Revenge of the Jedi/Part 4

"C'mon, stay with me," Jirdo urged, channeling the Arcona restorative energy. "You can do it!"

As an Initiate, Jirdo had always hated hearing that, particularly when he went on to fail whatever trial had been given him; he worried about his instructors' disappointment, but even more, he feared he had betrayed his own lack of faith in the Force. If only he had been more confident, as sure of himself as his comrades all seemed to be, he would have accomplished it—how not, if the wise Jedi Masters said he could do it?

And yet, more than one gravely injured being had taken heart at the reassurance, and so Jirdo had gotten into the habit of saying the empty words in the Medical Corps. They came back to him as he tended the Arcona, though she didn't seem particularly inspired. While that endeared her to Jirdo, it didn't help him get her stabilized.

"Ammonia…" she croaked.

"I know, I'm trying," Jirdo said. He had never treated ammonia poisoning in an Arcona before; though her wheezing and raspy voice fit the normal symptoms, he remembered enough of the MedCorps to know that treating a non-Human the same way one treated a Human was a recipe for both disaster and a dead non-Human. But they had exhausted the Second Chance ' s medkit supplies on Guudria, so he didn't know what else to do.

He heard the thunk of Zaella's boots hitting the deck as she slid down the ladder at the same moment Tirien and Narasi emerged from the cockpit corridor. Narasi ran to the Arcona's other side; as Jirdo supported her triangular head, Narasi said, "Yan!"

"Should've…left…" Yan wheezed.

"No! We went all that way to save you!"

"Yan, what's wrong?" Tirien asked. "Are you injured?"

"Am…mo…nia…"

"Tirien, we don't have the supplies to treat serious ammonia poisoning here," Jirdo said. "How long until we reach Pelagon?"

"Hours," Narasi said. "The atmosphere didn't look like it was ammonia-heavy on the readings, though. And it didn't bother me."

Tirien snapped his fingers. "I remember now. She doesn't have ammonia poisoning, Jirdo—Arcona need to breathe ammonia.  If she's been without for six days…"

"How do you—" Narasi started, then closed her eyes and raised a hand. "You know what, no, don't even tell me. I'll take it on faith.  Now what?"

Yan coughed; she struggled for speech, only managing a few croaks, but she nodded. Zaella narrowed her eyes. "Where are we supposed to get ammonia?"

"Hey, wait!" Narasi said. "Remember when we were installing the new reactor? Isn't there an ammonia pipe—"

"—in the reactor byproduct purification conduit," Tirien completed. He took Yan by one arm. "Good enough for me. Jirdo, help me with her."

"Moving her could put more strain on her lungs," Jirdo warned, though he helped Yan to her feet anyway; something in Tirien's voice invited prompt obedience.

"We'll come with you," Narasi said.

Zaella winced. "We will?"

Narasi elbowed her, but Tirien said, "She's right, Narasi. More than two of us won't help anyway.  Stay here."

"But—"

"Stay. Jirdo, grab your breath mask."

Jirdo scooped it up as they hobbled past and into the engineering section at the back of the ship. None of them had allowed him back here, though he saw he hadn't been missing much. Apart from a trapdoor he assumed led to the cargo bay, there was nothing but system after system, hoses and conduits and readout consoles attached to featureless durasteel cylinders with who-knew-what inside. Engineering had never been his strong suit, which was one of the reasons he had enjoyed Guudria's Jedi shrines—nothing but simple materials and the Force.

"Get that mask on, then hold her up," Tirien instructed. When Jirdo had donned his mask, Tirien opened one wall panel after another, examining hoses and pipes while Jirdo labored under the tall, broad-shouldered Arcona's weight. Tirien beckoned, and Jirdo staggered forward with Yan. Tugging the hose out, Tirien took a deep breath, then unscrewed the hose and held the hissing end to Yan's mouth.

