#operation prometheus

Kraddy - Operation Prometheus

0322, Galactic Standard time.

A med bay.

A row of kolto tanks, each filled with bodies, some two to a tank, the healing properties of the liquid silently working, the only noise the beep of machinery and droids.

It was late.  Or early.  All the other living souls on board the Hyperion were asleep.

Except her.

The chill of the glass seeped through her fingertips and crept up her arms, causing Vyen'a to shiver slightly in place.  Still, she stood, hands pressed flat against the outside of the tank, forehead resting against the thick glass.  She hated med bays.  She hated being tanked.  Right now, though, she would trade everything she'd ever had to be inside, floating unconscious.  Instead of him.  The cot she'd made up lay untouched; the blankets, unfolded.  

She shivered again but didn't recognize the motion, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she silently mouthed the almost forgotten words from her childhood.  The prayers she had learned, drawing figures with the edge of a stick in the hard-packed dirt of the grotto's floor, carved from the thick rock halfway up the mountain.  A place to meditate and become a part of the life force with the goddesses, the gentle old priest had told her.  

And she had. 

The memory of the warmth that came with prayer never left her; how after she felt as though she glowed brighter than any star in the night sky.  How she felt so peaceful - so right.  Like her face turned toward a warm spring sun after months of rain.  When she was removed from training after her parents were gone, the feeling was gone.  Lost forever to time, she'd assumed.

Until she met Jerax.

And then the warmth came back.

She took a shuddering breath, tear slipping out from the corner of her eye to creep down the bridge of her nose, hanging from its tip until it broke free and fell, splashing against her boot.  A droid rolled near, beeping, and she shook her head.  

"No.  Still stable.  I'm watching this one."

The droid beeped in acknowledgement, moving to the next tank.  Vyen'a let out a shaky breath.  She'd not let Jerax know how bad his injuries really were.  She may have even tried to play them off, urging him to have a drink with the rest of the less-injured.  But now her eyes opened to stare down at the readout, the scan results flashing across the screens.  She knew how close he'd come.

Her eyes raised to look at his face through the thick glass and greenish liquid, still somehow peaceful in artificial unconsciousness, and her breath caught slightly in her throat.  The prayers started up again, haltingly, before trailing off into a shuddering sigh as she pressed her forehead against the glass again.

The droids beeped their readouts.

The kolto tanks hummed.

A minute clicked on the chrono hanging on the wall.

It's been a while since i wrote in here and it may be my last. We'll be assaulting the Traitors that fled after a failed coup in a few hours. Our armada against theirs and our land army against theirs. No faction, Empire and Republic working together on both sides. Only difference is they're traitors bent on genocide. 

The slender woman pressed her forehead against the window, thick glass reflecting the utter chill of the emptiness of space beyond.  The ship had long since blinked into hyperspace, but her eyes remained locked on the spot where it had disappeared.

Come home to me.

The words blew a puff of warm air against the thick window, hazing the view before evaporating in the artificial heat of Carrick Station.  Ty'nea wished that she was with them; going with the Seventh to fight this unknown enemy that had called up so many to take arms with it.  To stand shoulder to shoulder with the men and women who had saved her.  To return the favor.

But they had said no.   Vyen'a, Lieutenant Teral.  They both had said no; she needed to stay here.  It was too risky.  Vyen'a was worried she would have a panic attack if she saw the red of the Sith sabers.  Lieutenant Teral gave no reason.

She never asked the man who shared her bed.  Holden Jerhal. The one she ran for, the one she gave up everything for.  Early that morning, in the tiniest hours, she had woke, resting her cheek on his chest and listening to his heart beat as she had almost every night since his return.

Come home to me.

She whispered the words then, and again when she kissed him goodbye.  His cocksure grin told her he would, but she could see the tinge of worry behind his eyes.  She hadn't called Vyen'a; she knew the woman was too busy holding herself together by threads any more.

She pushed a piece of red hair out of her face, resting her forehead against the thick window again, listening to her heart pound in her chest as her eyes closed.  Such fragile things, bodies.  Behind her lids she saw her past, watched body after body crumple and fall from her well placed shots.  She wondered if a few different circumstances would have put her on the opposite line, going blaster to blaster with the Seventh. With the man who now so carefully held her heart.  She certainly had every reason to hate force users and Sith in particular; it wasn't that much of a stretch to see her fighting toward their eradication.

Another deep, shaky breath pulled her from her memories, eyes opening to stare out at the empty expanse of space, and she began to count the stars. One, two, a dozen dozen tiny pinpoints of light, the same repetition she'd done for years.  First from her ship's tiny captain's chair, then perched on a ledge in Vyen'a's small control room, then finally, finally, curled with her love in a comfy, overstuffed chair.  Every night together, they'd count the stars.

Her heart pounded in her chest, breath tight in her throat, as she counted.

Twenty-two.

He'll live.  He'll be okay.

Twenty-three.

Just let it be.  Let it be.

Twenty-four...

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she blinked them back before looking down to her hand, fingers twisting the gold band around her ring finger nervously before looking back out to space.

Come home to me.

The stars blinked back quietly, daring her tears to fall.  She blinked again, took another shaky breath, and stood up a bit straighter.

