomach’s gone through my skull, damn it!”
“This was one of his better landings,” commented Wings, the co-pilot. “We practised a few times.”
“Let’s go, squad,” said Tracker, getting up. The door opened; the gunship had already been cooler than the jungle, but now a blast of gloriously cold air hit them as they stepped out into the bright lights of the hangar. Jedi General Seela Khun had come to meet them, along with an intelligence officer, who greeted Evers Soren as if he knew him.
“Welcome back, Resh Squad,” greeted Seela Khun. “Everyone has already assembled in the command room for your report.”
“Yes, ma’am,” acknowledged Tracker, and they followed her through the corridors of the cruiser. It seemed that word of Straightlace’s death had gotten out already. A squadron of troops on a drill, running in perfect synchronisation, slowed when they passed them, nearly crashing into each other to stare at the commandos. A group of off-duty troopers in the next corridor, talking and laughing, fell silent as they approached, and stared at them, awed and a little frightened.
Tracker looked ahead of him, focused, oblivious to these reactions. Lingo ached with self-consciousness about his hideous wound – surely they were staring at him. But Shadow knew what they were thinking, what they must be thinking. Two missions in a row Resh Squad had lost their captain. It did not take a great leap of logic to conclude that there was something wrong with them – that they were bad luck, cursed. Superstitions were discouraged, both on Kamino and in the army, but that did not prevent them from forming, and spreading like wildfire through that breeding ground of rumours that was a Republic cruiser.

The doors to the command room opened. Commander Ty, designation CT-801, broke off his conversation with a Bothan, attending the meeting via hologram, and sprung to attention. He gave the commandos a brief nod before turning all his attention to General Khun. She greeted him, then introduced the Bothan.
“Resh Squad, this is Spy Master Seketh Ka'tu. He is most eager to hear what you uncovered about the Separatist activity on Sidellia. Very well, Commander, I believe we may begin.”
“Squad, report,” ordered Commander Ty.
“Sir.” Tracker had removed his helmet, holding it under his left arm, and saluted smartly. “RC-1017 reporting. RC-0793 was killed in action.”
“Understood. Proceed.”
“Sir, we achieved all of our mission objectives. We discovered the location of the secret Separatist base, infiltrated it and found out the nature of the toxin they were developing. It was a truth serum, sir. We destroyed their entire stock, except for a sample which we brought with us. We also copied all relevant data from their dataframes, before destroying the dataframes. And we brought back Evers Soren. RC-0793 was killed while infiltrating the secret base, by the Separatist leader, Tenallo Destrel. We killed Destrel and destroyed the secret base, but their official base is still standing.”
“Good work, squad.”
“I’ll take the data, and the sample of the toxin,” spoke up the intelligence officer, who had come with them from the hangar. Shadow, having already dug the cylinder containing the serum out of his pack, handed it over to him.
“We’ll conduct a preliminary analysis here, then have it sent to Coruscant for further analysis.”
“Affirmative.” Commander Ty nodded. “RC-1017, I expect a full written report by eighteen hundred hours, ship time. Squad, dismissed. And, 58 – get yourself some bacta, soldier, for all our sakes.”
“Yessir,” said Lingo.
Shadow had been hoping to have a word with Seela Khun. All through their walk to the command room and the meeting, he had been burning to ask her about the Vibrance; but now it seemed the meeting would continue without them, and she would remain behind. He threw her an imploring look as he left the command room, willing her to understand him; she met his eyes and smiled – and had she nodded? He would see if she came looking for him after the meeting.

