Phoenix FallingPhoenix Falling
PBF 404.....
General Indiana Bridger hid behind the rim of her caf mug. It was far too early to be up, even it if was 1100
hours. She scrubbed at the bridge
of her nose. The quick jump from
the Windstorm to here had taken a lot out of her, partially because it
had caught her coming in from where the Rebel Squadron’s X-Wing undergraduate
Academy was operating – a twelve hour flight, during which she’d gotten no
sleep. She listened to the briefing
though. She caught every word of
it.
Every goddamned word. Dammit,
I hate being tapped for a mission like this, especially when I’ve just come in
from someplace else. Hope my
wingman is sharper than I am…I’m going to need someone that sharp to
cover me. That was the one
thing she’d missed – who her wingman was going to be.
It didn’t really matter, much, though, not in the end.
She’d be assigned who she was assigned, and that would be the end of
it.
She got up to leave the room after the briefing had finished and the
lights were coming up. It was to
her shock and surprise that she saw her husband sitting in the row behind her
with a smile on his face. “Mike? What are you doing here?”
He flashed one of his usual lopsided grins that only cocky pilots and Corellians
could successfully pull off. "Well dear," He lifted his
feet up to drape over the arm of his chair, easily sliding himself to look
straight up at her. "I believe it's called being assigned to fly your wing,
and by the look of you, you'd be better off flying from the bunk."
Her look in response was a confusing
mixture of exhausted anger and agreement. Confusing, at least, to anyone
but the man looking up at her from such a ridiculous position.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, at least they’ve got someone who knows my moves better than I
do flying my wing.
C’mon, I need more caf and we both need to get ready to go, right?”
Indy waited for him to get up before ducking under his arm and hugging
him around the chest, closing her eyes tightly for a moment.
It wasn’t often that she flew with him on her wing, and the feeling she
got at finding out that he would be watching her back was comforting.
I really miss flying with him.
Really. Especially
since I wouldn’t be able to fly like I do without him.
Then again,
she reminded herself silently, I’d be dead without him, more than one time
over. The
same with him for me…
Indy pushed the dark thoughts from her head and waited for him to lead
the way out.
"We really should get going now, dear." His smile as he pulled
away from her embrace was dangerously close to being infectious. His hand
slipped into hers and his feet started pulling reluctantly toward the hangar.
He didn't intend to move an inch further away from her until it was time to
climb into the cockpit.
They reached the hangar in record time, despite their trying to slow
down. The
reflex was just too ingrained, the training and force of habit too strong.
Indy walked toward the A-Wing she’d have to fly on this run – not her
own, but one provided by the fleet, as hers was on Xenen, far away in the
Kartuiin Sector.
She hesitated at the foot of the ladder.
“Mike?
Do you have a bad feeling about this mission?”
"Yeah, it could get pretty damned messy..." He hauled himself up
onto the hull of his A-wing, beside hers. "But nothing's gonna go
wrong. I'm just too damned good to let anything too bad happen."
His feet slipped into the cockpit and he began the startup procedure without
sparing the board a glance from years of practice and a total at-home feeling in
the cockpit. "Besides, didn't I promise ages ago that I'd never let you get
hurt? Two lit and green by the way."
Indy smiled as she settled into her cockpit and started her own preflight
checklist. “Yeah, you’re right.
Roger two lit and green.” She
drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. No
matter how reassuring her husband’s words were, she couldn’t shake the
feeling that something was going to go terribly, terribly wrong.
*
* * * *
Mike's
fingers danced over the control boards, directing all of his shields to lasers
and scanning the sensors while his knees guided the stick. "All clear for
now, but bringing your shields to full might be a good idea." He nearly
choked when the sensor screen lit up. "Neg that clear, we have four little
stubby looking things and a pair of big backward pistols."
If he could
have seen Indy's face through the comms, he probably would have been a few
shades paler. "Mike..."
"Okay
okay, we've got four corvettes and a pair of frigates at point two-six... Range
at ten klicks, and the IFF reads potential hostiles." He pulled in tighter
formation high to her aft starboard side, matching speed with the flick of a
finger over his reprogrammed controls. "You've got lead, but I advise going
through the 'vettes first."
"Gotcha.
Just try and keep up." She let herself grin, falling so easily into a
matching and perfectly complementary pair. Her ship rolled in Mike's viewport,
breaking quickly into a hi-lo formation. His matching but reversed maneuver
pulled him wider, and would make it all the harder on incoming fighters who
would have to face a crossfire at first engagement.
