XXVI: Take a Breath

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Processed, chemical air stung his nostrils and Anakin sucked in lungfuls of it, never so happy to smell the tangy interior of a starship. His ears rang and spots danced before his eyes, violet and sparkling silver and red and he blinked them away, blinked hard. Mei shuddered against him and his uncle was there, placing his hand on the Jensaarai’s forehead, the Force thundering in the Jedi Master. Face stumbled away, swearing, clutching at his head. Bhindi wiped blood from her lip, tilting her head back as bruises formed on her face.

“Teleportation complete,” a flat and toneless voice announced. One of the Imperial magi, as much machine as man, worked levers and switches on a massive bank that hummed and clicked. At the edge of hearing, rumbling whining spun down slowly.

White tunic clad medics were among them immediately, all humans, speaking that Imperial language that Anakin didn’t understand but they reached for Mei as they produced bandages and shining pads of adhesive.

“Let her go with them, Anakin,” Luke said gently and he realized he was still clutching at the Jensaarai. Anakin carefully transferred Mei into the medic’s waiting hands and then she was up and off on a wheeled gurney, sped out of the chamber. Zalthis found Anakin and slumped to sit down beside the young Jedi on the teleportation platform.

“Clear the pad,” the magi burred. Everyone ignored him.

“Jedi Solo,” Zalthis said by way of greeting.

“Zalthis.”

“My best wishes for Jedi Taral.”

Numbly, Anakin nodded.

“Thank you. I’m sorry about Sergeant Ascratus.”

Just as woodenly Zalthis accepted the condolences.

“He was a fine Astartes. I only regret - never mind. The melta he carried surely slew the Commander.” The neophyte sighed. “Incredible odds. A clean teleportation. He would be proud.”

“He is proud,” Luke admonished.

“He is dead.”

“And he is proud.” Luke rose. “Anakin, I’m sorry to go, but I need to go with Mei. They have very different medical treatments and I should be there.” He crouched down, forcing Anakin to look at him.

“Will you be alright?”

Would he. Mei was maimed, dying, probably going to die. Sergeant Ascratus was dead, sacrificed in the last seconds before he could have escaped. Zev was dead too. Three out of nine. Thirty percent. They had the data and Anakin and Luke had - he was pretty sure - killed a yammosk. It wasn’t entirely clear what had happened then, just a blur of sensation and images and emotions, but at the end, the very end of it, he could still feel the visceral fear of the yammosk.

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Was that okay? Was that alright?

“I think so,” he decided. He didn’t feel as empty as after Dantooine or as hollow as after Sernpidal. Now he just felt tired. Was that bad? Should he be feeling something more?

“I’ll be back. I promise. Face, look after my nephew.”

The Colonel nodded, face screwed up and hand pressed to one ear. Other medics, now that the most critical patient was gone, plied Bhindi and Face both while another stood a respectful distance from Anakin, Zalthis and Luke. His uncle looked none the worse for wear and taking a moment, frowning, Anakin realized he felt fine as well. Relatively fine, as fine as he could feel after running and fighting for most of an entire day.

Zalthis and Anakin watched Luke leave the chamber.

“Clear the pad,” the magi repeated. Medics led Face and Bhindi aside, looking in noses and mouths and ears as the two Wraiths winced.

“Is that normal?” Anakin asked finally, breaking the quiet.

Zalthis started.

“For an unprotected baseline human, I believe so.”

Anakin pointed to Solidian, who, alone, sat against the far wall of the teleportation chamber, head hanging.

“And that?”

Zalthis grimaced.

“I’ll talk to him.”

The neophyte wandered off and Anakin suddenly had nothing to do. He checked the three lightsabers clattering at his belt. His, Mei’s, her brother’s. One felt sticky. He looked down. Blood covered Mei’s brother’s lightsaber hilt. And his hands. And his side, actually. He could feel the warmth where the blood soaked into the outer layers of his jumpsuit. All up his side. Mei’s blood.

He checked his pockets, then his pouches. No cloths, no rags. Nothing to wipe it off with.

He looked around. Nothing he could see either. Maybe Face had something. Or Bhindi. He needed to clean off the lightsaber and clean off his hands. They had Mei’s blood all over them.

“Wow,” he whispered. “I think I’m panicking.”

He found a quiet corner and lowered himself down. It took a minute to get situated, but he crossed his legs like he’d been taught, took deep breaths and reached out for the Force.

It filled him, warm and bright as always, as unchanging as the stars. He breathed in, out, thinking of the grotto on Yavin, the warm waters. The darkness all around, the darkness that wasn’t suffocating but was freeing, embracing. He breathed in and out, in and out, pulling the Force to him on each inhale and letting it ebb away on each exhale. Carefully, he lifted the blood from his hands, drying it and crumbling it away until it was dust he could brush aside. Mei was hurt, but she was being treated. Uncle Luke was with her. Ascratus had died so that they could live, and to try to kill the Commander too.

Vomar’s face bloomed in his mind, faded. They chose their end. The vong were starving them, killing them slowly. He and Uncle Luke set them free to choose. It was all that could be done.

In, and out. Breathe, and exhale. Feel the Force. Feel Face’s grief, his relief. Bhindi’s sorrow, her bittersweet cheer. Zalthis’ quiet solemnity. Solidian’s hard-edged anger.

Despite it all, they went on. Face and Bhindi discussed the data they claimed, all business, as medics taped their bruises and wiped blood from leaking ears and noses. Solidian and Zalthis quietly conferred on what they had learned, from hands-on experience with the Yuuzhan Vong.

There was emotion, but a kind of peace, too.

A thought occurred to him. Carefully, Anakin pulled out his datapad, which he hadn’t needed on Obroa-skai. Just another bit of equipment for redundancies, just in case. He opened up a text editor and stared at the cursor a moment.

Hi, Tahiri…