The Rebel Faction

Running…. Running. Constant running. He had been running for days now, three? Four? Memory was thick, hard to reach. He only stopped for water, and the occasional meal, or quick nap.

Urgency. Something was poking, prodding him on. Like a red hot Tliak spear, it told him to keep moving.

Hot, so very hot. The sweat ran freely, when there was sweat to run.

Sound… there, to his left.

Snap of a stick, brush of a tree. Not natural, that sound. That sound, the sound of a human.

A grim smile.

They could have least sent someone good against him. Not some child who had not completed the hunter’s rite. He stood, and began to silently creep toward the source of the sound. His knife was out. He would make an example of this one, an example they would not soon forget.

Swish

The arrow brushed his nose, taking off a small piece of flesh. Whirling, turning, recondition. Trapped, like a dog. A score of men, an ambush. The arrows, they came. Seeking his heart, his gut.

“NOOO!!!” Tobal sat up straight as a board. The darkness surrounded him, pressing in on every side. Yet still, his eyes could pick out the slightly familiar signs of his quarters. A dream, it had only been a dream.

Yet… the dream had been so real…

A sweaty arm swept over his face. The sweat was there. Sudden stings of pain, making him yelp again. His nose stabbed him again, telling him something was wrong.

“Lights” The room flooded with a dim, yet gradually increasing, light. That was one advantage to living among this religion.
Rolling out of bed, and moving over to the washstand, Tobal peered into the mirror. Blood, blood was dripping off of his nose. A smear of it went across the left side of his face, up the highly defined cheekbones. “Blood…”

Grabbing a towel off of the wall Tobal quickly wiped his nose off, as well as his face. It was just a small nick, and would heal within a few days. But, blood… he had not received an injury for the last two weeks of his staying here with this religion. And now, now he had received a filta, an injury by dream. Perhaps the people of his village were calling him home. Perhaps.

He was too high strung to sleep now. His body told him that it was early morning here on this floating world. Too early for the students to be up and about; and too late for the last shift of guards to be attentive. They would be thinking only of sleep now. It would be an easy matter for him to leave his quarters, and go to the combat rooms.

His door opened with a decompressing of air, and he glanced right and left quickly. The way was clear, just as his ears had told him from the inside. He jogged to the left, his feet hitting the steel floors with incredible silence. It was easy to be silent where there was no leaves, or dried wood to crack under foot. Tobal’s long hair flowed behind him, bundled with a single thin cord of leather. It hung down halfway to his waist, and was as thick as anyone’s in his village. Loose white clothing supplied by the people aboard this floating world made him look like a floating ghost.

Coming to a three way split, he waited, listening. Not a sound. Minutes passed, and still no sound. Tobal frowned. This wasn’t normal. He poked his head out, glancing all three ways. Not a breath of life. The frown deepened. Turning right he increased his running speed. Still silent he sped down the hallway, hair streaming out behind him. Not a guard in site, not a single sound besides the air whistling around his ears.
The combat training chamber appeared in front of him, and he entered. No one here, either. This was highly abnormal.

The training room was enormous, marking in at two hundred meters long by an equal width and height. Vyktor had told him that they sometimes held mock wars here, with the guards and students. Mock war, these people were strange. War was not something to take lightly. People died for reasons most could not comprehend. He could understand fighting, but…. war.
Tobal blinked, and shook himself. It was time for a little exercise.
Walking over to a control panel, he placed his palm on a scanner. The unit blinked once, then came to life. He selected unarmed combat, and then designated five combat droids. Weapons, standard light combat. Their settings were placed to “Alert Humanoid”.

A door slid open, and five droids walked out, their hands at their sides. They walked in, and glanced about. Seeing no one, they began to meander about. Two went north, walking together, while the remaining three split up and went south.

Tobal sat in a small corner, observing the droids. Incredible, these synthesized life forms. They did not think themselves, yet they were able to emulate human movement. The two going north approached his position, chatting a pre-recorded conversation. Tobal ignored their speech; he had heard it before. The time to strike was coming up fast.

They were now parallel to his position, and ten meters out from it. Like a ghost the tribal was over the crate, and began his sprint.
8 meters.
The two droids continued on their way, both still chatting their pre-recorded speech.
6 meters.
One of the droids registered a slight sound. It’s head began to turn.
3.5 meters
Both droids were turning.
Tobal dropped, going into a slide along the smooth floor. His speed carried him into the droids feet with enough velocity to carry him under.
The first droid began to lift his arms in a defensive position, but he was hampered by the “humanoid” protocol. No android speed in this session. His feet, as well as those of his counterparts, were swept out from underneath them.
-2 meters.

The two droids fell to the ground, making a great deal of noise as they did so. Tobal rolled slightly, and placed his bare feet on the floor. His momentum carried him to a standing position, and he continued to run.

Smooth motions Tobal. Fighting is like a dance. It must be smooth, and graceful. Go from one movement to another like honey. The words of his father came to him, and left.

Already he was turning to finish off the two downed droids. One of them was rising; the other had a red light blinking on its head. Death by collision of the floor. Pitiful.

