Live in Light, Surf Master
OOC: Rescuers & Defenders! Let’s have fun, see where the outcome lands. If you want in on this, please hit up
Alexandra Feanor
.
Sabarene
Medical Centre, Outside Sezi'nik
6 Clicks from the Abha Spaceport
Year 52 of Jedi Master Manu Xextos' imprisonment by Darth Carnifex
Sabarene lilted on, a whisper at the edge of the Galaxy. Echani, Epicanthix, a few Navani still kicked around the polar caps. All beings I promised in the past to protect. The neutral world had few settlements, most built more than a decade ago, if I recall. Circadian rhythms were tough to maintain on board a space station like the Malsheem, though it did bring me back to my roots.
The virus swept through Sezi’nik fast as the desert sun bleached bones.
I’m allowed few comforts in my Sithly imprisonment. One, updates from Sabarene, and at convenient times, the opportunity to dig my toes in the sand. Bare feet padded along the floor of the medic lab in the hour pre-dawn. I preferred it, alone with a few medic droids limited to running diagnostics and minuscule acts my captors deemed… acceptable.
I used to count the time by how tall my half-sister
Raya Najwa Zambrano
got, but she’s an adult now and it got harder to tell. Saw her less. I grip the edge of the lab table, struggle against a frustrated gurgle that might set off the guard alarms. Keep it civil, keep it quiet. Do my work. “DR-3, run the disinfection cycle over the sample tissue, then another diagnostic. See if this attacks the viral load enough without necrosis.”
The droid hummed to an electronic half-life, clunked about. One by one, I set my elbows on the table, grip the back of my neck. My hair’s long again, it must have been months.
Kaine Zambrano. Smart x’archeth, for a brooding giant. He didn't want to kill me, he wanted a living toy. A Jedi Master in his back pocket for those occasions when his blade or brethren needed a punching bag. I kept thinking... how much energy was the man putting into an attempt at turning me from the Light? I'm too practical to think he captured me solely for my mother's joy. His prison had less bars than the dunes along the desert’s edge, chains were built from hostage Echani villages, the sight of my poor, mind-riddled half-sister fit to be tied, not understanding a world she’s not meant for.
There's still time. I could find the method, break the right guard's neck, I could snatch Raya away and take her to real Jedi, to Light Siders who wouldn't slit her throat if she took a nap unprotected.
It's been fifty years, and the villain hasn't beaten my resolve, yet.
The urge to protect her, to find a way to steal her away, get her out of
Darth Carnifex
’s clutches was almost as insatiable as ensuring Sabarene’s populace not get turned to glass.
My prosthetic leg pinched at the stump. Each one more rudimentary than the last, after escape attempts failed. An uprising here, a break for freedom there. Another mandatory sparring session, where Carnifex's ferocity met my calm.
And now, alone in my isolation lab after rounds, I ran the virus through its paces. For now, it seemed, the sickness was only compatible with pure-blooded Epicanthix, so Echani neighbours took up more of the work, more of the load until their compatriots were well. People started dying, and regardless of the time and technology we have, I was reminded that even viruses metamorphose to stay alive.
It’s only a matter of time for the sickness to spread through the half-Epicanthix, half-Echani minority and from there? One wrong person on a cargo ship… “Think. Stop and think. More infectious, less lethal… it’s the way… come on, old man.”
Darth Carnifex might have tossed me onto the planet to salvage his, achem, beloved, achem people, after all this time, I wonder if my step-father trusts he broke me too completely for me to book it out a doorway and into the desert. If I could make it to my Jedi Temple, if I could garner passage, if I could hide among the Echani men, who still share my face…
But innocents like my half-sister could be next. Innocents are in stasis units, and while I haven’t worn the robes of a Jedi Master since the day I was captured, I’m still a doctor. The people lived in fear, scarcity, worry, the hardest of all is hope. Through my empathic background noise, I can feel the hope spreading through the populace. Their benefactors, Darth Carnifex and his wives
Ahani Najwa-Zambrano
and
Gunnr Zambrano
brought them a medical mind.
They sent a living fossil of an ancestor to guide them through the shadow of the valley. So I bit back the hatred rumbling up my esophagus like bile, and I work.
The attempt to rectify hatred with my Jedi Code is the only thing keeping my mind untangled.
“DR-4, do you have those reports from the water recyke purifiers, yet?”
“Still… compiling. . . Manu Najwa Xextos. Rank…”
“Belay vocals. When it’s finished, send it to my datapad.”
I cannot wait to have a lightsaber in my hands again. To cut down the Sith until their cancer is atomized in the heat of a star. Maybe this day... maybe I'll look into the faces of my expectant descendants and see they're ready for a war of attrition... all I see is my kids.
Children Erryn bore without me, out of time as I was in those days.
I wasn't there for Erryn, whisked away in the Krystalsovn by my insane mother. I wasn't able to raise my kids.
