Post by Charlotte on Feb 19, 2019 11:49:50 GMT -5
Aft: the lounge. A sound like comm frequencies being scanned too quickly to catch a word cut into the un-roar of the Red. Sharp, skittering, off-key—“—ere is this—softskin?”
The language had to be Mando’a. At least it was close enough to be understood, though the pattern of it was heavy, grating in a way separate from the voice doing the asking. The question was barked out gruffly, its origin next to and above Medren as if someone stood over him.
Someone did.
Medren stood up abruptly after the shuddering of the vessel... “Hello? Who’s there?” he answered in Mando’a. He had turned to look in that direction, but didn’t know what he expected to find.
The big figure cast a dim shadow in shades of red. Broad-shouldered, tall, the man (?) filled space, toned in reds as everything in the ship was, all the way down to the deepest purple-black. Clamped-down pauldrons covered the shoulders and made them even more angular, more powerful-looking, and other strange, rectangular protrusions moved with every motion of the big man as he came in with a quick, clawed hand for Medren’s throat.
It wasn’t a ‘huff’ that Ava left in.
She had always known Solomon was selfish. That he was known for picking and choosing who he deemed worthy of help, resources, or even the occasional kindness. ‘Tight-lipped’ and ‘ridged’ came to mind for those who he saw as unnecessary or hindersome. She knew that when fired beneath criticism that he would brittle and crumble like dried leaves being crushed into the wind. She knew he hid with spines out always at the ready to propel deep into flesh of those who poked too near. Ava especially knew that Solomon did not function or handle anything unexpected well.
And they were sitting at the epicenter of the unexpected.
It had been one thing when Ava and Solomon left together on this adventure. Two adults both capable of making their own decisions. Two adults going into this with only their lives to be held responsible. And, for a brief shining moment, Ava believed they would get through this together. That, for once, they could work together as a team. She had felt that moment in the quiet stillness of sharing ration packages. And again when gripping onto Solomon’s hand as the unknown of the Red washed over them. Two fleeting moments of connection that said they were not alone. That they could do this together. A fellowship between them.
Now that new born fellowship fell beneath fire as a heavy pressure sat upon their shoulders. A new life they were now responsible for. Not even an adult but a kid. A stow-away kid whose life was now in their hands whether they liked it or not. Solomon’s own nephew – Medren. It didn’t matter that Medren had no business there. It didn’t matter that he was grossly unprepared. But, most importantly, that shouldn’t have mattered. He was a child. And it was now their responsibility to make sure he made it back alive and in one peace. And if that meant sacrificing her own suit so that he could be safe from the a shift in their environment, if that meant taking a hammer to a newly-formed foundation of glass, then Ava would do it.
Ava traveled into the lounge in search of Medren. She felt the Wayfinder shudder. It was different from the times before. This quiver wasn’t the product of the environment around them. It wasn’t some aftershock of a quake. She wasn’t given much time to investigate that vibration because standing over Medren in the loft was the silhouette of a thing… a man?
“HEY!” Ava shouted as her hand stretched out—
There wasn’t much time to react... He’d turned to look for the source of the voice. Only to have it lash out at him... But still. React he did. It wasn’t so much that he sensed anything in the Force... Because he didn’t. It was a reaction to movement that he thought shouldn’t have been there. Like ducking a punch when someone snuck up on you— that was exactly what he did. He jerked away, leaning back out of the thing’s reach, and stumbled back a few feet... Only then did he actually see what it was. His eyes got wide as he looked at it, glancing at Ava for only a split second. He was glancing around to see if there were others.
The clawed hand was a blur snapped at Medren’s throat. Even with Medren jerking away, it closed around his neck like a vice—
—should have closed around his neck like a vice—
—but closed right through it instead, the hand immaterial.
Ava arrived in time to see that.
In time to see the partially armored creature reacting to a failed grab that should not have been a failed grab. Around it, a flurry of flat, transparent holos followed every motion, showing only constantly changing symbols, crowded into each.
With a growl, the big man in armor drew his arm back, clawed hand turned up as if it were an alien thing attached to his wrist, his other hand reaching back for the wicked-long curving knife sheathed at the small of his back.
“HEY!”
The holos flickered in random staccato blurrings, arrayed around the man.
The man flickered in time with them. There, there, there, there, a scratch of distorted nothingness, gone, then there, there, there again.
“Medren,” Solomon’s voice was close behind Ava, firm and loud to cut through the audible non-distortion around them, his words in spoken in strong Mando’a, “Get over here! Quickly now!” And then in basic, he was speaking toward Ava, “We need to get in closer for a better look!” He had come back from the cockpit with the intention of seeing that both of his guests were alright, and what he found instead was a large being that was presenting itself in what looked like a holo. This new comer did look dangerous, but also not entirely there. It was the changing symbols Sol wanted to get a better look at.
Medren didn’t hesitate... He didn’t turn his back to the creature. Whatever it was... But he was quickly retreating back to to the doorway where Ava and Solomon were. His eyes were still wide. A slightly shocked expression still lingered.... After it had disappeared, he swallowed and looked up at Solomon. “the holos... You don’t think...?” he was speaking in Mando’a because that’s what’s had been spoken to him and it was habit. He did it to Jeryndi, too, sometimes.
Ava reached out to grab Medren’s shoulders, helping to guide him closer towards her and Solomon. Those hands guided him until the boy was between the pair, protected and somewhat shielded by her body should the flickering entity manage to land a solid blow.
Ava didn’t speak Mando’a. She’d been practicing the language in her spare time - what little spare time she had, after all. And some of the words she caught between the two but it was a language being learned in small steps.
