To her credit, Master Arani seemed to come around.
"We're going to go hold that point. With me."
Hooking the headphones so that they hung around his neck, the Nautolan fumbled for a moment with a breath mask.
Aquatic privilege usually meant Zak didn't have to wear one of these. So it was a moment while the boy fitted the the mask to his face. This wasn't awkward at all. Said no one ever.
Humans donned these on the regular? Man, it sucked to be them.
Finally, the green-skinned boy looked up and gave Iris a boy scout salute.
"Let's do it to it!" he boasted, as he fell into step behind the Jedi knight.
Not going to lie, the outlook was sobering.
But it had been sobering when the Mandalorian Crusaders had attacked Voss. Or when the Silver Rest had been bombed. Time and time again, Zak had witnessed that there were no sanctuaries in the universe. No place where someone wouldn't try to inflict hate or pain or suffering on other people.
He was seeing it now. People hurt. Anger and despair choking love or reason. The idea of alternatives quickly fading as a forgotten dream as the horde of stormtroopers was advancing. It was a bad situation.
But that's what made the task of the Jedi so important, because what was a Jedi if not a light of hope in dark places?
".. Leave the charges, start making your retreat back to the fortified positions. Zak, remember your lesson? Time to put it to practical use."
Not gonna lie. Not what he was expecting.
Master
Matsu Ike
would have probably employed shields of some kind, used her combination of technology and the Force to put a bulwark between the rebels and the Imperials. Master
Nefertari Sovint
would have probably told Zak to help the wounded to evacuate while supporting the rebels withdrawal from the Empire's assault. After all, the first lesson he'd been taught had been that a Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, not for attack.
Well, apparently, they were on
offense.
"Wait, what?" the boy chirped, finding his preconceptions smashed and playing catch up on the playbook as he watched what Master Arani was doing. Which, what was Master Arani doing? Because apparently she wanted Zak to be doing it.
At least it was a quick study. Hand levitation stuff. With explosives.
"Sweet as, brah," the Nautolan uttered. Was it really? No, not really. Also, was it proper to call a Jedi
brah? In any case, this is what they were doing. The Nautolan used both hands to flip the headphones up so that they were nestled on his head. A flick of a finger flipped the on switch.
Bopping his head in time with the music, as soon as the beat dropped the Nautolan raised his arms up. A pair of explosive charges joined Iris' in the air, waiting for the command to drop.
When the explosion came, it was hard not to think about the flames closing in around him, as he'd been inside the Silver Rest when it had gone up in flame. And now they were here. Doing this.
The Nautolan gave a heavy sigh. For a moment, his shoulders bowed as memories and guilt, and then memories of guilt washed over him.
This sucked. And, the truth was, Zak couldn't make it not suck. This planet. The Alliance-Imperial War. The Jedi-Sith thing. Hell, pirates or slavers or spice dealers or anyone else who profited from other people's pain. He couldn't make any of that
not suck.
He could only cling to hope that maybe --
maybe -- the Jedi could help make it suck just a little less.
He took a deep breath. Even through the breath mask, the distinct, acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. The smell of melted duraplast and something slightly sweet. The smell of burning flesh.
And a tide of Imperial soldiers that were still coming.
Adopting a smile, which the boy hoped that his master could hear even if she couldn't see it because of the breath mask, the boy held up a fist for his master to bump as he offered,
"Looks like today's gonna get worse before it gets better, Master."
The incoming fire that was aimed up into the rafters was probably evidence enough of that statement.