They came at him again, rushing him all at once. They had the numbers and months of military hand-to- hand combat training on their side; Des had strength, size, and years of bare-knuckle brawling on his. But in the darkness, none of that really mattered.
Des met their charge head-on, and all four combatants tumbled to the ground. Punches and kicks landed without any thought given to target or strategy: the blind fighting the blind. Each blow he landed brought a satisfying grunt or groan from his opponents, but his enjoyment was limited by the pummeling his own body was enduring.
It didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed, he couldn't see a thing. He reacted on instinct; aches and pains were washed away in the darkness by the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
And then suddenly he saw something. Someone had drawn a vibroblade. It was still black as the heart of the mines during a cave-in, yet Des could see the blade clearly, as if it glowed with an inner fire. It stabbed toward him and he grabbed the wrist of the wielder, twisting it back and driving it toward the dark mass from which it had appeared. There was a sharp cry and then a choking gurgle, and suddenly the burning blade in his vision winked out, the threat extinguished.
The mass of bodies entwined with his quickly untangled, two of them scampering clear. The third was motionless. A second later he heard the click of a luma switching on, and he was momentarily blinded by its beam of light. Eyes squeezed shut, he heard a gasp.
'He's dead!' one of the soldiers exclaimed. 'You killed him!'
Shading his eyes against the illumination, Des glanced down to see exactly what he'd expected: the ensign lying on his back, the vibroblade plunged deep into his chest.
The luma flicked off, and Des braced himself for another assault. Instead he heard the sounds of footsteps fleeing in the night, heading toward the docking pads.
Des looked down at the body, planning to grab the glowing blade and use its light to guide him through the darkness. But the blade wasn't glowing now. In fact, he realized, it had never really glowed at all. It couldn't have: vibroblades weren't energy weapons. Their blades were simple metal.
There were more pressing concerns than how he had seen the vibroblade in the darkness, however. As soon as they reached their ship, the soldiers would report to their commander, who would report the incident to the ORO authorities. ORO would turn the planet upside down looking for him. Des didn't like his chances. It would be the word of a miner, one with a history of brawls and violence, at that, against two Republic naval soldiers. No one would believe it had been an act of self-defense.
And had it been, really? He had seen the blade coming. Could he have disarmed his opponent without killing him? Des shook his head. He didn't have time for guilt or regrets. Not now. He had to find somewhere safe to hide out.
He couldn't go back to his barracks: that was the first place they'd look. He'd never reach the mines on foot before daybreak, and there was nowhere on the open wastes he could hide once the sun came up. There was only one option, one hope. Eventually they'd go looking for him there, too. But he had nowhere else to go.
Groshik must have still been awake, because he answered the door only seconds after Des began pounding on it. The Neimoidian took one look at the blood on the young man's hands and shirt and grabbed him by the sleeve.
'Get in here!' he croaked, yanking Des through the door and slamming it shut behind him. 'Are you hurt?'
Des shook his head. 'I don't think so. The blood isn't mine.'
Taking a step back, the Neimoidian looked him up and down. 'There's a lot of it. Too much. Smells human.'
When Des didn't reply, Groshik ventured a guess. 'Gerd's?'
Another shake of the head. 'The ensign,' Des said.
Groshik dropped his head and swore under his breath. 'Who knows? Are the authorities after you?'
'Not yet. Soon.' Then, as if trying to justify his actions, he added, 'There were three of them, Groshik. Only one's dead.'
His old friend nodded sympathetically. 'I'm sure he had it coming. Just like Gerd. But that doesn't change the facts. A Republic soldier is dead… and you're the one who's going to take the blame.'
The cantina owner led Des over to the bar and brought down the bottle of cortyg brandy. Without saying a word, he poured them each a drink. This time he didn't stop at half glasses.
'I'm sorry I came here,' Des said, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. 'I didn't mean to get you mixed up in this.'
'Getting mixed up in things doesn't bother me,' Groshik reassured him with a comforting pat on his arm. 'I'm just trying to figure a way to get us out of this now. Let me think.'
They downed their glasses. It was all Des could do to keep from panicking; with each passing second he expected a dozen men in ORO body armor to crash down the cantina's door. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, Groshik began to talk. He spoke softly, and Des wasn't sure if the Neimoidian was addressing him or merely talking out loud to help himself think.
'You can't stay here. ORO can't afford to lose their Republic contracts. They'll turn the whole colony upside down to find you. We have to get you offworld.' He paused. 'But by morning, your picture will be on every vidscreen in Republic space. Changing your looks won't help much. Even with a wig or facial prosthetics you tend to stand out in a crowd. So that means we have to get you out of Republic space. And that means, ' Groshik trailed off.
Des waited expectantly.
'Those things you said tonight,' Groshik ventured, 'about the Sith and the Republic. Did you mean it? Did you really mean it?'
'I don't know. I guess so.'