“Stay behind us.” She instructed to Medren while glancing at Solomon. There was a waiting look to make sure they’d approach at the same time. If Ava had that acknowledgement, she’d slowly begin to move forward.
The knife was out, gleaming black. A low growl came as the warrior whipped around. The Red was dull on most of the helmet, but there was a surface within it that gleamed as the knife did: a slit over the eyes, bird-shaped with three sharp terminations, unmistakably related to a T-visor, even as the dimensions of the helmet were ribbed and sculpted as if on an old, old, forge.
Aside from the pauldrons, there were armguards, shin- and knee-guards, and a garment like an armored kilt. Every piece was strapped to a body all-muscle, all weapon. The first shock of seeing it gone, one might even be able to pick out battlescars on the flesh, big and small.
The holos followed along every shift, some staying near elbows, some sticking near shoulders, near hips, near knees. The writing constantly changed, blinking anew every nanosecond or scrolling so that the flow of symbols created an organic stream within the regular outlines of the holos themselves.
The language was not Basic. Or rather: it was not really a language. The Mechanic had his own shorthand. He tinkered with it constantly, sometimes overhauling it or changing it entirely for no reason better than whim, and taught it to no one.
Though the holos moved like a swarm of hovercams all around the big creature, it did not seem to see them.
In Mando’a: “Ah, a family of sof—” A flicker; he vanished; returned. “—s. Who owns you? Where—” Flicker. “—is?”
Ava would get her indication that Sol was ready to move with her, and once she started he followed. His path went a bit wider, taking him out of Ava’s shadow and further into the open floor area of the lounge, “You mean to which clan do we belong?” He responded back in Mand’oa. He was keeping an eye on those flickers of script that clung close, only once casting a glance Medren’s way to make sure the boy stayed back, “Who is asking?”
For Ava’s sake, Sol switched to basic and said, “It wants to know who owns us.”
Having noticed Sol switch back to Basic, Medren nodded and did so too... “He asked me ‘where is this’ before he attacked me... He also called me a softskin,” he told them. He had let Ava pull him back, had let her shield him, but he was still watching... He kept glancing behind them, watching her back as much as his own.
Ava was quiet as past and present collided in a singular moment.
The images of a city. Spires building and rebuilding as if they were made of continuously shifting sand. Always twisting to fit into a new mold. To create a new structure.
It felt as if she’d dreamed of that once. A city that tipped close to the edge of consciousness. Tipped so close that she could almost remember... until it slipped away.
“It’s a map.” She could hear the phantom of his voice behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Medren. “Soft skin?” Ava put her eyes back on Solomon and the figure. “I’ve seen something like this before.” She told Solomon carefully. “It was a product of Tlin’s mapping. These are ‘ghost’.”
Words that were once spoken to her now spilled from her own lips.
“He used to get these all the time. I saw a few of them when we traveled. Tlin would attach an AI to the data so that it could create a reflection of the personality of what it once was.”
“... There are always pieces missing, and we are made of our pieces.”
The six-and-a-half-foot warrior with the knife shivered away to nothing, and all the holos went too.
Suddenly he was a foot closer, lunging, enraged, for Solomon, the knife leading the way—
“—L ANSWER, STRIPLING!”
—the dark surreal Red making the blade look like a hole in reality rather than an object.
“You sure about that?!” He asked in answer to Ava. He was still, watching where the thing had been, but poised and anticipating. It was a holo. He saw it flicker, he saw the blade die away with the image, and the coding that was ever shifting. Solomon, himself, had experience with Sadhric’s mapping. That was to say he’d seen it before. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there were things he’d missed out on during the Little War. And there were other times that it smacked him so hard in the head that it made him dizzy. Or, maybe that was the Red and the way the image moved through it. The lunge came and Sol stepped to the outside of it, unable to help reflexes that snapped him to respond. He reached, with both hands, for the being’s lunging arm. His left went for the creature’s elbow from below, his right for the being’s wrist. If it was the solid meat and bone of a living being he met with, Sol’s intention was to send that lunging arm into an awkward bend and force that knife that could have been not-there away from himself.
Medren stayed where he was, standing behind Ava and Sol... His voice was pitched to carry. “Mando’ad draar digu.” Mandalorians never forget.... Followed by three more words in Mando’a. “Calm yourself, warrior.” His expression was serious, he was watching for the thing... Hoping that maybe it heard and would understand.
“Yes!” She shouted back her answer as Solomon made a counter move against the ‘ghost’. “But I don’t understand what it....”
Her eyes widened in realization as Medren began to speak out in Mando’a.
The warrior was so fast that Solomon took the knife swipe to the chest with enough force to not only lay him open to the bone through his suit, but to throw him across the room before he’d even shifted his weight for that sidestep.
Except that, no, as with Medren there was no contact. The illustration of the big predator power of the warrior, the sheer muscular perfection, was that when the helmeted creature’s arm failed to be slowed by flesh it slashed twice more and ended up occupying part of the space of the reacting Solomon, roaring and growing more furious as Medren spoke up. It swiped at him, would take his head clean off his neck. It swiped at Ava—a slash that would take eyes and a great deal of bone too. Every miss-that-should-not-be-a-miss drove it wilder.
The holos stuck with it, coldly along for the ride.
Solomon knew well enough, the moment the being’s speed became apparent, the kind of blows they’d be dealing with if the creature was solid. His mind told him to brace for it, to expect the pain even as he moved but there was nothing to come from it, not even the cold air that would follow the blade in a slash that powerful. Every swipe that the creature took did cause him to flinch, Solomon fighting the urge to react, to let his instincts drive him into getting in the way. If those attacks were real, he’d be dead. Ava would be bleeding out, and Medren would be in trouble. But Ava was sure this was Mapping, “Any ideas, then?” He asked loudly in Basic, because seeing the holos of Mapping in this condition was new to him. His experience with them were of static images, all stuck in their same loops. None had ever done anything like -this-.
