Chapter Text
Osha took a gathering breath as they entered Brendok’s atmosphere. Now was the time to be strong, to be sure. She was there to save Sol from one Jedi killer—her own sister—but in order to do that, she’d had to bring another one along with her. She had to move decisively, not falter for an instant.
“All the way back home,” he remarked over the comms, sniffling.
What Osha didn’t need was his voice in her ear rattling her. She reached over and flipped a switch. Now he could still hear her, but he wouldn’t get to reply. Decisive.
“There’s no spaceport, but there’s a landing site near our fortress,” she told him.
Osha scanned the surrounding area. The system beeped, and she brought up a visual. “They’re already there,” she said.
She brought the ship into the landing site, steeling herself as she powered everything down. She needed to be ready for anything.
Osha hopped down to the ground. He climbed down from the ship, stumbling a little. It was strange—with his black cloak and wickedly grinning helmet back on, he looked every bit the monstrous figure who’d slaughtered the Jedi on Khofar. But looking at him now, he didn’t feel like that. Even with his helmet covering his face, it was apparent that he was sick. His body language and movements were lethargic, and Osha could hear him sniffling and clearing his throat, which sounded warped through his vocoder.
“Hihhhh-chnnnnfffff!” he sneezed, a hard-sounding stifle. He turned his head away, raising a hand to his face despite the helmet.
“Is this really how you want to take on Sol?” Osha asked. “Don’t underestimate him.”
“Don’t underest-- estimate me,” he replied, stifling a cough. His voice sounded deep through the vocoder anyway, and now, with his sore throat, it was even deeper.
“If you say so,” Osha said, trying to project confidence. She started walking in the direction of the fortress.
He followed, sniffling, a few paces behind her. Now that Osha had worn the helmet herself, she realized just how strong he must be in the Force. With the helmet on, a person couldn’t see or hear anything. That meant his fast, furious combat on Khofar had been guided entirely by the Force. She wondered how it felt for him, how she appeared to him through his dampened senses.
“Hhhhh-shhhnnkkhhhh!” More warped sniffles, more stifled coughs.
Was he less dangerous this way? Surely his fever would dull his reactions. Did it disrupt his connection to the Force as well, make it harder for him to focus? Osha hoped so, but she knew she couldn’t rely on it.
They reached the immense metal doors that Osha hadn’t seen in sixteen years. No, now’s not the time to think about that, she thought. Steady her mind, be ready. Stop Mae. Stop him. Save Sol.
There would be time to mourn the past later.
“Getting this elevator operational is the only way in,” she told him. “Unless you want to climb.”
As she looked over at the control panel, he asked, “Are you sure?”, but his voice had a ghostly, insubstantial quality to it. When Osha turned back around, he’d vanished.
No, stay calm. A choppy sea wouldn’t do Sol any good. She had to be a pond.
Osha moved quickly to the control panel, popping off its cover to expose the wires inside. This was something she could do. She understood broken machines, knew how to coax a spark back into them. Working briskly and intently, Osha poured her focus into the panel until the long-dormant elevator rumbled into life once more.
* * *
Qimir stole along a corridor of the tomblike fortress. It felt like he was sweltering under his cloak and helmet, but that was just his fever. He pushed through it, ignoring the fuzzed edges of his perceptions in the Force. He just needed to keep going until this was done.
There would be time to rest and recover later.
At least his prey was making it easy for him. Master Sol made his presence known with every step. It wasn’t just the way he kept shouting Mae’s name. It was the way Qimir could feel his distress and disarray rolling off him in waves.
Not so controlled now, are you, Jedi? he thought.
Sol’s shouts echoed in Qimir’s mind. Mae!, again and again.
Enough stalking. Qimir was ready to play.
“Thank you for leading me to her,” he said.
Sol, suddenly alert, turned to face him. “We make a great team,” Qimir added.
He activated his lightsaber, and Sol did the same. Through the ripples of the Force enveloping them both, Qimir felt the Jedi take his stance, felt the hum of his saber.
Ignore the headache. Ignore his fatigue and congestion and the tickle in his throat. Bring the hypocrite to bear.
Now was when the still exterior sprang into action. Qimir had been coiled, waiting for his moment. He darted forward.
