Tazbarada's Lucky Day - 0 BBY
Taz ran his hand through his short hair and glanced at his chrono. He stepped it up; Doc Reetoo didn't like stragglers, and Taz didn't feel like enduring another lecture on the virtues of punctuality. He rounded the corner into medbay and nearly jumped out of his skin as a dozen crew members shouted, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAZ!"
Singing and congratulations erupted around him, flushing Taz's cheeks. Tess grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the bench. On the table was a jumble of cards and small packages. A Filvian ixbish placed a slice of cake in front of him and handed him a fork.
"Thanks M'nik-kaashuub," Taz said with a smile and blew out the glimmerwick. "Kind of early in the day for cake, though."
"Never too early for cake," said Major Numarkos, poking her head around the door jamb. Somebody started to shout "Officer on DEC—", but the major waved them to silence. "Happy birthday, Taz. This makes twenty for you, doesn't it?"
"Yes ma'am," Taz answered.
"Well enjoy it, young man. We're glad you're with us." And with that she disappeared.
Taz took a bite of cake and someone poured him a mug of hot khaff. Around him the others were tucking in as well. Back home, birthday celebrations had been pretty austere affairs. Taz's parents weren't around that much, and when he started boarding at Technical Academy 404 the best he could usually expect was a holo from Mom and Dad. Sometimes a few of his classmates would gather in his dorm room to eat slices of taborisan pudding and rimbuuk beer they'd purloined from the cafeteria.
Aboard the Old Ghost, any excuse for celebration guaranteed a gathering of friends and food, though the beer was rather harder to come by, at least during duty hours. Taz smiled at the noisy spectacle. Beside him, Tess helped herself to a bite of his cake and sipped some khaff. Her dark eyes sparkled.
RE2-1B7 came over to the table and offered Taz the cylindrical object he was holding, wrapped with a droid's meticulous care in iridescent paper. "I hope this gift finds you well, Warrant Officer Third-Class Medtech Tazbarada Oktos," said the surgical droid in his deep metallic voice.
"Thanks Doc Reetoo," Taz answered, taking the package. He tore back the paper. "Oh!" he exclaimed, his excitement quickly fading when he saw the bottle of bluish translucent liquid. "Bacta—! Really, you shouldn't have, Doc."
"That's straight from Thyferra's on-world stock," exclaimed Piotr Kryczek, the Olminar's resident scrounger of just about anything you'd want to get your hands on, legal or otherwise. "None of that cheap made-for-export crap, either. Nothing but the best for our boy!"
After another fifteen minutes of fun, Doc Reetoo started shooing the crew from medbay, admonishing them that they had a mission to execute. Tess kissed his cheek. "Happy birthday, Taz."
"Thanks, Tess," he answered her brightly.
She took a small gift-wrapped package from inside her jacket and put it in his hand, then leaned in close so no one could hear. "Bring this to my cabin tonight. I'll wear it for you." She smiled and stood, her dark eyes dancing as she raised her voice. "Gotta bounce. Those ninety-sixes don't fly themselves and y'all need to be planetside in an hour point five."
Taz squeezed her present. It felt soft and insubstantial inside the gift wrap. Cheeks flushed again, he tucked it in a utility pocket, cleared his throat, and finished his cake and khaff.
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Narendri Prime. If someone needed a definition for backwater, Taz knew where to direct them. The Pride of Olminar was so far off the hyperspace lanes in the Zoraster sector that they might as well have been in Wild Space. Still, the system's isolation was what made it ideal for a Rebel base.
Taz grabbed a crate from the cargo sled and carried it to the portable field hospital they were erecting. The planet's temperate atmosphere didn't stop him from sweating under the Narendri system's harsh sun. "Why'd we pick this place again, Four-dice?"
Fengris Fordyce pried open another crate. "Well, since Yavin, the Empire's been crazy on the hunt for Mon Mothma and the Massassi Group rebels that blew up their planet killer station. Alliance military's scattered to the four corners, if you know what I mean. Word is they're asking all the sector cells with ships to scout potential base sites. 'Least that's what the XO said."
"Guess they liked the place we found." Taz wiped a sleeve across his forehead and opened his crate, then began unpacking the pneumatic gurneys and carrying them into the building. When he came out, Captain Daxarnok was standing by the door.
