Gravitational Collapse

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Somewhere in the Ojoster sector of the Outer Rim territories...

The Starwind-class yacht had been marketed as a pleasure vessel. It was, the salesman had explained, the kind of ship you could be proud of. The kind of ship you could conduct business on board, and once that business was done, well, you could do all sorts of other business too. For Coruscant-born and bred Ziven Kaal, this particular yacht had been a graduation gift. A present from mum and dad for passing out of the Imperial Academy with a distinction. In a matter of months, he'd receive his first posting as an officer within the Imperial fleet. Until then, he had the whole Galaxy before him and his very own yacht to explore it in. The Starwind was, to put it simply, a dream.

A dream that had become a nightmare.

The escape pod jutted like a broken bone out of the hull. The distress beacon had deployed, broadcasting on such a short, tight band that it might as well have not been deployed at all. The engines of the yacht were cold. By contrast, Ziven Kaal was warm. He lay sprawled on the decking, steam rising from the spot where his exposed intestines met the frigid cabin air, now sour with the odour of bile. A pale figure slumped against the bulkhead beside him, ragged mechanical breaths causing his bare, blood splattered chest to rise and fall.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

The yacht spun on its X-axis as it drifted, creating a centrifugal pull toward the deck that mimicked the artificial gravity that has already failed. If one was looking through a window they would see the stars sliding past again, and again. They might have seen a huge Hammerhead-class ship snap into realspace several klicks off the bow and engage its sublights to match the yacht's speed as it closed the distance.

A shudder went through the hull of the yacht as it was snared in a tractor beam, stopping the ship's spin and sending its macabre contents adrift inside. The Hammerhead-class loomed, enveloping the smaller craft in its shadow as it drew it into a landing bay.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

As the Starwind lurched towards the cruiser, it’s occupants stared out of the yacht’s viewports: Ziven Kaal with the blank eyes of the dead, and his attacker with eyes that looked almost as lifeless. Vega swallowed, the taste of iron thick in his mouth, and clumsily reached for the viscera that splattered the ship's decking . In amongst the gore, his unsteady fingers found what they were looking for: the blood-slick hilt of his lightsaber. He dragged the weapon's hilt closer, until it was pressed against, almost hidden beisde, the metal of his thigh.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Aboard the Haran


The helmeted warriors that surrounded the derelict Starwind-class yacht as it sat on the deck turned to face their Mandalore as she walked into the landing bay. They did not turn as one, as stormtroopers might, but casually. Some of the Mandalorians were leaning against engineering hardware and others squatted as they kept an eye on their new aquisition.

"Hardly worth the scrap," said Aang, the blue stripe on his helmet distinctive among the others. "The escape pod is still transmitting."

Lilaena nodded, her black and red helmet snug on her head as the HUD embedded within tagged all the other Mando'ade with their names. Useful, in case anyone had decided to redecorate their armor. She walked to the hatch of the yacht and gestured.

"Open it." Her voice sounded mechanical and more masculine through the helmet's vox synthesizers.

Two Mando'ade jumped forward to comply, and the other warriors in the bay began to straighten up and look visibly interested. Whatever the state of the craft, it was only in their possession because Mand'alor had abruptly ordered their exit from hyperspace and discovered it. It was after the reversion to realspace that the Haran had picked up the distress call.

As the hatch opened and the ramp into the craft hit the deck plating, warmer air from the Haran's life support mixed with the icy atmosphere from the yacht and created a thin fog that clung to the deck. Lilaena could feel the life form within even as her armor's sensor suite informed her of its location. As she walked into the ship she motioned for the Mando'ade to stay back. There was a Force user on board, someone strong enough that she had felt them from inside hyperspace.

Whether they would be grateful for their rescue or not, remained to be seen.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

The ship might as well have come fresh from the yard. The rooms that could be glimpsed from it’s hallways were unadorned with personal effects, and still had a faint smell of newness to them, made all the more pronounced by the cold air. The one exception was the cockpit. The stench of Ziven Kaal’s disemboweled body would reach Lilaena De’Ville long before she reached the cabin, in the same way that her scent reached Vega Van-Derveld.

