The Weight of Will

[Tamara Wren]

Wayland​

Continued from The Purge​

There could be no clearer dismissal.

Frustrated, less confused than torn, Tamara started the trek back toward her studio. It was where she usually went when she needed to think, to work off something that didn't have full words forming in her mind. But instead, halfway there, she veered off.

And headed toward the gates of the compound.

Usually closed this late in the afternoon, the sun already dipping below the height of the tallest trees, everything was as normal when she went for these jaunts as it ever was. Until she reached the gates.

"What?"

"You heard me, Tam," the guard said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You're not to go outside the walls."

She scoffed. "That's ridiculous, I always go outside of the-"

"Alor's orders," he interjected gently.

"My father...."

Up until that moment, Tam had, if not accepted, at least understood. The position he was in was an impossible one. She was still struggling with her own feelings on it, the tearing between family and loyalty and the idea of literally cutting off part of herself (would she cut off her deformed hand to please her father... to please Ra? Never. How as this any different?), but beyond the jumble, the confused feelings hadn't been targeted.

"He doesn't trust me! Didn't even wait to see if I would-"

"In all fairness, you *did* come here first Tam-"

"even try! Just assumed that I would! He said in a week, he didn't ask me to stop until-"

Whatever else she was saying was lost on the guard as she whirled around, storming off. She'd gone from distant and lost in thought to furious in just a few words. Usually calm and on the quiet side, Tamara was known to have a streak of anger, of stubbornness in her. Usually, it took a lot to set it off. He followed her form with his eyes, frowning slightly. She didn't look like she was heading anywhere in particular, just walking off some anger, so he relaxed, chewing the whole situation over.

Who would want to be an Alor? He decided. Only someone who wanted an Alor's problems. And with a small hint of amusement, chuckled. He did not envy who ever had to talk her down.

*****

Tamara was significantly less amused. She didn't walk off the anger. Instead she walked into it. Her thoughts moved around in circles, each time reaching that some core of anger. It had been there, waiting beneath the confusion, the understanding. How could it not? It simply took something to trigger it.

She wasn't entirely certain when the idea occurred to her. Really, it wasn't a logical series of thoughts or decisions. Walking in that direction. Turning here. Finding herself entering the hangars. Angrily punching in the security codes to the fighter that had come back in last and was waiting for evaluation. Climbing in.

All the while muttering to herself.

"After all of that 'your loyalty is beyond reproach'," she mimicked her father, making a particularly unflattering face as she did. "What trash!"

She started hitting buttons angrily.

If she had stopped to think about what she was doing for even five seconds, she would have realized what it looked like. Like she was stealing a ship. Like she was running. Not merely disobeying a direct order but flaunting it.

In her own mind it was just the anger. She had to get out of the compound. Away to think. To process and decide what she wanted to do. None of her choices, when she turned them over, looking like fleeing, looked like disobedience. She just wanted some space. A couple hours. A day.

She'd gone out on her own before, she wasn't breaking any rules. But she didn't tell anyone, and on the tail of the conversation with her father, it looked very, very different.... from the outside.

Hands shaking with anger, she keyed up whatever the last coordinates were. She didn't care where she was going. She'd come back. Just, not until she'd exercised some level of control over the rapid spiraling of the last hour. She needed to think.

****

The fighter rose into the sunset and the guard at the gate looked up, curious- no one was slatted to be taking off, especially not so close to dark. He squinted up at it, but the reflection of the dying light off of the cockpit made IDing the pilot impossible-

"Feth," he muttered, getting on the radio.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe.

So he didn't send the call to @Ronan Vizsla just yet. Instead he sent several people to confirm just who had left. Make certain before....

Feth.

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Took him no more than fifteen minutes to have Edda at maintenance to cross-reference the video feed from the hangars.

It was exactly what Jericho was afraid of.

She had run.

There was no one else around. Nobody who knew and that meant one thing, exactly one thing, it meant that he'd have to go to Ronan about it. It was already setting him to shivers to think of his reaction. It wouldn't be good... it was never good. Thirty minutes later Jericho exited the Alor's room. Ashen-faced, sweat beads royally clinging to his temples and a little bit green around the cheeks.

