Star Wars: Blue Quartz/ Chapter 6: Send in the Cavalry

Chapter 6: Send in the Cavalry

Ponds's head snapped up off the countertop like a cranked jack-in-the-box. He spun his head about wildly, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly as he did so. He was still alone in the large control room, perched at his seat at the top deck, the tall windows behind him shining bright with blinding snow.

He looked down at the control panel before him: still nothing. Static on dozens of channels, port chatter on the nearby shipping hub planet of Comra, and a looping advertisement for PolyStarch Bread on the heaviest bandwidth. Ponds sighed heavily in frustration, his heavy breath filling the room with sound as it evaporated. It was then that he heard footsteps in the hall down below.

"Hello?" he shouted. "Soldier?"

"Yes?" a voice called up, and soon a figure appeared through the door leading into the hallway at the northwest junction: a young humanoid in a large coat with a blaster he could hardly keep at his shoulder. He looked far too young to be in any sort of military capacity, but Ponds realized that their cause couldn't be picky at the current juncture.

"Any word from Carg and the team? Any response from the Death Watch?"

The young man looked puzzled as he stared into the face of Ponds, a face he'd probably run into dozens of times a day. "I'm sorry, you're..."

"Ponds."

"Right, Ponds. Aren't you on scanners?"

"Yes."

"So..." the young man lost grip of his rifle yet clumsily caught it before it clanged to the floor. He straightened himself as best as he could. "So shouldn't you know that better than I?"

Ponds shook his head and waved the soldier off with a dismissive hand. "Point taken. As you were."

"Sir," the soldier quipped quickly and exited the room. Ponds stared at the controls at his desk, then picked up the broadcasting apparatus and punched up the script he'd programmed into the farthest display panel. "Attention any Resistance/Rebellion fighters or sympathizers; this is Commander Ponds of Outpost Carlac. We've encountered a native danger; a virus of sorts that has infected our guide, whom subsequently smashed our medical facilities. We are in danger of losing environmental controls, life support, and losing every man at the post. Please send assistance." He sighed and slid the phones off his ears. He fell back into his chair as he flipped the switch that repeated the broadcast over every available outgoing signal ad infinitum. He quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

--

Ponds now found himself in a smoky room, lights blinking chaotically in far off corners, as the distant screams of men dying echoed off the walls. At his feet he saw the disembodied parts of soldiers: arms, legs, a head, fins, blasters, a webbed foot. He struggled to breathe as he clamored more quickly through the room, though the edges never seemed to be any nearer. He saw more violence, more gore, the further he pushed. The parts on the floor became harder to place; many chewed upon, smashed into the hard floor by heavy boots, or so small they appeared only as bits. The screams grew louder, but he still could make his way no closer to the exits. He turned to see that the large windows that once bordered the command center were obscured by defensive shields of brushed steel, giving them the characteristics of a dark mirror. Within them he saw a monster, its tentacles gesticulating wildly about it as though independent of its body. He crept closer to the reflective surface as the monster crept closer to him. Soon he was face to face with the murderous force that decimated this room, and as he reached his hand to his mouth to mute his cries of horror, the creature did the same. He stared into its widening eyes and recognized them as his own, and when he turned them to his hands he saw the profane amounts of blood and flesh therein, the spaces between his fingers overtaken by jutting tentacles that whipped and shook like live wires. At the end of one of the tentacles bounced a jiggling eyeball, its optic nerve still dripping fresh blood to the floor.

"Ponds" he heard from behind him. He spun to see Timin standing before him, his stomach torn open and his intestines spooled around his feet. He spoke clearly though half of the flesh of his face was torn off. "You did this, Ponds. Ponds!"

--

Ponds snapped awake with a scream at the noise and nudges. He looked into the perpetually smiling face of Patrick Rahr who was standing over him like a hungry housepet. "Ponds!" he exclaimed again. "You sleep real good!"

Ponds clambered to stand at attention and deliver a salute to the Jedi. Patrick laughed heartily.

"Oh, silly. You don't have to do that for me." He laughed again, the sound obscuring all of Ponds's groggy senses. "But you should for them." He swept his appendage broadly at the rescue regiment sent by the Rebellion, led by Commander Stone.

"I'll give Carg commendations on keeping you men motivated, that's to be sure; however, if he were a bit better at delegating tasks we wouldn't have good men falling asleep at a station, would we?"

"Sir?" was all Ponds could manage to say aloud. He was still waking, and scanning the line to see more familiar faces from the Rebellion among them.

"Should be at least two men on scanner duty so you can switch off; take breaks, sleep. All that fun stuff."

"Give him a break," came a voice from the back. "In the field, you use the resources you have." As Ponds's eyes adjusted to the light and the face before him, they grew wide with surprise as did his mouth.

"Rex??"

The Captain stopped before Commander Ponds and examined his old face, then smiled.

"Seems none of us can stay retired, eh?" He saluted Ponds, who dumbfoundedly returned the gesture. "So, speaking of resources..." His face grew grave as he leaned in.

"Why don't you show us to your medical facilities."