#force shenanigans

The general had been leading them through the twisting streets of the capital city (they’d been told the name in the briefing, but Wolffe doesn’t for the life of him remember what it was), but he’d fallen behind, all because he’d sensed a child in danger. Wolffe does not see his general behind him and he wants to swear because of course a Jedi would derail an entire evacuation to go find a lost child. How can the general even sense these things???

Wolffe tells Sinker to take the squad ahead in battle sign and falls back, guns out, scanning the area for the general. There’s no sign of Plo. Wolffe curses under his breath and sprints back the way they’ve come, head on a swivel watching for incoming clankers, until he finds a trail of footprints. If that’s actually blood and not sand or something he is going to lose it, he really is. He follows the set of footprints (that match his general’s boots, his brain supplies) until he reaches some sort of sheltered back alley. There he finds Plo, carrying a tiny Bothan child on his hip and limping slightly as he brandishes his lightsaber at an encroaching flock of droids. 

Wolffe doesn’t even think about it, he just drops them as quickly as possible, producing a vibro-knife and slicing through vulnerable joints. When the droids fall in a heap at his feet he turns on his general, annoyed. “Really, sir? You can’t just run off like that, you could have died. Not to mention, now you’re hurt!” Plo is implacable as he begins to make his way down the alleyway (slowly, painfully). “It is the will of the Force that this child be saved.” Wolffe swears under his breath and wraps an arm around him, supporting his weight as best he can. The wound doesn’t appear to be serious, but it does pose a problem for getting back to the ship in a timely manner. That thrown object is shaping up to be a chair. 

When they reach the street proper, Wolffe curses again and dives in front of Plo just in time to catch a blaster bolt and glance it off his vambrace. There are swarms of the weird monkey clankers descending toward them, and Wolffe already knows that leaving the kid is out of the question. He retrieves a blaster pistol and droid popper and shoos his general down the street. “Go, I’ll cover us!” That is the start of a very chaotic ten minutes that involves ducking through multiple courtyards and trying to knock things over onto the impending tidal wave of angry buzzing metal. 

They are in a pavilion when all hell really breaks loose. The ceiling above begins to crack as more and more clankers swarm up at the entrances, and Wolffe positions himself up close against his general’s back, blaster in one hand and knife in the other. The breaths coming through the General’s mask are heavier than normal, but he swings his lightsaber with determination. Wolffe is not going to die here, he refuses, and with his free hand he taps out a code on his wrist comm and shouts into it as he snipes off a few more droids, telling Sinker to send a transport to their position as soon as possible, the general is wounded and they’re surrounded. Even as he does, he knows it’s not going to be in time. 

The ceiling of the pavilion is cracking, fissures spreading rapidly, and Wolffe readies himself to shield Plo with his body if necessary. One final crack. Tons of stone plummet toward their heads, and Wolffe closes his eyes, braced for impact— it doesn’t come. He throws his head back, wrenching his neck in the process, and what he sees makes him draw up short. It reminds him of the rain on Kamino, if all the raindrops had been frozen in mid air. Debris floats weightless in the air beside a frozen avalanche of clankers, arcing over them like a wave, and for a moment Wolffe thinks that even the dust motes in the air are frozen. The general has not visibly moved, but his brow is furrowed in deep concentration, and even as Wolffe watches he begins to shake. With a sharp slash of the hand not holding the child, everything explodes outward and away from them. Electricity crackles as the droids fall in heaps, deactivated. 

Wolffe is shocked, so much so that he almost doesn’t catch the general when he stumbles. Plo is shaking, exhausted, and it takes most of Wolffe’s strength to support him and the kid and get them to the ground safely. The kid is quiet, big yellow eyes staring at them, but doesn’t seem to be injured so that’s good. Wolffe leans over and listens to his general’s heart, which is not always the most accurate metric of telling a Kel Dor’s health but oh well. Plo pats him on the shoulder absentmindedly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he is…sort of glowing. Wolffe can feel power thrumming in the air like a live wire, and his heart seems to pound along in time with the beat of the music that’s just at the very lowest edge of his hearing range. Plo rests his shoulder against him just a bit, and the weird sensations begin to fade, but Wolffe is once again forcibly reminded that Jedi are not nearly as normal as everyone else. That much effort has completely exhausted the general. He lets himself take a breath. Idiotic heroic Jedi and their stupid Force shenanigans. He scrambles a drinkable protein packet from somewhere on his belt, stabs a straw into it and hands it to Plo, who is shaky from exertion still, even as he cradles the kid he saved. The general accepts it and sips at it, and in the distance Wolffe can see the silhouette of a transport.