Prowler's Legacy

Posted on Fri Jun 10th, 2022 @ 5:31pm by Amare
Edited on on Fri Jun 10th, 2022 @ 5:34pm

1,497 words; about a 7 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Corellian YB-series Light Freighter; Jedi secret hangar, Coruscant
Timeline: Follows "Dojo of Exiles"

OLD

By the time Ru turned around, Zen was already in her suit and was clipping her lightsaber to a white and black GalactaWerks utility belt with pouches attached to it and a few metal orbs that were unmistakably familiar to the trained eye.

“Thermal detonators?” Ru asked.

“To cover our exit,” Zen explained. “Not to kill to or maim…at least I hope so. So, you heard the man. He is prepared to put his neck on the line for us. He believes in me and in you. He is also a friend of Master Sotah, so it would do no good for you to let him down. The time is now, Rusasha. Time for you to decide your fate. I’m leaving with or without you.”

“Master Sotah…” Ru echoed as she looked down at the bundled suit in her hands.

NEW

The aged and well-worn starship was exactly where Zenarrah had promised it would be in the dusty and vermin-infested ancient hangar bay. As if in recognition of Amare's approach, its boarding ramp lowered down for her, ushering her to wander into its dark depths. The Sith, inspired by Thane's past teachings, reached out with her feelings, focused her awareness within the Force towards the innards of the ship, and felt something mildly awry, but nothing that indicated a living presence dwelling within. Nevertheless, she knew her limitations and potential for misinterpreting the signs. She also considered the possibility that there could be others with powers similar to her own, even among the Jedi, which could be used to mask their presence, so she cautiously boarded the craft with shoto firmly in hand.

A heavy, almost deafening silence coupled with near total darkness greeted her at the crest of the ramp. An interior airlock door before her hissed and groaned a bit in complaint from lack of maintenance, and parted way to allow passage into the ship proper. Amare's one-handed Jedi weapon flared to life, it's green blade virtually the only available light source on board the craft. While the inside of the space worthy tin can was undeniably Corellian as much as its rough-hewn exterior, it was certainly no Red Raptor. It was more or less a back-to-basics traditional craft with a few modern and classical twists that lent itself to a sturdier design. In some ways, the layout reminded her of the Silver Sigil, the symmetrical YA-series that Thane forced her to destroy back on Yavin-4.

Amare scowled at the unpleasant memories of that day as she passed through a door that led into a short corridor proceeding towards the forward center-aligned cockpit. Nearly everything about the Sigil was a direct upgrade from the Raptor and, upon entering this ship's cockpit, she had no doubt it was indeed just as much, or even more so.

It was in that moment when her eyes began to focus on the dark instrument panels, a sudden computer-generated voice with a warm and suave masculine tone greeted her. It was accompanied with the powering on of sky-blue emergency overhead lights and additional multitudes of colours from diodes on the side and forward system panels.

"Welcome aboard the Prowler's Pursuit," the automated voice said with a sly smuggler's charm from the comm system speakers. "Enjoy the ride. Primary systems: check. Auxiliary power condition: green. Emergency batteries condition: yellow. Recommend service as soon as possible. Engines: offline. Shields: offline. Weapon systems on standby."

The voice should have meant nothing to her, but each spoken phrase sent chills through her spine. Somehow, the voice struck home with an unusual mark of...familiarity.

"Who are you?" She asked the computer's voice against her better judgment. Since it was not a droid, it had no answer. She looked down at the pilot's chair and placed her hands upon it to feel the texture of its cushioning.

"Nothing's ever going to be the same..." Amare quickly withdrew her hands away from the seat as the same male voice was heard again, except this time it wasn't from electronics, but in her own mind. Gingerly, she returned her hands to the cushion and heard the voice again, "Zenna, are you sure this is the right move? I trust them, but she's our daughter..."

Amare slid into the chair and slipped into a trance. In that moment, she mindlessly spoke the words of two people from a conversation that happened many years earlier.

"I won't allow her to be another of Quellus' pawns," Zenna had said.

"We don't have to go back to our old lives," said the male through Amare's lips, her feminine voice deepening itself slightly to accommodate the male's words. "Come with me. From Coruscant, we can go anywhere on this ship, start all over again. This can be our home until we find a place to put down roots."

"The Jedi will never stop looking for me, and I cannot put my sisters in danger," Zenna countered. "No, my mind is made up, and I expect you to honour our agreement."

"Zenna..." Amare said quietly in her own voice as the Force-imbued font of memory drifted into the ether. "Zen? My...my mother?"

Her musings were disrupted with a loud bleep coming from the corridor behind the cockpit. Repeating every two seconds, it was not quite an alarm klaxon but was akin to a standard computer error tone. She rose up and followed the sound, gripping her shoto tighter than when she had first boarded the craft.

She stalked past a ladder embedded into the interior bulkhead leading up and down to the dorsal and ventral blaster turrets respectively and followed a series of strobing emergency lights that seemed to be rippling off and on in a rather queer but discernable pattern. The blinks were flowing in such a way that appeared to be ushering her further aft towards the habitation compartment. Where the error bleeps ended was a circular chamber that reminded her of the Red Raptor's Strategy Room, but with a little more space, and much less lived-in with almost-new white cushioned padding on the walls and ivory upholstery on the furniture similar to the rest of the ship. The center table had a built-in holoprojector which was attempting to display an image of some kind but was instead a warbling distorted mess of random Aurabesh nonsense and numbers.

Amare narrowed her eyes as she studied the distorted image and recognized what she believed to be a type of cipher.

"Encrypted," she breathed to herself. She looked down at the table's console and saw a query on the tiny low-resolution screen next to an orange panel of buttons:

ENTER D.O.B. FOR Z.W.

"Dorn, osh, besk?" Amare read the abbreviation aloud. "Date of birth, maybe? And zerek wesk...those are my initials. Hmph...were my initials. Dorn aurek suits me much better, I think."

She entered her legal date of birth for her Zaracoda Wolph identity, and was rewarded with a clear image that fully engrossed her undivided attention. Holographic Nautolan eyes met her own as the former captain and owner of the Prowler's Pursuit spoke to her.

"Hello, Zaracoda," the young male Nautolan greeted her. "Unless your mama or Mister or Missus Wolph told you already, then you don't know me. I've got no right to say this, but..." He paused with a heavy exhale, looking away for a bit and lit a cigarro from his flight jacket pocket, took a long anxious drag, and turned back to Amare and added, "...I'm your papa, and if you're seeing this, then don't come looking for me. My song is done. The big fish got me. Game over for your old man. I don't have much time, so before you start balling your eyes out or go tearing things up in my ship in a hissy fit, please...hear me out..."

Moments passed, and when the message was over, she found herself reaching a hand out to the image of her biological father as it winked out. She wasn't sure whether to let herself slip into a motionless state of apathy, or slash her own throat, but the decision was made when she felt a peculiar sizzling in the back of her head. A neurological surge down her upper spine briefly alerted her within the space of an eye's blink, her body's way of responding to a profound shift in the Force nearby. It was just like it was back in the Bogan Archive in the Reborn Temple.

Another Jedi! she thought in recognition and fear. They've found me again. No...not here. Not now! Do I leave without mother, or make my stand? Don't dawdle like a stoopa, Amare. Do I run, or go down fighting like all the dark legends before me? Make your choice...

TBC in "Oath of Enmity"

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