Legacy II: Big Green, Little Green, Cut By Lightsabers
Posted By: SeverianofUrth<firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: 17 March 2006, 2:27 pm
Legacy, Part Two of Three
Proving that absurdly long titles hampers not the story.
Gadwyn Endark paused as the green-armored figure strode into view. He gulped, and clutched his rifle tightly--this thing had killed Republic commandos, and he, just a merchant transcripted into the militia, might have to face it. This was bad, very bad, and Gadwyn could imagine his death, his face pulping under that monster's blow, that giant crushing his spine and cracking the bone in half, drinking the marrows and blood--
Then Lolyn slapped the back of his head. Gadwyn glared at his 'sergeant,' who was, in peacetime, his brother-in-law.
"You didn't have to do that," he muttered.
"I could see it in your face," Lolyn proclaimed, his big moon face splitting into a grin, "the fright beginning to take hold. Can't have that--we gotta shoot that thing, if it comes to killing. Y'hear?"
"You don't have to talk like that," Gadwyn replied. "It doesn't suit you."
"Oh, fine. But that's how everyone in the operas do it."
"This isn't a opera, Lyn. We might die."
At that, his brother-in-law laughed. "What do you mean? We have the Jedi on our side!"
And that was certainly true; the disciples of the Light Side were slowly drifting in on speeders and other such vehicles, floating in with lightsabers gleaming in their hands. The monster inside had slain a Jedi, after all; Gadwyn remembered seeing it on the news, the Twi'lek announcer sounding terrified as he reported the death of one Lewin Dryk. He fancied that the warriors looked a bit eager for the battle coming up--revenge, perhaps. Whatever it was, as terrifying as that armored human might be, he wouldn't stand a chance against the horde gathered here. But Gadwyn couldn't wipe the horrid feeling of anticipation out of his mind.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered.
"You always do," Lolyn said. "You just love the thought of misfortune, don't you?"
Vrun sweated, visibly, as the armored human strode into view. He was on the private yacht Erasmus, owned by one Senator Godrun Liss, a representative of the planet Dantooine, who also happened to be the principal sponsor of the research that had led to the monster's awakening.
"Formidable," the man murmured, sounding eager. "Very formidable. Oh, we humans must have been great in those days..."
The Twi'lek archaelogist remembered the rumors about Liss's human superiority complex, and his membership in the infamous pro-human group, the Terran Knights. His head-tails felt very conspicous, standing next to Godrun.
He had gotten out of the ruins after iniating lockdown procedures. The durasteel doors had proved to be only a small deterrent to the monster--now complete with Dryk's lightsaber--and now, he was outside, in plain view. "Why don't they just vaporize him?"
The Senator gave him a contemptious look. "The Jedi have honor too," he said. "And this warrior here did slay one of their own. I believe we'll have a splendid show on our hands, right about now." Then he turned back to the view. "And yes, certainly a show... oh, how humankind has fallen!"
"You got that right," Vrun muttered. Liss did not hear him--or at least, appeared not to.
Gadwyn stood up as another green figure strode into view. This time, he felt a thrill of hope; this was Master Yoda, the little alien who proved that size indeed did not matter. As he watched, the Jedi strode up to the armored monster, with a dark-cloaked figure following closely behind. He gave Gadwyn the chills; something about that man's gait was simply wrong.
Everyone has trace amounts of midichlorian cells streaming through their veins; the Jedi, and the Sith, just have much more then the average sentient being. Gadwyn wasn't Force-sensitive; yet even he was feeling prescience creep up on him, in the form of intuition. The Force was rearranging itself, here and now, as warriors from five hundred millenias apart prepared to do battle, and even someone like him could feel it's effects--a maelstrom of unsettling thoughts and dreams.
How could they have known? For as the Force rearranged itself, a mote, a atom, fixed into a wrong position--and the mechanism of the universe was disrupted, and in an effort to patch itself, to right the imbalanced scale between Light and Dark, Life and Death, Winter and Spring, Fate locked itself into a course that would end in a battle between father and son. Such is life; such is life, within this galaxy.
