Star Wars writing, Still Untitled. Part 6.
Part 6: Wampa, cold, and a bacta tank lecture.

The animal howled with rage, and then it was on her, digging teeth deeply into her shoulder and trying to pull at the flesh. Nearby the was the sudden buzz and blaze of a lightsaber coming to life, glowing blue and eerie against the snow, and a moment later the creature reared back in sudden agony, lifted itself away from the fallen girl, and went after the young Jedi who'd burned it so badly, its blood leaking all over the snow where Padme had stabbed it.
Across the bond between Master and student went the the call every teacher dreads:
Help, help me, help me, Master, help me-

I am coming.
And it was only the physical presence that was too far away, because the real presence, the presence that truly mattered, was already here.
The presence was calm.
And it was focused.
To your left, Anakin. Right, now. Feel the creature in the Force, I know you can. Let the Force guide your strikes and do not second-guess. You're good at that. Good- slice! Now!
The girl shuddered in the snow, hefting herself numbly out of the growing stain of red. She could hear the noises nearby, could smell the acrid blood and the heady fur in the bitter ice air, but she couldn't tell which was whose. Padme fumbled at the belt beneath her tunic, pain forgotten right now in the sake of urgency. The only impediment was flesh and bone that refused to work right, and she willed it to work correctly.
Why is it so hard just to open a pocket...? Ah.
She pulled the tiny little metal ball out, peering at it. Facsimile of something familiar, this. Now where was that remote?
Padme Amidala continued to fumble.

For a moment there was only the Force, for Anakin Skywalker, and the whisper of his Master's voice was the only sound; everything else faded to mere spots of movement against the vast background of the universe. He moved, and for a moment it was right, and perfect. Careful steps, swift and sure, and in the space of a second he was between Padme and the creature.
And that was when the scent of blood touched his nostrils, and brought the living world back to him. His eyes snapped open, and the furious beast, taller even than he was, was rushing at them both.
He did the only thing he could think of at the time.
Anakin lunged at Padme, seized her tightly in both arms, and sent them both rolling to the soft snow. He threw his considerable power outwards around them into a shield that flickered, almost visible, at the edge of normal vision. The white beast struck it, hard, and let out a frustrated roar, backing off again.

Sudden pain lanced through her as sliced flesh and bruised bones scraped and ground against each other, the crystalline diamond powder-knives of the snow grinding into nerves that really should have been numb by now.
But she caught the cry and held it until it faded away into the dull night of the freezing planet.
Come to think of it, being squeezed and slammed into the snow hadn't hurt that much...
Which wasn't a good sign.
This was definitely much better than being mauled again, however, and her first reaction upon being grabbed was to clench the little ball in her fist, so that hadn't been lost. Anakin was somehow keeping the creature at bay; Padme could nearly see the outline of a shield there, a slight difference in the air around them, a change in the falling snow like when he'd first walked out into the dark.
She wondered how long he could keep it up.

He murmured a distracted "sorry" in her ear, but his eyes were shut tightly, all concentration focused outward. He was heavy, but not crushingly so, and the living warmth of his body was a striking difference from the freeze. There was a feeling in the air, like the scent of ozone, the power that thrummed the atmosphere just before lightning strike. Anakin's breath was ragged; it seemed that the answer to her unspoken question was "not long enough." His lightsaber lay discarded in the snow a few feet away, just outside their bubble of protection.
"I can't do this forever," he muttered.

"Okay."
Even to Padme, her voice sounded far too calm for the situation. Weren't people on the verge of a violent, bloody death supposed to at least feel angry about it, instead of so detached? This state of mind made for great decision-making, but it felt so slow. "I think my left arm's fine- can I throw something at the creature or will the shield bounce it back?"

"It'll go through," he replied tightly, and there was a flicker in that intense concentration. "Throw- NOW."
The creature roared, and went for a second charge.

She aimed well despite the sluggishness of her limbs, and a tiny spark of dark metal flew into the creature's bloodily matted fur. Padme couldn't tell whether that fur lined the lightsaber burns or the half-conscious strike with the blade, and time felt an eternity where she could examine it all to her heart's content. Compare and contrast: The slightly yellowed lanks of hair versus the blackened char and the bloodstained matted hanks.
The thing had a huge bloody maw.
And an awful smell.
What a violent creature.
Vicious, too.
Probably half-starved, if it ventured so close to the colony in search of food.
Padme almost felt sorry for it when she pressed the button.