"Ma'am," Taz said, saluting the short Filvian.
"Officer Oktos, the Olminar has had a sensor contact a few klicks from here."
Taz slapped at an insect buzzing near his ear. "Really? I thought Narendri Prime was uninhabited."
"Our scans verify that, Warrant Officer. We think it might indicate planetside activity sometime in the recent past. If so, it could call into question the secrecy of this place." The tactical officer handed Taz a data cylinder. "Coordinates for the sensor contact. Something artificial, a piece of machinery, according to the sensors." She chewed on her lower lip. Taz had always thought it looked strange for a Filvian to do that. "It could be trouble if the Empire knows about this place. Take a bike and verify."
Taz saluted again. "Will do, Captain."
He walked to the vehicle shed and checked out one of the bulky Meteor-J speeder bikes with the duty technician. Taz swung his leg over the broad chassis and settled on the saddle. When he was twelve he'd decided he wanted to be a swoop racer, but no amount of begging, cajoling, or whining would move his risk-averse father from his firm refusal. In the end, Taz had to settle for a slow, safe youth-model from Laneer Manufacturing. His father caught him trying to install a turbine booster when he was fourteen, and sold the bike. Taz couldn't understand his parents' unwillingness to let him join his friends who all had modded bikes. Angry and petulant, he'd refused to speak to them for weeks afterward.
Guess I showed him. He smiled wryly to himself as the Meteor-J's turbine spun to a loud whine. The military speeder bike had ten times the power of the Laneer-180 that his father had derided as a death trap. The light armor cowling rattled as he cleared the motor pool's pad and pressed the throttle pedal.
Taz took off, letting the autodrive steer toward the reported sensor contact. He adjusted the display on his visor to overlay the data from the Olminar's sensors and checked it against the short-range scanning unit that he'd packed into the speeder bike's sidecar. No confirmation yet from the unit beside him, though. Over the kilometers, the terrain gradually transformed from a rock-strewn flat to a ridge of broken limestone, full of fissures. The bike ascended as the land rose. Taz nudged his foot against the altitude control to gain some height over the jumble of sharp boulders beneath him. He backed off the throttle, then activated the thrust reversers and air brakes, stopping twenty meters from the coordinates he'd been given.
He put the speeder in standby mode and clipped its remote button to his shirt. He grabbed his bag and scanner from the sidecar, then checked his PP40's power level before engaging the safety and slipping it back into his cross-draw holster. Taz scrambled up, over, and around the rocky rubble covering the last few meters until he stopped at the spot indicated by the coordinates. He could see nothing but boulders, crags, and fissures. He let out a long breath, lifted his helmet visor, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and scanned the jumbled landscape. It — whatever it is, could be anywhere.
Holding up the scanner, Taz turned a slow circle, but the reading didn't change from baseline. He tried again on a different frequency band. Still nothing. He curled his lip in frustration and shoved the scanner back in his bag. He was about to scramble back down to the bike when an uncomfortable tingling started at the back of his neck. It wasn't the sharp shock he sometimes felt when danger was near but he knew what that strange feeling meant all the same.
He had no training in the use of the Force other than the recordings in Master Jorun's holographic journal, and the Dahann meditations his parents insisted that he learn. Taz had viewed the Jedi's memoir so many times since receiving it from the academy's librarian that he'd pretty much committed it to memory — well, some of it, anyway. He'd tried using it to learn some Force techniques, but the things it showed him were incomplete. Mostly he fumbled, having no way to know whether he was doing it right when Jorun stressed the need to clear the mind and let the Force flow through him. The flashes of sights, sounds, feelings — they might as well have been daydreams, or Taz's mind playing tricks on him, believing what he wanted to believe instead of what was actually true. It was no better than being led by a blind man.
Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was nearby. He closed his eyes, drew slow, easy breaths, and calmed his mind. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. He repeated the mantra from the Jedi's journal, adopted the paced Dahann breathing, and tried reaching out. Then, after what seemed like a very long time, he felt it. Something nearby, something close at hand. Something...