I'll be dashed if I leave their descendants to the Dark, without a fight.
Alexandra Feanor
.Sabarene
Medical Centre, Outside Sezi'nik
6 Clicks from the Abha Spaceport
Year 52 of Jedi Master Manu Xextos' imprisonment by Darth Carnifex
Sabarene lilted on, a whisper at the edge of the Galaxy. Echani, Epicanthix, a few Navani still kicked around the polar caps. All beings I promised in the past to protect. The neutral world had few settlements, most built more than a decade ago, if I recall. Circadian rhythms were tough to maintain on board a space station like the Malsheem, though it did bring me back to my roots.
The virus swept through Sezi’nik fast as the desert sun bleached bones.
I’m allowed few comforts in my Sithly imprisonment. One, updates from Sabarene, and at convenient times, the opportunity to dig my toes in the sand. Bare feet padded along the floor of the medic lab in the hour pre-dawn. I preferred it, alone with a few medic droids limited to running diagnostics and minuscule acts my captors deemed… acceptable.
I used to count the time by how tall my half-sister
Raya Najwa Zambrano
got, but she’s an adult now and it got harder to tell. Saw her less. I grip the edge of the lab table, struggle against a frustrated gurgle that might set off the guard alarms. Keep it civil, keep it quiet. Do my work. “DR-3, run the disinfection cycle over the sample tissue, then another diagnostic. See if this attacks the viral load enough without necrosis.”The droid hummed to an electronic half-life, clunked about. One by one, I set my elbows on the table, grip the back of my neck. My hair’s long again, it must have been months.
Kaine Zambrano. Smart x’archeth, for a brooding giant. He didn't want to kill me, he wanted a living toy. A Jedi Master in his back pocket for those occasions when his blade or brethren needed a punching bag. I kept thinking... how much energy was the man putting into an attempt at turning me from the Light? I'm too practical to think he captured me solely for my mother's joy. His prison had less bars than the dunes along the desert’s edge, chains were built from hostage Echani villages, the sight of my poor, mind-riddled half-sister fit to be tied, not understanding a world she’s not meant for.
There's still time. I could find the method, break the right guard's neck, I could snatch Raya away and take her to real Jedi, to Light Siders who wouldn't slit her throat if she took a nap unprotected.
It's been fifty years, and the villain hasn't beaten my resolve, yet.
The urge to protect her, to find a way to steal her away, get her out of
Darth Carnifex
’s clutches was almost as insatiable as ensuring Sabarene’s populace not get turned to glass. My prosthetic leg pinched at the stump. Each one more rudimentary than the last, after escape attempts failed. An uprising here, a break for freedom there. Another mandatory sparring session, where Carnifex's ferocity met my calm.
And now, alone in my isolation lab after rounds, I ran the virus through its paces. For now, it seemed, the sickness was only compatible with pure-blooded Epicanthix, so Echani neighbours took up more of the work, more of the load until their compatriots were well. People started dying, and regardless of the time and technology we have, I was reminded that even viruses metamorphose to stay alive.
It’s only a matter of time for the sickness to spread through the half-Epicanthix, half-Echani minority and from there? One wrong person on a cargo ship… “Think. Stop and think. More infectious, less lethal… it’s the way… come on, old man.”
Darth Carnifex might have tossed me onto the planet to salvage his, achem, beloved, achem people, after all this time, I wonder if my step-father trusts he broke me too completely for me to book it out a doorway and into the desert. If I could make it to my Jedi Temple, if I could garner passage, if I could hide among the Echani men, who still share my face…
But innocents like my half-sister could be next. Innocents are in stasis units, and while I haven’t worn the robes of a Jedi Master since the day I was captured, I’m still a doctor. The people lived in fear, scarcity, worry, the hardest of all is hope. Through my empathic background noise, I can feel the hope spreading through the populace. Their benefactors, Darth Carnifex and his wives
Ahani Najwa-Zambrano
and
Gunnr Zambrano
brought them a medical mind. They sent a living fossil of an ancestor to guide them through the shadow of the valley. So I bit back the hatred rumbling up my esophagus like bile, and I work.
The attempt to rectify hatred with my Jedi Code is the only thing keeping my mind untangled.
“DR-4, do you have those reports from the water recyke purifiers, yet?”
“Still… compiling. . . Manu Najwa Xextos. Rank…”
“Belay vocals. When it’s finished, send it to my datapad.”
I cannot wait to have a lightsaber in my hands again. To cut down the Sith until their cancer is atomized in the heat of a star. Maybe this day... maybe I'll look into the faces of my expectant descendants and see they're ready for a war of attrition... all I see is my kids.
Children Erryn bore without me, out of time as I was in those days.
I wasn't there for Erryn, whisked away in the Krystalsovn by my insane mother. I wasn't able to raise my kids.
I'll be dashed if I leave their descendants to the Dark, without a fight.