The explosion was surprisingly soft, like muted fireworks, but it was effective. Gore exploded in all directions; Anakin's arms tightened around her, he moving automatically to shield her from the worst of it. For a long moment the only sound was that of chunks of meat hitting the snow.
The shield vanished, and Anakin exhaled shakily, then shifted into a sitting position, drawing her with him, she still held carefully in his arms. His blue eyes were on her face, dark with worry.
"Where are you hurt?" Thinking forward, as a Jedi should, though inwardly terror was creeping back in with the cold. He'd expended most of his energy protecting them- an attempt to reach out for Obi-Wan again was unsuccessful.

She blinked up at him, willing eyes to focus. "My arm... I think. My back and shoulder, too." Padme frowned and looked at the snow around them, which was sprayed wet and dark. The upper parts of her clothes were ripped, red, and sticky. She shivered.
"Are you hurt, Ani?"

He gave her a tiny, unhappy smile. "Just a little bloody." The edge of the scar across his stomach had opened again, he knew, though how badly was unclear. He was wet, and cold, and exhausted, but he hugged her close, using his superior size to cover her more warmly. "That was some trick. Don't try to move, all right?"
He couldn't see the full extent of the damage, but he knew it was grave.
And even if it hadn't been, the cold made it even more deadly.

"Well, you know Eirtae," murmured Padme with her head against his chest, forgetting that the young Jedi didn't know Eirtae very well. "Once she gets an idea into her head, she has to see it through..." She pulled her knees up to her chin, protecting the tender side of her body from the chill as well as she could, balled up tightly in Anakin's lap.
The shudder that came now wasn't inspired by the cold. "......so that's what a linker does."

"Yeah," Anakin agreed softly, shuddering with cold. "That's what a linker does."
He reached again for his Master, stretched with all his strength, found that words would not form, a certain connection would not come. In desperation he gave off the impression of helplessness and pain, as muted now as any small youngling's frightened stretch for help, and hoped that Obi-Wan would pick up on it. He couldn't really feel his legs any longer.
Unimportant. Focus on her.
"Keep talking," he said, closing his eyes. Yes, she was close to him now, fragile in the circle of his arms, but there was little pleasure in this. He could sense her wounds against his senses like throbbing open sores in the Force, and it pained him more than he could have imagined.

"You really shouldn't close your eyes, Ani." She was smiling now, eyelashes fluttering against his throat. "We want to be conscious when your Master gets here." Even though she wasn't supposed to move, Padme pulled a corner of the blanket-cloak around Anakin's shoulder. It would work better to conserve the body heat of two people together instead of just one alone.

He gave a short and humorless huff, and lifted a hand to the back of her head without thinking about it. Her hair was as soft as he'd imagined.
He remembered being held like this, wounded and in shock, bleeding his life out of his stomach in the Llisnal desert, remembered that despite Obi-Wan's soft words he'd been able to sense the fear that huddled in his stomach. The fear of loss was one that Anakin himself tried to avoid at all costs, but it had seized him now, and for a moment he thought, Oh, Master. If this is what it feels like, I'll never do this to you again.
"I'm awake," he said quietly. "We're going to keep each other awake, okay? Talk to me, Padme."

She chuckled, her breath a series of short, moist exhalations of warmth against the exposed part of his neck. Padme nuzzled her cheek there, blocking the wind from blowing jets of ice against his skin. "About what, Ani?"
Something small and solid broke free of the clothing rips around her collarbone and thunked against his chest, its carefully polished horn sheen now streaked with red.

Whatever he might have been about to reply was effectively silenced by the combination of her breath against the soft skin of his throat and the sight of that carving, the one he remembered putting so much painstaking care into. She kept it, his mind whispered, in a sort of numb elation, she kept it and she's wearing it right now-
"I...it doesn't... it doesn't matter," he said, and another violent shudder went through him. "Anything." He paused, and then said, just as softly, "I've... missed you a lot."

"Mm... How long has it been now? Eight years?" Padme grinned wryly. "It's always an emergency, isn't it?"