Tobal’s left hand moved like lightning; yet was smooth. His right followed, and the first droid fell, a red light blinking on its neck. In real life this human would die by asphyxiation, its windpipe crushed.

The three droids going south were now moving north, running. They had heard the sound of the two falling. Tobal brushed his hair to the side, and bent over the two fallen droids. One hand touched the head of each, and he murmured something. He then took their knives, ignoring the hold-out blasters. Standing to receive his three guests, he began another movement in his dance.

The third droid stuttered, red light blinking around the knife hilt in its chest. The other two pulled up their attack, and went for their blasters. Tobal ignored them, and continued to move. He slid behind the third droid, twisting himself to catch it from falling. Two stun bolts hit the dead droid, square in the chest. Allowing the now doubly dead droid to fall, having never stopped moving, Tobal threw his second knife. Not even bothering to watch it fly, he lept. Flying forward, feet out, Tobal fixed his eyes on the fourth droids blaster. Time seemed to slow down, and he felt the droid shoot him in the chest. Rolling, falling, sliding. The bolt missed his chest by a millimeter, and Tobal crashed into the fourth droid’s legs, once again sweeping the artificial life form’s feet out from under it. Not as graceful the second time, yet it still did the job. Recovering from his crash, Tobal turned, and moved to the fourth droid. It was rolling over, trying to get its blaster arm free. It never had a chance.

Tobal stood, allowing the droid to fall. A Red light blinked on the droids neck. Ruptured spinal cord. Permanent parlays for any human.

A computerized voice began to drone.

Battle time: 16.245 seconds.
Enemies killed: 5.
Analysis: Hand to hand master.

Tobal ignored the voice. He had heard it before. He wiped the small amount of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. These people liked to keep the combat chamber humid. They said it would build stamina. Whatever that was.

Vyktor had been aboard the "Celestial Corrupter" for nearly two months, and he still stayed aboard his Svelte-class shuttle, though it had been moved to a private docking bay. He was just more comfortable aboard his own ship, fewer prying eyes.

Vyktor had not slept in some time, he had many duties and responsibilities, and he had been forced to concentrate on them a bit more in the last few days than he had in his preceeding time aboard the Super Star Destroyer. Thus, even more of his time was spent aboard the shuttle. This morning however would be different, something told Marius this.

He walked down the boarding ramp, the minor sounds of his boots on the durasteel decking unheard. Vyktor was oblivious to the absence of normal ship and crew noise for a few moments, he was busy trying to sort out the odd feeling he was having, which in fact was his minimal force sense trying to warn him something was wrong. Deep in self-contemplation, Marius walked towards the nearest hanger exit, the one which would take him to the gally. As he reached the door he suddenly froze.

His piercing blue eyes blinked twice as Marius' head moved side to side looking over his surroundings. Suddenly aware of the situation, he spun on his heels to see his ship, a controller appearing in his hand as he did so. A few commands and the Svelte shuttle was locked up tight by it's now thuroughly paranoid owner, who was already searching the hanger for danger.

His hands hung loosely at his sides, ready to spring to action should a danger present itself. Exceptionally aware now, inside Vyktor was a bit frustrated with his meager force skills. Had he been trained he could have swept the entire ship from this room to find the source of this problem. As it was, the old combat veteran could only feel that perhaps there were some allies still aboard.

It took approximately five minutes for the hanger area to be cleared. As he moved to leave Marius left a small sheet of flimsy stuck to the door frame, to signify that the room had been cleared. He also locked it behind him. That ship was his lifeline from this place, and he would not have it be tampered with.

So slowly, as his years of experience had tought him, Vyktor cleared one room after another, moving in sections. He tried to reach out with his jedi senses and identify anyone else aboard as he did so. The general feeling that someone was still aboard increased, but he couldn't yet tell who, or how many.

Creeping through the endless halls of the SSD, Tobal suddenly felt very much at home. It was almost like being home, this hunt. Although, there were no sounds, no animals to warn him by their silence that someone was near. Here, here it was just he.
Passage way after passageway, checking every unlocked door, Tobal moved along in a very systematic way. His mind logged every room he had entered, every passageway he had gone through, and the ones he had passed up. For a while, at least. After about ten minutes his mind was so full of the sameness of this place that he stopped trying to remember where he was, or where he had been.

The large staff he had brought with comforted him with its slight familiarity. A decent spear, or good bow would have been preferable though. He hefted the weapon, as if preparing to strike down an opponent.

Fifteen minutes passed, and still Tobal had met no one. He was beginning to feel frustrated. He stopped moving, and took a good look around at his surroundings. It was apparently some sort of computer room. The walls were covered with screens, from top to bottom. Each seemed to change every couple of minutes, from one still scene, to another. Tobal walked up to one, and glanced over it, his curiosity aroused. He seemed to remember that scene…. Of course! It was the combat chamber. The image shifted, and the meditation chamber came into view.
It didn’t take long for Tobal to realize that this was some sort of monitoring station, from which the entire, or a goodly portion of the ship was monitored. Quickly moving among the monitors Tobal scanned them all for possible signs of life. None were present. All were as still as death its self, with out a whisper of life.