The Star Wars galaxy, that is.
"Oh, Korriban," Lolyn cursed beside him. "Shit. I forgot my recorder. But this is going to be a damn swell battle!"
"Yeah," Gadwyn breathed. "Definitely."
Vrun was becoming more and more agitated, as Liss began to breathe heavily, sounding like he was in heat. The two green figures--one small, one big--slowly converged on each other, locked in their inevitable path. There was no sound whatsoever--not from the soldiers gathered all around, not from the Jedi, not from all the specatators milling about. Everyone was holding in their collective breathes; then--
The little green activated his lightsaber. Energy burned and shimmered in the afternoon air.
And the monster, too, turned his saber on. It glinted blue.
Then they struck, big green against little green.
Years of training was brought to this single moment of impact; John leaped back, his saber glancing downwards to parry a low-slung blow by the little green alien before him, then slashed out, trying to catch his diminuitive enemy across the face. The thing jumped back, twirling in the air as it did so; and the Chief was never more aware of how hopeless his cause was then now. Not because of the alien he was fighting, but because of the thousands surrounding them, watching the battle. This would be his last hour in the land of the living, he knew, and he accepted it with the same fatalism that had allowed him to survive the deathes of his comrades, brothers, sisters. He would die; so be it. Leonidas had done the same, defending the Hot Gates; and though no Persian host stood before him, a ring of strange creatures surrounded him with blasters cocked and lasers trained.
But he had nothing left to defend, did he? Nothing but his own life; and without a cause that overwhelmed the basic instincts for survival, survival was impossible--without honor, without loyalty, without a cause, one could not achieve victory. Sometimes, you just had to accept the sword--let it plunge into your body so that you too could strike off the head of your enemy.
All this passed through his mind without leaving much of an imprint. The thoughts blew past like the wind, leaving only ripples on the plains of sand.
John stepped to the side, circling the creature before him; the little thing raised up it's wrinkled hand, and the Chief, remembering his last encounter with one of these swordsmen and the frightening psychokinetic energies these warriors seemed to be able to control, prepared to be thrown. But instead, some tiny thread wormed it's way into his mind; and he flinched as that worm exploded into something huge--another mind, now present within his own. This was different from Cortana dictating out orders from the confines of his helmet. This mind penetrated, clove, and dug it's way through his memories, his wants, needs, instincts--
'A strange time, this is. But come from a stranger time, you do.'
John brandished his saber before him, and prepared to attack.
'Attack not! You cannot win. Overwhelmed you are, by the odds.'
True, but he couldn't afford to not attack. The Chief was now aware of a pounding urge within his chest, his heart thumping against his reinforced ribs, of his blood pumping like shots of whiskey through his veins. Death was near, and it hovered against his skin, and John could feel through his armor the Reaper's cloak fluttering against his chest, his arms, enveloping his whole body and then he could see it raise the scythe, it glittering white as it curved down and carved through his flesh--
Then it was over; the Chief realized that had been but a hallucination. The green thing stood before him with it's hands outstretched, but they no longer pointed towards him. Rather, the palms were pointing at a sleek white craft hovering some meters above the field of battle.
Then that mind was back, wormed within his consciousness.
'Apologize for that, I do. Decided to take matters into their own hands, my brethrens did--the force modulates in such a way, yes, to bring out the worst fears, that you may have.'
The Spartan wondered, first, if he should try speaking to the alien, or just think something aloud. Another corner of his mind wondered just why the thing was speaking--or telepathically relaying--in such broken jargon. Maybe the alien mind just did not translate well to a human lingo; yes, that had to be it.
'I feel your thoughts well, I do; worry not about miscommunication.'
John thought, then, I intend no harm.
'Of course. But blood has been shed, a Jedi lies slain, and revenge, yes, heats the hearts of many. See all this, I do; and see, I do, that all demand vengeance for your victory.'
It was self defense. He would have killed me if I didn't stop him.
'I understand. But know well that reason no longer plays within the minds of the Jedi; honor, yes, and courage, and bravery, but also hate and anger masked as righteousness.' The little alien seemed to ponder something. 'Apologize for the ponderous lecture, I do.'