Medren stood his ground... Even though the thing had swiped and hit Ava, had hit Solomon, had hit him, all of those strikes whiffed. He’d been ready to run when it struck at Solomon, but it was a weird reaction to seeing the hit miss and blend into Solomon’s person and location... It was a sudden stiffening of the body. Maybe Ava felt it, maybe not... He didn’t move an inch, eyes narrowing on the apparition. He was watching it closely, eyes flicking to follow every move. But he seemed unafraid.
“No.” She made sure to speak loud enough for him to hear. “He always dismissed them on his own. I don’t know how he did it.”
Ava didn’t move as the ‘ghost’ slashed at her. Dodging. Lunging. Gripping. None of this would do any good against what stood before them. Had contact been made, Ava would have died. But he could not touch her. And in turn - she could not touch him.
The figure towered over her. He had a good ten inches and more against her small frame. Such a small, petite figure that stood perfectly still in the face of wild rage. Her eyes softened. She looked up to see him and slowly raised her arms in a surrendering manner to the ‘ghost’.
The sound was real enough.
The warrior’s snarls had been loud enough at their height to hurt ears. The failures added up, and he tired himself just to the point that he apparently steeled himself, gained some control, and now only growled low with menace, backing away. And he flickered away several times, each time all his noise dropping cleanly to the un-silence the Wayfinder had experienced since the Red had come. Every absence, for a second or two at most each time, came in utter totality all at once. Every return, sudden and absolute. As if somewhere a god toyed with a switch.
The warrior looked around, swept its hand in fierce experimentation through the small scattering of bandages that Medren had left out after cleaning himself up, that had then rolled away when he’d burst into motion.
The warrior swiped his knife at a wall.
The boom came loud but flat, brittle-sounding like a clap across a cold distance, but there it was:
The warrior seemed nonplussed for a second, his knife unbroken, the wall unmarked, but his arm and the blade stopped utterly, painfully even, at last by something.
Solomon turned from looking at Ava to watching the not there being as his gusto died away. The things actions were bleeding it out until there was nothing left of the will to try and harm them. The clang caused Sol to jump slightly. It seemed like the first true noise to cut through the bubble between his ears, and in its wake he was moving toward the large being, still watching the strings of characters that surrounded the moving image, but now adding in the spot where the knife had struck, “I belong to the young clan Tekal,” he told the armored being in Mando’a, keeping an eye on the odd way the being’s arm met with resistence by -something-. “Ava, what do you know about this tech? About how it works?” He spoke without looking back toward the Jedi. He was also careful in where he stepped in relation to Medren, keeping in mind that the boy was still present.
“And I am from Akir Clan.” He gave Solomon a look, like, play along... He knew that if this ghost was gonna recognize a name, it’d be the Akir name... Seeing as the current line of Akir brothers had all lived on and off for around 300 years. He was a little wary of the fact that the thing had made contact with something, reaching for his belt... Only to remember that his knife and blaster pistol had been taken by Solomon.
Ava didn’t flinch. She didn’t back away. Even as her ears pierced with pain from the ‘ghost’s cry. When he backed away, she gave him space.
“It’s tied into his mapping technology.” Ava spoke. “That’s all I really know about it. He uses the technology to scan for specific criteria and then attaches an AI to sort through the data. Sometimes they have enough to create something like this.” Her head gestured to the ‘ghost’. “And sometimes they don’t.”
“Tlin said he’d been working on the technology. I wonder if it was running when the explosion occurred and this is the result.”
When they began speaking to the ‘ghost’ Ava fell silent. It appeared she couldn’t communicate with it - at least not verbally. So she kept her posture easy so that it wouldn’t appear threatening. Not that she looked threatening to begin with.
Even helmeted, its real face hidden, the sneer was obvious in the rearing back, the bristling posture. “You,” came the heavy Mando’a—almost its own gutteral dialect—“are a fart in a sulfur pit.” Aimed at Solomon. “— —ou,” it hissed dismissively toward Medren through a flicker that lasted two beats, “are a —” Flicker. “—yut’s’ stinking—” Flicker. “—esticles.”
It turned, trading the huge knife to its other hand, and ran its claws along the resistance of the wall as it began to walk, as if the warrior intended to explore now that it could not kill.
“Who are you?” Was Solomon’s response to the insult. It wasn’t the worst thing he had been called, both on and off Mandalore. His words came first in Mando’a, geared toward the warrior before he was switching back to basic and speaking to Ava, “Do you think it’s the Witchdoctor?” Solomon was sticking close to the warrior, but paused to inspect where the large gruff Mando’ade had hit the wall of his ship, “Having seen this stuff in the works, how dependent on his ship as a platform is the Mapping? Was he able to do it without being close to his vessel?” Now, Solomon had heard from Sadhric that Origin was working on, and had found, -something- big. But it was — Sadhric had only told him that it involved mapping to the beginning of time. It was beyond vast amounts of information that could be netted from that. Was this guy a part of that? Or from some small sliver of information Sadhric had gotten himself while on Mandalore? “Why do you think it showed up now?”
Medren’s lips twitched in response to the insults... It wasn’t a bristling of being offended... It was amusement. Aside from it being felt in the Force, it didn’t register in his physical stance beyond that twitch... He didn’t really respond to Solomon’s questions because he knew he didn’t have answers.
“I don’t know.” was the only answer Ava could give to Solomon for all three of his questions. She had told him what she knew - stated it as such. The rest from there would be guesswork.
