Caleb wakes with a start, practically crying out as he jerks awake, the voice of his Master so close and real in his mind that he would swear on the Maker she was right there beside him. The mission was supposed to be a simple one: go to Kaller and assist a few village outposts facing oppression by the Separatists. And they had succeeded, with the help of Master Morgan and his Padawan, but nothing could have prepared them for the Order.
Sweat beads on his forehead, and it takes a moment for him to come to his senses. He and Ezra had managed to escape somehow, with the troopers on their heels to the very end. But escape in this instance just means they've made a hide out of an old transport that sluggishly makes its way across the desert and through the small villages crawling with enemy forces. They'll be stopping in another village soon. ]
I guess fell asleep... [ He didn't meant to doze off in the first place. You must focus, Master Billaba might say, but thinking of her evokes the image of bloody blaster bolt holes and wide, vacant eyes... ]
[With only the dim emergency lights of the cargo hold to see by, Ezra's huddled form only a few feet away from Caleb might as well be just another one of the shadows thrown by the boxes they're hiding behind. It still feels entirely too visible for Ezra's liking, though. He tugs his robes closer, wishing he could just sink into them and disappear.]
You probably needed it.
[Even to his own ears, his voice sounds hollow, despite the fact (or because of it) that that's what Master Morgan would have said, because Master Morgan would have tried to keep their spirits up, to look on the bright side of things. A lump forms in Ezra's throat at the thought.
Go! We'll be right behind you!
Ezra chokes back a sob, doing everything he can not to cry, because it's up to him now to keep everything together. He's older and he's been a Padawan longer. By a year, but it counts. He has to be the strong one now. He has to keep them alive. He can't get lost in memories of Master Morgan falling, hitting the ground, his face gone, torn off by the blaster bolts that had slammed into him after the first one had gotten past his guard.
Technically, Dev Morgan hadn't lied. He'd always be behind Ezra now. Never in front of him. Never again at his side.
He's only scrubbing his hands across his eyes because he's tired. He's not crying. He's not.]
We'll have to move fast once this transport stops to keep anyone from knowing we were here. You'll be glad you got some sleep.
[He wants to be jealous, except he can't be. Not when blood and nightmares are all he can see every time he closes his eyes.]
[ Things change too quickly, and even though Master Billaba had warned him that war was a dangerous, slippery thing, he never thought it would end up like this. Not her. A woman who crawled back to victory after months in a coma, only to choose him of all the candidates as her Padawan.
She wouldn't be proud of them now. Running, hiding, darting in and out of ports and shadows to try and avoid the twisted Republic eye. He bites the inside of his cheek, letting the pain ward off the strange shakiness in his voice and the burning behind his eyes. ]
I didn't get much anyway. Don't worry.
[ He scrubs a hand over his face and looks over at Ezra. What do you say to someone who lost their Master? Caleb wonders how he would want to be consoled, but he comes up blank. ]
Maybe we can find somewhere to camp out for a while so you can sleep, too. And maybe find some food.
[Food. Ezra's stomach twists, just this side of grumbling, because it's been a while since they finished off the last ration bar they'd tucked into their pockets just before this whole disaster had started. Those ration bars had felt like an unnecessary forethought at the time. Now he wishes they'd thought more about potential disasters. Neither of them have any credits, or any skills they can afford to reveal. They can't even risk telling anyone their identities, to try to contact the Temple. He doesn't know how they're going to get more food.
He tries not to let his worry show on his face, though. The Force will guide them if they trust in it, Master Morgan has said, and he has to believe that there's something to that, because his Master's teachings are all he has left. Because without them, he doesn't know what to do.]
Y-yeah.
[Come on, you need to show more confidence than that. Ezra pulls in a shaky breath, willing down his grief, and the hurt at how much that thought had sounded like Master Morgan. He closes his eyes, tucking his head down for a moment against his emotions. What would Master Morgan do?
Hesitantly, awkwardly, he puts a hand on Caleb's shoulder, because everything in him aches to feel that weight on his own. He's the one who has to be reassuring now, though. If only he didn't feel so inadequate.
If only he didn't want to curl up and cry.]
Camping sounds good. Master... [He pauses, then pushes on thickly.] I've had some survival training before. I could rig up a sling, go hunting...
