Chapter Text
4 ABY - Home One
Luke stared at Duval’s crumpled body for a long moment, uncomprehending. All lingering vestiges of her panic had long faded into the stream of the Force, and when he looked closely, her face almost held an expression of peace. Strange, considering how desperate she had been to live not even a moment ago. Whatever the emperor had threatened with must have been far worse than the fate she ultimately received.
At Hobbie’s mournful cry, Luke startled free of his contemplation, but when his eyes finally fell upon the bound figure on the bed, he was forced to look away again, choking back bile. Hobbie’s wound looked far worse than before. The blackened veins pulsed dangerously underneath the skin. With each panicked heave of breath, they seemed to crawl an inch further across the young pilot’s flushed chest.
Luke sucked in a steadying breath and moved to release Hobbie from the bindings. The man was crying in earnest now, eyes trained on anywhere but the infected mess from where the doctor had stuck him.
“Hobbie, what the hell happened?” he asked as he deftly untied the expert knots fastening the pilot to the bed. “I thought – we thought you died, man!”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Hobbie responded through hiccups. “I crashed, but somebody must have taken me in, ‘cause the next thing I know, I’m strapped to a table somewhere in the rig with that karking psycho standing over me!”
“Force…” Luke murmured, helping Hobbie prop himself up against his pillows. “She must have had you down there for days – weeks, even.”
Hobbie’s eyes were wide, glazed over with pain and exhaustion. “I thought I was a goner. She had all sorts of crazy stuff down there – and I mean crazy, Luke. It was a compact lab full of all sorts of nasty looking liquids... I don’t – she must have stuck me with whatever she was brewing down there.”
Luke bit his lip worriedly, glancing back out into the hallway. The red lights continued blaring, warning sirens blending into a cacophony of muted noises just outside the blissful confines of the medical wing. The panic in the Force was growing to an unbearable level, coming from so many separate places he could hardly understand a word of it.
“I’m worried you weren’t the only one she got to,” he admitted. “Stay here. I’m going to check out whatever’s going on out there.”
Hobbie whimpered, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was about to spring right out of the bed and follow him out, injuries be damned. “Don’t leave me here, Luke. Please, I can’t be alone right now.”
Luke gently pushed him back down, sending waves of soothing energy to him through the Force. Even if he couldn’t sense it outright, Hobbie quieted somewhat, and allowed himself to be tucked back under the blankets.
“I’ll be right back, I promise. Here –“ Luke reached onto the nearby shelf and shoved a first-aid kit between Hobbie’s waiting hands. “Try to patch yourself up a bit while I’m gone. There should be a disinfectant in there.”
“Alright.” Hobbie laid back, resigned. “Alright, I’ll wait.”
Luke patted the pilot’s remaining knee and slunk to the door. It opened with a near-silent swish, and immediately, the blaring of the alarm filled the room with an unbearable level of noise. He stuck his head out into the hallway, looking left and right, but saw no signs of anyone. There were no echoing footsteps or shrill screams. It looked as if the entire ship had been abandoned.
His brow furrowed, and he closed the door behind him, locking it from the outside. Impossible. The corridor had been jam packed with people sprinting to and fro just a moment ago – where in the galaxy could they have all gone? He reached gingerly out into the Force and began to follow the glow of signatures coming from somewhere aft, picking his way down suspiciously empty hallways bathed in the glow of red strobes.
After a long moment, he reached a fork in the hallway, and stopped, eyes blown wide. Down one hallway was more of the same – emptiness and dreary lighting. Down the second however…
Force, Luke could only equate it to the brutal scene of a murder. No, not just a murder – a mauling.
Blood coated the walls, ceiling, and floor in a medley of reds and browns and pinks and whites; it had spurted, flowed, and smeared across just about every blank surface within ten feet of what remained of the body, falling in droplets and chunks alike. The body, if it could be rightfully called that, had been ripped apart into segments and violently gnawed on. Bones stuck up from the pile of flesh in haphazard segments, appearing as if they had been entirely picked clean. And, from the scene, a singular pair of shoeless, blood-coated footsteps meandered off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the distance.