"This is
what I'd call a milk run, honey. Got your shields charged?" He started
acquiring targets even before her double-clicked affirmative came back. I'll
have to remember to see if I can get her to drop the cold style, it's gonna get
her shot down someday. He thought to himself as he keyed the encryption onto his
comm. It was a code that Indy had developed just for the squad. "If you
don't mind, you're better laid out for dogging while I'm at full engine. I'll ID
while you keep the fighters distracted..."
He could
almost hear the swearing even though her comm wasn't set to transmit. It slipped
to the back of his mind as he made blindingly fast passes over four corvettes,
noting almost absently the presence of freighters near the engagement zone, and
the absence of fighters. Something made him wonder at that, at least until the
fighters started pouring out of the frigates' bays. "Incoming, Indy."
"If you
think I can take on that many at once within range of the frigates, you're
crazier than I thought." Her voice came garbled through the comm
encryption. It wasn't hard to understand, but only to recognize easily.
Nonetheless, he smiled and moved up off her port side.
"Better
idea, you pull back and let your shields get a little charge while they close.
I'll move ahead and leave you with butter." Butter wasn't a standard term,
as far as pilots went, but it served its purpose between them for one of the
household quirks they shared. Due to Mike's appetite and sometime sloppiness,
all that was left was half-melted butter at times. It did, at least, for
breakfast toast on the way out the door.
It did,
apparently just as well for Indy's kill count. After Mike's pass through the
first wave of enemy fighters there was nothing more relatively functional than a
cargo tug. It was easy enough to finish each off before she carried through the
line, watching the bright flashes of Mike's lasers, and frequent small
explosions as the lasers hit their mark.
Things got a
little confusing after Indy finished the second wave. The third wave hit well
within range of the frigates' lasers and it was all he could do to keep up. The
maneuvering of an A-wing was superior to most of the old Alliance craft, but it
was nothing next to the TIEs he preferred to fly. It only got more interesting
when his scopes showed more enemies coming in, Assault Gunboats.
"Book it
Indy, they've got gunboats coming in on your six, almost in range." If he
were a religious man he would be praying right now. "I'll get clear as soon
as I can and meet you back home." Even as the words left his mouth he
dipped to avoid fire from one of the frigates and started blind-targeting with
Indy's fighter on his scopes. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the craft
disappeared and he went on to clear his own path to hyperspace.
* * * * *
"Shaavit," the curse escaped through gritted teeth. Mike was running
up to hyperspace, but Indy had found her path blocked, her communications
jammed, and now was tied up fighting gunboats. "What I wouldn't give for a
little help here....damn it all."
If she'd been
in an X-wing, she might've had warning. As it was, focused as she was, blocking
out a Jedi's senses unconsciously as she was, she didn't see the gunboat lining
up its shot soon enough. Suddenly, her shields were down, and even as she vainly
tried to pull up to avoid the flaming debris of a gunboat she'd just destroyed,
she could not pull up hard enough, or fast enough, to prevent the disintegration
of her ship around her. As her ejection seat carried her clear, the loudest,
most resounding thought in her mind was that her gut feeling had been right, and
that she wished Mike were still here...because if he had been, that might not
have happened. As a shuttle with definite Imperial markings loomed above her,
she knew she was in deep shit...as such, she destroyed what identification was
not hopelessly encoded that was on her person.
And then, she
waited for the pain to begin.
* * * * *
Mike guided
his fighter back into the hangar bay, curses flying off his tongue even as he
set down. The hiss of pressure stabilizing between his cockpit and the
hangar bay barely ended as he glared down one of the hangar technicians with his
glowing green left eye. That eye was part of how he intimidated people, it
was also part of how he could fly and shoot better than most.
"Where's Indy?"
The
technician looked up, clearly shifting from foot to foot before he replied.
"She didn't get back, sir." Mike's eye flashed briefly, a slight
habit that came from a misinterpretation in the cybernetic part's circuitry
where it read anger as a desire for an intensified effect.
"Fuel me
up, I'm going back out." Mike said, settling back into his cockpit to
read the damage indicators. Nothing wrong with this baby…not a scratch.
He thought as the tech connected the fuel hoses, delayed only buy a short
conversation with his superior officer, the hangar chief. The hangar chief
was a little more than miffed as he climbed up the cockpit ladder.