“Off to the med bay at last,” said Lingo with a blissful sigh.
“Make sure you’re back by seventeen hundred hours at the latest,” said Tracker. “I need your input on the report.”
“Absolutely. See you!” Lingo walked off with a spring in his step, despite his exhaustion.
Shadow glanced apprehensively at Tracker. They hadn’t been alone since their argument in the jungle. But Tracker was clearly concentrating on the report. He wasn’t much of a writer, but his extremely organised mind had stored every detail of the mission in perfect order, and he was sifting through them, deciding what was most important. Upon reaching their dorm, Tracker dropped his helmet on his bunk, unstrapped his pack, ripped the packaging off the last ration bar he’d had with him, and grabbed a datapad. He sat down and started typing the report immediately, without even bothering to take off his armour. Shadow dumped his pack, took a set of loose-fitting red fatigues out of his locker, and headed for the refresher.
The face looking back at him from the mirror wore a shocked expression. It was scratched and dirty, covered in gnat bites, and sported a hideous yellowing bruise on the left cheekbone. His hair was caked with mud and sweat. He couldn’t believe he had been in the presence of his superiors in that state. The effects of the hair growth prevention cream which he had last applied more than four days ago had worn off, too, and coarse black stubble was sprouting on his chin. Time to clean up. He swore never again to complain about the sputtering shower head, the gurgling drain, or the unpredictable changes in water temperature. He was finally free of the sticky, grimy jungle slime, and the emotional turmoil of the mission seemed to wash away with it.
“Close the door, you’re letting in the steam,” said Tracker, without looking up, when a considerably more pristine Shadow returned to the dorm.
“Right. Ugh, I don’t even want to think about trying to clean my armour right now.” Shadow dug around in his pack, taking out the knife the Gerlaks had given him, and slipped it discreetly into his pocket. “Well, I need a stiff drink. I’m off to the cantina – er, you don’t need me to help on the report, do you?”
Tracker held up two fingers. “Be back here in two hours. I’ll go through it with you and Lingo together.”
“Okay, then, see you.”
Shadow walked through the cool corridors of the cruiser, breathing deeply, feeling his shoulders relax at last. His mind was not yet at ease – he didn’t think it ever would be after all he had seen and experienced on Sidellia – and he was still extremely wary of Tracker; acting casual around him wasn’t easy. But the mission was over, his responsibility was at an end, and he was back on the good old Indy, comfortable, and safe. For however long it lasted.