Taz opened his eyes. He'd had no sensation of moving, but he was on his stomach, laying across a pile of stony debris that had cascaded down the ridge. He stared into the shadows between the rocks and could barely make out a shape. It looked small, but too regular to be natural. The rocks were sharp and closely packed, but he reached his arm down into the small space, stretching out his fingers until they brushed against something hard and smooth, like metal. He stretched even more, the tip of his finger barely brushing against whatever it was. He shifted, trying to make his arm grow longer by sheer willpower. His finger caught on something. Carefully he hooked it over his knuckle and slowly withdrew his arm.
He sat up cross-legged and flipped up his visor, eyes wide with surprise. It was a cylinder of metal; brass and some kind of chrome or steel, though it wore a heavy patina. There were maroon leather grips and what looked like an activation button. Taz guessed it was thirty centimeters long. At its base was the ring he'd used to pull it up, and above that a small, rounded control box. In front of the button, the cylinder ended in a shroud of slivery brushed metal with a few remnants of gold lacquer. It was scratched, dented and blackened from carbon scoring. The shroud surrounded a smaller cylinder of dark metal that had a golden sheen in the bright sun.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Taz knew what it was. Anyone who knew of the Jedi would know. He held in his hand one of their weapons.
A lightsaber.
He took a minute to calm his jangling nerves. Nevertheless his hand shook a little as he held it out then cautiously thumbed the activation button.
Nothing happened.
He let out the breath he'd been holding and laughed. How long had it laid there at the bottom of that rock pile? At least twenty years, he figured. "Power cell's not going to last that long, I guess," he mumbled to himself. "Either that or it's broken."
He put it in his bag and got to his feet, wondering what he was going to tell the captain, when he heard a commotion behind him. Taz spun around, hand reaching for his blaster. He caught a glimpse of someone, a youngish-looking woman with olive skin and strange yellow eyes, her dark hair braided at each side and pinned in loose loops. It seemed like she wanted to speak, but before she could utter a word she was gone in a sudden cloud of dust, as the rocks Taz was standing on abruptly gave way. He yelled as he tumbled down the steep slope, end over end, pummeled by falling rocks, and tossed like a child's doll.
He crashed hard on his left arm at the bottom of a dry wash and felt it fracture under him. A sharp rock jammed into his abdomen and he screamed as it cut deeply below his ribs. If not for his helmet his skull would have been crushed by the falling debris. When the landslide subsided he gasped, sputtering and coughing from the dust he'd swallowed.
Taz was wedged between enormous boulders, and covered by more. He could move his legs, but there was hardly any space for them. His right arm had a bloody gash below the shoulder but he could move it. His hand too, though it hurt to close it and he figured his wrist was broken. The left arm was another story. He could feel the fractured humerus at an unnatural angle beneath him. It tingled painfully, like he'd thrust his whole arm into a repulsor field.
Taz's breaths came in ragged, shallow huffs, and he knew he was going into shock. He could just turn his head enough to see the flat, sharp stone thrust into his side like a primitive spearhead, blood welling all around it. By some stroke of fortune, his bag lay under his right hand. Though it hurt terribly, he fished around until he found a trauma dressing, got the package up to his mouth, and ripped it open with his teeth. With only one hand he wouldn't be able to do a particularly good job of putting pressure on the wound, but it was his only option.
Then he thought of the bacta Doc Reetoo had given him. He felt around the bag and gave a little cry of relief when he touched the smooth hard plastic. It was getting harder to breathe. Taz suspected he was developing a pneumothorax — air invading his body and keeping his lungs from expanding properly. If he didn't do something soon, he was going to die.
Taz began to shiver, more confirmation of shock. In the little space he had, he managed to grasp the edge of the limestone shard. He dragged in a sharp breath and pulled it out with a yell, sobbing from the pain and nearly blacking out. Blood poured from the gash. His hand shook almost beyond control as he fumbled with the bacta bottle. He pressed the valve catch and the viscous liquid poured forth in a thick stream. It was warm on his skin and he gained a little respite from the pain. He let it pour into the wound, stopping only when it spilled over his shirt.
Taz let the bottle drop and took a few breaths. He felt like he was suffocating, and panic began to rise. He thought of his parents and sisters. He thought of Tess. Was he going to die here, buried under a rude pile of rubble like the lightsaber he'd found?