Carefully, Ava began removing the helmet of her suit. It was clear whatever atmospheric changes were not life threatening; not at this point. Medren was proof to that observation. She breathed in the ships air and brushed stray strands of hair away from her eyes.
“Has he replied to anything you’ve said?” She asked. “What has he been saying?”
On the wall was no mark. Not the slightest catch of light to indicate a scratch. Solomon could examine it as close as he wished: there would be nothing to see, even though the slam of the knife into it had clearly generated real and sharp sound.
The warrior ignored his question, scraping claws along the wall as it went. It would go right past Ava. In fact, if she didn’t move, part of it would pass right through part of her at hip and elbow and shoulder. He flickered several times; no real rhythm to it. The flickering seemed unrelated to “his” actions, and unrelated to theirs. The holos around him, of which he seemed oblivious, continued to track as they had from the start.
Twice, the warrior stopped and seemed to try pressing his claws into various things, but the wall was the only thing that resisted. On that front, the helmet was hiding any more subtle reactions he might be having.
As he started to leave, he declared casually: “When I find you, softskins, I will leave wearing your soft skins.”
“Just some insults,” Solomon told Ava in answer to her question. She didn’t have any answers beyond what she had given him, but after the inspection of the wall and finding no mark even though it sounded real — even though all perception was telling him that there should be a dent, a scratch and other signs of damage, he had an idea of why that had happened. He watched as the creature scraped his hands along the wall, Solomon followed and watched those claws, “Your softskins aren’t here,” He told the creature beneath the pounding he was beginning to hear between his ears. Because what if....
“He called me a pair of stinking testicles,” Medren informed. His tone and expression was dry. It didn’t sound insulted in the least. Perhaps a touch amused... He glanced at Solomon when he said that they weren’t the ghost’s soft skins. Then flicked his eyes back to the ghost.
“That was....” Ava’s head shook at Medren.
“Do you have any ideas, Solomon?” She asked as her eyes followed the warrior as he moved about the loft.
“What is he saying to him?” She asked Medren in regards to whatever Solomon was now saying.
“It is torture that I can hear you, but not bleed you, little piss puddle.” The warrior turned the corner and left the lounge.
Little shit had been used on him in the past, and now Little piss puddle. His life was complete. It would have been heart touching if it hadn’t come from a warrior who’d just tried to punch a hole through his chest, or — maybe not. Not wanting to lose sight of the holo as it moved through his ship, Sol went with it and followed behind while speaking over his shoulder to Ava so she could hear him, in Basic as always for her comprehension, he said “He’s looking for others like us, and its agony to him that he can hear us, but not touch us. As for ideas — I have several.” And then he, too, was gone from the lounge behind the large warrior.
“Cheerful fellow, isn’t he?” he said as Solomon started after the thing... Then he turned to look at Ava. “Uncle Sol isn’t wrong... Mostly, it was insults... He asked me where ‘here’ was before you got here, but that was all he asked.”
An appreciative look was given to Medren. “Seems so.” She said in turn. “So he doesn’t know where he is?”
Ava followed the warrior as well.
“What are your ideas?” She asked to Solomon.
Whenever the warrior vanished, he reappeared farther ahead, as if, unseen, his prowling pace were merely continued for a moment in a different dimension. As when he’d lunged at Solomon, it was clear that full lines of intention and motion were being followed, even if the flickering at times cut out what the living beings could perceive.
From behind him came Ava’s words while ahead of him the warrior appeared and disappeared, and reappeared again as it went. Sol stayed with it as best he could through the vanishings, even as he was asking Ava, “I’m not going to answer just yet, Ava, but please indulge me for a moment. In your experience with things like this, have you ever seen one this active — this aware of yourself, and its surroundings? Is this kind of activity normal?”
He followed behind them, not wanting to be left alone... After all, the thing had come after him when he’d been alone. While he wasn’t afraid, he saw strength in numbers... He listened to them talk, staying back a few steps... Not vocalizing whatever he was thinking with that frown that bordered on a scowl.
To call any of this ‘normal’ was like saying a dianoga made for a good house pet. Ava’s head shook as she continued to follow with the lost warrior.
The space was cramped but not so much that they all couldn’t follow. “You’ll keep telling me what he says?” She mumbled to Medren - who’d seemed to been doing a better job as translator.
To Solomon, Ava indulged. “The ones I encountered were. The few that I’ve met could see and hear their surroundings. Sometimes they’re confused about how they got there. Others acted as if they were looking for things. No two are the same. Each one is different and varies on what data the AI had to piece together.”
“Well, this one doesn’t seem very confused, or like he’s looking for something. I think I was wrong when I said he was looking for others like us. I think we are included in that ‘softskins’. I also think there is a high possibility that he isn’t a ghost. There is something about the code that’s hanging on to the edges of the holo — My instincts are telling me that it’s not part of the mapping, that this holo is something else, and that the coding is just simply broken.”
“Yes,” he told Ava. “Word for word, if you want.” But he doubted she’d want that... She hadn’t seemed pleased by his one literal translation.
“What do you think he is?” She asked while nodding her answer to Medren. “Do you know what the code says?”
Word for word was good.
“I’m not sure what he is. Hell, I could be very wrong about all of it — and no. I can’t read the code. It’s definitely from the Mandalore, though.” He picked up his pace a step or two to get closer to the holo while saying, “Hey, Ugly, what are you doing on my ship,” in Mando’a.
The warrior found the swoop. And passed through it first claws, then a hand, and then experimentally stepped into it until he largely disappeared. He was already onto other things, reaching for the wall again, when Solomon called out.