Strike! Strike! Strike! Flashes of red against blue in his mind. As Qimir coughed, he felt Sol’s urgent swings. This wasn’t like when he’d fought the team on Khofar. This was more like after he’d killed Sol’s padawan, and the injured one who came back, when Sol had come at him with elbows and fists and rage.
This was good. Jedi weren’t used to fighting through rage. Qimir wasn’t about to drop his guard—a desperate Jedi would be unpredictable—but Sol was more likely to make mistakes like this. Move too hastily, leave an opening, strike when he shouldn’t.
Qimir swung, kicked, spun. He pressed forward, sniffling, pushing Sol back onto a walkway. Qimir felt the air on his skin, and a shiver ran through him. “Hehhhh-nnnggkkhhh!” he sneezed, holding it in so he wouldn’t dirty the inside of his helmet.
Yes, they were outside now. This was good, a light breeze to cool his fever. Let it clear his mind so he could feel every moment of the Jedi’s attack. Qimir sniffled—he pushed forward, relentless.
It wasn’t just the fortress that felt like a tomb. Outside, Qimir could feel the presence of death still clinging to the entire grounds. The body of one Jedi would be poor recompense for what had happened here, but it would have to do.
Strike! Strike! Sweep! Strike! Sol hadn’t made a mistake yet. He matched Qimir blow for blow, just managed to block everything thrown at him, and he would know to be wary of the Cortosis helmet this time. Qimir put his full weight behind his lightsaber and felt it sizzling against Sol’s. He stifled a cough, pushing hard, sensing how the walkway lit up with the sparks they sent skittering through it.
The Jedi leapt off the walkway, and Qimir leapt after him. Cushioned by the Force, they both glided toward the ground. As he gripped the hilt of his saber with both hands, raising it over his head, Qimir could feel Sol readying for his next move, assuming a stance.
Qimir swung as his feet hit the ground, but his lightsaber didn’t find purchase. Sol had floated back, out of his reach.
His head was pounding, but he felt the blue of Sol’s saber ahead of him, sensed the Jedi’s words. I will destroy you if I must, Sol warned.
Qimir sniffled. “Not if she gets you first.” As he stalked forward, he spun his lightsaber, twisting the handle to release the concealed second blade.
He took off toward the Jedi at a run, keeping Sol on his back foot with the constant motion of both his lightsabers. Qimir’s perceptions were getting spottier—his head felt cloudy, and he was starting to lose a sense of his surroundings. He felt Sol dodging, pushed him back, seized the wrist of his free hand to whip him around.
But Sol’s thoughts were clearer now. They weren’t so disordered as to trip him up. He jerked the arm that Qimir was holding him by, attempting to bring him to heel. Qimir let go, and his second saber went flying as he disentangled himself from the Jedi. “hihhhhh-shiuhhhhhh!” he sneezed. “huhhhh…ehhhhh-shhhhhhh!”
He reached out with the Force to retrieve his saber, but Sol blocked him. Qimir felt the Jedi’s lightsaber slash through the air in front of him, pushing him back, and then Sol was kicking him in the chest—percussive, one-two-three. Qimir flew backwards, stumbling to keep his footing as he held his side.
Qimir coughed hard, shaking his head to try and clear it. At a distance from him, Qimir sensed Sol readying for the next bout, his lightsaber at the ready. Finally, Qimir drew his second saber to him and ran toward the Jedi, spinning as he threw his sabers one at a time. Sol blocked both blades in turn, and Qimir called them back. He felt them whipping through the air, spinning rapidly as they careened toward the Jedi.
Qimir had him now. He leapt, fist in the air, ready to strike.
But no, something was wrong. At the last second, Qimir sensed the tremendous power gathering in front of him. The Jedi held his ground, pushing outward with the Force in all directions, and Qimir and both his sabers were knocked back by the blast.
He stumbled back, back, scrambling for purchase. He flew into something blocky and hard, knocking the wind out of him. As Qimir struggled to regain his bearings—his head was spinning now—he felt Sol’s lightsaber igniting again, a slash of blue death humming through his senses. He called his own sabers back, catching them in the air and twisting the hilts back together into a single blade. Biting back a weary sigh, he sniffled.
Qimir ran, swinging for all he was worth.