The floor was cold against his face. Hard metal. His head was throbbing. Had he hit it on the floor and been knocked out? He felt like he was lying in a puddle, maybe he had slipped. Awkwardly he slid his arm up to rub his head. His hair was damp. And he was cold. He was wearing nothing, lying on the cold metal floor. He risked cracking his eyes open, ready to slam them shut if it was bright. There was something familiar about cold metal floors and bright lights, but he could not quite put his finger on it.
He cracked his eyelids. It was not bright, the room he was in was lit dimly, low light with a red hue. His eyes slowly began adjust to the room and he widened them slowly. Gingerly, groaning he pushed himself up off the cold floor. He felt weak, his muscles ached all over. He managed to twist and prop himself up so he was sitting on the floor, rather than sprawled across it as he had been. THe light was low enough that he was struggling to pick out detail. There was a dull humming in the background, and it was not the ringing in his ears.
His head throbbed, but other than aches and pains he seemed rather uninjured, no breaks, no wounds. Nothing, except for a few piercing pains in his torso and thighs. He rubbed his hands over them and a few shards of glass slid out, trickles of blood following them. They were not serious, but mysterious. At least until he glanced around. Shards of glass littered the floor where he had been lying unconscious, like spilled diamonds, glittering in the reddish light. His gaze travelled up a little and he saw a glass structure, like a tube or a tank, with a jagged circle broken out of the front. Had he been in there? If it was full, and he had broken the front it certainly explained the glass, water and lack of clothing.
Yet he still had no idea where he was. He was trying to remember how he had got here, what had happened before. Pictures flashed, blurry, nothing he could piece as a memory, flashes of colour, light, darkness, places, buildings, rooms, forests, jungles, grasslands, beaches, deserts, rain, thunder and lightning. A mesh, dancing in front of his eyes, nothing he could pick out as truth or memory. He couldn't remember anything. Not even his own name.
One week earlier...
"Hurry up!"
Joran watched his men go about the devil's work, they did not have long. The bounty hunter and the Jedi would not be the only two to come looking for the creature. It wasn't a man that's for sure. It talks nice at the start and then, it turns, it attacks, it kills. Joran had seen his people attacked by the the thing too many times now. It was not right. His own daughter lay in their small medical facility, plugged into machines that breathed for her, beat her heart for her, fed her, then digested what she was fed. She would be better off dead, at least she would not be in pain.
They had been excited when the Jedi had arrived. They were saved from the beast. But the Jedi had no intention of killing the beast. Maybe, she had said, maybe she would take it away with her, but not kill it. It needed to be studied. Helped. It was beyond help, Joran implored her to cull it. She had insisted no. He could not risk the thing escaping again. They had offered the Jedi food and shelter. She had graciously accepted. Now she lay on the floor in the metal shell building, a shed-like storage facility, empty but for the people. She lay, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth slightly ajar in surprise. Her face lacking a glow, her green skin taking an odd deathly hue. She was a twi'lek.
"We're done, Joran."
The man handed Joran her lightsaber. They could salvage the buckle, and the leather from her belt and boots, the supplies on her belt, perhaps some of the cloth from her robes, all of which had been put in a plastic sack. The green corpes lay, naked, wide eyed, unblemished, but for the rough blackish red bullet hole on the side of her head. The bounty hunter lay next to her in much a similar state. They had been excited when he had arrived shortly after, sure he would be here to kill the beast for his money. Again, he was being paid to take it alive. Joran had to see the creature dead. His armour and weapons would be more useful than the Jedi's effects, although next time he went to the spaceport he was sure the lightsaber would fetch a hefty price. He put it into a pouch on his belt, out of sight.
"Good," he said, grimly, "take whatever wood and kindling you can find. Build a pyre, get some fuel and burn the bodies. Do it in here and leave no trace of what has transpired. I am sure that both will have friends searching for them before too long."
He turned on his heel and wandered slowly away from the shelter. It was almost sunrise, the village was quiet, the noises from the surrounding jungle all that stirred, other than Joran's footsteps and the shuffling of the men in the shelter. It would take them a while to build the pyre, but the bodies should be no more by midday. How had it come to this? Murder and deceit. The arrival of the beast had changed this peaceful people. In the Thyferran jungle, away from the wars of the galaxy, they had been plunged into their own hell from which Joran saw no escape or catharsis lest the beast was killed.