Perhaps it did not register because he was confident in his devilish handsomeness. Who could say? In any case, Sol’s hail went unanswered, unresponded-to, and the warrior kept on searching, unimpeded.
The language had to be Mando’a. At least it was close enough to be understood, though the pattern of it was heavy, grating in a way separate from the voice doing the asking. The question was barked out gruffly, its origin next to and above Medren as if someone stood over him.
Someone did.
Medren stood up abruptly after the shuddering of the vessel... “Hello? Who’s there?” he answered in Mando’a. He had turned to look in that direction, but didn’t know what he expected to find.
The big figure cast a dim shadow in shades of red. Broad-shouldered, tall, the man (?) filled space, toned in reds as everything in the ship was, all the way down to the deepest purple-black. Clamped-down pauldrons covered the shoulders and made them even more angular, more powerful-looking, and other strange, rectangular protrusions moved with every motion of the big man as he came in with a quick, clawed hand for Medren’s throat.
It wasn’t a ‘huff’ that Ava left in.
She had always known Solomon was selfish. That he was known for picking and choosing who he deemed worthy of help, resources, or even the occasional kindness. ‘Tight-lipped’ and ‘ridged’ came to mind for those who he saw as unnecessary or hindersome. She knew that when fired beneath criticism that he would brittle and crumble like dried leaves being crushed into the wind. She knew he hid with spines out always at the ready to propel deep into flesh of those who poked too near. Ava especially knew that Solomon did not function or handle anything unexpected well.
And they were sitting at the epicenter of the unexpected.
It had been one thing when Ava and Solomon left together on this adventure. Two adults both capable of making their own decisions. Two adults going into this with only their lives to be held responsible. And, for a brief shining moment, Ava believed they would get through this together. That, for once, they could work together as a team. She had felt that moment in the quiet stillness of sharing ration packages. And again when gripping onto Solomon’s hand as the unknown of the Red washed over them. Two fleeting moments of connection that said they were not alone. That they could do this together. A fellowship between them.
Now that new born fellowship fell beneath fire as a heavy pressure sat upon their shoulders. A new life they were now responsible for. Not even an adult but a kid. A stow-away kid whose life was now in their hands whether they liked it or not. Solomon’s own nephew – Medren. It didn’t matter that Medren had no business there. It didn’t matter that he was grossly unprepared. But, most importantly, that shouldn’t have mattered. He was a child. And it was now their responsibility to make sure he made it back alive and in one peace. And if that meant sacrificing her own suit so that he could be safe from the a shift in their environment, if that meant taking a hammer to a newly-formed foundation of glass, then Ava would do it.
Ava traveled into the lounge in search of Medren. She felt the Wayfinder shudder. It was different from the times before. This quiver wasn’t the product of the environment around them. It wasn’t some aftershock of a quake. She wasn’t given much time to investigate that vibration because standing over Medren in the loft was the silhouette of a thing… a man?
“HEY!” Ava shouted as her hand stretched out—
There wasn’t much time to react... He’d turned to look for the source of the voice. Only to have it lash out at him... But still. React he did. It wasn’t so much that he sensed anything in the Force... Because he didn’t. It was a reaction to movement that he thought shouldn’t have been there. Like ducking a punch when someone snuck up on you— that was exactly what he did. He jerked away, leaning back out of the thing’s reach, and stumbled back a few feet... Only then did he actually see what it was. His eyes got wide as he looked at it, glancing at Ava for only a split second. He was glancing around to see if there were others.
The clawed hand was a blur snapped at Medren’s throat. Even with Medren jerking away, it closed around his neck like a vice—
—should have closed around his neck like a vice—
—but closed right through it instead, the hand immaterial.
Ava arrived in time to see that.
In time to see the partially armored creature reacting to a failed grab that should not have been a failed grab. Around it, a flurry of flat, transparent holos followed every motion, showing only constantly changing symbols, crowded into each.
With a growl, the big man in armor drew his arm back, clawed hand turned up as if it were an alien thing attached to his wrist, his other hand reaching back for the wicked-long curving knife sheathed at the small of his back.
“HEY!”
The holos flickered in random staccato blurrings, arrayed around the man.
The man flickered in time with them. There, there, there, there, a scratch of distorted nothingness, gone, then there, there, there again.
“Medren,” Solomon’s voice was close behind Ava, firm and loud to cut through the audible non-distortion around them, his words in spoken in strong Mando’a, “Get over here! Quickly now!” And then in basic, he was speaking toward Ava, “We need to get in closer for a better look!” He had come back from the cockpit with the intention of seeing that both of his guests were alright, and what he found instead was a large being that was presenting itself in what looked like a holo. This new comer did look dangerous, but also not entirely there. It was the changing symbols Sol wanted to get a better look at.
Medren didn’t hesitate... He didn’t turn his back to the creature. Whatever it was... But he was quickly retreating back to to the doorway where Ava and Solomon were. His eyes were still wide. A slightly shocked expression still lingered.... After it had disappeared, he swallowed and looked up at Solomon. “the holos... You don’t think...?” he was speaking in Mando’a because that’s what’s had been spoken to him and it was habit. He did it to Jeryndi, too, sometimes.
Ava reached out to grab Medren’s shoulders, helping to guide him closer towards her and Solomon. Those hands guided him until the boy was between the pair, protected and somewhat shielded by her body should the flickering entity manage to land a solid blow.
Ava didn’t speak Mando’a. She’d been practicing the language in her spare time - what little spare time she had, after all. And some of the words she caught between the two but it was a language being learned in small steps.
“Stay behind us.” She instructed to Medren while glancing at Solomon. There was a waiting look to make sure they’d approach at the same time. If Ava had that acknowledgement, she’d slowly begin to move forward.
