Choices

He palmed the pad, and the hatch slid shut before him, sealing itself with a hiss. He glanced over his shoulder, remembering his words from just a few moments ago.

Get the refugees to the escape shuttle as quickly as you can. I'll hold him off. I'm counting on you, keep them safe. Go, now!

The station shuddered as an explosion blew out one of the stabilizers. The floor began listing at an odd angle, and he pressed a hand to the side of the hallway to maintain his balance. He drew a slow breath, closing his eyes and focusing himself. He'd be coming soon. When they were fleeing, he'd glanced at the security cameras. Several shuttles had already breached the main hangar, disgorging dozens of droids.

Another rumble shook the station, and...there. He opened his eyes slowly, looking down the darkened hallway. The power was fading quickly, lights blinking in and out. He heard him though, the stomping, clanking of metal on metal. Each step echoed its way down, announcing his presence. The figure drew out from the shadows, the flickering lights illuminating a metal foot ending in sharp claws, the flowing white cape that concealed the body. He heard a low growl emanate from the head, a horrifying jagged mask of pale white. Two yellow eyes stared out at him, narrowing in unrestrained hatred.

Leader of the Separatist Armies, Murderer of Jedi, Slaughterer of countless civilians...General Grievous stood before him now.

"Jedi...I was hoping to find one of you here..."

"You will not pass." He spoke softly, drawing his robe back, his fingers caressing the lightsaber at his belt gently. He brought the weapon up before him, clasping it in both hands.

"I hope you'll provide more entertainment than the last one I killed..." The General gave a low, menacing chuckle, shrugging off the cape. As the white fabric slid back behind him, the deadly sculpture of sharp metal that was Grievous stood revealed in its entirety. Numerous lightsabers dangled from his waist, barbaric trophies of past killings. A claw reached down, plucking one up and igniting it, the dull blue blade stabbing into the air with a low hum.

"You'll not find me easy prey, monster." He'd heard stories...many stories about Grievous and his skill with lightsabers. But he had a surprise for the General. Hopefully it would be enough. The uneven ground made it tricky, but he'd fought in worse places. His foot pressed down on the deck and he lunged forward suddenly, one arm extending forward with the unlit lightsaber in hand. Grievous' saber slashed forward, forcing him to spin about in mid-lunge. That was expected though. His foot pushed off the side wall, and he directed himself at the General again, wrist rotating the saber held in his hand, stabbing forward straight at the General's chest. Only at the last second did he ignite his bright green blade with a hiss, hoping to punch a hole right through.

There was a crackle, and the General stared past the two blades at him with a mocking chuckle. He drew back, keeping his green saber between them. The opening gambit had failed, but he hadn't really put much faith in it. The duel began in earnest now, as the General stepped forward, the saber in hand a blue blur. He blocked, parried each blow, answering each strike in kind. The humming of sabers filled the hallway, an electric crackle resounding each time the blades collided. Pieces of their robe and cape fluttered to the deck, sizzling as each close swipe struck close.

He called on the Force, blowing a hole in one of the walls and leaping through it. If he could lead Grievous away from the hatch, it would give his Padawan more time to get the others to safety. The General followed with an overhead attack, and he barely blocked the blow. Muscles strained as Grievous pressed down...then the Force pulsed a warning in his head, and he leapt backward and away, landing on top of a table. In the back of his mind, he made notice that they were in the galley. He glanced back at the General, who had drawn a second lightsaber, the yellow blade humming quietly in the space where he had been only seconds before.

He could swear the General was smiling, and he returned the smile in kind. He took hold of his tattered robe, tossing it aside as he took hold of his second lightsaber as well. The bright blue blade shimmered to life, and he held both outstretched to the sides. Although other Jedi had practiced the rudimentary of the Niman style, only he had studied it in depth. The General kicked aside a chair, clearing the area for them. He leapt toward Grievous, blades whirling as he slashed forward. He drove the General back, spinning forward, sabers aiming high and low, stabbing and slicing, seeking any openings. Grievous' own blades parried and turned aside each blow, their errant strikes cutting through stray tables and chairs.

The smell of burnt plastic littered the area as they fought. He, a whirlwind of bright blue-green blades; Grievous, a methodical blue-yellow defense and series of counter-strikes. Giving himself fully into the Force, he let it flow through him, guiding each blow, each parry, and each riposte. He did not concern himself with any one Form, his method was intuitive, guided by the ebb and flow of the duel. Adaptive, instinctive, it seemed outwardly chaotic and undisciplined, but the results were indisputable. Hopefully, it would be enough to kill even Grievous. When the General thrust forward, he spun backward, sabers forming into a defensive posture, batting aside Grievous' thrust. When the General's attacks faltered, his sabers stabbed forward turning the momentum back and forcing Grievous into focusing on protecting himself. It wasn't perfect though, he had the cuts and fresh wounds to prove it. They leapt from tables to chairs, each step precarious due to the listing station.

Their duel seemed timeless. Immersed in the Force, his only thought was to keep the General occupied while the refugees fled to safety. Suddenly, in the midst of the battle, another explosion rocked the station, and he nearly lost his balance on two chairs. He glanced back at Grievous...and his arms seemed to separate, grabbing hold of two more lightsabers. The General, now armed with four lightsabers, advanced recklessly toward him. Four sabers, six, even eight. It didn't matter. The Force was with him. He closed his eyes, trusting in the Force. Two blades met four in a loud clap, and the duel began anew. He spun about, twin lightsabers twirling all around him, deflecting and parrying Grievous' blades as they glanced off the deck, the bulkheads, anywhere but him.

Opening his eyes, he thought he heard Grievous chuckling. Still focused on the Force, he began paying more attention to their movements. A strike there...then here, a parry there, a thrust there...no, too short. A feint, then a slash, close...but could have been closer. Then his eyes widened in horror as comprehension dawned on him. Grievous wasn't trying to kill him, he was studying him, his method, his tactic. Each blow, each counterblow was being analyzed, giving him the experience and extra edge the General could use against other Jedi. He faltered, but continued dueling Grievous.

The refugees wouldn't have had time to escape yet, if he gave up now, they would die. But every second he kept fighting gave Grievous an even greater advantage, and would lead to the deaths of countless more Jedi. Turmoil warred within him. The battle seemed secondary now to his choice. Condemn the refugees to certain death, or his fellow Jedi. There were few Jedi left in the galaxy, too few, if they all died, what hope would the Republic have? But the Jedi value all life, if he allowed the refugees to die, he would betray his oath as a Jedi. He sought out the Force in hopes of answer, but received nothing back.

Distantly, he recalled a conversation with Master Yoda, in the early days of the Clone War.

I don't understand Master, why did I fail?

Choices, great or small, define the galaxy they do. What decide you for yourself, may affect many more lives than yours, yes? But some choices, no easy answer there are. Sometimes, no answer, no right or wrong choice.

But Master Yoda, how will I know what to decide then?

In the Force you must trust, but...also in yourself.

He didn't understand at the time. But he did now. He knew what he had to do.

Posted by The Lazarus at April 12, 2005 01:16 PM