[He hopes that sounds confident, like he really knows something more than a few exercises he'd learned when he'd never thought he'd have to depend on them.]
[ No credits, no lodgings, no supplies. For everything they're taught at the Temple, they're taught so little about survival. Trust in the Force, as his Master would say, and he does. He trusts in the Force above anything else. Yet now that they're faced with an uncertain future, he's not sure what to believe in. His stomach twists, but from nerves or hunger, he doesn't know.
The weight of Ezra's hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks across at his companion in the dim light of the transport. There's relief in the gesture first, followed by another twist of his stomach, a sick feeling that almost burns at the back of his throat.
Master Billaba often consoled him in this way, calmed his racing, curious mind when he needed it. It takes everything in him not to shrug the hand off. ]
If you teach me, I can help. I can build a fire for us after. [ He hesitantly reaches a hand across to rest on Ezra's forearm, an awkward sort of thank you for the gesture before he carefully ducks under the hand to stand and peer out of a crooked slat on the transport. ] But a fire might draw attention. It's so dark out there.
[He'd been trying to be the one to offer reassurance, but Caleb's hand on his arm settles something in him that maybe makes this whole rotten situation a little...
Not better.
But at least he's got someone with him.
This would be so much worse if he was by himself.]
Sure, I'll teach you. [He tries to smile, but his heart just can't manage the expression right now. So instead he pushes himself upright.] We should search the hold here. See if there's a loose tarp or blanket we can take. That would give us something to hide a fire behind, and shelter in case it rains.
[At least it's not cold on this part of the planet. They have enough problems on their plate without worrying about freezing to death.]
[ Caleb isn't sure he would have made it this far on his own. The deep dark of the outside world rushes by, and he can't fathom sitting in this transport bunker by himself, with nothing but the nagging emptiness of the Force and his own uneasy mind.
He turns toward the open hull of the transport after, mind zooming back into focus on the conversation. ]
Might be able to take some of this with us.
[ He almost instinctively reaches for his lightsaber, concealed under his cloak and hesitates. Everything he's ever known is called into question by that hesitation. They can't be who they were here, they can't rely on all the things they were told to rely on. A real, cold fear snakes its way through his veins. Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?
His eyes burn, and he's done well not to cry so far, but it hits him like a wall, closing up his throat, stinging at his eyes, burning in his lungs. He keeps his back to Ezra, shoulders pinched back and tight. He wants to scream into the Force at what's become of the Jedi, what's become of them, but just as sure, he can hear Master Billaba's words in his head.
What are you looking for, Master? Nothing and everything.
He sucks in a deep, shaking breath and manages a few steps farther into the transport. He swipes at damp his face with the back of his hand. ]
There are some crates over here.
[ His voice trembles, but he does not turn around. ]
[It's kindness, Ezra tells himself, when he doesn't turn to look at Caleb. Kindness to give him space and pretend he doesn't notice the other boy's hunched shoulders, the shudder in his breath, or the tracks of tears on his face. It's not because Ezra's own body is shaking, too, with emotions he's dealing with just as badly.]
Right. You look over there. I'll look at this stack over here.
[He starts forward, feeling carefully along the wall with his hands, not daring to reach out to the Force to guide him. He needs to be the strong one, and he can't, he just can't, if he reaches to the Force and hears the echo of ten thousand screams.
Or worse, the echo of silence.
Working to pry the lid of a crate off at least gives him something else to focus on for a moment, and exertion a better reason for his breath to catch in his throat. He's never been all that tall or strong, so without the Force something like this takes effort. He squints in the dark, trying to see what's inside.]
[ He tries his best to keep calm, to take deep breaths with every step he takes toward the crates nearest him. Being upset will do nothing for them now, will it? He can hear Master Billaba's voice in the back of his head, the way she would console him in that cool, collected way of hers. Not chiding, not doting, but always a solid force in the chaos.
He is able to flip one open and reaches inside. ]
This one has some kind of packs. Maybe med packs? [ Probably tool kits instead, but he tries reaching in for one when the transport begins to rumble to a stop, toppling him backward onto his bottom. ]
[ Caleb scrambles to his feet the moment Ezra speaks. And no matter how heavy the pack seems to be, he drags one out of the crate and hoists the strap over his shoulder. ]
Think they'll see us?