No, I will not. The Force had led him here, and he turned to it again. Jorun's journal spoke of healing trances. He'd never tried the Jedi technique before, but he was fast running out of time and lung capacity. Taz fumbled at his shirt, wheezing now, willing himself to stave off the desperation pressing in all around him. He found the Meteor-J's remote button, and dimly through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the bike power up. He reached his belt, found his comlink, and keyed the distress button. He could only hope the signal would reach the bike, where its more powerful transmitter might broadcast it back to the landing party or the Old Ghost herself. His wrist was swollen so badly that his battered hand refused to work anymore. Worse, his vision began to dim and he felt consciousness slipping away. Maybe he would die here after all. But not before he tried.
Calming himself as much as he could, Taz repeated the Jedi's mantra with barely moving lips, and tried to clear his mind of anything but healing thoughts. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, he couldn't really tell. His eyes wouldn't stay open, but as dark oblivion overcame him, he thought he could hear a young woman's voice.
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Someone was shouting, loud enough to be heard above the whine of an overburdened speeder engine. Taz's eyes opened a mere fraction. He was lying on a stretcher attached to the side of a bike. A Filvian was driving, but he couldn't quite make out who it was from behind the scratched windscreen covering his head. M'nik-kaashuub, he supposed. Even battered as he was, he could feel the tube in his chest, the tightness of a trauma dressing, and bandages constricting his abdomen. Behind the driver, Tess stared down at him, relief and the streaks of dried tears on her dusty face. He moved his fingers, brushing hers. He made a small nod and as much of a smile as he could muster, then went back to sleep.
It was dark in the medbay when Taz woke again. M'nik's ears pricked up when he opened his eyes, and Doc Reetoo walked over. Fexix, made quiet droid noises on the opposite side of the bed while it checked his vital signs. Tess was curled up asleep in a chair nearby, her long black hair falling over her shoulder.
M'nik turned to rouse her but Taz shook his head. "Let her sleep."
"Daro-aktuu has been here since we brought you back," stated the Filvian medtech in as much of a whisper as his race could conjure. Together with the 2-1B droid, they conducted a physical examination.
"How long?" Taz rasped. He felt like he'd gone fifteen rounds with a Gammorean brawler.
"Two point two seven days," said the surgical droid. You are most fortunate to have survived. My gift to you was of some use, it seems. You have made quite a recovery, even considering the quality of the bacta."
Taz looked at his side and was amazed by what he saw. He'd expected staples and sutures, but instead, the skin was unbroken and healed over save for some redness and scarring. Bacta, even the best stuff, would have taken longer than two days to repair such a wound so completely. Did the healing trance work, he wondered?
Taz put his hand on M'nik's furry foreleg. "Thank you for saving me, M'nik-onshu. I'm in your debt, truly."
The older ixbish drew his lips back in a toothy Filvian smile. "Tazbarada-uugresh, you owe me nothing. I am pleased I was able to use my skills in your service. Though if you insist, I will let you buy me a beer."
Taz attempted a smile. "I'll buy you a million." He paused a minute, then looked around to be sure Doc Reetoo wasn't hovering nearby. "On the planet I saw... a young woman. Humanoid, about my age. And before I blacked out, I think I heard her say something."
M'nik tilted his head and swiveled his ear. "A hallucination, perhaps? The Old Ghost's sensors confirmed that Razorclaws are the only sentients on Narendri Prime at the moment."
"Hmm, that must have been it," he nodded, but he formed a different theory. The Force had shown him something, only he was too ignorant to understand what it meant.
Taz spent the night in medbay. Doc discharged him the next morning with a bacta cast on his left arm that came off after two more days. He hadn't seen Tess since— she'd been busy ferrying supplies down to the surface and their paths hadn't crossed.
His junior officer's cabin wasn't much bigger than a storage closet, but it was his alone. Taz sat on the edge of the bed and studied the lightsaber he'd found. He could guess at the function of the button on top, but what use was the knurled brass knob on the bottom? The weapon was far from pristine. The maroon leather and brass spacers on the grip were worn, scuffed, and dulled from what must have been years of aging on that remote planet. Taz imagined that the weapon had once been quite impressive, with a glossy gold finish and fine embossed leather grips.