One...

Tomorrow.  One more day.

The woman looked over her shoulder at the man, deep in his sated sleep, and smiled softly.

I love him.

She slipped from under the blankets, hissing softly as her bare feet hit the cold durasteel of the floor, and padded naked across the room to his desk, sitting and carefully pulling a loose sheet of flimsiplast free from a sheaf of papers.  A few drawers open and close until a pen is found.

She took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder again, and began to write.  Lists of bank accounts, access codes, hundreds of thousands of credits scattered in bunches across the galaxy.  The codes to pilot her ship; the ones that need to be entered every time to ensure it's not being stolen again - and therefore preventing the engine from frying itself.  All her worldly goods, listed onto a single piece of flimsi.

She looked over her shoulder again, writing the man's name at the top of the page.

He's first.  I'll take care of him, no matter what happens to me.

Her hand faltered.

And if he falls too?

She wrote the woman's name next; the shy shell who's already recovered more than Vyen'a ever thought possible.

She's gone through so much, and now Red's the only one that's guaranteed to see the next sunrise.  I could fall.  Jer'ax could fall.  Bald?  Shit, Jerhal's goin' front lines with Ihlrath.  I need to make sure Red's taken care of, too.

She blinked, startled, vision suddenly blurred by tears before they slid down the sides of her nose, splashing against the back of her hand.

The hell's wrong wit' you?

She took a deep breath, looking back down at the desk.  Her whole life, twenty five galactic standard years, reduced to a list scribbled out on a piece of flimsiplast.  

Oh.  That'd explain it, yeh?

She shivered in the cool air of the ship, small bumps rising along her bare arms, and looked over her shoulder to the inviting sight of the bed, full of Jer'ax and covered in warm blankets.

Finish this first, Anaria.

She sighed, looking back to the task at hand.  The memory of her parents graves, slowly being filled side by side in the cold drizzle of rain that morning so long ago, filtered through her mind; she shook her head to remove the image, then jotted a final line.

If I die, take me to Mirial.  Wrap me in satin and bury me next to my mother.

She tapped the pen thoughtfully.

If Jer'ax and I both die, bury me near him.

She scratched the line out, looking over her shoulder at the sleeping man again.

Maybe I should ask him to marry me again.  Maybe...

She shook her head again, looking back at the list.

It's up to him, the next time.  If there's a next time.

She picked up her datapad from his desk, resting where she'd left it as they came in, and tapped in the codes.  Lists of troop positioning, ship counts, faction numbers all blinked awake to shine softly in the darkness of the room, illuminating her face with an eerie blue glow.  

Please let there be a next time.

For the first time in a very long time, Vyen'a felt her heart flutter in her chest.  She was truly frightened.   

She sat quietly, studying the information, memorizing the lines, the names, the way the terrain rose up and fell away, all the information gathered by the reconnaissance mission the day before.

The war was here.  Worse than anything else they'd ever faced.  And it would all be decided tomorrow.

Tomorrow we'll discover what the maker has in store.  

One by one.

She sighed, setting the datapad down, and blinks back the threat of rising tears.

One more day.

Silently, she padded back to the bed, slipping back between the covers and wrapping around the sleeping man, murmuring soft words as she nuzzled the back of his neck, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come quickly.

The low crackle-buzz of automated lights clicking on filtered through Vyen'a's subconscious, her eyes opening slowly.  Unfamiliar walls, an unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar bed gently became known as she woke, turning her head to glance back toward the sleeping man curled around her.

A familiar face.

Jerax.

She hadn't expected to see him there.  She hadn't expected to be there; it took some careful slicing and flying to get within range, spending way too much on a half-junked personal shuttle only to abandon it if necessary, holding her breath more than once doing things that should have gotten her killed, her head smashed like an overripe berry from the pressure of space; whispering thankful prayers when they worked, wondering when her luck would run out.

And then while she was working; expecting a quick slice in and slip away, the Marran, the Seventh, all of them arriving for the real work.  The hard work.  And her blending back in with them seamlessly.

And their insistence that she return with them to the Hyperion.  

Up until then, she was still uncertain if she would return, or if she did, if she would stay.  Then they started.  Ihlrath's warm smile as she walked onto the bridge.  Jerhal's words echoed in her head,  "Dumb cunt, don't you ever do that again!", whispered as he crushed her into a hug.  The crudeness of the statement belying the very deep emotion beneath.  Even then, though, she wasn't sure.  It would have been easy, so easy to just slip away again.  To make her own way again.

Like the sent holo, though, Jerax's emotion at seeing her had broke her will to be alone again.  Through the stoicism of his face, his eyes gave it all away.  The hands on her waist and in her hair as he had pressed his mouth to hers, the surprising amount of fear that tinged the kiss sealed it.

She couldn't leave that.

She couldn't leave him.

Vyen'a shifted, rolling carefully to face Jerax and resting her forehead against his as he slept.  A small smile passed across his face at the movement; she smiled back softly.  She knew, now.  She could stop running, for the first time since she left Mirial.  She could stop looking.  No matter what happened - with the Nemesis, with this idiot Colonel trying to take them out, with the Sith, with the Seventh, with anyone anywhere.

Right here is where she wanted to be.