"What
exactly do you think you're doing, Bullian?" The chief said,
splotches of red covering his face in a not-quite-complete angered flush as he
climbed the ladder. Mike barely spared a glance as he rechecked his
systems nervously.
"I'm
going back out." Mike's reply came calm and cold.
"Like
hell you a-" The chief was silenced by Mike's hand coming up to shove him
off the ladder. Just as the chief landed, flustered and flat on his back,
the first tech gave the all clear signal and retreated away from the A-wing.
Mike lifted off without a second thought and made his way back onto the
hyperspace course he'd just come in on.
*
* * * *
Less than an
hour later his A-wing was touching down on the same deck as it had left.
The look on his face could freeze even the stoutest officer in his tracks as he
climbed sluggishly from the cockpit. There had been nothing left to see
but the debris from the fighters that had gone down in the engagement.
Perhaps now
it was time to call in the few favors that NRI owed him.
*
* * * *
The bunk was hard, and cold, but even lying on the bunk in that tiny
prison cell was better than being where she had been.
The last time she had suffered interrogation so harsh had been long ago,
at the hands of the late Kirtan Loor, when the man had been deep in his search
for her fellow precinct members Gil Bastra, Corran Horn, and Iella Wessiri. Loor hadn’t recognized her then, and it had been to her
advantage…even if he had almost killed her.
She was in a similar situation now.
The Imperial forces holding her were still trying to figure out her
identity, and she was hoping that they would try to slice the datacards she’d
carried. True, the cards carried her identity, but if they were using
the ship’s computers to slice them, they would also shoot a direct line of
communication bearing the ship’s IFF and location to certain systems where
there were people who could help her. She
had little doubt that one, at the very least, probably more, would come.
If they tried to slice the cards with the ship’s computers, at least.
That didn’t stop the pain from coming in waves, though.
The mind-numbing hurt had left her lying prone on the narrow, cold bunk
in the dark, tiny cell. With each
moment, a little more hope died. What
was taking so long? What? Why wasn’t someone here?
How long had it been? She
had lost consciousness during her interrogation session – it had been long,
drawn-out, and painful, and while she hoped she had remained silent throughout,
there was no way of knowing. Then
again, since they hadn’t transferred her elsewhere – at least, she though
she was on the same ship that had captured her – that meant they didn’t know
who she was, which was best.
The outstanding Imperial warrants on her head would get her killed in no
time.
*
* * * *
She screamed.
She screamed in agony and terror and anger as her tormentor again sent a
jolt of electricity through her right knee.
Somehow, they’d sensed weakness there, found the injuries to her knee
that had never quite fully healed. Now,
they were exploiting that weakness and in destroying the joint, were causing her
exquisite pain.
Indy squeezed her eyes shut. The
pain was so intense it was hard to remember her own name.
How did they expect her to say anything if she couldn’t even remember
her own name because of the pain? So
stupid, she thought, choking on the laugh that shouldn’t have come.
So stupid.
The pain stopped for a moment, and a slap to her face brought her eyes
open. The interrogator loomed above
her, staring at her. “What is so
funny, Rebel?”
Indy gathered what spit she could and celebrated her brief respite from
new pain by spitting in the man’s face. He
roared in anger, and then the pain began anew.
Indy clenched her jaw and vowed, for what seemed like the thousandth
time, that she would not give them the satisfaction of breaking.
Even if it meant destroying herself in the process, she would not break
nor bend, nor shatter. Even if it
meant wiping her own mind clean to keep the secrets she carried within her safe,
it would be done, and her squadron, her fleet, her family, her friends, would
survive, even if she did not.
PBF 405....
She lay on a cold metal bunk, asleep to escape the pain, the misery, and
the unending sense of hopelessness.
And she dreamed.
******
It was her daughter, Arilyn, and she knew, suddenly, that her daughter
was sick with the illness that had almost killed her, all those yesterdays ago,
when they and their brother Michael Jr. and sister Mary were born.
“You won’t win this one, Ispa,” she heard Davil say softly.
“You can’t win.”
A shadow moved along the far wall. She
saw it, but neither her children nor the dark man saw it.
“Watch me,” Ispa hissed, and struck out at him.
Only to have his lightsaber blade sputter out as Karinlyyn Bridger darted
from where she’d been hiding and stopped the blade with a cortosis ore shield.
“Get her out of here, now!”
Davil didn’t hesistate, grabbed his sister, and ran.
From her hiding place, the woman watched her cousin, looking so much like
the last time she’d seen her, after Trystan……
….her “little brother”….