Except for one. One monitor had movement. Tobal leapt over a center workstation, and scrambled to the monitor that had had movement. He stared for a second, and then whispered. “Vyktor…”
So there were other people aboard. The image shifted, and Tobal’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t had a chance to see where Vyktor was. The only thing he had seen was a bank of storm trooper blasters. He gritted his teeth, frustration coming to a peak. With one smooth motion he twisted, hands moving in a honey-like glide, bringing his staff up and over his head. The weapon accelerated to a blur, it’s end striking the keypad with an explosive pop.Keys went flying all over the room like missiles, and sparks emitted from rows of raw wires. It may have been a primitive show of emotion, but the end result was, however, the desired one. The monitor shifted back, and Tobal scanned it, searching for identifying marks. He remembered now, he had just been through that room not two minutes ago.

Now was a time for speed, and Tobal gave in to his instincts. He fairly ran out of the control room, and began a sprint down the hallway to where he seemed to remember that room being. As he approached the spot, care once again set in, and he moved back into stalking mode, creeping along, looking around every corner quickly before he moved on. There was no sign of Vyktor. But there was a small piece of flimsy stuck to the main support beam for this junction. Tobal looked about helplessly. This paper had not been here before, so Vyktor must have put it there. But which direction had he gone? There were four to chose from, and he had been down only one.

Gut instinct, it had served him well for the last couple of months. It had also gotten him turned out of his home, and rejected by his community. He had always had a good gut instinct, but three months ago it had gotten a lot better. So much so that he always won the wrestling contests, and always knew where the best deer, or fish were. Sometimes he hated his instinct, but other times he knew he wouldn’t have survived without it.

And today gut instinct told him that the north passage was the one to take. The north passage was no different than the rest, but he knew that was the one he must follow. Stuffing the piece of flimsy in his pocket, Tobal continued his silent march. His feet padded on the cool floor, silence reigned about. Wait… something was new in the air. Tobal stopped to listen. Yes, there was definitely a sound. It was a deep, very deep sound. Almost like the ship was growling. So soft, yet so… there. It was a disturbing sound to Tobal, for it was not natural to him. The only sound that he knew of which could compare to this, was that of an earth-split. Where the earth opened up, and swallowed whole villages. Tobal shook his head slightly, and began his silent jog. His eyes scanned everything, looking for signs of Vyktor.
There, another piece of flimsy stuck to a door. In fact, this was the only door Tobal had seen on this hallway yet. Further down was another door, and another piece of flimsy. Tobal’s face lit up slightly. He increased his stealth though, and crept down the hall, nearing a bend.

A slight scuff of a boot came to his ear, and the slight sound of crinkled flimsy. Poking his head around the corner, Tobal saw Vyktor placing another flimsy on a door. The man moved on, and despite his cumbersome footwear, made almost no sound. Vyktor was armed, with his blaster, and, as Tobal could see, no lightsaber. …must have been caught by surprise… unless he has them under his jacket…
Tobal began to straighten, but thought better of it. Creeping up on a man who was obviously trying hard not to be heard or seen might get himself killed. …better to make a little bit of noise…

Backing up, and going down the hallway several meters, Tobal allowed his staff to hit the durasteel every few steps. The “poc poc poc” sound it made was out of place, and quite loud. He turned, and went in the direction of Vyktor, hoping the man would not shoot him as he turned the bend.

"It's good to see you Tobal. Please follow me, and if you can do so without attracting too much attention, tell me what you've discovered. I have something I need to investigate."

The tight knot that had been building in Tobal’s chest disappeared at the sound of Vyktor’s voice. He was not abandoned, or alone on this alien ship. Vyktor walked with a purpose, and, unlike Tobal, seemed to know where he was going.
For a while Tobal walked along with him, saying nothing. He liked to think about what he was going to say before he said it. His father had taught him this. …better to say nothing at all, than to spit out some stupid half thought. Less damage is done to people’s feelings in this way, and your mind will grow stronger for it…

Vyktor led Tobal to a turboshaft, and pushed the button. Turning so he could face his companion, the older man looked Tobal over. Tobal felt as if Vyktor’s eyes were looking right through him, and viewing his very thoughts. Something was different about Vyktor somehow. Something felt different. As if Vyktor was somehow larger than before. Tobal blinked at the thought. The village healer had had that same feeling often, usually just before he left the village to move on to the next. Vyktor did not seem to be larger, but he felt larger… in some way.

Tobal thought about it for a moment, then decided it would be best to ask Vyktor about it, instead of wondering. He spoke, his voice soft so as not to travel a long distance.

“Discovered? I have discovered nothing other than that this cursed ship is completely devoid of life. Save for you, I met no one. No enemies, or friends.” Tobal paused, and continued. “You, however, feel different. I do not know to explain it very well. You feel larger to me somehow. You are the same height as yesterday, but you feel larger. Like the local healer did back on my planet felt whenever he was about to leave. He felt larger as well. Could you please explain this to me?”

Tobal stopped speaking, and looked over to the turboshaft door, expecting it to be opened. The door was not open, and no sound emanated from it, and the light did not change. Five seconds later, the door opened, and Tobal stepped into the dimly lit chamber beyond.