Signals – The numbers – Tight quarters – Rendezvous

As Enosh emerged out of the side corridor and entered the landing bay, he was not surprised to see that the bay doors were closed.

"Bantha poodoo!" spat Mission as she ran in alongside him. "Now what?"

"Ebon Hawk? Ebon Hawk? Come in, Ebon Hawk," he said into his portable comm. Still nothing. He looked down at the chronometer attached to his belt—just under eight minutes left. "HK-47, how's the engine power profile looking?"

"Response: still tracking nominal power curve. Original assessment of time remaining still valid."

"Perhaps there's an override for the doors somewhere nearby?" Bastila asked.

"On the way in, I noticed a window above the landing bay entrance," Enosh said. "Seems like a natural place to put door controls for the landing bay. Perhaps if we can figure out how to get up there…"

"I did notice a side passage in the hallway, on the way in here," Canderous added.

"Lead the way," Enosh said.

They followed the Mandalorian to a recessed opening partly hidden in the shadows at the side of the hallway. Enosh used the flashlight to light up the darkness, revealing that the passageway was short, leading to a stairway headed up.

"Zaalbar, HK-47, stay down here and make sure we don't get cut off from the landing bay. Everyone else follow me."

The flashlight's beams leading the way, he led them up the stairway. It was straight and not too steep, with a faint gleam showing at the top, perhaps forty meters away.

At the top of the stairs, the stairway opened up to a large, wide, dimly-lit room dominated by a large window facing out into space. It was the observation deck overlooking the landing bay that Enosh had noticed earlier.

"Thank goodness!" breathed Bastila as they saw out the window the Ebon Hawk floating nearby, perhaps two hundred meters out.

A quick search through the room revealed that it contained nothing beyond a few dimly-lit light fixtures on the walls.

"Maybe the controls are somewhere else?" Canderous speculated.

"No time left to look," Enosh said. "Do you have a tight-focus beacon?"

He grabbed a rectangular box off a belt and handed it to him.

He studied it a moment, locating the light and the shutter button. Setting it down on a narrow ledge just beneath the bottom edge of the window, he powered it on, used the viewfinder to focus on the Ebon Hawk's cockpit, and started tapping out semaphore.

HELLO HELLO OVER.

Almost without thinking, his fingers moved, sending out the well-practiced greeting. They'd poured over their datapads and books, back in basic, going over the semaphore codes. He'd thought it was all a musty anachronism, foisted on them by self-important instructors intent on torturing their students psychologically as well as physically. Nevertheless, they'd drilled him in its usage, and his fingers remembered all too well. He could even see the code books in front of him, their well-worn, physical pages smooth to his fingertips.

After a short delay, he saw the running lights near the Ebon Hawk's cockpit blink as Carth flashed back a response.

OK OVER.

It was all hopelessly old-fashioned and out-of-date, dating back millennia to oceanic vessels sailing the seas of ancient worlds, no doubt. But it could be surprisingly useful in battle…

Strange images suddenly filtered through his mind. The sterile light of the remembered classroom, his buddy dozing off in the desk next to him, suddenly were superimposed on the deep depths of a dark nebulae, swirling gases filtering silently by in a viewscreen. Distant glows of blinking lights faintly reflected within the gaseous clouds, as comm channels were awash in enemy interference and static.

But Endar Spire had been his first battle. What was this?

"Enosh? Enosh?"

Physical motion rocked him out of his stupor, and he noticed Bastila standing in front of him, her hands shaking his shoulders, a pensive look on her face, her eyes somehow seeming to drill deep down into his own.

"Enosh? Did you see something? A vision?"

He shook his head, shaking off the lethargy. "I don't know... it was strange..."

His chronometer chimed at him. Five minutes left. The remembered urgency sent the tattered remnants of his vision fleeing. "Right. Time enough for this later." Assuming they made it off. Suppressing any doubts, he turned back to the window and signaled the Ebon Hawk.

TRAPPED 5 MINUTES TO HYPER NEED DOOR OPEN YOU OK? OVER.

He silently translated Carth's reply as it came.

LIGHT FLAK FROM SHIP WE DESTROYED FLAK GUNS AND PREPARED MINE OVER.

"They were attacked by turrets on the freighter, but handled it," he said to the others. "Carth's already rigged up a mine."

"Good Republic soldier," Canderous said.

