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[11 MONTHS, 1 WEEK AFTER THE FIRST BATTLE OF GEONOSIS]
Lieutenant Eisron Straylight shivers, hunched over the control panel of his escape pod. The climate controls took a hit a while ago — an almost impossible shot for a starfighter — and the pod’s interior has been getting colder every minute it floats out here.
Straylight’s back seizes up for a moment, their muscles contracting and complaining beneath their black Kage Warrior combat robes. He’s been gripping the comms panel until the ash-gray skin of his knuckles turns white, staring wild-eyed into the void through a tiny window at the end of the cylindrical pod. The glistening black sclera around their yellow irises is starting to look bloodshot, somehow. His eyes look… swollen. Tired from searching their surroundings for—
BANG!
Another impact. Red warning lights flicker across the controls, flashing red over a rear stabilizer that is no longer present. A durasteel part of the assembly that just broke off floats past the window, passing the thin strip of blue ocean planet that can be seen at the edge of Straylight’s view. It’s a fin for aerial descent control. Luckily for the pod’s occupant, it’s still in high orbit over Wroona.
A voice crackles over the pod’s comms system, but they don’t sound like they’re speaking to Straylight. “An impressive hit. You say he’s, he’s capable of hitting the ejection system of a V-19 Torrent in a dogfight? I didn’t even, didn’t even know that was possible.” Captain Ralyss Dauntro sounds pleased. Praise is something the Separatist Navy officer rarely hands out.
Another voice responds, quieter and softer, although Straylight knows it belongs to a much larger person: the Mandalorian warrior Zoteara. “My Forecast can defeat even a Jedi in a dogfight. A shame we cannot separate the Padawan rat Alu Wei from his escort squadron…”
Straylight quite literally bites back his tongue, suppressing the urge to make a snide comment. Pain shoots through his jaw, and he spits blood into the air. It floats forward until it hits the window, splattering in an ugly pattern. A few drops bounce back, hitting his face. It’s another moment before he can process the rest of the conversation.
“…With our resources, Zoteara, a contest like that has no tactical merit, no merit at all.” Straylight can almost taste the sourness in her voice, but that’s probably just the stale escape pod air slowly increasing in toxicity as the life support fails. “It’s a foolish, foolish quest for old ideals that matter to no one but you and your kind. Warriors. Show me, show me a Mandalorian trade empire, or a Jedi temple of art and culture. They don’t, don’t exist, not at all.”
Zoteara makes a sound like a low growl, but it’s hard to tell through the spotty comlink connection. “You would mock me while I do your dirty work, Dauntro? I can call Forecast away.”
“No, no,” Dauntro replies quickly, “I’m enjoying this, enjoying it very much. Tell me…” They raise their voice. He’s talking into the microphone now, to Straylight. “...Are you feeling any symptoms of oxygen deprivation yet, Lieutenant Straylight? I’ve had one of my droids, one of my droids monitoring the time since it was damaged, calculating the contents of your atmosphere.”
Straylight just barely suppresses the urge to speak again. Their tongue hurts, anyway.
“It’s alright, Lieutenant. Quite alright.” Dauntro sounds gleeful. It’s unsettling. “You can speak, now. We’re all listening to you. A captive audience, you could say. You could say that.”
Straylight’s brow furrows. They grip the controls tighter, shivering uncontrollably. He watches a Fang-class starfighter fly past, painted with bright blue and silver markings. He reaches out with the Force, and senses the pilot. Forecast. What a freak. Like a brainless Massiff on a low orbit leash! If he would only stay still for a moment, if he would only stay within my reach, if I could tell him to open his cockpit, I would be complete! I would be the greatest, I would have my revenge, and Dauntro would– “...Captain Dauntro. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m sorry! Have I said it enough times, Sir? I’m… I’m sorry!” They stare desperately out the window, trying to spot Dauntro’s flagship. “But it wasn’t my fault! I was given incompetent fools as a security force! One of them got its throat slit by that horrible girl that Gand saw in the jungle! A real mercenary wouldn’t fall so easily. And another thing, if I had been given a better ship, then we wouldn’t have–”
“Stop.” Dauntro’s voice is more distant. She’s turned away from the microphone. “Zoteara, have Forecast put the pod into a spin. We can start slow.”
“It shall be done,” Zoteara replies.
“No, no, no NO NO!!” Straylight screams as the starfighter swoops around, twisting at the last moment to knock the pod off course, bludgeoning it with the corner of its wing. Straylight is thrown headfirst against the window, and his vision cuts out for a moment. He shakes his head, and as he tries to move it up to look at the inside of the pod, their stomach lurches. Pinned to the wall at an angle that threatens to sprain half the muscles in their arms, Straylight can’t reach the controls at all. No…
“I believe you were apologizing, making an apology to me.” Dauntro’s smile can be heard very, very clearly through their words. “Let’s try it, try it again.”
“I’m – argh! – sorry, Captain Dauntro! It was all my fault! I didn’t kill a single one of those FREAKS, the CANNON FODDER, the HALF-WITTED WALKING ADVERTISEMENTS FOR… f-for…” Straylight seems to run out of air, ideas, and willpower all at once. He can only think about the horrible nausea rising inside him. “Ugh…”
“And what would you do differently next time, Lieutenant Straylight? Next time?” Dauntro’s voice is louder, but the tone is softer. They’ve leaned forward. “Remember, this is a performance review that will be taken into account, into account when I assess everyone’s ranks.”
“I could, eck…” Straylight starts coughing. More blood floats through the air, this time sideways into the wall. “I could have sent… snipers ahead? Or… meditated to see if any other Force-users were in the – eack! – in the spaceport…? I’d do it all different, just let me…” Another coughing fit. “Let me out of here!”
“That’s good enough, good enough for now. Zoteara,” Dauntro says with conviction, “please have Forecast fire a shot to stabilize the lieutenant’s flight path so we can pick him up.”
“SHOOT!? Wait, no!” Straylight slams their fist against the glass, eyes wide with fear as Forecast approaches. Yellow light fills their vision.