[ There's noise farther up the track as the transport screeches to a halt. But he relids the crate and stumbles toward Ezra. ]
It's dark enough if we hold still the tarp should work.
[ His heart thunders in his chest as he drags up one end o the tarp, waiting for Ezra to climb under. But there's a real concern and fear in his face when, a few cars down, the sliding sound of pressure locks releasing echoes into the night. ] Hurry!
[Caleb doesn't need to tell him twice. Ezra grabs the corner of the tarp the other boy is holding up and slides under it as fast as he can before tucking the edge down around them. Despite his racing heart, he tries to breathe as slow and soft as he can, not saying anything now, because he can hear voices now. Voices of people in the hold. Eyes wide, he grips Caleb's arm, holding still.]
"...get the manifests, you start lining up the stuff we need to offload."
[The reply that came was in a language Ezra didn't know. He couldn't help but tense, wondering if they'd been discovered.
The first speaker just huffed in response, though.]
"Yeah, yeah. I'll get the cargo doors open as soon as we're cleared to unload. Keep your scales on."
[One set of footsteps retreated, and then there was only the sound of alien grumbling.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Caleb wakes with a start, practically crying out as he jerks awake, the voice of his Master so close and real in his mind that he would swear on the Maker she was right there beside him. The mission was supposed to be a simple one: go to Kaller and assist a few village outposts facing oppression by the Separatists. And they had succeeded, with the help of Master Morgan and his Padawan, but nothing could have prepared them for the Order.
Sweat beads on his forehead, and it takes a moment for him to come to his senses. He and Ezra had managed to escape somehow, with the troopers on their heels to the very end. But escape in this instance just means they've made a hide out of an old transport that sluggishly makes its way across the desert and through the small villages crawling with enemy forces. They'll be stopping in another village soon. ]
I guess fell asleep... [ He didn't meant to doze off in the first place. You must focus, Master Billaba might say, but thinking of her evokes the image of bloody blaster bolt holes and wide, vacant eyes... ]
no subject
You probably needed it.
[Even to his own ears, his voice sounds hollow, despite the fact (or because of it) that that's what Master Morgan would have said, because Master Morgan would have tried to keep their spirits up, to look on the bright side of things. A lump forms in Ezra's throat at the thought.
Go! We'll be right behind you!
Ezra chokes back a sob, doing everything he can not to cry, because it's up to him now to keep everything together. He's older and he's been a Padawan longer. By a year, but it counts. He has to be the strong one now. He has to keep them alive. He can't get lost in memories of Master Morgan falling, hitting the ground, his face gone, torn off by the blaster bolts that had slammed into him after the first one had gotten past his guard.
Technically, Dev Morgan hadn't lied. He'd always be behind Ezra now. Never in front of him. Never again at his side.
He's only scrubbing his hands across his eyes because he's tired. He's not crying. He's not.]
We'll have to move fast once this transport stops to keep anyone from knowing we were here. You'll be glad you got some sleep.
[He wants to be jealous, except he can't be. Not when blood and nightmares are all he can see every time he closes his eyes.]
no subject
She wouldn't be proud of them now. Running, hiding, darting in and out of ports and shadows to try and avoid the twisted Republic eye. He bites the inside of his cheek, letting the pain ward off the strange shakiness in his voice and the burning behind his eyes. ]
I didn't get much anyway. Don't worry.
[ He scrubs a hand over his face and looks over at Ezra. What do you say to someone who lost their Master? Caleb wonders how he would want to be consoled, but he comes up blank. ]
Maybe we can find somewhere to camp out for a while so you can sleep, too. And maybe find some food.
no subject
He tries not to let his worry show on his face, though. The Force will guide them if they trust in it, Master Morgan has said, and he has to believe that there's something to that, because his Master's teachings are all he has left. Because without them, he doesn't know what to do.]
Y-yeah.
[Come on, you need to show more confidence than that. Ezra pulls in a shaky breath, willing down his grief, and the hurt at how much that thought had sounded like Master Morgan. He closes his eyes, tucking his head down for a moment against his emotions. What would Master Morgan do?
Hesitantly, awkwardly, he puts a hand on Caleb's shoulder, because everything in him aches to feel that weight on his own. He's the one who has to be reassuring now, though. If only he didn't feel so inadequate.