The bile crept up again, but Luke forced it back, holding his sleeve over his nose to keep the smell away. This… this would constitute an emergency, he thought sardonically. It was no wonder this portion of the ship had been vacated so quickly and with so much abject terror, yet so many questions were still left unanswered. Why had no one come to retrieve them from the medical wing? Han and Leia knew where he’d gone, and it was protocol for all patients to be evacuated first in an emergency, given that it would take them much longer to flee the scene. And, even more importantly, who in the world could have done something like this? Where were they now?
This wasn’t one simple murder case. Something was seriously wrong on this ship.
Thoroughly creeped out, Luke snuck back to the medical wing and let himself in, locking the door behind him. Hobbie’s face dropped at Luke’s crestfallen look.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked, voice tremoring.
“Someone died,” Luke bit out, eyes trained on the empty hallway distorted through the glass. “Violently.”
Hobbie sat up straighter, the gauze falling from his hands. “Who? Who died?”
Luke hesitated. “I don’t… know.”
“You don’t know?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What did they look like?”
Luke grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut against the image of the blood-soaked corridor. “I mean, there was hardly a body left for me to identify. It was pulp – just flesh and bones and a massive pool of blood.”
All of the colour rushed from Hobbie’s face. He fell back against the pillows and shook his head slowly. “Force, this is insane.” Then, with a sneer, “I bet you this is all that Dr Duval’s fault. That lady was bad news, Luke – I’m glad you took her out.”
“As she was dying, I sensed an image from her memories of a man in this thick black cloak – you couldn’t even see his face, it was so dark. She was terrified of him.” Luke shuddered and turned to face Hobbie again. “I think it was the emperor, and I think he sent her here.”
“No. That’s impossible. The emperor doesn’t know where we regrouped after Hoth.”
Luke cut him off with an irritated look. “Ok, look – it doesn’t really matter who sent her. Either way, we’re in a lot of danger right now. I need to get you off this ship before whoever killed that last guy comes back for us.”
“Luke, I really don’t think I can move right now.” Hobbie gingerly peeled back the gauze, revealing the horrendously infected expanse of his abdomen. At the injection site, the skin had begun to turn a disgusting shade of green-grey, and the veins had only continued to darken across his entire torso. “I think she might have poisoned me.”
“That doesn’t look like any poison I’ve seen,” Luke murmured. “We need to find Dr Vale. He’d probably know better than me what to do with this.”
“Can you com him?” Hobbie suggested.
Luke shrugged. “I doubt it. Most of the doctors don’t carry personal coms on them while they’re working. We could try contacting the rest of the squadron – see if any of them ended up with him.”
“That’s up to you. Duval stole my com when she took the rest of my flight suit.”
“She took all your stuff?” Hobbie nodded sullenly. “Even your blaster?”
“It’s gotta be down in the rig with the rest of her equipment,” he decided. “Why? You think I’m gonna need it?”
“I really hope not,” Luke sighed. “Just take mine for now. I don’t want you defenceless.”
Hobbie accepted the weapon uncertainly. “What does that leave you?”
At this, Luke finally allowed a thin grin to stretch across his face. “I have the Force, and my lightsaber. I think I’ll be alright.”
Hobbie kept an eye on the strobing hallway while Luke tore around the room like there was a fire lit under him, collecting a hodgepodge assortment of medical supplies into a small red backpack he assumed belonged to Dr Vale. He was at a bit of a loss, considering the disinfectants didn’t seem to be helping Hobbie’s injury in the slightest, but he threw as many into the bag as there was room for, alongside an excess of gauze and sterilizing wipes, before zipping the bag shut.