The knife was out, gleaming black. A low growl came as the warrior whipped around. The Red was dull on most of the helmet, but there was a surface within it that gleamed as the knife did: a slit over the eyes, bird-shaped with three sharp terminations, unmistakably related to a T-visor, even as the dimensions of the helmet were ribbed and sculpted as if on an old, old, forge.
Aside from the pauldrons, there were armguards, shin- and knee-guards, and a garment like an armored kilt. Every piece was strapped to a body all-muscle, all weapon. The first shock of seeing it gone, one might even be able to pick out battlescars on the flesh, big and small.
The holos followed along every shift, some staying near elbows, some sticking near shoulders, near hips, near knees. The writing constantly changed, blinking anew every nanosecond or scrolling so that the flow of symbols created an organic stream within the regular outlines of the holos themselves.
The language was not Basic. Or rather: it was not really a language. The Mechanic had his own shorthand. He tinkered with it constantly, sometimes overhauling it or changing it entirely for no reason better than whim, and taught it to no one.
Though the holos moved like a swarm of hovercams all around the big creature, it did not seem to see them.
In Mando’a: “Ah, a family of sof—” A flicker; he vanished; returned. “—s. Who owns you? Where—” Flicker. “—is?”
Ava would get her indication that Sol was ready to move with her, and once she started he followed. His path went a bit wider, taking him out of Ava’s shadow and further into the open floor area of the lounge, “You mean to which clan do we belong?” He responded back in Mand’oa. He was keeping an eye on those flickers of script that clung close, only once casting a glance Medren’s way to make sure the boy stayed back, “Who is asking?”
For Ava’s sake, Sol switched to basic and said, “It wants to know who owns us.”
Having noticed Sol switch back to Basic, Medren nodded and did so too... “He asked me ‘where is this’ before he attacked me... He also called me a softskin,” he told them. He had let Ava pull him back, had let her shield him, but he was still watching... He kept glancing behind them, watching her back as much as his own.
Ava was quiet as past and present collided in a singular moment.
The images of a city. Spires building and rebuilding as if they were made of continuously shifting sand. Always twisting to fit into a new mold. To create a new structure.
It felt as if she’d dreamed of that once. A city that tipped close to the edge of consciousness. Tipped so close that she could almost remember... until it slipped away.
“It’s a map.” She could hear the phantom of his voice behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Medren. “Soft skin?” Ava put her eyes back on Solomon and the figure. “I’ve seen something like this before.” She told Solomon carefully. “It was a product of Tlin’s mapping. These are ‘ghost’.”
Words that were once spoken to her now spilled from her own lips.
“He used to get these all the time. I saw a few of them when we traveled. Tlin would attach an AI to the data so that it could create a reflection of the personality of what it once was.”
“... There are always pieces missing, and we are made of our pieces.”
The six-and-a-half-foot warrior with the knife shivered away to nothing, and all the holos went too.
Suddenly he was a foot closer, lunging, enraged, for Solomon, the knife leading the way—
“—L ANSWER, STRIPLING!”
—the dark surreal Red making the blade look like a hole in reality rather than an object.
“You sure about that?!” He asked in answer to Ava. He was still, watching where the thing had been, but poised and anticipating. It was a holo. He saw it flicker, he saw the blade die away with the image, and the coding that was ever shifting. Solomon, himself, had experience with Sadhric’s mapping. That was to say he’d seen it before. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there were things he’d missed out on during the Little War. And there were other times that it smacked him so hard in the head that it made him dizzy. Or, maybe that was the Red and the way the image moved through it. The lunge came and Sol stepped to the outside of it, unable to help reflexes that snapped him to respond. He reached, with both hands, for the being’s lunging arm. His left went for the creature’s elbow from below, his right for the being’s wrist. If it was the solid meat and bone of a living being he met with, Sol’s intention was to send that lunging arm into an awkward bend and force that knife that could have been not-there away from himself.
Medren stayed where he was, standing behind Ava and Sol... His voice was pitched to carry. “Mando’ad draar digu.” Mandalorians never forget.... Followed by three more words in Mando’a. “Calm yourself, warrior.” His expression was serious, he was watching for the thing... Hoping that maybe it heard and would understand.
“Yes!” She shouted back her answer as Solomon made a counter move against the ‘ghost’. “But I don’t understand what it....”
Her eyes widened in realization as Medren began to speak out in Mando’a.
The warrior was so fast that Solomon took the knife swipe to the chest with enough force to not only lay him open to the bone through his suit, but to throw him across the room before he’d even shifted his weight for that sidestep.
Except that, no, as with Medren there was no contact. The illustration of the big predator power of the warrior, the sheer muscular perfection, was that when the helmeted creature’s arm failed to be slowed by flesh it slashed twice more and ended up occupying part of the space of the reacting Solomon, roaring and growing more furious as Medren spoke up. It swiped at him, would take his head clean off his neck. It swiped at Ava—a slash that would take eyes and a great deal of bone too. Every miss-that-should-not-be-a-miss drove it wilder.
The holos stuck with it, coldly along for the ride.
Solomon knew well enough, the moment the being’s speed became apparent, the kind of blows they’d be dealing with if the creature was solid. His mind told him to brace for it, to expect the pain even as he moved but there was nothing to come from it, not even the cold air that would follow the blade in a slash that powerful. Every swipe that the creature took did cause him to flinch, Solomon fighting the urge to react, to let his instincts drive him into getting in the way. If those attacks were real, he’d be dead. Ava would be bleeding out, and Medren would be in trouble. But Ava was sure this was Mapping, “Any ideas, then?” He asked loudly in Basic, because seeing the holos of Mapping in this condition was new to him. His experience with them were of static images, all stuck in their same loops. None had ever done anything like -this-.
