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Norg Basin
Mandalore
1340 Hours
The soft chirping of birds and the rustle of wind in the trees woke him.
Keller stirred slowly. Every muscle and joint ached as if he hadn't moved in weeks. He let out a pained chuff and let himself relax. He didn't know why he hurt. The last thing he remembered was Tatooine. Fighting. A Mandalorian was with him, a man named Delmon Skyblade. There was another, but he couldn't remember his name. It was hard to focus.
The Kushari's green eyes half-opened. It was bright. Daylight streamed in through an open window. He propped himself up on one elbow and took a quick glance around the room. Its duracrete walls were stained brown, and were pitted and cracked in places. A lighting array flickered dimly on the ceiling. A little dust hung in the air, swirling about and dancing as the hot summer breeze wafted through the window. A dresser had been gutted, its drawers turned into shelves holding medical equipment and supplies. A scanner buzzed quietly atop the hardwood dresser, and displayed a hologram of a body scan it had recently completed. A scan of his body. He stared briefly at it, but couldn't decipher its readings.
He turned, and came face-to-face with his helmet. Perched on a nightstand alongside his bed, the Templar helm rested on its side and gazed blankly at him. Its glassteel faceplate was badly cracked and the charcoal gray armor was deeply pitted and scorched. Now he remembered what happened. He'd stayed behind to cover his crew. To cover Nadzir, Sul, and the others. They and Delmon broke for the Dropship while he stayed in the tank, firing away 'till the better end. There was an explosion, searing pain... And then nothing. Utter blackness, broken by birdsong.
Keller shook his head and forced himself to sit upright. The ache in his body slowly dissipated as he stretched his limbs. He ran his digits across his chest and belly, experimentally probing at his ribs and his gut. Nothing hurt or felt out of place. He was just stiff.
One of his crew had been thoughtful enough to leave clothes on the stand for him. He swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet, then gingerly set his helmet on the pillow before dressing. The clothes weren't Kushari - they seemed distinctly Mandalorian in origin. Gray combat trousers with pockets on the front of the thighs - he'd seen something similar worn by a few Mandos when he assisted in the evacuation of Obroa-Skai over a year ago. A simple white shirt and a gray combat jacket. He left the jacket behind for the moment, and pulled the shirt on.
He was busily lacing up his boots when he heard a bit of commotion outside. The feline's ears pricked and he moved to the window. It was less a window, he observed, and more a firing slit - an armored shutter lurked above the second-story window. One good tug, and a plate of solid durasteel would protect the room's occupants. Keller rested his knuckles on the windowsill and peered out. Nadzir, wearing civilian attire, had scampered up on top of an agricultural combine. A massive dog-like animal was barking and howling at her, its tail wagging furiously as it tried to get to the white-furred female. Sul was doubled over in laughter behind the dog, while Nadzir was letting fly all manner of old Katari curses.
Keller shook his head and turned away from the window. If he were to venture a guess, he'd say he was in a Mandalorian settlement. The architecture was certainly militaristic enough; it seemed like it was as good for living in as it was good for defending from. The feline made for the door and left 'his' room. He made it all of two steps before a dull ache flared through his torso, and he half-stumbled against the wall and clutched his sides. A shuddering gasp and a few choice words later, and he was heading downstairs at a much, much slower pace. He'd have to be more careful - it seemed he wasn't fully healed after all. Close, but not quite.
He stepped off the stairs and made for the front door. The Kushari didn't worry about finding in his armor or rifle. That could wait. For now, he wanted to figure out exactly where he was, and who liked him enough to put up with him and his misfit tankers for gods only knew how long.
Mandalore
1340 Hours
The soft chirping of birds and the rustle of wind in the trees woke him.
Keller stirred slowly. Every muscle and joint ached as if he hadn't moved in weeks. He let out a pained chuff and let himself relax. He didn't know why he hurt. The last thing he remembered was Tatooine. Fighting. A Mandalorian was with him, a man named Delmon Skyblade. There was another, but he couldn't remember his name. It was hard to focus.
The Kushari's green eyes half-opened. It was bright. Daylight streamed in through an open window. He propped himself up on one elbow and took a quick glance around the room. Its duracrete walls were stained brown, and were pitted and cracked in places. A lighting array flickered dimly on the ceiling. A little dust hung in the air, swirling about and dancing as the hot summer breeze wafted through the window. A dresser had been gutted, its drawers turned into shelves holding medical equipment and supplies. A scanner buzzed quietly atop the hardwood dresser, and displayed a hologram of a body scan it had recently completed. A scan of his body. He stared briefly at it, but couldn't decipher its readings.
He turned, and came face-to-face with his helmet. Perched on a nightstand alongside his bed, the Templar helm rested on its side and gazed blankly at him. Its glassteel faceplate was badly cracked and the charcoal gray armor was deeply pitted and scorched. Now he remembered what happened. He'd stayed behind to cover his crew. To cover Nadzir, Sul, and the others. They and Delmon broke for the Dropship while he stayed in the tank, firing away 'till the better end. There was an explosion, searing pain... And then nothing. Utter blackness, broken by birdsong.
Keller shook his head and forced himself to sit upright. The ache in his body slowly dissipated as he stretched his limbs. He ran his digits across his chest and belly, experimentally probing at his ribs and his gut. Nothing hurt or felt out of place. He was just stiff.
One of his crew had been thoughtful enough to leave clothes on the stand for him. He swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet, then gingerly set his helmet on the pillow before dressing. The clothes weren't Kushari - they seemed distinctly Mandalorian in origin. Gray combat trousers with pockets on the front of the thighs - he'd seen something similar worn by a few Mandos when he assisted in the evacuation of Obroa-Skai over a year ago. A simple white shirt and a gray combat jacket. He left the jacket behind for the moment, and pulled the shirt on.
He was busily lacing up his boots when he heard a bit of commotion outside. The feline's ears pricked and he moved to the window. It was less a window, he observed, and more a firing slit - an armored shutter lurked above the second-story window. One good tug, and a plate of solid durasteel would protect the room's occupants. Keller rested his knuckles on the windowsill and peered out. Nadzir, wearing civilian attire, had scampered up on top of an agricultural combine. A massive dog-like animal was barking and howling at her, its tail wagging furiously as it tried to get to the white-furred female. Sul was doubled over in laughter behind the dog, while Nadzir was letting fly all manner of old Katari curses.
Keller shook his head and turned away from the window. If he were to venture a guess, he'd say he was in a Mandalorian settlement. The architecture was certainly militaristic enough; it seemed like it was as good for living in as it was good for defending from. The feline made for the door and left 'his' room. He made it all of two steps before a dull ache flared through his torso, and he half-stumbled against the wall and clutched his sides. A shuddering gasp and a few choice words later, and he was heading downstairs at a much, much slower pace. He'd have to be more careful - it seemed he wasn't fully healed after all. Close, but not quite.
He stepped off the stairs and made for the front door. The Kushari didn't worry about finding in his armor or rifle. That could wait. For now, he wanted to figure out exactly where he was, and who liked him enough to put up with him and his misfit tankers for gods only knew how long.
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