As gently as he could, Luke helped ease Hobbie onto the stray wheelchair sitting in the corner. It was an older model, one that required the patient to be pushed, rather than propelled by an engine, but it was compact and quiet. He dropped the bag onto the pilot’s lap, checked the hallways for intruders once more, and then wheeled Hobbie outside.
Thankfully, the blaring alarm had ceased, leaving only the softly pulsing red lights to indicate that anything was wrong. Still, it was an eerie atmosphere. Rarely would Home One’s hallways be vacant like this; even in the middle of the night, workers on the graveyard shift scuttled around to maintain communications and guide the ship ever past the watchful eyes of the empire, and maintenance droids sidled around their daily rounds.
Hobbie was tense on his seat, his blaster clutched between white-knuckled fingers. Every so often, they would pass a stray streak of dried brown blood on the floor, or some personal effect abandoned in a haste to escape, and his shoulders would stiffen a little more. He jumped at every sound, and from what Luke could read of his errant thoughts, he was terrified that the yet-faceless boogie would jump them from around a corner and he would be powerless to defend himself.
Luke empathized. Hobbie was down a limb and burning up with the infection spreading from Duval’s mystery injection. There was no doubt that he would have succumbed to his wounds had Luke not come around; in fact, without medical attention, his odds of survival were still dangerously low. Still, Luke was determined to at least bring him to Dr Vale. If anything, the doctor would know how to slow the infection long enough for Hobbie to be taken off of Home One and to the more well-equipped medical frigate, where he could finally be looked at by someone with more than just a baseline knowledge of combat medicine.
Spreading out his awareness to assure they weren’t being tailed by anyone, Luke took out his communicator and set it to the frequency used by the Rogue squadron.
“Rogue squadron, this is Luke Skywalker. Anyone read?”
Static answered for a long moment. Luke’s heart raced in anticipation, his hands going sweaty around the communicator. If Rogue squadron had already packed up and shipped out, they’d be in pretty deep shit. Luke’s X-wing was hardly large enough to fit two people in the cockpit and taking an escape pod was akin to suicide this deep in space.
“Rogue squadron, this is Luke Skywalker” he repeated, voice breaking. “Come on guys. Is anyone there?”
“Holy shit –“ The static broke, Wedge’s voice crackling over the speaker. Luke all-but slumped to the wall in relief. “Luke? Luke, It’s Wedge – where the hell are you?”
“Force, Wedge, am I glad to hear your voice. What the hell is going on out there?”
“I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on,” his second admitted. “Those alarms went off and everyone scattered.”
“Someone’s dead, Wedge. Down by medical.”
Wedge sighed, and it crackled into static. “That, I did hear. Listen, Luke, most of us are holed up at the barracks. We couldn’t make it to our rooms, so we boarded ourselves into the Blue squadron common room.”
Luke sucked in a breath. “Dr Vale wouldn’t happen to be down there with you, would he?”
‘I’m sorry, man. He was with us for a while, but word got out that people got injured down at the canteen, so he left to help out.”
Luke gave Hobbie a sideways look and silenced his microphone. “What do you think, Hobbie?”
“I don’t know, man.” Hobbie sucked his teeth and adjusted his grip on the blaster. “I got a bad feeling about this… the canteen sounds like bad news.”
Luke had to agree. It appeared that quite a few people still lingered around the cafeteria, but there was an energy emanating from that direction that he didn’t quite like. If the murderer was anywhere on the ship, it was most likely down that way.
He unmuted his mic. “Wedge, is there anyone down by you with any sort of medical experience?”
“Your best bet is probably Tycho,” Wedge responded after a moment. “He’s no Dr Vale, but he’ll do in a pinch. Why? Are you hurt?”
“It’s not for me – it’s for Hobbie.”
“Hobbie?” There was the distinct sound of crashing on the other end, and then voices. “Holy shit – Hobbie, you there?”