"Just about," he replied, and smiled at her, trying to look as reassuring as possible. "I got a lot taller, huh."

That garnered another smile. "Indeed you did. We almost didn't recognize you. Of course, the paint helped."

He gave an embarassed little laugh. "That's never happened before. Usually it's just death defying antics and Obi-Wan working on his fifth or sixth heart attack where I'm concerned..." The cold was creeping up to his thighs now, threatening to consume his lower body. He hugged Padme a little closer, aware that she was probably feeling it even worse than he was.

"...Ani, we should try to fit both of us beneath the blankets." Padme said with a sudden amazing clarity. "There's no sense losing a toe or two to frostbite."

Anakin smiled without humor. "I don't think I can move," he said, the words a little broken up by his chattering teeth. "And you shouldn't either. Don't w-worry. Obi-Wan will be here soon."

But she did move. Out of the fetal position and into a position where her legs lay against his, sharing what little warmth they had. It was colder this way for her, but Anakin Skywalker didn't hold the monopoly on stubborn, stupid, self-sacrificing behavior.
"You know I can't let you freeze, Ani," she said softly and sensibly. "What would your mother say?"

"Probably that I was asking for it," Anakin replied, though the words rang truer for Obi-Wan than his mother.
He couldn't, presently, think of what his mother might say.
It would have bothered him if he hadn't been so tired.

Padme snuggled closer to her companion, hearing rather than feeling the soft patter-pat of snowflakes hitting and collecting on top of them. "No, she'd never say that. She worried about you much more than she let you see."
The former Queen of Naboo smiled, and this smile was much different from the earlier tired smiles of before. "Shmi reminded me of my own mother."

He couldn't think of what to say to that, other than that he missed his mother fiercely every day, missed the sound of her voice and the way her hands touched his hair and face, missed being held safe and warm in her arms.
But missing her was so obvious to him that voicing it seemed ridiculous.
Anakin put his cheek against Padme's hair, and clawed at weariness, listening to the sound of her voice.

"Her smile, her hands, the way she patted her hair when it fell out of place, the cautious way her eyes would follow you when you were doing something dangerous... Maybe I was just making comparisons between them because I was so worried about what was happening at home, but..." Padme shook her head slightly, cheating a stray snowflake from landing upon her nose. "...I liked her very much."
She lay still for a moment, just breathing slowly, oddly relaxed.
"Separating you from each other troubled me, but when I saw how much she wanted you to go with Master Jinn and be free... I couldn't object. Even to the podrace."

"...I didn't want to leave her," Anakin murmured. The chill had crept up to his torso; sleep had begun to seem inevitable. He hugged Padme closer, tucked her beneath his chin, sheltering her from the majority of the wind. "I didn't want to leave her behind to that life, but I didn't have a choice. I had to get out."

Something in his tone held a frightening edge of nothing. Deterioration. Endless sleep in the snow. Padme frowned against the desert-born boy, willing for his master to arrive quickly. /Now/.
"She knew that." Padme smiled, lips and nose long since numb. She pressed a kiss to Anakin's cheek anyway. "All parents want something more for their children. She was very proud of you."

The kiss stole the icy breath from his lungs with hope and sudden emotion; for a moment he simply struggled to breathe against it.
It was not so much that he had no faith in Obi-Wan's coming to save them- it was that he knew even his beloved teacher could be late.
And rest did not seem so bad, not now. Not when the woman he'd dreamed of lay soft and quiet in his arms, when the memory of her lips was against his face. He was not a Jedi. He was human. And it was all right.
"I think," he said softly, "That Obi-Wan is going to be upset, when he gets here."

I think, quoth a not-so-faraway thought fighting determinedly against the Padawan's lethargy and impending chilled doom. That is a sensible assumption- one of the /very/ few you've had of late. Where ARE you, Anakin?

Anakin was too exhausted to feel relieved; the flame of his Force presence was the smallest of candle flames, dwindling slowly to mere ember with every passing moment. Here, he whispered back, and with what remained of his strength he touched Padme's mind and let his fire spill into her, memories of flame and warmth and safety, enough to bolster her until Obi-Wan reached them. Here, in the ravine. Padme's hurt.

Obi-Wan answered his Padawan's fading words with a swift protective rush of his own energy and the firm assurance of: Hold on, we'll get down there quickly. What kind of wound, Anakin?

