Nayell Darhan was worried, no two ways about it. He had some hokey magic ability called the Force, and it meant that he could never show his face anywhere the Empire held sway. On top of that, he'd joined some ragtag rebellion, and, in the quest for freedom for the galaxy (whatever that means
), he had been sent with his cell to some back-assward planet in the middle of the Fringe, to rescue some ambassador who had an Imperial Seize and Detain on his head. The fringe world part he didn't mind so much, but the Imperial Seize and Detain? That had always been, during Nayell's life, another way of saying "This guy is going to vanish, and if you stop us, we'll vanish you too."
So yeah, he wasn't exactly feeling confident. The rest were alright, they'd been with the rebellion for years, but he'd literally joined up by accident, or, more accurately, bad luck. Will of the Force? Whoever the heck said that was an idiot. Still, at least the mansion was nice. The world was primitive, and it seemed the best gardens in the universe were all hand rolled and cut for several decades, like this one. The mansion itself looked like something out of a holo, and the ambassador himself was pretty cool. Of course, anything could-
"AMBASSADOR LAREN, YOU ARE ORDERED TO GIVE YOURSELF UP TO THE MERCY OF THE EMPEROR!"
thought Nayell, as he turned from the porch of the mansion. The gateway was... was... filled with stormtroopers, and from the sounds of it, the Empire had mobilised a full garrison for this one man. Why me? Force take this, WHY?
. The rest of the cell were already unlimbering their blaster rifles, and the ambassador was cowering behind them. Nayell had, no sithing, a stick
. Sure, it hit harder than normal sticks and didn't break for some reason, but it was still, when you came down to it, a big stick. Against an entire batallion of stormtroopers. No, no, no, and no again. There had
to be another solution.
Nothing, nothing, nothing... and then, with an almost insane clarity, it struck him. The Force can improve a stick, make it hit faster and harder... why not a person?
Without warning, he purposefully stalked to the back of the group, and whispered urgently in Ambassador Laren's ear. "This is a pretty neat garden. Maintained by hand?" The ambassador looked shellshocked, and gaped at Nayell as if he was insane. Which, to Nayell, half made sense. But, after a few seconds, the Ambassador spoke.
"Errr, yes. But what does that have to do with anything?"
Nayell didn't answer, merely looked around. Seeing exactly what he was looking for, he strode over to the nearby garden shed. He'd farmed before, knew what sort of tools were kept, and grinned as he turned to the rest of the cell.
"See this? Ambassador Laren, get in. Guys, secure him in it, make sure he's well padded, don't ask questions, and we'll bring the ship here to pick you up. Keep them busy in the meantime."
Surprisingly, there was no argument.
Commander Eska was, to put it bluntly, not a happy man. He had been ordered to a backwater world, with his entire force, to imprison one man. The only reason they hadn't sent a squad? rumours of some hotshot rebel cell being sent to the area. If I had a cred for every time a rumour was a load of sithspit, I'd be richer than the Emperor
, he mused, and waited for the inevitable gunfire. After all, the order mentioned nothing about having
to bring him back alive...
And then all hell broke loose. The next thing he knew, there was a blur speeding toward him, he went flying through the air, and everything got a bit dark.
When we woke up, his men were milling about in confusion. "WHAT THE SITH IS GOING ON? SECURE THE-"
He didn't get to finish his sentence, as one of the troopers brokenly interrupted him. "Sir, we can't
. The suspect escaped."
Commander Eska turned a bright shade of purple, unobscured since his helmet had been removed, but, before he could continue, the trooper explained. As he did, his face got darker and darker, and he blacked out again, this time from a case of minor apoplexy and shock...
In the meantime, Nayell was discovering two things. Firstly, that while the Force helped him attain speed, he was not yet skilled enough to properly control a one wheeled, unreliable vehicle while doing so. It was taking all of his strength to keep the damn thing on course. As the ship came closer and closer, luckily a straight line from the Ambassador's mansion, he was also learning quite rapidly about the laws of inertia. If he didn't do something, and soon, both he and the ambassador would not so much be escapees as thinly spread bulkhead jam.
Again, he saw his future, and goggled. I have to do WHAT?
he thought, even as he was skillfully manipulating his movements and clumsily those of the Ambassador's conveyance. He was now running backwards, and, due to the difficulty thereof, slowing down... but would it be-
Nayell knew two things at that very moment: Intense pain, and relieved unconsciousness.
Some hours later, the Ambassador entered the Veldspar Seagull's medbay, smiling. "My thanks to you, young, er... Jedi? for the assistance..." Nayell would have corrected him on the whole "jedi" thing, if it weren't for the fact that it still hurt to talk, or move, so he would not do so unless it were important. The Ambassador, almost embarassed, continued "...but whatever possessed you to use a wheelbarrow
Nayell chuckled, then coughed, which of course hurt a lot. What the hell, if the guy thinks I'm a Jedi, might as well say something mysteriously wise...
"Sometimes, sir... there is no clear path, only an obscure one."
And, for Nayell, as everything became pain and darkness again, his last thought was - In a good way.