Using the bulkhead behind him as leverage, the Sith struggled to his feet. As he moved his respirator hissed and groaned, and the mechanisms powering the movement in his mechanical limbs - both legs and one arm - whirred. Once upright, he gripped his lightsaber in his near-human hand and, focussing on the pain that radiated from the wound to his bare chest, grasped for the power of the Dark Side.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Despite the damage to the hull, the interior of the yacht (registered owner Ziven Kaal, stated her HUD) was nearly completely intact. Nearly. She walked along clean white bulkheads with the occasional decorative stripe, drawing near to the cockpit.

Lilaena could not smell the decay through the helmet, but her HUD alerted her to its presence in the air. At least one dead body - perhaps the occupant (or occupants) of the escape pod which had lodged itself in the hull of the ship? The placement of the body in the ship compared the the pod damage caused her to immediately dismiss that theory.

As she turned the corner, slowly, she saw a form crumpled on the ground, blood and guts smeared around its center, and a man standing against the bulkhead. Her eyes quickly picked out the cylinder in his hand, while her HUD struggled to classify his species amid all the cybernetics.

"We found you adrift in space," she said, before he could make another move. "I'm guessing you aren't Ziven Kaal."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“No.”

His voice was inhuman, mechanical and completely without emotion. Pain registered on his expression as a fleeting grimace, a twisting of his pallid lips.

When he spoke, Lilaena could see the blood on his teeth.

“What are you?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She took one more step, centering herself in the hallway beyond the cockpit. "They call me Mand'alor."

Lilaena cocked her head to the side, visibly inspecting his form. The HUD informed her of several failing cybernetic parts, as his grimace told her of his pain. It radiated through the Force, reminding her of Hawkins Grime. He felt like a caged beast, steeped in the Dark Side, and she was wary.

"I felt your presence." So much was communicated with just four words.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

A wheezing rasp, a hollow imitation of a laugh. “And yet you came.”

A poor decision, perhaps. Who would sense a creature like him, feel the writhing knot of loathing, hatred and suffering, and go willing toward it?

His fingers twitched against the grip of his lightsaber. “Did the Empire send you?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

De’Ville straightened, turning slightly to give a narrower profile. He was tense. Dangerous. Her eyes flicked down to the body on the deck.

Murderous.

”I do not recognize the authority of the Empire.” She hesitated, then continued, “You may come aboard as a guest, or a prisoner. The choice is yours.”

Her lips curled upward slightly, hidden under the helmet. “Or, we can return you to the black.”

[Vega Van-Derveld]

There was no telling how long it would be before another ship responded to the Starwind-class’s distress signal. If either Empire or the Jedi found Vega aboard, he wouldn't get a choice about how he went aboard their ships: it would be as a prisoner, potentially too fatigued to be able to escape. His whole body felt on the verge of collapse, held together only by the strength of his hatred and the Dark Side. Even the relatively new cybernetic arm that he had stolen from an Imperial research facility was not functioning properly.

Without further invitation, and stepping around the body of Ziven Kaal in the process, he limped towards Manda’lor.

"Get me a medic."

[Lilaena De'Ville]

She put out a hand as he neared, palm up.

"Your weapon." He was not exactly concealing the lightsaber hilt, and she knew very well what it was he held. "If you would be my guest, I require it to remain in my possession."

Lilaena's eyes flicked down to the body, rent apart jaggedly as though by a wild animal, and her T-visor centered again on the bloodstained pale man before her. Even if he handed over the saber, he would not be defenseless.

"When you leave us, or earn my trust, it will be returned to you."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“You can trust me,” Vega said, now standing within arms reach of Manda’lor, his ice-blue eyes locked to hers and his lips curving into an unnerving smile.

After second, he slapped the lightsaber hilt into her waiting palm.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Lilaena inclined her head toward him, nodding as she took the lightsaber. Using her internal comms and subvocalizing, she alerted the mando'ade outside that they had a visitor in need of medical attention.

He walked past her, his cybernetic legs malfunctioning and causing him to limp. It was not just the mechanical parts that reminded her of Grime, but the seething, feral hatred that bubbled inside him, a cesspool of pain and anger. Perhaps this one, too, would pledge loyalty for just as long as it took to get what he needed, all while fantasizing about her death?

