Showdown

Garik had him pinned, a knee on his collarbone and a thin coil of wire in his gloved hands.  Mud smeared across Corvan’s visor, dangerously removing one of his needed senses from the equation in the fight.  His leg was on fire in several different places where Garik had broken it, preventing him from getting away.  The wire glinted in the hazy grey light of the sky before Corvan was suddenly struggling to breathe, a thin, angry tightness choking him out.  He couldn’t see Garik’s face behind his buy’ce, but he could hear the satisfied hiss of his breathing as he looped the cord around a second time.

“Should have done this years ago,” Garik snarled. “Kriffin’ disobedient child--”

Corvan was seeing spots in his vision as he flailed, clawing at the mud and Garik’s armor plating, his shattered leg twitching.  Blood pounded in his ears, his heart feeling ready to burst.  He didn’t want to go out this way.  Osik, he couldn’t go out this way.  A flash of a memory broke free from the blackness that was rapidly encroaching upon his vision like a shard of light in the night.  Garik always had plenty of knives on him.  He had used a few during the brawl but they had been lost in the mud.  He always kept a special one stowed away though.  Right on his hip in a small space in his beskar that was used to slip the weapon into.

Forcing himself to focus as he gasped for even an ounce of air to squeeze into his lungs, Corvan sent his hand towards the plate, scrabbling blindly until his fingers curled around the hilt.  A flood of memories from the object hit him, showing him victims of Garik in their last moments.  He ignored that annoying side effect of his psychometric abilities and whipped the knife out and in between a gap in Garik’s armor.

The knife had a very long blade.  It sunk deep past the grey bodysuit, sliding right between the ribs and embedding itself into Garik’s heart.  The mandalorian gasped with a spasmodic shudder.  The sharp bite of the wire on Corvan’s neck slackened.  He grabbed at his throat to loosen it more, sucking in air greedily, unable to do anything as his adoptive father’s body fell on top of him.  Their beskar smacked with a ring of finality as Corvan felt something hot and wet trickling over his fingers where he still had his grip on the knife.  He pushed on the hilt to force Garik off of him, sliding up to a knee and swinging his bad leg to the side as he yanked the weapon out to point it at Velean.  The garrote was tossed to the side as he continued to force air into his lungs.  Corvan was no expert when it came to medical matters, but he knew that Garik had nearly crushed his windpipe from how hard it was to breathe right now.

Velean stood where she had during the course of the fight at the top of the ridge.  She didn’t reach for a weapon or ready herself to fly down to him to avenge her fallen husband.  The knife began to shake in Corvan’s grip as he continued to hold it out towards her, daring her to come.

“I see no reason to create another corpse today,” Velean said, her voice cold and tight. “One of you was bound to learn their lesson, and it just so happened to be Garik--”

She broke off, the T-shaped visor turning to look at the mangled body of her husband for a few beats.

“I’m not going to kill you, Corvan,” she continued, her voice oddly calm as it carried past the filter in her buy’ce. “I always knew you had promise, and now I know.  I trained you to be a killer and you excelled.  Mandokarla, ner ad.  Even if it cost ner kar'taylir darasuum his life, you still have made me proud.”

Velean paused, hovering a hand over her blaster at her hip as her voice grew chilly again.

“However, if I catch you tracking me down, I will not hesitate to kill you.  Even I have my limits, ad, and it would be in your best interest not to cross that line.”

It was hard to swallow, which meant it would be even harder to speak.  Corvan forced the words past his strained throat, his voice a croaking echo of his usual tone on the air, adding emphasis to his threat.

“And you stay the haran away from my family, tayli’bac?”

Velean dipped her helmeted head, turned, then shot off into the air on a jet of yellow and red from her pack.  Corvan let the knife drop out of his limp hand, every hit, every cut, and every break screaming out all over his body.  He haltingly looked over at the body that Velean hadn’t even bothered to gather up and bury.  Blood was still pouring out from the dark rip in Garik’s bodysuit.  Corvan looked away and didn’t look back as he slowly limped his way up the side of the ridge, gripping at his leg to try to keep whatever weight he could off of it.

He had to get back to his fighter before Velean changed her mind and came at him like an enraged rancor.  He had just killed her husband.  His father.  No, not really his father.  The people he had called “Mama” and “Papa” had turned out to be sadistic killers who had murdered his own parents and lied to him about it. 

They had still raised him for a majority of his life though.  There was a time when Garik had looked at him with paternal pride rather than murderous intent, bounced him on his knee while weaving him stories.