Luke grinned and passed the com down to the younger pilot. “Yeah, I’m here,” Hobbie responded breathlessly, “and boy, do I got stories to tell you guys.”
“How bad are you hurt?” It wasn’t Wedge that spoke, but Tycho. His voice wavered nervously.
Hobbie’s face fell. “It’s pretty bad, Tych. The odds aren’t looking good for me.”
“Fuck that,” Tycho growled. “We’re not letting you die for real this time, Hobs. Bring him in, Luke; I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, guys.” Luke took back the com from Hobbie’s shaking fingers. “We’re on our way now.”
With that, he shut off the communication device and returned it to its proper place on his belt. Blue squadron was two levels down and a hell of a walk in the opposite direction. They would have to hurry; Luke was getting the distinct feeling they were running out of time.
He spun on his heel, bee-lining towards the nearest elevator. Of all places to hole up, one of the barracks was likely the best option – thank the Force for Wedge’s quick thinking. Each squadron was allotted one common room fitted with its own kitchen and fresher; all of the individual rooms branched off from the common space down a hallway on either side – a hallway which never re-entered the main corridor. And, unlike most common spaces on Home One in particular, it had a door which locked from the inside. It was an easily fortified space, and one where they could exist for a good while without ever needing to enter the ship at large.
Their biggest issue, however, remained to be Hobbie. His face was ashen, and his hands trembled around the blaster. He needed medical attention desperately, but their only doctor was lost somewhere around the canteen where the majority of the threat was located. Force, Luke wished he knew anything about who they were up against. Was it a solitary murderer, or a group of infiltrators? What was their purpose? Who were their targets?
He awaited the elevator anxiously. It was a risky move taking the elevator while he didn’t know exactly where the perpetrator was. Not only was the elevator ridiculously confined, but it was also noisy; any person within fifty feet would hear its chime as it arrived at its destination. The barracks were on the same level as the canteen, making the elevator a glorified homing beacon for any murderer on that floor.
Unfortunately, it was a risk they would have to take. Hobbie was a useless shot in this state, and Luke needed access to his sabre. It would be impossible for him to carry Hobbie down the stairs and all the way across the ship to the barracks. They would be left too open, too unguarded.
The doors slid open, and Luke guided the wheelchair inside.
The ride down was tense. Luke watched the numbers tick with his heart in his throat and one hand on the hilt of his sabre.
“I’m gonna need you to keep an eye out down here, Hobs,” he murmured, patting the pilot’s shoulder. “You we’re right; I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”
“I’ll try, Luke, but I really don’t feel so good.” Hobbie’s eyes were fluttering shut, his face sagging. Luke gingerly placed a hand on his forehead. It was burning up.
“Force, you’re on fire.” He rummaged through the bag on Hobbie’s lap and produced a slew of pills and disposable water bottle. “Here, Hobs, take these. They should help with the fever.”
Hobbie moaned sullenly and reached out a hand for the pills. It was hardly suspended a moment before it fell back to his lap.
“Alright, alright, don’t strain yourself,” Luke murmured. He guided the pills to Hobbie’s lips before gingerly tilting the water onto his waiting tongue. Hobbie swallowed them down with a grimace.
With a defeaning chime, the doors finally slid open. Luke stuck his head out, surveying their immediate surroundings, before silently wheeling Hobbie out into the hallway. Unlike the main floor of Home One, the living level had a much more personal charm to it. It was where all of the pilots were housed during any situations in which they weren’t on a ground base, and as such could occupy close to a hundred pilots or more at any given time. Many of the walls were plastered with flyers or other such bulletins, hastily written or printed on scraps of standard-issue paper. The tables shoved into the miniscule common spaces still held evidence of games played before the rapid evacuation, with cards and chips scattered across every surface.
As far as rebellion housing went, this was by far the liveliest. In no other base were all the pilots kept in such close quarters, allowing for so much comradery between squadrons that otherwise never got to meet. Luke felt a pang of sadness wash over him at the emptiness of what was usually such a packed living space.