(And, yes, Sabe's with him. :D)
Yoinomyoujou: (Sabe: *Bloody well right I am*)
AraiYasha: (Obi-Wan: *I apologize for my Padawan* *grim*)
Yoinomyoujou: (Sabe: *Padme makes her own choices* *equally so*)

She's dying, Anakin said. He could hear her heartbeat, too slow and uneven, could feel her blood frozen in his clothes, and he pushed the imagined fire a little higher. "Padme," he murmured. The name barely escaped his lips as anything more than a frozen breath. "Padme, hold on. Stay awake... stay..."

AraiYasha: (Obi-Wan: */........./* *Like-minded traveling companions*)
AraiYasha: (.....I get the feeling that Ani's going to be following the plan rules really closely from now on.)
Yoinomyoujou: (SDsfggfh where Padme's concerned, anyway.)
AraiYasha: (Mm.)

"...I'm okay......" murmured a soft voice, stirred back to vague wakefulness. "...as long as the others are fine... go find them first..."

The words hardly made sense; Anakin lifted his eyes in despair and found, to his vague surprise, a human figure making its way down the slope towards them.
"I found them, Kenobi!" called Sabe's voice, and she fairly bounded the next several yards to them. A hand grasped Anakin's shoulder, then touched Padme's cheek lightly. "...Not in good shape," she added, and then said, more gently, "Padme, can you hear me? It's Sabe."

Padme stirred a little, normally rosy lips an unnatural shade of blue. ".....nns...sa....be..." Her eyes flickered open for a moment, unseeing. Then a few more blinks, and there was focus and a smile. "...Hello, Mistress."
"Well, at least she can make jokes." Obi-Wan clambered down the slope, dignity forgotten in the name of speed. He surveyed the strewn and furry flesh remnants with a raised eyebrow as he wrapped the fallen frostbite candidates in robes kept warm beneath his snowcloak. "...Ran into a wampa, did you?"

"Not funny," Sabe said, but she smiled back a little in return, almost as weak as Padme, and moved to take her friend from Anakin's arms, pulling the cloak around her more tightly. "We're taking you to the medical facility."
"Is that what that was," Anakin murmured vaguely. He, too, had turned an unfortunate shade of blue, and there was frost forming in his hair and on his eyelashes. "Well, it's not one anymore." He seemed to consider that for a moment, then let his chin drop to his chest- he would have fallen forward if it weren't for Obi-Wan's hands on him.


There were separate medical facilities for slaves on Hoth.
The emergency medical recovery area was a huge complex with a long line of bacta tanks on one wall and a large metal viewing platform against the other, where owners could check on their healing slave's progress without getting in the way of the medical droids. Platform sections extended for the appraising owner, and there was even a lift section so that the viewer could closely examine every aspect of the slave within the tank.
Two new inmates, fresh from their harrowing excursion outside the colony walls, floated serenely in the healing bath towers.
The slave medical facilities, thought Obi-Wan wryly, were possibly better-stocked and in better condition than the medical facilities reserved for Hoth colonists in general. Slavery, at least on this planet, had its perks. People could wound themselves and die without anyone else so much as blinking an eye, whereas if /property/ was damaged... Well, that put a fiscal spin on things.
Obi-Wan Kenobi crossed his arms and eyed his suspended Padawan through the bacta tank bubbles. If I had a credit for every time I've had to put you in one of these...
He'd made his way back to the guards, of course, and replaced his foolhardy Padawan's sleep-inducement with a memory change- the guards had seen him, the master of the two slaves, retrieve them for some important purpose during the middle of the night and then gotten drunk while on duty since there wasn't anything in that stall to guard. Apparently this was a common enough occurrance that the guards would awaken feeling slightly bemused but certainly not inclined to beat the young slave boy to a pulp the next time they saw him.

Lucky enough for that, for Anakin had managed to give himself enough beating to last a few days. The freshly healing scar across his abdomen had split at the side, and a series of careful stitchings had been needed to close it again. Hypothermia had set in to a dangerous degree- his body temperature was only now rising closer to normal, safe levels. And there had been deep, ugly claw marks across his left forearm, sealed up now with surgical glue. There were hollow shadows around his eyes from the near freezing.
Anakin had been unconscious since immersion- the medic on duty had assured Obi-Wan that he'd do his best to ensure the "investment" wouldn't be lost. He spoke of the boy as though he were a damaged droid or piece of furniture, in simple and uncaring tones.
"Runaway's no good," he said, checking the readouts on the tank's internal monitors. "You've got to train them out of it early on, you know."