What to do with it, though? He'd decided to keep the discovery to himself, but the fact that it was on the planet at all meant that, perhaps only a couple of decades ago, a Jedi had been on Narendri Prime. Or perhaps it had lain in its stony crevice for centuries. After all, Master Jorun had lived hundreds of years ago, and his writings often referred to the weapons.
In the action report Taz wrote that he'd been unable to verify the ship's sensor reading— not exactly a lie, he told himself, but hardly an honest account. He made no mention of the girl he was sure he saw, nor of the lightsaber that he stowed at the bottom of his trunk next to Master Jorun's holographic journal, both covered with his civilian clothes. Maybe someday, if he survived the war that was tearing apart the galaxy, he'd learn more about it, and its owner.
There was a knock at the door. "Yep," Taz answered, and opened it.
Tess was there, a bottle of wine in her hand. "Happy birthday, Taz. I meant to do this a couple of days ago, but—"
"Come in Tess!" he said, cycling the door closed behind her. He grabbed two glasses from the rack on the wall over his locker. "Thanks for coming after me, too. I… wasn't sure I'd see you again."
She poured for them both. In a low, intense voice she said, "Promise me you'll never make me worry like that again."
"You've got it," he assured her. He sipped the wine. It tasted fruity, but not sweet. "This is really good. It must have been expensive. Where'd you get it?"
"Where does anyone get anything on this ship?"
"Kryczek."
"Of course," she said, sharing a laugh with him. She took another sip, then asked, "What happened down there, Taz?"
He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. Then he told her everything he could remember.
When he'd finished his recitation, Tess sat back and let out a breath. "I — there's so much to take in," she admitted, looking incredulous. "The girl you saw. Do you know who she was?"
Taz shook his head. "I wish I did. I… feel like I should." He screwed his mouth up and uttered a frustrated sound. "Maybe M'nik is right, and it was just me hallucinating. But I have this nagging feeling that she's connected to that place. It's maddening, like it's just out of my grasp. It's right there, Tess, right there, but I just can't grasp it!"
Tess patted his arm. Her warm hand felt comforting against his skin. "It's okay, Taz. The Force, your story, all of this, it's so strange." She squeezed his arm and leaned in closer, letting her head rest against his. "I believe you."
"Thanks," he said with a frustrated chuckle. Instead of dwelling on it, he kissed the silky black hair on the top of her head. "I don't know if anyone else would." He relished the feel of her skin against his, and the warm rush from her closeness. After a while he asked, "Do you want to see it? The lightsaber, I mean."
She answered with an eager nod. Taz opened his trunk and dug it out. Tess held it gingerly and examined it with wide eyes. "It's heavier than it looks."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Too bad it doesn't work."
She ran her fingers over its surface. "It's seen rough use."
"Maybe combat," Taz opined, sounding awestruck.
"Do you suppose it belonged to the girl you saw?"
Taz scratched his cheek. "I think so."
"Can you fix it?"
He shrugged. "I'd love to take it apart, but I'm afraid I'll break something I can't replace. Plus, I don't want to show it around. After all, I left it out of my report. I'd hate for someone to see it and start asking questions."
"I suppose," Tess agreed with a little smile. She handed the weapon back to him and he returned the lightsaber to his trunk, then pushed it under the bed. When he stood she took his hands and fixed him with an intense, almost desperate stare. "Taz, when they pulled you out of that ravine, I —" she halted, her voice caught in her throat. Tears filled her beautiful dark eyes. "I was so scared that you were —"
"Hey," he said soothingly, touching her cheek to wipe away a tear. "I'm sorry I made you worry."
"I love you, Taz. I don't know what I'd do if you — if anything happened to you." She put her arms around him and held him as tightly as she could.
"I love you too, Tess," he said, brushing his fingers through her thick hair. After a while she took a little step back and wiped her tears away, laughing self-consciously. "I didn't come here to fall apart like a silly girl." Then she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him for a long time.
"It's your lucky day, Tazbarada Oktos." She pushed him onto the bed, kicked off her boots, and unzipped her slim jumpsuit. Underneath she was wearing something soft and insubstantial. And really small.
"My lucky day indeed," he echoed with a big smile.