If only he didn't want to curl up and cry.]
Camping sounds good. Master... [He pauses, then pushes on thickly.] I've had some survival training before. I could rig up a sling, go hunting...
[He hopes that sounds confident, like he really knows something more than a few exercises he'd learned when he'd never thought he'd have to depend on them.]
no subject
The weight of Ezra's hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks across at his companion in the dim light of the transport. There's relief in the gesture first, followed by another twist of his stomach, a sick feeling that almost burns at the back of his throat.
Master Billaba often consoled him in this way, calmed his racing, curious mind when he needed it. It takes everything in him not to shrug the hand off. ]
If you teach me, I can help. I can build a fire for us after. [ He hesitantly reaches a hand across to rest on Ezra's forearm, an awkward sort of thank you for the gesture before he carefully ducks under the hand to stand and peer out of a crooked slat on the transport. ] But a fire might draw attention. It's so dark out there.
no subject
Not better.
But at least he's got someone with him.
This would be so much worse if he was by himself.]
Sure, I'll teach you. [He tries to smile, but his heart just can't manage the expression right now. So instead he pushes himself upright.] We should search the hold here. See if there's a loose tarp or blanket we can take. That would give us something to hide a fire behind, and shelter in case it rains.
[At least it's not cold on this part of the planet. They have enough problems on their plate without worrying about freezing to death.]
no subject
He turns toward the open hull of the transport after, mind zooming back into focus on the conversation. ]
Might be able to take some of this with us.
[ He almost instinctively reaches for his lightsaber, concealed under his cloak and hesitates. Everything he's ever known is called into question by that hesitation. They can't be who they were here, they can't rely on all the things they were told to rely on. A real, cold fear snakes its way through his veins. Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?
His eyes burn, and he's done well not to cry so far, but it hits him like a wall, closing up his throat, stinging at his eyes, burning in his lungs. He keeps his back to Ezra, shoulders pinched back and tight. He wants to scream into the Force at what's become of the Jedi, what's become of them, but just as sure, he can hear Master Billaba's words in his head.
What are you looking for, Master?
Nothing and everything.
He sucks in a deep, shaking breath and manages a few steps farther into the transport. He swipes at damp his face with the back of his hand. ]
There are some crates over here.
[ His voice trembles, but he does not turn around. ]
no subject
Right. You look over there. I'll look at this stack over here.
[He starts forward, feeling carefully along the wall with his hands, not daring to reach out to the Force to guide him. He needs to be the strong one, and he can't, he just can't, if he reaches to the Force and hears the echo of ten thousand screams.
Or worse, the echo of silence.
Working to pry the lid of a crate off at least gives him something else to focus on for a moment, and exertion a better reason for his breath to catch in his throat. He's never been all that tall or strong, so without the Force something like this takes effort. He squints in the dark, trying to see what's inside.]
Looks like it's just some converters in this one.
no subject
He is able to flip one open and reaches inside. ]
This one has some kind of packs. Maybe med packs? [ Probably tool kits instead, but he tries reaching in for one when the transport begins to rumble to a stop, toppling him backward onto his bottom. ]
Jeez. Don't they know how to drive these things?
no subject
Damn it, so much for raiding this stuff. Whatever that is, just grab one. We don't have time for anything else.
[Either a med pack or a tool kit would be useful, but if nothing else the pack itself is worth it to carry things.]
Quick, over here. I think I see a tarp we can hide under.
no subject
Think they'll see us?
[ There's noise farther up the track as the transport screeches to a halt. But he relids the crate and stumbles toward Ezra. ]
It's dark enough if we hold still the tarp should work.
[ His heart thunders in his chest as he drags up one end o the tarp, waiting for Ezra to climb under. But there's a real concern and fear in his face when, a few cars down, the sliding sound of pressure locks releasing echoes into the night. ] Hurry!
no subject
"...get the manifests, you start lining up the stuff we need to offload."
[The reply that came was in a language Ezra didn't know. He couldn't help but tense, wondering if they'd been discovered.
The first speaker just huffed in response, though.]
"Yeah, yeah. I'll get the cargo doors open as soon as we're cleared to unload. Keep your scales on."
[One set of footsteps retreated, and then there was only the sound of alien grumbling.]