That sadness was short lived. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a faint pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway immediately to his left. Without daring to see who the footsteps belonged to, he sprinted in the opposite direction and ducked into the nearest room, a miniature meeting space typically used by the commanders during time off. Like most rooms on this blasted ship, the door didn’t lock, but it did have a unique mechanism that darkened its glass on the outside so that the commanders inside could see out, but those in the hallway couldn’t see in. It was as close as the rebellion could get to privacy during their meetings, as they hardly had the funds to completely redo all of the doors on the aged ship.
Luke locked Hobbie’s wheels in place and stowed him as far from the entrance as he could, before taking up a position just to the right of the door. From this angle, he could clearly see about twenty feet down the hallway in the direction of the elevator, even with the darkened pane disguising the finer details of the corridor from his view. From there, all he could do was wait with his heart in his throat as the meandering steps slowly made their way closer.
It took about a minute before the person finally limped in view of the window. Luke strained to make out any identifying mark on their person. They were a pilot, from what he could see, still wearing their bright orange flight suit, with close-cropped brown hair and a brown stubble smattered across their cheeks. In places, their suit was torn and stained with dried blood, and on their exposed neck, a deep, bruised bite mark steadily oozed blood and pus down their collar.
For a split second, he considered opening the door and calling to them. They were clearly injured, probably on the brink of death, and he had a backpack full of medical supplies that could at least alleviate their pain on the way out. But something made him hesitate, made him take a careful step away from the door.
It must have been something in their eyes as they limped closer – or, better yet, a lack of something in their eyes. For one, the mystery person never seemed to blink. Their eyes remained steadfastly fixed on something beyond Luke’s line of sight, but they seemed clouded, blue-grey and milky in the way that a corpse’s eyes would look in the hours after their death. There was no recognition beyond that gaze. They were guided forward without conscious thought, without purpose.
Force, and their body - Luke had to look away as they lumbered by, feeling a familiar nausea rising to the surface. They shuffled forward stiffly, as if their limbs were locked up. One of their arms – the one closest to the bite mark – appeared to be broken. It was the only part of their body that swung freely, as it hardly appeared to be in its respective socket. Like Hobbie, their skin was a sickly shade of pale green grey.
For all intents and purposes, this pilot appeared to be a corpse – a walking, somehow living yet not-quite-conscious corpse.
Luke remained frozen in terror for a long time after the pilot finally lumbered away. This… shouldn’t have been possible. When one died, they were returned to the living Force, not reduced to… this.
With shaking hands, he pulled out his com. “Wedge, you read me?”
It crackled for a moment. “Loud and clear, boss. You close?”
“No, we’re stuck at the elevators. Have you taken a look outside?”
“Not in a while. We’ve tried to keep quiet – keep inside. There’s people walking around outside, though. Pacing.”
“Sithspit,” Luke cursed, clenching his fist around the com. “Wedge, I think I’m going to need you to come get us.”
“I’m sorry – what?” The com crackled as Wedge shifted. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”
“I don’t really know. But whatever it is, if there are others of its kind out there, I can’t defend myself and Hobbie at the same time.”
“Alright.” Wedge sighed and barked out an order that Luke couldn’t make out. Down the line, he heard a rise in voices and the vague sounds of feet scuffling. “We’ll head over now.”
“I need you to hurry. Hobbie’s not looking too good.” He glanced over at the younger pilot, whose head had slumped against the back of his chair. “Bring Tycho. I need someone to look at him right away.”
“We’ll go as fast as we can, Luke, I promise.”
Oh glorious, reliable, dependable Wedge. Luke could cry with relief; the worst of it was nearly over.
“We’re in meeting room 007. May the Force be with you.”
“You too, Luke. Stay safe until we get there. Wedge out.”
The line returned to static, and Luke slumped against the wall.