….Karinlyyn’s beloved….
….after he….
Blink.
She was walking in the woods. It
took a moment for her to realize where she was.
And then it came to her – she was in the woods outside of Quis and
outside of Shay Memorial Military Base, where the Aurora Force was stationed.
She was out walking in the woods…but why?
“Oh, hi, Indy.”
She was standing near the cliff that overlooked the pool that the stream
started from, at the spring. Trystan
was kneeling there, on the edge, looking out over the edge.
He looked so sad…it had been years since she’d seen such pain in his
face. But why would he need to feel
pain? He had family who loved him,
two women in his life who loved him deeply, two sons by one, twins on the way by
the other. Pain? There should have been joy.
In his hands was something she couldn’t quite make out…a dagger?
She’d never seen a dagger that looked quite like that
before…except….
“Trystan, doesn’t that belong to Arin?”
He nodded. “She gave it to me. A
long time ago. After I gave her the
ring with the Stargem.” He licked
his lips. “Thanks for being there
for me, Indy, when I needed it. Take
care of my dog, OK? And give the
cat to Tag. Isaac always seemed
happier when Rogue was around.”
“Trystan…”
That was when he plunged the dagger into his abdomen and tumbled over the
edge.
She screamed his name and tried to grab him.
She was a medic above all, and it was her duty to help him.
But she was also his friend, and he was as close as family. She missed by mere inches, but unbalanced herself.
Suddenly, she was falling…
Falling…
Her last thought before she hit bottom was to wonder who would take care
of her children when she was gone.
Blink.
Someone was shaking her. “Mom?
Mom, wake up. Mom!”
She startled awake to see her son, Davil, again, looking like he was
about nine or ten. She sat up from where she’d been laying on the couch and
ran a hand back through her hair. “What
is it, sweetheart?”
“You told me to wake you up at 1700.
It’s 1701.”
She nodded, suddenly remembering. “Right.
Dinner.” She got up and
started moving toward the kitchen of the home she and her husband had
comissioned on a piece of prime real estate on Xenen.
“Where are your brothers and sisters?”
Davil followed her and began to help in the kitchen, beginning to set the
table. “Well, Ari and Mary are
over at the Bel Iblis’s, with Cay and Loren.
They’re playing, but Uncle Wyv and Aunt Alty said they’d make sure
they got home for dinner. The twins
are playing with Dorin and Allie, and Mikey went with them – he said he was
going to watch them, but I think he’s probably bothering Commander Taylor and
Captain Drake. Brenden stopped in,
but you were sleeping, so he went to go talk to Uncle Wheels about something,
and Dad called.”
“Your father called? Did
he say what it was about?”
Davil nodded. “Yeah, he
said that they were delayed at Coruscant, so he’ll be a couple hours later
than he expected. What time is he
going to be home?”
Indy smiled at her son. “After
your bedtime.”
“Can we stay up until he gets home?
Please?”
Indy smiled again and tousled her oldest son’s hair.
“We’ll see, Dav, we’ll see.”
Blink.
“My…Gods….” The
red-haired woman with the slightly pointed ears reeled back from the table,
trying to grasp what she’d just seen. “It’s
not possible. No.
No. Not my children.
Never my children.
Not with all…not with all…no. No!” She flung the
scrying mirror at the wall.
Her frightened familiars – the ferret and the cat – darted from the
room as her husband stepped in, a book in hand and his wire-rimmed glasses
sliding down his nose. “Jude?
What’s wrong? What’s
happened? Ooof.”
Drew set the book down on a nearby table and wrapped his arms around his
wife, who had just flung herself into his chest, crying.
“Jude? Sweetheart, what is
it?”
“Our children, Drew…not our children.
Not after all we went through to make this world right again.
She can’t have them. No.
She won’t have them.”
Their half-dragon children, even as young as they were, had proven
themselves to be more than a match for most of Haven’s bullies.
Her husband stroked her hair, confused.
“Jude?”
“Just hold me,” the once-immortal wizard whispered.
“Just hold me.”
Blink.
When she returned to her senses, she saw the body lying at her feet.
She looked up at the man standing nearby.
“Did I--?”
“Kill her? Unfortunately, yes. I
couldn’t give you much.” The
man pushed glasses up his nose and shook his head.
“C’mon. I need to get
you someplace where you can hide out during the day, and take care of this.”
He toed the lifeless husk at her feet.
She started shaking and suddenly looked up at him.
“This was the only way?”