“Shadow! And just in time, too. I had quite a few credits riding on your return. What’s your poison?”
“Your faith in me is touching. The strongest thing you can come up with that won’t totally fry my brains, thanks, Shots.”
“One Corellian ale, coming right up.”
“I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“Fine, then, a ruby blielz.”
“That’s more like it. And mind it’s in a clean glass, this time!”
“It was one time, Shadow. One time.” Shots walked away muttering. Shadow grinned. Leaning on the bar, he turned around to survey the cantina – and his grin froze. Onith Squad had just walked in. He turned away quickly, heart pounding. He had actually forgotten about them; how could he have? Thank the Force they weren’t coming up to the bar; he could hear chairs grating across the floor as they took a table in the corner.
“Here you go.” Shots had returned. “So, tell me – oh, I see the Oniths are in.”
“Damn it, Shots, I can’t face them. Not now.” Shadow ran a hand through his hair. “I’m bloody exhausted.”
“Drink up. This one’s on me.”
“Oh, very funny. It’s on the Republic’s taxes.”
“I know that, I was trying to sound like the sympathetic bartender in Bounty Hunters of Kharrak. You did see it, right?”
“Don’t have time for holofilms.”
“I do. Lots of time. There are advantages to being a bad batcher.” He patted Shadow on the shoulder. “Chin up, Shadow. No-one blames you for Straightlace’s death. Not that we know how it happened, of course…”
“You’ll get the report like everyone else, if it’s made public,” snapped Shadow.
“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I was only making conversation. Hey, look who it is! The general herself! I’ll get the crystal glasses.”
Shadow spun around. Jedi General Seela Khun had entered the cantina. She gave Onith Squad an acknowledging nod, then walked up to the bar.
“At ease, commando.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You wanted to tell me something, I believe. Away from the ears of your squad members?”
“Er – well – yes, ma’am. I mean, I don’t know if it has to be a secret or anything, but – I’d rather let you decide.”
“General!” Shots had returned, carrying his best glass. “What an honour! What will be your pleasure? I have some Alderanian apple wine, vintage 968, a very good year, ma’am. Or – ”
“Just water, thank you,” she smiled. “Could you bring it to the table?” She indicated the table of her choice.
“Of course, ma’am. Right away. If you’re sure.” Shots bustled off.
“Will you join me? Whatever you have to ask, Shots will certainly not suffer from not hearing it. Even if it does not have to be a secret.”
“Yes, ma’am,” grinned Shadow, and followed her to the table.
“So,” she said, once Shots had gone. She had explained to Shots that she still had a few key points about the mission to discuss with Shadow, thereby setting his mind at ease. “What is your question?”
Shadow had been looking forward to this moment, to finally ask about the Vibrance. But suddenly a strange feeling came over him – a warning not to speak, to lie, to say anything but that which he had planned. He tried to ignore it, impatient with himself: this was no time for cowardice. He would rather have her think him a fool, than keep it all to himself.
“I don’t know if you remember, ma’am, but you and I had a conversation on Serennia, the day before the mission started.”
“I remember. You asked why I would not be coming to Sidellia with you.”
“That’s right, ma’am. You told me about the Force and the different ways of connecting to it. You said that it worked differently on Sidellia, somehow.”
She nodded.
“So – so I was wondering, ma’am, if you’d ever heard about something called the Vibrance?”
Was it his imagination, or had a shadow flickered across her face? No, she was still smiling at him, but with a puzzled air.
“The Vibrance? What is that?”
“Sort of – sort of a kind of Force, ma’am. I think. Or another name for the Force. At least, I heard someone talking about it, I could have misunderstood. I mean, I don’t understand that kind of thing very well.” Why was he babbling like this?
“Did you hear about it on Sidellia?”
“W-well – yes, ma’am, I did. But I’m sure it’s not important. It’s none of my business, anyway.”
“Who was talking about it?”
He was sweating now. And he had just showered, damn it. But the lie came out smoothly. “Some Separatists, ma’am, while I was spying on the village.”
“I see. That is interesting, indeed. I appreciate your telling me.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. I just thought you might like to know. Since you did say there are different ways of looking at the Force, and all. So – I reckon I’ll be going now, ma’am. Thanks for coming.” He got up.
“Of course. And, commando – I wouldn’t trouble any of your brothers with this. If you have questions about the Force, you are always welcome to ask me.”
“Er – thank you, ma’am.”
He turned to go. Thank the Force, Onith Squad had moved over to the bar meanwhile, so he didn’t have to walk past them on his way to the door. He slipped out discreetly. Seela Khun was a kind, sympathetic Jedi, and she had been courteous to him, friendly even – but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He shook off the feeling and headed to the mess hall: it was finally time for a decent meal.

 

Chapter 27: All is Vanity

“Guys! Did you hear?”
Shadow sat up, blinking hard. He had been dozing off. Tracker looked up from his datapad, annoyed.
“You’re late. – How’s your wound?”
“It’s alright, I’m going back for a two-hour session after this,” said Lingo, flinging himself lengthwise onto his bunk. “And I know I’m late, sorry, I made a detour to the mess for some grub, and ended up chatting to a few of the others. After they’d got done goggling at my lovely new face alterations. The Indy’s been called to back up the fleet around Felucia – there’s been action there again – and since it’s on the other side of the core, we’re going past Coruscant on the way. And there’s a rumour going around, which is pretty well-substantiated, that some of us are getting shore leave! Shore leave on Coruscant!”
“ ‘Some of us’ doesn’t mean anything. Come on, Lingo, sit up, we’ve got fifty minutes to get this report finished.”
“Okay, let’s get cracking.”