Lilaena made a face under her helmet. Why had she dropped out of hyperspace for this? An interesting diversion? Not enough on her plate, with the fleet of ships, mercenary company, and fledgling group of Force users to manage?

Outside, on the deck of the landing bay, Draylshy'a had brought a grav bed and was standing beside it. As they exited the yacht the young woman's eyebrows raised, but she said nothing, merely raising her medical scanner as she identified her patient.

"What is your name?" asked Lilaena, as their feet touched the deck.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Under the brighter lights of the cruisers landing bay, the full extent of the Lupine’s condition became clear to see. His skin was sallow, riddled with scar-tissue, and almost translucent in places, dark veins visible beneath the surface. The cybernetic arm looked as if it had been attached in a hurry and where it joined his body, it was clear to see the stump had been cauterised, though not by a doctor.

“Vega Van-Derveld.”

As Draylshy'a gestured the scanner about his person, he looked her up and down, as if he were doing a crude scan of his own.

“Quite a ship you have here. Is this Republic technology?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

"Old Republic," Lilaena answered. She recognized his name almost immediately. Vega Van-Derveld, a former Imperial stormtrooper who had gone rogue and tried to murder the Empress' consort, not to mention an attempt on Miranda Tarkin herself back when she'd only been a Moff. In fact, their names were still next to each other on the Empire's most wanted list.

His arm had been taken off by a lightsaber, and the prosthetic attached crudely. The jaundiced nature of his flesh could indicate that the Dark side was devouring him from the inside out.

"We may need Mirshe for this," said Draylshy'a in accented Basic. "The cybernetics are interfering with my scans, and he's our most skilled engineer."

Mirshe had spearheaded the exoskeleton project for Grime. A simple arm prosthetic would be easy, in comparison.

"Please," said Lilaena, nodding to her medic, and indicating to Vega that he should sit on the grav bed. Around them the mando'ade stood with the relaxed intensity of boma waiting to pounce.

After a moment she reached up and took off her helmet, tucking it under her arm. "My name is Lilaena De'Ville."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“De’Ville,” he echoed, in his hollow metallic voice. The name was familiar, though he couldn’t place the origin. Whoever the woman was, she clearly had significant resources at her disposal, and some connection to the Force.

“I need something I can fight with,” he said of the arm that was receiving some attention, while he struggled his way onto the grav bed.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Draylshy'a was a slight woman, barely out of her teens, but she was stronger than she looked. She helped Vega onto the bed as Lilaena walked closer.

"If you hate the Empire as much as I think you do - then you shall have it." Lilaena nodded as Draylshy'a pressed a hypospray to Vega's neck. His eyes blazed with intensity and then dimmed as the sedative took hold.

"What do you think?" Lilaena asked her medic.

"I think we need a full bacta tank laced with ryll to even try to get this one back on his feet." Draylshy'a shrugged. "We do not have that. But I will do what I can to stabilize him - if that is what you want, Mand'alor."

"Elek, it is."

Draylshy'a nodded, and began pushing the bed out of the landing bay, two vod by her side.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

When Vega woke, the haze of the sedative still clouded his mind. “Acera,” he murmured, the sound a barely audible drone from his vocoder.

As his vision gained focus, he could pick out the shapes of people moving around him. Someone was using some kind of tool - whirring, hissing, whining - on his upper body. The sour, burned scent in the air cut through the fog in his thoughts.

Teeth gritted, the Lupine tried to sit up. “De’Ville?”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

"Haar'chak!" cursed a masculine voice, and a hand pressed on Vega's chest. "Remain still. Gedet'ye. I am Mirshe."

The hand on his chest belonged to Draylshy'a, and she gently pushed her patient back onto the bed.

"I will let Mand'alor know you are awake." The girl lifted her hand to adjust the saline pack that was rehydrating him through an IV. "You were very lucky that we came when we did. Some of your organs were on the verge of shutting down. I have treated the infections I could find, and Mirshe is improving your limb."

She put a hand on the sheet over his leg, the one that had caused his limp. "We have already fixed this one."

Mirshe grunted, and returned to his work. Cybernetics were tricky, and the connections difficult to fine tune.

"Try making a fist." He kept his tools ready, watching the artificial fingers for movement.