Enosh pondered the situation, all too aware that time was running out for them. Blowing the mine against the door was the obvious action, but it might not be powerful enough to breach the door. Even if it did, it probably wouldn't create an opening large enough for the Ebon Hawk to get through. Not to mention the fact that any air in the landing bay would quickly be lost into the vacuum of space, until the inevitable emergency systems in the freighter kicked in to either close off the breach or isolate the loss of pressurization to the landing bay.

There was only one possibility he could think of.

PLAN USE MINE ON DOOR WE EXIT VIA SHUTTLE OVER.

SHUTTLE OK? OVER.

And that was the issue… how long had that shuttle been sitting there in the landing bay, its systems slowly degrading over time?

HOPE SO NO TIME FOR ALTERNATES MARK TIME 4:30 MINUTES OVER

OK OVER

MARK OVER.

OK OVER.

BLOW MINE 1 MINUTE OVER OUT.

If HK-47 was right about the hyperspace power build-up profile, there was only a 15% chance the freighter would jump into hyperspace before the one minute mark.

GOOD LUCK OVER OUT.

With hurried breath he related the plan to the others as they raced back down the stairway.

"We can't all fit in that shuttle," Bastila said.

"HK-47 can hang on outside. Or take his chances being blown out when the landing bay loses its air; who knows, he might even enjoy that. The rest of us will just have to make it work."

"That still leaves five of us," she pointed out.

"Yes, I know, I can count, too," he replied angrily, knowing where she was headed with this.

Her voice hard at his barb, she continued on. "Canderous is the only one who can fly that shuttle. You are the key to defeating Malak; the entire Republic depends on you. Zaalbar is an important member of the ruling clan of Kashyyyk. And Mission is only a child."

"I am not a child!" Mission interjected, glaring back at Bastila from her spot at the front of their descent down the stairs.

"Yes, yes," Bastila said dismissively. "Enosh, you are unduly risking everyone's lives for a misguided, though noble—"

"And why is it five in the first place?" he snapped back, all too aware of whom Bastila was all too ready to sacrifice. And the cold, hard, unarguable logic behind it.

The anger in Mission's eyes suddenly turned to contrition as she focused on Enosh.

"No, that was unfair of me," he said to her. To all of them. "We would never have gotten this far without everyone here. But no one is staying behind," he said firmly, glaring back at Bastila. "No one."

She pursed her lips, but did not reply.

Picking up Zaalbar and HK-47 back in the hallway, they all ran into the landing bay.

"Any good spots to hold onto, HK-47?" Enosh asked the droid, as the others piled into the shuttle.

"Observation: several promising stabilizer fins and antennae up here, Master," the droid replied as it climbed up the shuttle's hull. "This certainly is a first for me, as far as my memory banks can recall. I shall be sure to dedicate an especially reliable bank of memory for this." A mechanical sigh emerged from the droid's vocal chords. "Ah, it appears I shall have to move that memory of Yuka Laka smashing his finger in the compactor. After running a checksum, of course, to verify data integrity." And the droid chuckled as it replayed the memory through its mind.

Leaving the droid to its reminisces, Enosh entered the shuttle. Closing the door behind himself as he entered the dimly-lit interior, he found himself standing face-to-face with Bastila in the cramped cabin.

"Ah, kind of crowded in here, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, her gray eyes seeming to loom large in his vision.

"Ow!" squealed Mission from deeper in the cabin, immediately behind Bastila. "Watch where you jab that hilt, Bas!"

Bastila turned away from Enosh, her hair whispering against his cheek. "Sorry, Mission."

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, she was thrust into his arms.

"Mission!" Bastila gasped from the vicinity of Enosh's chest. "Watch what you're doing!"

"It wasn't me!" the Twi'lek protested.

"Sorry about that," Canderous growled from deeper in the cabin. "I had to find the door lock."

"Geez, Big Z," Mission coughed. "Breathe into your hand or something. I'm gagging over here."

"Sorry, Mission," the Wookiee said. "I do not enjoy being locked in tight spaces like this. I am starting to sweat profusely."

"I was wondering what that smell was," Canderous grumbled. "Quit fidgeting or you'll just make it worse. And you're up against my main flight console; don't move or you're liable to turn something important off."

"Speaking of that; how are the systems, Canderous?" Enosh asked, as Bastila pushed back against Mission and regained some separation distance from him.

"Half look okay, the other half I can't tell," he replied, as Enosh felt the door lock behind him.

A buzzer sounded. "Ten seconds," Canderous said.