Tracker read through the report, giving a day-by-day summary of their mission. Lingo filled him in on everything he had experienced while impersonating Orlo Scabb, and while a prisoner of the Separatists; Shadow didn’t have much to add until they reached the part where he had fallen off the cliff.
“What exactly did happen?” Tracker looked at him keenly. Shadow avoided his gaze.
“I washed up next to some old ruins. And they led me back to the tunnel near the village.”
“That’s all? – How did you find your way?”
“Reckon I was lucky, wasn’t I? You could put it down to the will of the Force. I really can’t say, Track. I wouldn’t be able to do it again.” This was the truth.
“These ruins. What were they like?”
“Carved into the mountain. There were natural caves, I think, but these people – whoever they were – enlarged them and extended them, and I think they dug the tunnels from scratch. Those blue crystals were everywhere.”
“Right.” Tracker started typing.
“You, er, aren’t putting all this into the report, are you?”
Tracker stared at Shadow. “Of course I am.”
“But – is it relevant?”
“Since when do we decide what’s relevant and what isn’t? That’s for the higher-ups to say. Now is that all you’ve got to say on what happened after you fell?”
“Yes.” Shadow looked away.
“Good. Then I think we’re just about done.” The last few lines of the report covered their reunion and journey to the pick-up point. Tracker had left out the Gerlak farewell ceremony, and Shadow left it at that, grateful that there had been no mention of the stone knife. Which was hidden away at the bottom of his locker.
“Sending it through now.” Tracker tossed the datapad onto the bed and got up, stretching. “Finally! I’m heading to the ’fresher.”
“I’m off to the medbay for some more sweet bacta,” announced Lingo. “And a full medical. The droid nearly had a nervous breakdown when I told it about the electrostaff; wants to check me for internal burns.”
“Damn, Lingo, I’m sorry,” said Shadow sympathetically. “You really had it rough this time.”
“You know, I did, as a matter of fact. I can’t wait to sink into a vat of bacta, and – ”
“For fierfek’s sake, Shadow! Your armour!” Tracker shouted from the refresher.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” grinned Lingo, and matched the deed to the word.
“Sorry, Track!” Shadow hastily retrieved his muddy, broken armour. He inspected each piece as he stowed it under his bunk. It didn’t look too good: the gauntlets on both arms were splintered, and one of the shoulder pads had nearly split in two. The torso was dented and buckled, and the shin guards would never be the same. His heart soared: there was no way logistics wouldn’t approve his request for a new suit, especially since he’d have to get a new helmet anyway. He rolled onto the bunk, pulling the sheets over him, and began to daydream about the modifications he would suggest. Better scanners, a signal diffuser, a stronger energy field dampener… he knew just the one, an HT-507, the newest model from the Kuat sector. There was no way he would get half of what he wanted, but he could dream.

Tracker came in from the refresher, got out his cleaning kit, and started on his helmet, munching on a meiloruun-flavoured ration bar from his locker. With perfectionistic care he went through every groove, every scratch, ridding it of every particle of slime, every grain of dust. He rinsed out the filters, set them out to dry, and gently removed each sensor, brushing the dirt from them with an old toothbrush.
After about an hour, satisfied, he reassembled the helmet and put it on charge. The rest of his armour was stowed away neatly in his locker, ready to be cleaned the next day. Having switched off the light, he lay down on his back, closed his eyes, and reviewed the day’s events. Writing the report had helped put his thoughts and memories of the mission into perspective, so it did not take him long to organise the most recent occurrences, and permit himself to fall asleep.

Lingo came back nearly three hours after this; the refresher door didn’t close properly, so its light illuminated the dorm, and the spluttering shower was loud enough to wake the dead. He regretted this, but such were the realities of life. The bacta had seeped into the wound on his face; the pain was drastically lessened, and he imagined he could feel it healing. The medical examination had miraculously shown only very minor internal burns, and no organ damage. He’d gotten some bacta for the internal and external burns, as well as for the nasty black bruise where the Phindian had injected him with what he had thought was the truth serum. The skin was lightening already.
Cataloguing all of his injuries had made him feel more than a little self-pitying, so he’d made a stop at the cantina first, just before it closed. Shots had a way of cheering you up, with a combination of anecdotes, amusing but good life advice, jokes and hard liquor; everyone knew he used his trade to get gossip fuel out of plastered troopers, and everyone kept going to him when they were at their lowest point. But Lingo hadn’t actually gotten drunk, he just had a pleasant buzz, which mellowed his feelings, slowed his thoughts, and sent him off to blissful unconsciousness the moment his head touched the pillow.