Corvan had to stop his trek twice to remove his helmet and vomit.  It made his throat burn even more than it already did.  By the time he made it back to the Torrent starfighter, the adrenaline had already worn off.  Corvan was shaking all over.  Sheer willpower was the only thing keeping him on his feet as he tossed his helmet into the cockpit and swung inside after it, dropping down into the pilot’s seat.  No one had come after him during his excruciatingly long trek.  That still didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to blow him to pieces while letting him assume he was relatively safe.  He powered up the fighter, running through the preflight checklist and skipping the nonessentials.  Halfway through the list, Corvan was starting to have trouble operating his hands over the console.

It hadn’t hit him what had all happened until now.  He pressed his teeth together, trying to focus harder as he moved his shaking hands deliberately and almost exaggeratedly as he punched in the coordinates for where Strak said he would be.  He took in a shuddering breath and told his mind to just slip into that mechanical mode he always did when he didn’t want to deal with his emotions.  His trembling fingers settled around the steering yoke, lifting the craft off the ground and into the sky, sending it past the white-grey bank of clouds and into the atmosphere of the small planet.  Still no pursuit.  That at least was good.

Once clear of the planet’s gravity well, Corvan yanked back the hyperspace lever, shooting the fighter into the blue and white-streaked tunnel.  Almost as if the same lever was used to flip a switch in his mind, he left that droid-like state as the reality of what he had done and what his mother had said about him sank in.  

Garik hadn’t held back at all during the fight, and Corvan could feel it.  He put a hand to his neck where it still felt as though it had been crushed together in the way someone might pinch the line on a fuel hose.  He thought Velean would come at him with fury and avenge Garik.  It was more disturbing that she hadn’t.  She was proud of what her son had done.  It wasn’t just words.  Corvan had heard it in her voice.  It was the same tone she used when he exhibited potential with his weapon-wielding skills as a youngster, and after a raid with the rest of the clan on unsuspecting victims.

He felt that shaking fit try to take over his body, trying to press a fog of disorientation and panic on his mind.  He pressed the heel of his palm against his brow, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his attention on breathing as normally as possible despite the pain in his throat.

You're safe.  You're safe.  You're safe.

Corvan’s face contorted into a grimace as he let the tumult of shock, anger, betrayal, and at least a dozen other confused emotions roll out and down his face, gripping at his aching throat.  He was glad that he was in the small confines of the cockpit, deep in the isolation of hyperspace.  No one could hear him weep there.

                    *    *    *

The Aurore-class freighter was exactly where it was supposed to be when the starfighter hopped out of hyperspace.  After a comm to the large freighter, Tronn had the cargo doors open to allow the small ship entry.  Zea was waiting in the hold, watching as the fighter slowed through the magcon field and came to a rest on the deck.  She couldn’t see too much of what was going on inside the cockpit from the way the lights hit the transparisteel.  Only when the cockpit opened was she able to get a look at Corvan.

She hurried forward, ignoring the engine shutdown sequence and the loud whine of the fighter.  Zea could see the scrapes and bruises even from where she was at.  It must have been worse than Corvan was letting on too; she knew he was pale for a kiffar, but he looked almost blanched.

Tronn had received a message over the comms just a few hours ago.  All the text said was “I’m okay.”  Clearly, the kid had been lying.  He did not in the least look to be okay.

He didn’t spring down from the fighter in his usual manner either.  Zea stepped up to help with an arm under one of his own and another at his back.  For once, he didn’t shake her off.  She saw why when she caught a glimpse of one of his legs.  It was twisted in a way that immediately let her know it was broken, and not just in one place.  He held his buy’ce at his side, gripping to it tightly with bruised knuckles.  Zea could see that he was avoiding her eyes too, though she managed to see that his own were red.

She didn’t want to ask “what’s wrong?” or “how can I help?”  Tronn would leap for those sort of hashing it out solutions that always yielded little results with their older children when they had been still raising kids.  After having reared more than twelve, Zea could pick up on what worked and what didn’t.  She placed her hands on either side of Corvan’s face so she could tilt his head up.  Her maternal instincts were ignited by the shape he was in.

Zea pulled him close into a tight embrace, placing a hand on the top of his head.  Corvan didn’t wriggle loose or wrench himself away.  Instead, he leaned heavily into the hug.

“You don’t have to say anything, Cor’ika,” Zea whispered. “It’s all right.”