Medren stood his ground... Even though the thing had swiped and hit Ava, had hit Solomon, had hit him, all of those strikes whiffed. He’d been ready to run when it struck at Solomon, but it was a weird reaction to seeing the hit miss and blend into Solomon’s person and location... It was a sudden stiffening of the body. Maybe Ava felt it, maybe not... He didn’t move an inch, eyes narrowing on the apparition. He was watching it closely, eyes flicking to follow every move. But he seemed unafraid.
“No.” She made sure to speak loud enough for him to hear. “He always dismissed them on his own. I don’t know how he did it.”
Ava didn’t move as the ‘ghost’ slashed at her. Dodging. Lunging. Gripping. None of this would do any good against what stood before them. Had contact been made, Ava would have died. But he could not touch her. And in turn - she could not touch him.
The figure towered over her. He had a good ten inches and more against her small frame. Such a small, petite figure that stood perfectly still in the face of wild rage. Her eyes softened. She looked up to see him and slowly raised her arms in a surrendering manner to the ‘ghost’.
The sound was real enough.
The warrior’s snarls had been loud enough at their height to hurt ears. The failures added up, and he tired himself just to the point that he apparently steeled himself, gained some control, and now only growled low with menace, backing away. And he flickered away several times, each time all his noise dropping cleanly to the un-silence the Wayfinder had experienced since the Red had come. Every absence, for a second or two at most each time, came in utter totality all at once. Every return, sudden and absolute. As if somewhere a god toyed with a switch.
The warrior looked around, swept its hand in fierce experimentation through the small scattering of bandages that Medren had left out after cleaning himself up, that had then rolled away when he’d burst into motion.
The warrior swiped his knife at a wall.
The boom came loud but flat, brittle-sounding like a clap across a cold distance, but there it was:
The warrior seemed nonplussed for a second, his knife unbroken, the wall unmarked, but his arm and the blade stopped utterly, painfully even, at last by something.
Solomon turned from looking at Ava to watching the not there being as his gusto died away. The things actions were bleeding it out until there was nothing left of the will to try and harm them. The clang caused Sol to jump slightly. It seemed like the first true noise to cut through the bubble between his ears, and in its wake he was moving toward the large being, still watching the strings of characters that surrounded the moving image, but now adding in the spot where the knife had struck, “I belong to the young clan Tekal,” he told the armored being in Mando’a, keeping an eye on the odd way the being’s arm met with resistence by -something-. “Ava, what do you know about this tech? About how it works?” He spoke without looking back toward the Jedi. He was also careful in where he stepped in relation to Medren, keeping in mind that the boy was still present.
“And I am from Akir Clan.” He gave Solomon a look, like, play along... He knew that if this ghost was gonna recognize a name, it’d be the Akir name... Seeing as the current line of Akir brothers had all lived on and off for around 300 years. He was a little wary of the fact that the thing had made contact with something, reaching for his belt... Only to remember that his knife and blaster pistol had been taken by Solomon.
Ava didn’t flinch. She didn’t back away. Even as her ears pierced with pain from the ‘ghost’s cry. When he backed away, she gave him space.
“It’s tied into his mapping technology.” Ava spoke. “That’s all I really know about it. He uses the technology to scan for specific criteria and then attaches an AI to sort through the data. Sometimes they have enough to create something like this.” Her head gestured to the ‘ghost’. “And sometimes they don’t.”
“Tlin said he’d been working on the technology. I wonder if it was running when the explosion occurred and this is the result.”
When they began speaking to the ‘ghost’ Ava fell silent. It appeared she couldn’t communicate with it - at least not verbally. So she kept her posture easy so that it wouldn’t appear threatening. Not that she looked threatening to begin with.
Even helmeted, its real face hidden, the sneer was obvious in the rearing back, the bristling posture. “You,” came the heavy Mando’a—almost its own gutteral dialect—“are a fart in a sulfur pit.” Aimed at Solomon. “— —ou,” it hissed dismissively toward Medren through a flicker that lasted two beats, “are a —” Flicker. “—yut’s’ stinking—” Flicker. “—esticles.”
It turned, trading the huge knife to its other hand, and ran its claws along the resistance of the wall as it began to walk, as if the warrior intended to explore now that it could not kill.
“Who are you?” Was Solomon’s response to the insult. It wasn’t the worst thing he had been called, both on and off Mandalore. His words came first in Mando’a, geared toward the warrior before he was switching back to basic and speaking to Ava, “Do you think it’s the Witchdoctor?” Solomon was sticking close to the warrior, but paused to inspect where the large gruff Mando’ade had hit the wall of his ship, “Having seen this stuff in the works, how dependent on his ship as a platform is the Mapping? Was he able to do it without being close to his vessel?” Now, Solomon had heard from Sadhric that Origin was working on, and had found, -something- big. But it was — Sadhric had only told him that it involved mapping to the beginning of time. It was beyond vast amounts of information that could be netted from that. Was this guy a part of that? Or from some small sliver of information Sadhric had gotten himself while on Mandalore? “Why do you think it showed up now?”
Medren’s lips twitched in response to the insults... It wasn’t a bristling of being offended... It was amusement. Aside from it being felt in the Force, it didn’t register in his physical stance beyond that twitch... He didn’t really respond to Solomon’s questions because he knew he didn’t have answers.
“I don’t know.” was the only answer Ava could give to Solomon for all three of his questions. She had told him what she knew - stated it as such. The rest from there would be guesswork.