The Arcona took several deep breaths before she caught the hose with her own hand and inhaled a few more. When she was standing unaided she handed the hose back to Tirien, who screwed it again, closed the panel, and gestured out toward the hold. He sealed the engineering door, and only then took a breath.

"You held your breath the whole time?" Jirdo marveled as Narasi raced forward to hug Yan.

"I used the Force to slow down my body's respiration and oxygen consumption."

"Oh." Jirdo frowned, taking off his breath mask and holding it up. "And you just assumed I couldn't do that?"

Tirien raised an eyebrow. "Could you?"

"I…" Jirdo lowered his gaze to the deck; Tirien could still fill his guts with ice with a look. "…no."

"This is Zaella," Narasi was saying. "She's…with us."

"Oh for Force's sake…" Zaella said, and Narasi snickered.

"Yan Razam," the Arcona replied; her voice was still gravelly, but there was more energy behind it.

"And that's Jirdo Yushari. He's…with us?  I guess?"

Jirdo offered his hand, and Yan shook with a tough, clawed hand. "Thanks for your help, kid. And you, Tirien."

"What can we get you, Yan?"

"Food. I haven't eaten since…"

She trailed off, her lambent green eyes tightening as her hands squeezing into fists. Tirien looked at Narasi. "Prep something, would you? Nothing with salt."

As Narasi headed off to the galley and they all sat on the deck, Yan said, "All right, I'll ask: how the hell do you know so much about Arcona?"

"Kal Vorkez," Tirien replied. "He was an Arcona Initiate a few years older than me. I'd never seen an Arcona before I got to the Temple, so I did some research."

"Of course you did," Narasi called from the galley. Saving Yan Razam had restored the good mood she'd had en route to Vondarc.

Tirien didn't glance her way, which was not the way he'd been coming from Guudria, but he didn't comment. They waited until Narasi returned with a tall glass of water and what Jirdo recognized as a Number Eight. Tirien let Yan eat and drink in silence, but when she set her plate aside, he said, "Raven told us about the battle."

"Raven?"

"Kaivalt."

"He wasn't there."

"Some survivors made it to Pelagon."

Yan flexed her claws. "Survivors? Who made it?"

"A couple starfighters to Pelagon, a transport to Milagro. And now you."

"Starfighters…"

Narasi leaned forward. "Maybe some of yours?"

Tirien shook his head. "Raven would've told us if they were Jedi."

"Well, he—"

"No, he's right, Narasi," Yan sighed; the medic in Jirdo flinched as he saw the Arcona slump in place. "I'd lost half my squadron before I went down. I…I saw Kayce die.  And Driphan…"

Narasi took one of Yan's hands, and Yan continued, "He broke his leg when he ejected. I said I'd stay and go down with him, but he told me to run…"

"You did the right thing," Narasi assured her.

"You don't get it," Yan growled, pulling her hand away. "You're not a pilot. You don't leave a wingmate.  They came at him with lasers—lasers on a fighter.   The cowards wouldn't even take him on the ground.  He dodged the first one, but that just made his leg worse.  He still turned to face them—he was going to die with his face to the enemy—but they couldn't even give him that.  Another fighter blasted him from behind.  Kriffing cowards…"

Narasi gritted her teeth and Zaella listened with no expression, but Tirien said briskly, "Narasi's right, Yan. There was no way to win there, and two dead Jedi serves no one.  You're lucky you're alive."

Jirdo winced—the MedCorps would not be awarding Doctor Kal-Di its Best Bedside Manner Award—and Yan rasped. "Yeah. 'Lucky'."

"How did you survive?" Zaella asked.

"With difficulty," Yan said, and Jirdo sat rapt as she described her six-day ordeal on Docharvee. He had never gone that long without eating, let alone dealing with all the other issues that had bogged Yan down; his respect for her as a Jedi grew by the sentence. When she paused, she took a sudden breath so deep it sounded like gasping, then shook her anvil-shaped head as she exhaled. "You don't know how much you'd miss breathing normally until you can't for a week."