He nodded grimly. “The
only way to save your life, Beck, was by taking it and giving you this unlife.
Welcome to the Masquerade.”
She swallowed hard, although it had little effect, and drew a deep
breath, although it was unnecessary in her current state.
She steadied herself, not looking at the body, and nodded.
“Right. Let’s go, OK?
Let’s just get out of here.”
He nodded and took her arm. They
left the subbasement of Au Sable hall together and walked out into the world of
darkness.
Blink.
“Failed your dex check there, huh, Klitzke?”
She turned around and gave him the finger as she waited for the machine
to kick her bowling ball back out at her. The
scent of cigarrette smoke mingled with the smell of the oil on the lanes. As she picked up her ball and hoped that she’d actually hit
pins this time, she heard her roommate’s boyfriend speak up.
“Are you offering?”
“Not to you,” she grinned, and threw the ball down the lane.
Picked up the spare. She
sighed and turned toward the rest of her friends.
“Why can’t I do that on the first shot?”
“Because you have bad aim?”
“Aw, c’mon, now, Doc, not everyone can be as lucky as I am.”
Another of her friends grinned at her.
She made a face. “Drink
your Shmirnov and then your water, huh?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Sure I can. I’m
older.” She grinned at her
friend.
“What are you talking about?”
“As Beck, I’m older. Now
please don’t make me haul more people out.”
She grinned wickedly. “Like
maybe the Bitch.”
“I thought Ashfire was the Bitch,” her roommate began.
“Not that bitch,” she remarked, “Kaven.”
Her other friend snarled.
The only other male in the group beyond her roommate’s boyfriend spoke
up. “You know, Erin, I could’ve
killed you for that thing you pulled.”
“What thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know ‘cut the crap and help us, Niku?’
I was ready to walk out of the room right then and there.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re
up, Eddie. Bowl.”
Blink.
It was good to be back aboard the Saratoga
after such a long time away. She
leaned against the bar and glanced at the bartender.
“Glass of scotch, please?”
“Sure thing. The bartender
disappeared toward the back to find the dusty bottle of scotch that only saw use
when she was aboard.
“Make it two,” a voice said from behind her, “and put them both on
my tab.” A young man in a
pilot’s uniform slid up next to her at the bar.
He had a jacket slung over his shoulder – she could barely see the
crest of the 58th Wildcards on the shoulder.
The pilot smiled at her. “Come
here often?”
The medic smiled back at him. “Often
enough, but I’ve been…out of town lately.
So, I see you’ve been assigned to the 5-8?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, the best damned fighter squadron in the
fleet. You’ve heard of
us?”
“No one can serve on this ship and not know about the ‘cards,” the
medic smiled. “But I’ll tell
you the truth, I’ve got something of an inside line to them.”
“Oh, really?” The pilot
seemed interested as their drinks came. They
wandered over to one of the Saratoga’s
observation windows. “So, how do
you have an inside line to the ‘cards?”
The red-haired medic smiled. “Well,
you know the former CO, Lex Geütan? She’s
like a little sister to me.”
“Really.”
She nodded. “Yeah,
really.”
The pilot glanced at her. “So
that means you’re Doc McCullough, right?
Jade?”
She nodded again. “Yes,
that’s right.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet the woman sis always wrote home about.”
The pilot offered his hand. “My
name is Derek. Derek Geütan.”
Blink.
“The Queen of Diamonds? That’s
Chance’s card.”
One by one, in front of a startled Alexis “Whiplash” Geütan – not
their Chance Geütan, but a mirror of her from another life, another world, --
they took out old, worn playing cards from pockets and wallets.
Doc – Tag, in this world – was still the Ace of Spades.
The rest of the cards were unfamiliar, except for one.
The King of Hearts. But it
wasn’t in Wire’s hand, like she expected it to be – he had the Jack of
Spades in his hand.
Holding the King of Hearts was Jack “Crash” McCullough, the
firefighter, who was looking at her with such pain in his eyes she had to turn
away.
She turned away and ran, ran outside to look at the MIG she would fly for
them, because she said she would, because she believed these people deserved to
have a chance – even if it wasn’t theirs.
Her eyes landed on the painting near the nose of the plane.
It looked so familiar and yet so alien.
Then again, to these people and this world, the 58th Wildcards
were from a TV show, and an old one at that.
To her, they were very real and truly did exist.
The insignia on the plane was painfully like that of the Wildcards she
knew, with two changes.