"How it go?" One of the guards stationed at the door asked. Just a touch concerned, but eyeing Jericho he still had all his limbs and there was no blood, so it couldn't have gone that bad.

Vizsla shook his head once.

Twice.

"Need a ship. Alor's orders.' Jericho managed to get out and that got a nod from the guard. "Alright, will call it through for ya." Now it was Jericho's turn to nod, quickly, before he walked off. Just as fast. The less time he was spending around this place, the less chance Ronan would change his mind and beat him to pulp over all of this after all.

Two hours later one decked out light freighter breached the atmosphere.

"I wish I could have taken a book with me." Jer mumbled to himself, while inputting the coordinates.

 

[Tamara Wren]

It wasn't until she reverted out of hyperspace, and was hanging low beneath the approach to an unfamiliar planet, that Tamara stopped.

"Ugh what am I doing," she grumbled, dropped her face into her hands. Fingers massaged her temples, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

There was no way she could realize the severity of the response to this one, thoughtless and angry action. She might have realized just how badly this would appear if she were thinking more clearly, was less angry. But she knew she hadn't run away, wasn't trying to escape the order her father and the Manda'lor had given. She just needed some time, some space to sort out all of the feelings in her head, the heaviness in her heart when she thought about it, about just how helpless it made her feel at war with wanting to do what was best for her family, her clan.

Distracted, trying to figure out what to do now, she didn't notice the soft blip of the light on the sensor board, indicating another ship coming out of hyperspace.

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Jericho had his own problems to deal with.

Reversal from hyperspace got him about three clicks away from Tamara's ship. Sensors weren't picking up any thrust from the fighter, torpedo range, it was all in check. Her systems were running cold, but that could change at a moment's notice.

His orders were clear here.

Thumb flicked back and forth the launch trigger, before sighing. It sounded so easy when you were reading the old stories, but it was anything but that. Ion would force him to get in closer and that would increase the chance she would pick up on him. But it also made sure she would survive. Jericho's orders were clear and going against them...

Hell to pay.

But feth it all to hell.

The ship whined when he kicked it in overdrive and closed the distance, until he got in ion range. Her systems roared back up and her voice ran through his comms. A distraction. They could talk later, as her ship sailed away the first ion deployments were already on their way.

 

[Tamara Wren]

It was the 'holy ossik someone is targeting us with weapons!' alarm that broke her out of her reverie. She blinked then immediately kicked the engines up, already trying to get her ship around and into a position where whoever this was wasn't right up her sheb'ika-

Wait a minute- that was a Vizsla ship.

Flipping on the comm, she barked off "Hey! What in the hell do you think you are do-"

The orange light flashed from orange to red and her eyes widened slightly.

Everything happened too fast after that. The ship was halfway through its maneuver when the warning klaxons blared. Without thinking, she slammed her hand down on the controls, proton torpedoes firing just before the ion blast hit her. The combination of the two things, the ship no longer powered up and able to account for the momentum, sent the fighter into a spin.

Already right above the planet's gravity well, Tamara fought to get the crash webbing fully in place, her eyes squeezed shut and her head pounding in the lack of inertial dampeners. She managed to feel it click right before the ship hit the atmosphere and the g-forces battered her into unconsciousness.

[member="Jericho Vizsla"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Everything was going okay.

Until they weren't.

All of a sudden torpedoes were launched from her ship and Jericho's eyes widened. Immediate turnabout only did so much, the first torpedo missed, but the second one? Clipped him in the left engine and from there everything turned to shet.

He wasn't an accomplished fighter, this wasn't his forte.

All Jer could do was minimize the chance of dying at this point. Inertial dampers worked at half, life support a quarter, weapons down and comms were broken to pieces. Already the surface of the planet came into view, green, lots of green.

Her fighter was easy to see now on the backdrop.

But his attention was on that increasingly larger surface. He suited himself up, making sure the crashweb was secure.

Nothing more to do than pray.

It all went black once impact came.