"Well, you can breathe freely here," Tirien said. "Will you need more ammonia before we reach Pelagon?"

"I made it six days without, I can handle another few hours. But what happens when we get to Pelagon?"

"The Kaivalts are there, along with however many Jedi serve the Tapani sector. We should be safe from Gasald there, at least for a while."

"We had hundreds of Jedi at Eriadu," Yan snapped. "Didn't do us much good."

After a second of awkward silence, Narasi asked, "It…was it a couple hundred Jedi on the Crescentia still? Was anybody besides us away?"

"Away?" Yan's laugh grated on Jirdo's ears in a way he thought had nothing to do ammonia deficiency. "We tried to call you two back; I guess you missed the message. But we rallied all the Jedi from quadrants around—basically, everybody who wasn't already at Milagro or with Master Bnodd's fleet.  We were probably closer to four hundred Jedi than three."

Narasi groaned and put her face in her hands, and Jirdo swallowed, staggered by the thought of such a catastrophic loss. With a few thousand Knights left serving the Republic…was that five percent of the entire Order? Ten percent? All in one day? Even Tirien lost some color in his face as he thought about it.

"Yan…"  Tirien stopped, then forced himself to go on. "Was Harshee there? Harshee Nefkin?  She's a Svivreni."

That got Narasi's attention. "Oh no…she's only about this high. Has hooves and a kind of muzzle thing…?"

Yan shook her head. "We had Jedi coming in from everywhere, and I spent most of my time with my squadron getting ready. But I don't remember seeing anybody like that."

Narasi relaxed her shoulders a little, though the only change in Tirien's face was the discomfiting intensity in his eyes fading a little as his thoughts turned inward. Jirdo hoped they could all take a minute to let emotions settle, but of course Zaella couldn't give him that.

Coiling the tip of her longer lek around her index finger, she asked, "So what're you going to do about Gasald and this Darshkére guy?"

 ' You', not 'we'? Jirdo thought, but everyone else's renewed tension took his focus off Zaella in a hurry. Yan hissed through her teeth. "Gasald and Darshkére…where did that come from? How did we miss it?"

Tirien shook his head. "I can't be sure."

Narasi cocked an eyebrow. "Got a guess?"

Jirdo remembered the last time Tirien had had a 'guess'—when he had explained Chelshgodrû Brokkodd's discorporeal survival down the in the depths of the tomb. Just remembering it made him shiver, but Narasi had an odd expression—as if, despite the gravity of the conversation and the sheer scale of the Jedi loss, she was fighting a smirk. Tirien didn't smile as he gave his Padawan a sideways look, but after a moment he gave one mirthless snort.

"If I had to guess," he said, "Darshkére was probably considering this alliance even before he killed Lakalt. Whether he reached out to Gasald before then I don't know, though I think not—too much chance of getting caught or being betrayed.  But even before he killed Lakalt and took over, he must've known the fight was hopeless.  Yan, if Gasald hadn't shown up, was the result seriously in doubt?"

"We'd have pulverized him," she growled. "We were so close…"

She trailed off, and Tirien continued. "Darshkére must've known that, so I think he approached Gasald. In exchange for submitting to her, he'd get her help defeating the Seventy-Second.  And that would free his fleet up to help her in turn."

"Maybe he didn't submit," Zaella suggested. "Maybe it's just an alliance. Sith Lords don't put their crowns down easily."

Tirien shook his head. "Gasald doesn't have the power to negotiate with outsiders for alliance; only the Council of Five can authorize that."

"Darth Saleej did," Narasi reminded him. "Alecto was at Anaxes with Vanguardians."

"And the Council may have blessed off on that. But either way, Saleej is a different sort of Overlord than Gasald; he's a soldier himself, he can make tactical sacrifices.  But from everything I've read from Intelligence or heard from Mali, Gasald wants to keep things under her control.  It's possible, Zaella, but I don't think it's likely; I think Gasald would've demanded Darshkére's loyalty as the price of her aid.  Especially when she has problems enough of her own."