"I doubt he'll be disobedient again," murmured Obi-Wan blandly, eyes on the healing boy in the tank. The words rang true- if there was one person alive that Anakin Skywalker did not want to see harmed aside from his master and his mother, it was Padme Amidala.
And as for the Ambassador of Naboo...
The bearded man switched his thoughts to the healing woman in the tank nearby in the females' section. Her right side had borne the brunt of the attack. A bite on the shoulder that thankfully wasn't as bad as it had looked, claw marks on the ribs, chest and arm that were, and also that dangerous degree of hypothermia combined with shock from the wampa attack. Sabe, however, had managed to keep her friend talking for half the hike back before the former Queen lasped into unconsciousness. She'd awakened briefly after being immersed, long enough to smile.
Obi-Wan shook his head of the memory and surveyed Anakin's scarred youthful body. One day you're going to cut something off, Anakin. I just hope it's not your head.

Yoinomyoujou: (Sabe: *Mighty*)
AraiYasha: (Obi-Wan: *Indeed* *The Ambassador is very lucky to have such devoted and capable friends*)
AraiYasha: (.......Sabe and Obi-Wan become the best of pals.)

"Mm," replied the medic, punching a few buttons. "Ah, looks like he's waking up."
There was that moment, when one was immersed in bacta, when one opened one's eyes and found oneself in that disturbing state of suspension, with a breathing apparatus in one's mouth; Anakin's reaction was no different than most people's. His eyes came open very suddenly, body jerking with surprise, and there were a few uncertain beeps from the tank, registering a spiked heartbeat. The Force rippled momentary fear, followed by slow recognition, and then:
...Master?

Yes, Anakin.
The bearded man remained bland. That was a blasted stupid thing to do.
Which, in Obi-speak, translated into: 'I'm glad you're alive.'
An incredibly ANGRY 'I'm glad you're alive,' but a glad statement nevertheless.

Anakin cringed tiredly. He'd known from the moment he'd stepped out of the bunker that this lecture would come, and whatever the motivation behind it, his Master's anger was clear enough to him.
Is Padme all right? Best to try and change the subject.

/Relatively speaking/, my Padawan, yes. Adventurous behavior of your caliber is bad enough when you act alone, but bringing in the Ambassador of Naboo shows not only a severe lack of wisdom, but an utter disregard for the safety of others. Sabe assures me that the Ambassador is quite capable of making her own decisions, but I highly doubt that she would have ventured outside if /you/ had not done so first.
Obi-Wan pressed his lips together; perhaps he was being a little harsh this time by bringing in the wounded Padme, but Anakin never seemed to /learn/. And now this had happened.

The response was every bit as effective as he might have hoped, and then some. Anakin's emotions roiled a mixture of disappointment, guilt, upset, and there a little spike of genuine self loathing. Within the tank he closed his eyes and turned his face away, avoiding Obi-Wan's piercing gaze, and his Force presence retreated away, shying like a struck animal. It was my fault, he said, voice small and unhappy. I'm sorry.

Obi-Wan sighed. Don't do it again.

I won't. And then it was simply misery.

And now, this.
The teaching Jedi could not let his Padawan wallow. The medics estimate that she will be fine, Anakin. The scratches will heal, the bite won't infect, and she'll have full use of her arm again within days. You did a good job of protecting her after you came to your senses.

AraiYasha: (Oh, the Obi-Wan Backhand! "...after you came to your senses." XD He's evil, yo.)

If I'd stayed- Anakin did not seem prepared to let himself off the hook so quickly, If I'd stayed it wouldn't have happened in the first place. I failed her. And I failed you.

Are you going to do it again?
The question, like the first greeting of consciousness, was bland.

No, Master. And within there was the impression of a full student's bow, a Padawan's forehead-to-floor kowtow in asking for forgiveness. It was not something Anakin had ever done before, through vision or in reality.