He cracked his eyelids. It was not bright, the room he was in was lit dimly, low light with a red hue. His eyes slowly began adjust to the room and he widened them slowly. Gingerly, groaning he pushed himself up off the cold floor. He felt weak, his muscles ached all over. He managed to twist and prop himself up so he was sitting on the floor, rather than sprawled across it as he had been. THe light was low enough that he was struggling to pick out detail. There was a dull humming in the background, and it was not the ringing in his ears.
His head throbbed, but other than aches and pains he seemed rather uninjured, no breaks, no wounds. Nothing, except for a few piercing pains in his torso and thighs. He rubbed his hands over them and a few shards of glass slid out, trickles of blood following them. They were not serious, but mysterious. At least until he glanced around. Shards of glass littered the floor where he had been lying unconscious, like spilled diamonds, glittering in the reddish light. His gaze travelled up a little and he saw a glass structure, like a tube or a tank, with a jagged circle broken out of the front. Had he been in there? If it was full, and he had broken the front it certainly explained the glass, water and lack of clothing.
Yet he still had no idea where he was. He was trying to remember how he had got here, what had happened before. Pictures flashed, blurry, nothing he could piece as a memory, flashes of colour, light, darkness, places, buildings, rooms, forests, jungles, grasslands, beaches, deserts, rain, thunder and lightning. A mesh, dancing in front of his eyes, nothing he could pick out as truth or memory. He couldn't remember anything. Not even his own name.
* * *
One week earlier...
"Hurry up!"
Joran watched his men go about the devil's work, they did not have long. The bounty hunter and the Jedi would not be the only two to come looking for the creature. It wasn't a man that's for sure. It talks nice at the start and then, it turns, it attacks, it kills. Joran had seen his people attacked by the the thing too many times now. It was not right. His own daughter lay in their small medical facility, plugged into machines that breathed for her, beat her heart for her, fed her, then digested what she was fed. She would be better off dead, at least she would not be in pain.
They had been excited when the Jedi had arrived. They were saved from the beast. But the Jedi had no intention of killing the beast. Maybe, she had said, maybe she would take it away with her, but not kill it. It needed to be studied. Helped. It was beyond help, Joran implored her to cull it. She had insisted no. He could not risk the thing escaping again. They had offered the Jedi food and shelter. She had graciously accepted. Now she lay on the floor in the metal shell building, a shed-like storage facility, empty but for the people. She lay, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth slightly ajar in surprise. Her face lacking a glow, her green skin taking an odd deathly hue. She was a twi'lek.
"We're done, Joran."
The man handed Joran her lightsaber. They could salvage the buckle, and the leather from her belt and boots, the supplies on her belt, perhaps some of the cloth from her robes, all of which had been put in a plastic sack. The green corpes lay, naked, wide eyed, unblemished, but for the rough blackish red bullet hole on the side of her head. The bounty hunter lay next to her in much a similar state. They had been excited when he had arrived shortly after, sure he would be here to kill the beast for his money. Again, he was being paid to take it alive. Joran had to see the creature dead. His armour and weapons would be more useful than the Jedi's effects, although next time he went to the spaceport he was sure the lightsaber would fetch a hefty price. He put it into a pouch on his belt, out of sight.
"Good," he said, grimly, "take whatever wood and kindling you can find. Build a pyre, get some fuel and burn the bodies. Do it in here and leave no trace of what has transpired. I am sure that both will have friends searching for them before too long."
He turned on his heel and wandered slowly away from the shelter. It was almost sunrise, the village was quiet, the noises from the surrounding jungle all that stirred, other than Joran's footsteps and the shuffling of the men in the shelter. It would take them a while to build the pyre, but the bodies should be no more by midday. How had it come to this? Murder and deceit. The arrival of the beast had changed this peaceful people. In the Thyferran jungle, away from the wars of the galaxy, they had been plunged into their own hell from which Joran saw no escape or catharsis lest the beast was killed.