Carefully, Ava began removing the helmet of her suit. It was clear whatever atmospheric changes were not life threatening; not at this point. Medren was proof to that observation. She breathed in the ships air and brushed stray strands of hair away from her eyes.
“Has he replied to anything you’ve said?” She asked. “What has he been saying?”
On the wall was no mark. Not the slightest catch of light to indicate a scratch. Solomon could examine it as close as he wished: there would be nothing to see, even though the slam of the knife into it had clearly generated real and sharp sound.
The warrior ignored his question, scraping claws along the wall as it went. It would go right past Ava. In fact, if she didn’t move, part of it would pass right through part of her at hip and elbow and shoulder. He flickered several times; no real rhythm to it. The flickering seemed unrelated to “his” actions, and unrelated to theirs. The holos around him, of which he seemed oblivious, continued to track as they had from the start.
Twice, the warrior stopped and seemed to try pressing his claws into various things, but the wall was the only thing that resisted. On that front, the helmet was hiding any more subtle reactions he might be having.
As he started to leave, he declared casually: “When I find you, softskins, I will leave wearing your soft skins.”
“Just some insults,” Solomon told Ava in answer to her question. She didn’t have any answers beyond what she had given him, but after the inspection of the wall and finding no mark even though it sounded real — even though all perception was telling him that there should be a dent, a scratch and other signs of damage, he had an idea of why that had happened. He watched as the creature scraped his hands along the wall, Solomon followed and watched those claws, “Your softskins aren’t here,” He told the creature beneath the pounding he was beginning to hear between his ears. Because what if....
“He called me a pair of stinking testicles,” Medren informed. His tone and expression was dry. It didn’t sound insulted in the least. Perhaps a touch amused... He glanced at Solomon when he said that they weren’t the ghost’s soft skins. Then flicked his eyes back to the ghost.
“That was....” Ava’s head shook at Medren.
“Do you have any ideas, Solomon?” She asked as her eyes followed the warrior as he moved about the loft.
“What is he saying to him?” She asked Medren in regards to whatever Solomon was now saying.
“It is torture that I can hear you, but not bleed you, little piss puddle.” The warrior turned the corner and left the lounge.
Little shit had been used on him in the past, and now Little piss puddle. His life was complete. It would have been heart touching if it hadn’t come from a warrior who’d just tried to punch a hole through his chest, or — maybe not. Not wanting to lose sight of the holo as it moved through his ship, Sol went with it and followed behind while speaking over his shoulder to Ava so she could hear him, in Basic as always for her comprehension, he said “He’s looking for others like us, and its agony to him that he can hear us, but not touch us. As for ideas — I have several.” And then he, too, was gone from the lounge behind the large warrior.
“Cheerful fellow, isn’t he?” he said as Solomon started after the thing... Then he turned to look at Ava. “Uncle Sol isn’t wrong... Mostly, it was insults... He asked me where ‘here’ was before you got here, but that was all he asked.”
An appreciative look was given to Medren. “Seems so.” She said in turn. “So he doesn’t know where he is?”
Ava followed the warrior as well.
“What are your ideas?” She asked to Solomon.
Whenever the warrior vanished, he reappeared farther ahead, as if, unseen, his prowling pace were merely continued for a moment in a different dimension. As when he’d lunged at Solomon, it was clear that full lines of intention and motion were being followed, even if the flickering at times cut out what the living beings could perceive.
From behind him came Ava’s words while ahead of him the warrior appeared and disappeared, and reappeared again as it went. Sol stayed with it as best he could through the vanishings, even as he was asking Ava, “I’m not going to answer just yet, Ava, but please indulge me for a moment. In your experience with things like this, have you ever seen one this active — this aware of yourself, and its surroundings? Is this kind of activity normal?”
He followed behind them, not wanting to be left alone... After all, the thing had come after him when he’d been alone. While he wasn’t afraid, he saw strength in numbers... He listened to them talk, staying back a few steps... Not vocalizing whatever he was thinking with that frown that bordered on a scowl.
To call any of this ‘normal’ was like saying a dianoga made for a good house pet. Ava’s head shook as she continued to follow with the lost warrior.
The space was cramped but not so much that they all couldn’t follow. “You’ll keep telling me what he says?” She mumbled to Medren - who’d seemed to been doing a better job as translator.
To Solomon, Ava indulged. “The ones I encountered were. The few that I’ve met could see and hear their surroundings. Sometimes they’re confused about how they got there. Others acted as if they were looking for things. No two are the same. Each one is different and varies on what data the AI had to piece together.”
“Well, this one doesn’t seem very confused, or like he’s looking for something. I think I was wrong when I said he was looking for others like us. I think we are included in that ‘softskins’. I also think there is a high possibility that he isn’t a ghost. There is something about the code that’s hanging on to the edges of the holo — My instincts are telling me that it’s not part of the mapping, that this holo is something else, and that the coding is just simply broken.”
“Yes,” he told Ava. “Word for word, if you want.” But he doubted she’d want that... She hadn’t seemed pleased by his one literal translation.
“What do you think he is?” She asked while nodding her answer to Medren. “Do you know what the code says?”
Word for word was good.
“I’m not sure what he is. Hell, I could be very wrong about all of it — and no. I can’t read the code. It’s definitely from the Mandalore, though.” He picked up his pace a step or two to get closer to the holo while saying, “Hey, Ugly, what are you doing on my ship,” in Mando’a.
The warrior found the swoop. And passed through it first claws, then a hand, and then experimentally stepped into it until he largely disappeared. He was already onto other things, reaching for the wall again, when Solomon called out.
Perhaps it did not register because he was confident in his devilish handsomeness. Who could say? In any case, Sol’s hail went unanswered, unresponded-to, and the warrior kept on searching, unimpeded.