The bearded man on the viewing platform nodded, aware that perhaps, /finally/, the lesson had been taught. Good.

There was nothing more to say to that, and Obi-Wan's words had done nothing to alleviate the intense outpouring of unhappiness. A few bubbles floated up out of the breathing apparatus. Anakin's flame burned low with exhaustion and inner pain.

AraiYasha: (...And now, Obi-Wan is sad.)
AraiYasha: (Where do we want to go from here?)
Yoinomyoujou: (Well I assume they'll need to come out of there semi-soon, and get to meeting with the govenor...)
AraiYasha: (Are slaves neccessary for a meeting with the governor? Sabe could pose as Amidala.)
Yoinomyoujou: (HM. I am not sure. I would assume they'd want everybody there, so that Ani and Padme both can hear the situation...)
AraiYasha: (How long does it take for bacta tanks to work?)
Yoinomyoujou: (Depends on how bad the wounds are- bacta is literally a bacteria that grows into a wound and heals the skin again. Can take a few hours, or a day or so.)
AraiYasha: (I'd say at least half a day.)
Yoinomyoujou: (*nodnod* So perhaps the meeting is postponed. I can, by the way, handle the govenor, who is, I believe, a woman.)
AraiYasha: (They could get out in just enough time to see the governor- with wet hair. AH, perfect! <3)
AraiYasha: (Do you want the honors, or shall I?)
Yoinomyoujou: (TAKE US AWAY)
AraiYasha: (I SHALL TAKE YOU TO THE COLONY HALL)


Whoever had designed the Governor's Seat had obviously studied the Republic's grand walkways, sweeping arches, and magnificent pillars, and completely failed in replicating them here on Hoth.
Dirty slush gathered here from the myriads of entering and exiting colonists' boots, and only a few disgruntled sweepers managed to push the wet cakes of congealing ice away from the main passages by shoving them in ashy-grey mountains around the out-place pillars, which were made of some kind of harsh, shrinkage-resistant alloy instead of soft stone.
The windows were dark, covered with backed-up soot from the industrial stations nearby, and heat exhaust fans whirred the many voices of the street into a loud din as well as creating more melted slush for the sweepers to hurriedly keep clear before exposure to the outside turned it into lethal ice puddles.
The female slave didn't have much trouble walking behind her mistress as it had not been her legs that the monster attacked, and all hints of frostbite had melted away during the dousing in the bacta tank. The new skin had knit in very easily with her old epidermis; the medics had assured the severe young woman who owned the slave that her suitabilty as a maid would not be marred by unsightly scarring and the sling for her arm was only a temporary measure.
The hustle and bustle of busy colonists that jostled their way to and from destinations did not care. They only hurried, with their eyes only on their feet and hands deeply, protectively in pockets.

(It's kind of like Gangs of New York's Tammany Hall. :D)

As to the slaveboy, it was obvious that he'd been severely punished for his runaway attempt- though he bore no outward marks he walked behind his owners with his head positively hanging, eyes so downcast it was difficult to tell how he managed to walk without bumping into things. He especially did not look at the female slave.
There was a short woman in her early fourties, with close-cropped blonde hair, waiting for them. Apparently Governor Yuria had grown tired of waiting for them.
"Hello," she said, bowing to Obi-Wan and Sabe politely, but briskly. "I'm Governor Yuria, welcome to the Hoth Colonies." Sharp grey eyes narrowed. "I heard you had a bit of a mishape last night."

Obi-Wan didn't even bother to shrug, voice the even and serene tones of a businessman of assurance, not bravado. "Thank you for your greeting and your concern, Governor Yuria." He bowed politely. "The mishap will not be repeated."
The female slave waited with eyes politely downcast, left hand resting delicately beneath her right elbow in a mute support of the wounded arm in addition to its sling. One would have thought the slight flush to her cheeks was embarrassment at the mention of the midnight excursion into this world's perpetually darkened snowdrifts, but Padme had an entirely different, hopeful bit of information on her mind.
There, in the women's section of the slave bacta tanks, she'd found an old friend.
Corde's here. She's here and she's /alive/.
Hoth had been the right choice. Even though it had been dangerous and she never wanted to do so again, getting mauled and then taken back to the mediccal facilities had proven without a doubt that whoever had taken the Naboo children had stopped here.