Enosh braced himself. Bastila looked calmly past his shoulder, and he could sense her mind distracting itself somewhere far away. He spotted Mission glancing at him from over Bastila's shoulder, and gave her a confident smile. She really was just a child, despite her words to the contrary, and it must be hard for children to contemplate the unfamiliar thought of their own mortality.

He did not whole-heartedly feel the confidence that he was trying to project to Mission. There were just too many things that could go wrong. His mind raced through the chain of things that had to go right, the uncertainties that were almost completely out of his control. But he had to admit to himself that, if these indeed were the last moments of his life, there were certainly worse ways to go than staring into Bastila's glorious eyes.

Am I being selfish? For if I die here now, she dies with me.

As if in reply, her eyes returned from wherever they had gone to return his steady gaze.

"Here goes nothing!" Canderous yelled, igniting the shuttle's thrusters when he saw the countdown timer on the panel hit 1 second.

A rumble shook the entire shuttle as it shuddered and jumped off the deck. To the Mandalorian's surprise, all three engine indicators turned green.

Gripping the stick, he pointed the nose of the shuttle at the still-closed landing bay doors, right in the center where the vertical line of the upper and lower doors met.

"I hope your aim is good, Carth Onasi," he muttered, as the shuttle raced toward the still-closed door.

The timer flipped to 0.

A violent explosion suddenly blossomed like a fiery flower on the landing bay door in front of him.

He felt the shuttle suddenly pick up speed as the air in the bay suddenly pushed the craft.

The fiery explosion evaporated, and he saw the blackness of space…

…slightly to the right!

He banked just as the shuttle reached the jagged hole that had been punched through the door.

WHAM!

His teeth gashed into his lip as the collision jarred the universe.

Another eye blink, and suddenly he saw the wildly spinning starry blackness of space through the viewscreen.

Gritting his teeth at the centrifugal forces, he struggled to force his forefinger to hit a button.

His eyes looked at the indicator for the spin stabilization system, expecting to see green.

Nothing!

There was one more, a backup system… he struggled to reach the control.

His thumb slipped over the slightly raised button and depressed it.

Work, damn you, work!

Green!

The wild spinning slowly stopped.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" Mission whispered as the shuttle stabilized.

"I already am," weakly bleated Zaalbar, and an awful stench radiated through the cabin.

"Is everyone okay?" Enosh asked, trying to ignore the floating blobs in the weightlessness. He'd been pinned against the door during the spin, and his back ached intensely from the door handle jabbing itself into him.

"Bruised," Mission replied.

"Bloody lip," mumbled Canderous.

"Sick," Zaalbar said.

"I'm okay," Bastila added.

Enosh's portable comm came to life. "Enosh! Enosh! Come in! Are you okay?"

Relief flooded over him. "Carth! Yes, we're all okay in here! HK-47 should be clinging to the shuttle's exterior; do you see him?"

"Yes."

The tension that had been drawn into his stomach bled away.

"You made it just in time," Carth added. "Right after you stopped spinning, the freighter went into hyperspace."

As they waited in the shuttle, Carth maneuvered the Ebon Hawk closer, then extended the thankfully flexible airlock to the shuttle's door. With HK-47's assistance, the lip of the airlock was tightly secured around the shuttle's door and pressurized.

Wearily, they disembarked and stepped foot gratefully onto the Ebon Hawk. The others were gathered around the entrance to greet them.

"Welcome home, conquering heroes!" grinned Jolee. "Someone take a picture!"

He smiled to himself. They must look like quite a sight… bedraggled, bruised, and splattered in Wookiee vomit.

"Why is there never a holo recorder around when you need one?" Jolee continued.

"Hey Carth, you missed on that mine," Canderous said. "It's a good thing I had enough time to react; otherwise, we would have smashed right into the hull."

"That's a strange way of saying 'thank you'," Carth replied back.

"I'm hungry," Zaalbar said. "Join me in the mess, Mission?"

"Don't even mention food to me right now," the Twi'lek said, paling at the thought. "I think I'll go be sick in the bathroom."

Enosh sighed. "It's good to be back."

He sensed Bastila at his side. "We need to talk," she said.

"What?"

"We need to talk. About your vision."

"Right now?" he asked, turning to face her. "Don't you want to go—cleanup or something first? We're all supposed to be dignified representatives of the Jedi, remember?"

"This is serious, Enosh."

Something dripped off a limp braid and plopped onto the floor. She paid no notice, and the look in her eyes warned him to do the same.

THE END