Shadows and Twilight -- 4

Shadows and Twllight – 4

Ciryon stirred in her sleep. Carth watched her, wondering. It had indeed been a rough landing, and she had been injured in the crash. Having carried her to the abandoned apartment, he had taken it upon himself to keep a vigil on the wounded woman, curious as to her role in all this. Her record was strangely bare, and she had been a last-minute addition to the crew. A civilian scout who worked for pay, she had gotten in trouble with the law on Coruscant. Bastila and the Jedi council had spoken on her behalf, it seemed, but whatever she had done was not in the record, her crimes were unspecified. It seemed very odd to him that a Jedi would chose a criminal to bring on a mission.

There had been no news of Bastila, and he was starting to wonder if she had, in fact, survived. Ciryon cried out in whatever dream she was trapped in, and he reached over and touched her brow. What was she dreaming? He wondered. Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked back. “Carth?” It was a question.

“Yeah.” He drew his hand back “Sorry.”

“Where – where are we?” Her voice was rough.

“One of the apartments on Taris.” He said with a shrug. It wasn't much, but they hadn't had much choice in the matter. “I pulled you out of the escape pod before the authorities showed up.”

She swung her legs over the side of the pallet. “I – I owe you my life.” she said with a frown, obviously not liking the idea.

He tried on a smile for her sake, though it was forced. “I would never leave anyone behind on a mission.”

“Glad to hear that.” She stood up, and promptly stumbled back, sitting down on the bed rather abruptly. “My head . . “

“Here.” He tossed her one of the medpacks. “That should take care of the pain.” After a moment, she nodded, standing up more slowly. As she stood up, he saw surprise on her face. “The blaster burn --”

“Yeah. It's almost healed.”

“Doesn't really hurt anymore. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“Right.” She looked around the small, dismal apartment and sighed. “Now what?”

Carth shrugged. “I don't know. The planet's under a Sith quarantine. Hopefully, they won't be looking for a couple of common soldiers like us.”

Ciryon nodded. “And Bastila?”

“If she is alive, she's going to need our help.” He said simply.

“I don't doubt it.” Ciryon's voice was dry. “With all the Sith running around . . .” A fleeting frown marred her face for a moment. Carth chose to ignore it. We all have our demons, he thought.

“Her pod crashed somewhere in the city . . . but I don't know where.”

Ciryon stared at him. “Carth . .” she began, “We don't even know if she is alive.”

“I suppose you're right,” he admitted, “but we have to find out. Besides, if we survived that crash, then a Jedi should have been able to survive too.”

“Can't fault your logic on that.” Ciryon said simply. She glanced around. “Where's my blaster?”

“There.” He pointed to a locker at the end of the bed. She knelt down, pulling out a blaster and a vibroblade. Then she looked at him with a wry grin and a raised brow. “You didn't think to get a change of clothes, did you?”

“What?”

“Your Republic uniform's liable to get us into a world of trouble. And this?” She gestured to her simple pants and tunic, now dirt and soot stained, the charred hole in the left leg testament to the blaster graze she had picked up.

Carth chuckled. “I stuck to the back routes as much as I could – carrying an injured companion makes you stick out no matter what, I think.”

“Still, we'd --” She broke off at pounding on their door. “Damn! Sith patrol!”

How can she know that? Carth wondered. For all he knew, it could be the janitor. But she was confirmed right when the door opened, and troopers in the silver-and-black sith armour marched in.