He assessed that he was still sitting on the bridge of the Brightstar’s Flame. There was a crackling sound somewhere behind him, and it looked dark outside the forward view-port, though he wasn’t sure of that either. He could hear rain against the hull.
Slowly he became aware that he was not the sole occupant of the bridge. Lyaia was in front of him, in the pilot’s seat, slumped over in her restraints. Through his half-blind eye he could see that she was drooling on herself, a long strand of thick slime connected her mouth with her lap. There were dark patches all over her clothing that Drex hoped weren’t blood, but knew otherwise.
He tried to turn his head to see the younger Duros behind him, but that proved to be a big mistake as the room spun around him and his stomach heaved up its foul contents. The muscular contractions reminded him of his internal injuries, almost sending him into unconsciousness.
“I’m screwed,” Drex gasped aloud. He was going to die unless he could somehow pull himself together enough to crawl back to the med-bay, provided it was still working. He also had no idea how he would then get the Nindas back there without dying. The more his brain went over it the more it returned to the same conclusion. This was the no-win situation which would bring an end to him, his people on Austeron, and the WMPC. There would be no off-world help. This was the final act.
Thoughts of the WMPC began to drift through his head. He abruptly remembered a dream he’d had of the resistance leader, Dietrich, and his friend Jiorden Crux. Jiorden, who had been captured as Drex had made his escape from Austeron. He’d comm’d Drex just before they had hauled his fighter in with their tractor beams. It had been a desperate and rushed conversation, but it had left no doubts in Drex’s mind that Jiorden was taken. He’d pulled the lever on the hyperdrive anyway, just as he had known he had to, but it wasn’t easy. Drex had left his friend behind, and now, it seemed it was all for nothing.
There was a flash on the panel before him. Drex lolled his half-open, half-good eye over to see what it was.
SIR, ARE YOU STILL FUNCTIONAL?
“R3?” Drex almost wanted to laugh. He’d forgotten about the droid. “Can you hear me?” Drex wasn’t sure if the communication would be one way. He hoped the comm was open.
It was.
AFFIRMATIVE. HAVE VISUAL ON THE BRIGHTSTAR’S FLAME. SEVERE EXTERNAL DAMAGE TO THE FORWARD SECTION. SCANS SHOW ENGINEERING INTACT. NO RADIATION OR OTHER LEAKAGE. MINIMAL POWER READINGS.
“Thank the Force!” Drex coughed, shuddered in pain, and then stabilized himself against the dizziness which threatened to take him. “R3, things look grim here.” He paused to cough again. “Ugh, I’m not sure I’m going to make it. You need to go and make contact with our connection here on Nar Dundo. Can you do that?”
AFFIRMATIVE. REQUEST AID FOR MASTER AND CREW OF BRIGHTSTAR’S FLAME?
“Tell her what happened, but the mission is more important than my life. It’s more important than our lives. Go, continue the mission.” Drex wheezed out. There was hope after all.
CONFIRMED.
The screen flashed and went blank. Drex smiled inwardly, he could die now. At least the mission had a fighting chance. He wondered if it would even occur to the DSA people that the mission could be completed by a droid. Hopefully it wouldn’t. That way R3 would be in the clear to make contact. Drex suppressed another chuckle, and for the first time in his life, started hoping that the DSA would find him.
Outside the ‘Flame, R3 activated the controls to lower himself out of his seat behind the cockpit of the Z-95. The surface of the planet was rocky, but had enough of a flat surface for his wheels to function. He assessed that it would take him at least four hours to reach the nearby city where the ‘Unlucky Moon’ establishment was located. The odds of continuing the mission, provided the DSA found the wreckage and the Z-95 would be quite high. If they did not, and instead tried to head off contact at the establishment, gave low odds of success. Neither of the two possibilities bothered the astromech droid, however. Its programming did not include ‘worrying’ as a parameter.
Kicking its third foot out from its concealed compartment beneath it, R3 began to roll and bump along the barren surface of Nar Dundo towards the City of Cedrekharon. Behind him, steam and coolant began to rise like a white Kraat Dragon from the cracks in the hull of the Brightstar’s Flame.