Shadow didn’t hear any of this. The daydreams about his armour had become confused and faded, and he had soon dropped off. No jungle noise screamed in his ears, no gnats bit his skin raw; the air was cool, the humidity low. No rocks bruised his hip or pressed into his spine. No crystal caves came to him in his dreams, nor did he find himself in ancient ruins, or anywhere else except in his familiar bed, in his familiar dorm on the trusty Indy, in a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sun was setting behind the towers, its last rays tinting the gathering clouds with crimson hues. The lights of the city were coming on, countless specks of colour, red, cyan, orange, green. Speeders whizzed through the sky, ships swooped in from space, and far away smoke rose from the factories. The planet that was a city that never slept. It was dying, he knew that. Drowning in the quagmire of its greed and corruption, oblivious to the war and the heroic deeds, the sacrifices made, the blood spilt on its behalf, red as the lights of the brothel district. He had a duty to protect it, all the same. Regardless of what it had become, it represented the heart of the Republic he served, and the Order that was everything to him. He believed in the Jedi and all they stood for. He loved that, as he did not love his own life.
“No-one has spoken of the Vibrance in four thousand years,” he said. “Not since the Mandalorian Wars.”
“Yes, Master. But I am afraid that it has been rediscovered.” The voice of the shimmering hologram behind him was respectful, calm, emotionless. The perfect control of the Jedi, even in the face of something so unfathomable, so ancient; something the power and implications of which could only be guessed at. He could not see what it meant. The Dark Side clouded everything.
“By the Separatists?”
“That is what the clone told me, Master, but I sensed that he was not telling the truth.”
He nodded. “I agree. If the Separatists had known of it, they would not have held Sidellia in such low esteem. They would have seized the chance to investigate, to gain more power. So, what do you believe happened?”
“I cannot say for certain, Master, but I believe that he found something in that cave. Records, a source of information. Perhaps an ancient databank or a holocron. Something that told him enough about the Vibrance to realise that it was like the Force, but not enough for him to understand any more.”
“We do not truly know what it is, ourselves,” he pointed out. “Except that it is a false teaching contrary to the way of the Force, and that it was once sought out as a source of great power, to be used against the Jedi. I do not believe that its rediscovery was a coincidence.”
“Master, do you mean the Sith…” her voice trailed off.
“Perhaps. It is difficult to see. But for knowledge of the Vibrance to come out at this critical time is dangerous. Too dangerous.”
“I thought of bringing the clone in for questioning, but we would have to give a reason.”
“No, there is too much risk. Besides, we do not need any more information about the Vibrance. All we have to know is to stay away from it. It is not the Jedi way.”
“I tried to discourage him from talking about it. I could order him to keep silence.”
He sighed. “You and I both know that would not be the end of it. We are dealing with the Separatists and the Sith. Thrashing in the dark. Trying to face yet another threat could destroy us.”
“But Master!” Now the perfect calm was gone; her voice was concerned – no, horrified. “You’re not, you’re not suggesting we – no, that is against the Jedi code!”
“I am not suggesting we do anything,” he said. “However,” he went on after a pause, “the Separatists might. It is war. Anything can happen in war, and success on any venture, any assignment, is never assured. – But failure sometimes is.”
Silence behind him, but he could sense her reaction, revulsion, dismay.
“Do not let this trouble you,” he said quietly. “Go, and be at peace; this burden is not yours to carry. It is for my conscience alone.”
The holoprojector’s hum stopped. He was alone again; the sun had gone down, and the city was alive with neon lights and vice and meaningless activity, a pursuit of the wind.
“May the Force grant me the strength to carry it.”

END