The name of the unit was the Fire-Ice Brigade.
Their motto, in red, diagonal across the bottom of the image, read
“Mercy is Dead.”
Blink.
“The fates were merciful. We’re
alive to be here.” Karrially
Darjinn was tucked under her husband’s arm.
The woman she was facing smiled at her.
“Well,
I’m glad you and Slate and the 5-8 could be here.
I can use all the help I can get whipping this crew into shape.”
“It’s not going to take luck, little sister, just a whole lot of hard
work.” Slate Bridger smiled at
his younger sister, who just shook her head.
“Guess you’re right, Slate.”
A non-com came up behind them. “General?
We’ve got a man down on the practice field. You want to go take a look at them?”
The woman turned, nodding. “Sure
thing. I’m on my way.” She
turned back and smiled at her brother and his wife. “Duty calls.”
“Doesn’t it always?” Karrially
grinned knowingly. “We’ll go
handle what needs to be handled and catch you later.
Dinner at Hope’s Landing, right? With
Tag and Dalsuna?”
“Right. See you then.” The
woman turned and headed down a corridor toward the practice field.
Blink.
“No. No way, Mike, you can’t do this to me. Not now. Not
now, dammit!” Thoughts raged
through her head as her brother, Bethan Leitbur, Stephen Baron, and a couple of
others gathered around her, watching her back.
I swore I would never use these
talents again. I swore I
wouldn’t. Why must I break that
oath I made to myself? She drew
on power she didn’t know she possessed to heal her husband, her beloved, of
the wounds he had appeared with, all the while damning the fates that condemned
her to such action. Nothing ever
seemed to go right. Nothing.
“Don’t die on me, hon,” she whispered.
“I love you too much. You
can’t die on me. You promised me
a lifetime, and that lifetime’s not up yet.”
Blink.
Her best friend had picked out the music for the
dance she would share with her older brother, and as Slate led her out onto the
floor and the music struck up, there were already tears in her eyes.
"Indy, what's wrong?" Slate
asked her as they began to dance.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
"This was supposed to be Daddy's dance," she said quietly.
"If only there had been a few more months......"
The Force-shadow of Davil Bridger smiled.
"I am so proud of you, Indiana," he said.
He reached out to her, to embrace her.
Had he been flesh and blood, it would have been the hug of a lifetime. Even as a Force-shadow, the emotion that went along with the
motion was felt, full-force, by the bride.
Slate stepped away, acquiescing to the spectre that was their father.
Tag signaled for the music to strike up again.
Although Davil was nothing more than a Force-shadow and could not truly
touch his daughter, they shared the dance, as it should have been.
Tears shown in the bride’s eyes as she danced with her father's ghost.
The one
The spectre
smiled. "I know, Indy.
I love you very much. Remember,
I am always watching you, and I am very proud to have you and your brother as my
children. Good-bye, I love
you." With those words, the
figure vanished.
She felt arms come around her from behind, but she didn’t look back as
she took her husband’s hands. She
knew it was him. Her gaze was
transfixed to the floor, to the single red rose lying there – her father’s
favorite flower.
Blink.
Even half-conscious in the bacta tank, she knew someone was there,
keeping watch over her. She
wasn’t sure who it was, but she was laying odds that it was Stephen Baron –
he owed her a lot, or so he felt, and if he was going to discharge his debt to
her by guarding her bacta tank, that was fine with her.
She closed her eyes. The
pain was unbearable. Mike was gone,
lost while trying to rescue her. This
wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. This
wasn’t the way. No one was
supposed to get hurt. Everyone was
supposed to come home.
No one was supposed to die trying to save her.
Her life wasn’t worth it. It
never was. It never would be.
Blink.
She came awake lying on the cold metal bunk, startled from strange dreams
by a feeling…a sudden feeling of warmth and reassurance.
They were coming for her. Her
squadron was coming for her. She’d
be safe again soon.
Indiana Bridger drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
It was only a matter of time before volunteers arrived to rescue her.
The question was, would they be too late?
She was fighting a losing battle against the pain and the drugs.
She would sooner succumb to death than give up the secrets of the New
Republic. If it was indeed her
death that it took to keep the Republic safe, that would be a price she would
pay.
She drew another breath to steady herself and tried to think of something
other than the pain – the future, perhaps, and seeing her husband and children
once more, in the vineyards on Coruscant that was the birthright of her family.
She held that vision close as she closed her eyes again and drifted back
to sleep.
To be continued.....