Pirate Prince
Goshen, Lao-mon
Nimdok slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his back looking up at a white ceiling lit by bright lights.
His first deep breath upon reaching consciousness caused a violent coughing fit. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he turned on his side, still hacking up a lung. When at last he could breathe normally again, he forced himself into a sitting position. The person who had touched him was a nurse (or at least, she was dressed like one) and she was quick to press a flimsy paper cup of water into his trembling hand. He downed the contents, though much of the cool water missed his mouth and dripped down his chin.
Still mildly disoriented, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. For the second time in two months, he found himself waking up in a hospital bed. His current injuries were obviously far more severe than the stabbing he received on Jerrilek at the hands of a Mandalorian mercenary. Now his entire body ached, as if he had been beaten from all angles with a variety of blunt instruments. The pain was sharpest in his upper back and left shoulder, which were covered in bandages—rather unusual for a Shi’ido, whose ability to regenerate themselves was remarkable. If he couldn't regenerate at all and his wounds had to be bandaged, then he must be in pretty bad shape.
A small girlish voice piped up nearby, only to be hushed by an adult. Turning, he saw Miri standing in the doorway, held back by a white-haired older woman. Not caring if it hurt him, he beckoned to her with both arms. The woman reluctantly released the girl; she bounded over and clutched his trembling hands with her smaller fingers. He was too weak to lift her up onto the bed, so she climbed aboard by herself and hugged him.
“I’m all right,” he reassured her, returning her embrace.
“No, you’re not.”
Nimdok looked up to find Tammuz Hoole, Inanna's father, standing at the foot of the bed. The old robed patriarch was peering down at him, his hands clasped behind his back. The older woman who had held Miri back crossed the room, standing at his side—she had to be Lilith, Inanna's mother.
“You’ve been unconscious for nearly five days,” Tammuz went on, his tone stern. “You’ve lost most of your hidden flesh, as well as sustaining serious wounds. Not to mention the effects of the neurotoxin…”
Nimdok was slow to remember the events which had brought him to this point. He knew what planet he was on and why he was there.
Five days ago, he had returned to his homeworld under the pretext of visiting old friends. He found Inanna’s parents still living at the Hoole family estate. They welcomed him, but the situation had quickly gone south when they introduced him to a young changeling named Pygar who was staying with them. Pygar was a fugitive, a traitor to the Sith Empire hiding in fear for his life. Nimdok was also wanted by the Sith. Having the two of them there was too dangerous. He would have to leave as soon as he arrived.
Then the creature had revealed itself...
From there he recalled only flashes. A battle in the skies with a monstrous foe. Fangs piercing the soft part of his shoulder, pumping poison into his body. His wings severed and devoured by massive gaping jaws lined with jagged teeth. Falling to earth in a paralyzed state of shock. Black blood running down his back. A sense of hopelessness, guilt, and regret. Then darkness.
“You behaved with reckless abandon,” Tammuz scolded. “I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself killed. In fact, if we hadn’t been there to aid you, you’d probably be dead by now.”
Nimdok shook his head. “I was trying to protect you all. There was a… a thing that had broken into the house. It was looking for Pygar. It came after Miri—”
“She told us all about it,” Lilith said, her tone gentle. “We killed the Doppelganger. Everyone is safe. You’re the only one who was really hurt, Ari.”
Nimdok flinched. Even when she was trying to be kind, Lilith was on the same wavelength as her husband. Neither one of them understood why he had acted the way he did. He’d been foolhardy, charging into battle without calling for backup or even telling the others what was going on. The person they knew fifty years ago was not that reckless. In their eyes, his behavior was out of character and alarming.
And they expected an explanation for it. Nimdok wet his lips, not sure where to begin. How could he explain to them what had happened to him, the strange dual state of mind and spirit he now found himself in?
Before he could say a word, Tammuz held up his hand, his expression distracted. “Someone here is looking for you,” he murmured, frowning. He could sense them via the Force.
“More Sith?” Lilith asked quietly, her eyes widening.
“No.” Tammuz’s brow furrowed. “A Jedi. Or at least, he has the aura of one.” He frowned. “We registered you anonymously in a private room. How does he know you’re here?...”