No offense was taken, John replied via telepathy. Then: what's your name?
'Yoda. And courtesy demands yours too, worthy one.'
Spartan one-one-seven, of--then he realized that Earth was no more, not from some Covenant bombardment but of something far more insidious: time. Of the past, he finished lamely.
'A number for your name? But informed, I was, that you were a human, no android or battle-bot.'
John thought, I am human; make no mistake about that.
'Apologize again, I do, for my misstep. Now there remains a farce to be played, yes, and will you accompany this dance?'
'Some semblance of justice must be maintained,' Yoda said, 'and fear, I do, that if you remain unharmed, then--'
He never finished his sentence; for at that moment, a little speeder swept in, and parked right above the two conversing figures. The security forces, combined with the militia, pointed their weapons anxiously at the vehicle, but when they spotted a female Jedi climbing out, they relaxed, and watched as she powered up her saber.
The Chief watched as Yoda broke off their mind-connection and spoke in the strange speech of the time to the newcomer. She replied something angrily in turn, and suddenly, John realized that she was very, very ugly. Although human, her skin was nearly green, and her thick yellow hair, so slimy-looking that they looked like tentacles, were bound in such a way behind her head that she looked, from the distance, almost like a Twi'lek.
She and Yoda broke off their conversation, and the woman then fixed her slitted eyes on the Chief. The Spartan prepared himself: then her mind poured in, and all she said was, through the Force-channel linking their thoughts,
You killed my brother. You will pay!
"Ah, melodrama," Godrun whispered to himself. The battle hadn't gone the way he had wanted it to, as there hadn't been a real clash so far, so he had sent in Antila Dryk. Now it looked like things were simmering up: he smiled as the woman lunged at the green-armored figure, and Yoda tried to intervene, and as all broke down to chaos, Senator Liss of Dantooine hummed and enjoyed the carnage now unfolding below.
Vrun shivered, behind him. He saw what was going on, and the way Godrun watched the whole thing was slightly disturbing. He wondered if the man really did burn crosses aboard Hutt-owned ships. It could be true--this human was quite insane in a very charming way. The perfect politician.
End of Part Two; Stay Classy for Part Three and the Conclusion!
Right. Skip down to the story if you don't want to bother with explanations--but some people (may their souls rot somewhere down under--just joking, guys, just joking) pointed out my omission of that famous line: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... Well, I have a perfectly logical explanation for that, if you don't mind reading. But if you just want to see how the Chief fares against Yoda, I'd suggest that you skip down and start reading the story. Are you still here? Then here we go...
The Chief was aboard the ship Dubya, kept in cryo-sleep, but that was ambushed and it wrecked--ala Pillar of Autumn--in the backwaters of what is now Coruscant. Yes, some farms and such remain in that intergalatic hub; it's only logical that some greenery be left in such a mechanical society. Anyways, the Chief remained in his frozen sleep for five hundred thousand years--until it was discovered by Vrun, and the whole mess began.
The main complaint that people seemed to have was that as Star Wars takes place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, it surely could not be in the future... but it could be. Definitely. All that is required is a shift in view.
Imagine that we are following Halo's timeline. Master Chief sleeps aboard the Dubya; that is 2,500-ish, A.D., and it lands in Coruscant. Five hundred thousand years pass; then it is discovered. Now imagine that the world of Star Wars takes place in our future, really, and that George Lucas's story was actually written a million years later; and his script was written in the Andromeda galaxy. Still following me? That script fell through a inter-dimensional timehole, and following the donut theory of the universe, it fell through the one-million-A.D. epoch into our own era, where Lucas discovered it lying in his backyard, embossed in gold.
In short, five hundred thousand years after our time, in a galaxy some distance away from ours, the Dubya wrecked in Coruscant; the Chief was recovered; havoc ensued; then five hundred thousand years after that, a story was written about it; then that script fell through a interdimensional time-hole into our own time, and it ended up in the hands of George Lucas, from whose hand I--er--
We'll leave it at that, shall we?