It came in a multi-layered stream, dozens of images, ideas, concepts, and emotional textures all layered together, each intertwined, tangled together in a web that conveyed layer upon layer, intricate, delicate, nuanced. For many others, it would have been more noise than signal. But she took it in, turning it all over and examining each aspect as it came. Her mind worked at speeds that registered as a fever pace for others, but she found eternity within a moment. And it had come before she could react to him stopping her. Rather than pull away from the mental contact, she rode it out. It might have been strong enough to be an assault to another, but she sensed no hostility, only a desire for clarity. And so the best way to weather it was to let it wash through her. She didn't fight or hide, or block it out, but instead embraced it, purely on instinct.
Once he finished, she had let face drop, still sitting in his lap. She became so still it seemed she even stopped breathing, though there came no distress. Her consciousness brushed against his after nearly a full minute. Deliberate contact, rather than just making noise. In the dark, empty space devoid of other fully sentient minds, with only faint background noise, it was ... like seeing another living soul after spending years alone.
The surface impressions that came were like a still, mirror-like alpine lake. Pure, crystal clear, but beneath the surface were deep dark waters. There was so much going on farther down. But as she made that gentle contact, the surfaces of her mind changed. An image rippled across the incredibly vast and extremely close distance between them. It was of her, drifting in darkness, among the stars. She drifted for an instant and an eternity before settling down into a field, a lake much like where they were. It was, exactly, where they were. The ship rested nearby. And as she gazed up at the night sky, one of the stars seemed to move.
In an instant, the viewpoint switched, much as dreams do. It showed a frigate-sized ship sitting in orbit as though they were standing on the hull. A domed double-barrel turbolaser turret rotated toward the ground. Bright blue-white flashes erupted off each barrel as a pair of bolts stabbed toward the moon below. Des had just enough time on the ground to raise a shield with one hand, trying to protect herself and Anse. The bolt struck right overhead, and the air detonated. The world went white.
When it cleared after an unknown amount of time, the world was ablaze. The entire valley burned. The wreckage of the ship glowed cherry red and gold, with much of it running as slag down toward the lake. Other parts of it were scattered all about. The entire area around the ship was an inch thick plate of glass and aluminum created by the intense heat of the strike. The destruction of the single shot stretched for two hundred meters in any direction.
And where she and Anse stood were a pair of dark shadows that glittered in the hellish light of the fires. As her vision drew closer, one could see small, dust-fine diamonds glittering in the carbon shadows where they had instantly perished, turned to ash and the explosive force implanted them on the stones.
Ash rained down around her then, as though she had walked into the scene from afar, with Anse standing in the middle of it. "
I can only do so much," she said, shaking her head. "
And I can't fight something like this. Not here. And it doesn't matter how much I 'take care of myself'. Or how much you try to take care of me." She shook her head. "
It's all subjective nerfcrap, compared to the cold hard truth."
The vision faded away, leaving them standing in empty space. "
That's just one salvo. There isn't time for 'rest and relaxation'. If they are coming, and if they aren't now, they will. It won't matter how many hot soaks I've had. Or how many good meals. Or any of that. The only way any of that works is if we leave. Otherwise, we'll have a war on our hands. A small, little, private one in wildspace which nobody will ever know or hear about. There will be no rescues. No second chances. We're either dead or captives and ... likely slaves. We can't sit here and play house. And even if they didn't, the last thing I need is to get slow, and soft, and weak."
"
And if running isn't an option, we can try to hide. That might work for a while. It might work completely. I don't know. If that isn't an option, then we take the fight to them. And that I have no problem with either." She sighed, mentally. "
I appreciate how you see me. I really do, and I share some of the same sentiment. But this is something I was made for."
As she stood there in the space between minds, flickers of old pain washed around her, but also shades of emotion. She didn't want to run, on one level. She'd been running for far too long. She was good at it, and she could keep doing it. Hiding felt like waiting to die. She could do it, but it was its own kind of misery. And she didn't feel like looking over her shoulder in either case.
Taking the fight to them left her in turmoil. It was the smarter play. Attack the enemy when they least expect it. When they expect you to run. When they are off-balance. Jedi rule of thumb - when outnumbered,
attack. But it was also aggressive. It wasn't necessarily of the Dark Side. Was it motivated by fear? She had no desire to be a slave, or to die. And they weren't just going to wander off. They probably had others in their captivity.
She sat with it for a time, unaware of how fast or slow time passed in the real world. Best to see how she felt about such an idea. Part of her ached for another test, a real one. But also, if there
were slaves and innocents involved, she could do some good. It wasn't the Jedi way to turn a blind eye to suffering, if they could do something about it. She had the ability to
respond and that made it her
responsibility, didn't it?
Des could feel him watching, listening, feeling, picking up on all the subtleties. Even the flickers of imagery and analyses, tactical plans and ideas, simulating and discarding various aspects while she paid close attention to her emotional state.
There were two main choices, fighting on the ground, or getting into a boarding action. She knew Anse would be more comfortable in his home turf. They could set the pace of engagement there. Aboard a ship, they couldn't. And the enemy could control the terrain, to an extent. But up there, she would be close enough for her saber. And the Force was her ally. They would be attacking the enemy where they were strong, but then it was strength against strength. She didn't fight conventionally. The nature of using a lightsaber against blaster-wielding opponents saw to that. They also had no idea she was Jedi. That alone could've made them reconsider.
On the ground, they could hit and run. They knew the terrain. Could set decoys, traps, false trails. Attack from a distance, or up close. Make them exhaust themselves. But it also gave them time to retreat, gather reinforcements. If they hit the ship, as long as long-range communications were down, the crew could vanish without a peep.
Am I really sitting here, casually contemplating murder of maybe dozens of people?
That was not the Jedi way. This wasn't a self-defense situation yet.
It was worth a shot.
She turned her attention back to Anse. "
Maybe I can defuse this situation. After that, we'll know where we stand, and maybe then can take some time off," she said gently. "
It's a whole lot easier to rest and recover without the shadow of slavery and death looming over our heads."
Though she asked no question, he would feel it there, floating like smoke in a beam of sunlight. She sought his approval, wanted to know how he felt about it. All of it, really, but especially a way out that might involve... a more peaceful resolution.
Anse Baenshaol