Subject 73 Red
Nimdok slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his back looking up at a white ceiling lit by bright lights.
His first deep breath upon reaching consciousness caused a violent coughing fit. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he turned on his side, still hacking up a lung. When at last he could breathe normally again, he forced himself into a sitting position. The person who had touched him was a nurse (or at least, she was dressed like one) and she was quick to press a flimsy paper cup of water into his trembling hand. He downed the contents, though much of the cool water missed his mouth and dripped down his chin.
Still mildly disoriented, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. For the second time in two months, he found himself waking up in a hospital bed. His current injuries were obviously far more severe than the stabbing he received on Jerrilek at the hands of a Mandalorian mercenary. Now his entire body ached, as if he had been beaten from all angles with a variety of blunt instruments. The pain was sharpest in his upper back and left shoulder, which were covered in bandages—rather unusual for a Shi’ido, whose ability to regenerate themselves was remarkable. If he couldn't regenerate at all and his wounds had to be bandaged, then he must be in pretty bad shape.
A small girlish voice piped up nearby, only to be hushed by an adult. Turning, he saw Miri standing in the doorway, held back by a white-haired older woman. Not caring if it hurt him, he beckoned to her with both arms. The woman reluctantly released the girl; she bounded over and clutched his trembling hands with her smaller fingers. He was too weak to lift her up onto the bed, so she climbed aboard by herself and hugged him.
“I’m all right,” he reassured her, returning her embrace.
“No, you’re not.”
Nimdok looked up to find Tammuz Hoole, Inanna's father, standing at the foot of the bed. The old robed patriarch was peering down at him, his hands clasped behind his back. The older woman who had held Miri back crossed the room, standing at his side—she had to be Lilith, Inanna's mother.
“You’ve been unconscious for nearly five days,” Tammuz went on, his tone stern. “You’ve lost most of your hidden flesh, as well as sustaining serious wounds. Not to mention the effects of the neurotoxin…”
Nimdok was slow to remember the events which had brought him to this point. He knew what planet he was on and why he was there.
Five days ago, he had returned to his homeworld under the pretext of visiting old friends. He found Inanna’s parents still living at the Hoole family estate. They welcomed him, but the situation had quickly gone south when they introduced him to a young changeling named Pygar who was staying with them. Pygar was a fugitive, a traitor to the Sith Empire hiding in fear for his life. Nimdok was also wanted by the Sith. Having the two of them there was too dangerous. He would have to leave as soon as he arrived.
Then the creature had revealed itself...
From there he recalled only flashes. A battle in the skies with a monstrous foe. Fangs piercing the soft part of his shoulder, pumping poison into his body. His wings severed and devoured by massive gaping jaws lined with jagged teeth. Falling to earth in a paralyzed state of shock. Black blood running down his back. A sense of hopelessness, guilt, and regret. Then darkness.
“You behaved with reckless abandon,” Tammuz scolded. “I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself killed. In fact, if we hadn’t been there to aid you, you’d probably be dead by now.”
Nimdok shook his head. “I was trying to protect you all. There was a… a thing that had broken into the house. It was looking for Pygar. It came after Miri—”
“She told us all about it,” Lilith said, her tone gentle. “We killed the Doppelganger. Everyone is safe. You’re the only one who was really hurt, Ari.”
Nimdok flinched. Even when she was trying to be kind, Lilith was on the same wavelength as her husband. Neither one of them understood why he had acted the way he did. He’d been foolhardy, charging into battle without calling for backup or even telling the others what was going on. The person they knew fifty years ago was not that reckless. In their eyes, his behavior was out of character and alarming.
And they expected an explanation for it. Nimdok wet his lips, not sure where to begin. How could he explain to them what had happened to him, the strange dual state of mind and spirit he now found himself in?
Before he could say a word, Tammuz held up his hand, his expression distracted. “Someone here is looking for you,” he murmured, frowning. He could sense them via the Force.
“More Sith?” Lilith asked quietly, her eyes widening.
“No.” Tammuz’s brow furrowed. “A Jedi. Or at least, he has the aura of one.” He frowned. “We registered you anonymously in a private room. How does he know you’re here?...”
Subject 73 Red