KotOR I: Orin Dakall

She was fighting. No, someone else was fighting. That girl with the bad haircut. She was the one fighting. A Sith. Orin only got flashes of the dark Jedi. It was mainly the girl she saw. Bastila. Arrogant little sod. Flamboyant with her double-bladed lightsaber. Wasting time, exposing herself to attack. Why didn’t the other just cut her down already?



Then, without warning, Orin woke. In a room she’d never seen before. She sat up, then fell woozily back on her pillow. Carth appeared at her side, pulling on his hideous orange vest.



“Good to see you up, instead of thrashing around in your sleep. You must have been having one hell of a nightmare. I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”



That surprised her. It hadn’t seemed like a nightmare. Bastila’s fighting was far more laughable than frightening.



Carth eyed her, looking like maybe he started too fast.



“I’m Carth,” he said slowly, “one of the Republic soldiers from the Endar Spire. I was with you on the escape pod... do you remember?”



“Carth, the one on the communicator,” Orin said, sitting up more gradually this time. “I remember.”



He looked a bit relieved and dropped the patronizing tone.



“Well, you’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now, so I imagine you’re pretty confused about things. Try not to worry. We’re safe... at least for the moment.”



Orin swung her legs off the bed and tried to stand. Carth offered his arm for support, but didn’t touch her. She remembered lashing out at him on the Spire when he had and felt a bit guilty. She took his arm and steadied herself. He cleared his throat.



“We’re in an abandoned apartment. You were banged up pretty bad when we crashed, but luckily I wasn’t seriously hurt.”



Orin raised an eyebrow at him.



“Because I was able to drag you away in all the confusion,” he amended quickly. “I stumbled onto this abandoned apartment. By the time the Sith arrived on the scene we were long gone.”



“The Sith,” Orin said, leaving Carth’s arm and taking a wobbly step toward a mirror on the opposite wall.



“Their fleet is orbiting the planet,” Carth said, looking like he wanted to follow behind her like a parent after a baby just learning to walk. “They’ve declared martial law and imposed a planet-wide quarantine.” At that, Orin glanced quickly back at him. ‘Quarantine’ was an ugly word in her vocabulary. “But I’ve been in worse spots,” Carth added, reassuringly. “I saw on your service records that you understand a remarkable number of alien languages. That’s pretty rare in a raw recruit, but it should come in handy while we’re stranded on a foreign world.”



Orin turned back toward the mirror, edging forward. “And when was it that you decided to flip through my records?”



She watched as Carth’s reflection suddenly looked sheepish. “When I was tracking you on the Spire, I figured, it’d be good to, um...” He coughed. “There’s no way the Republic will be able to get anyone through the Sith blockade to help us. If we’re going to find Bastila and get off this planet, we can’t rely on anybody but ourselves.”



Bastila again! Does every male in the Republic have an obsessive crush on her?



“Why,” Orin said, hiding a contemptuous sneer, “is it so important to find Bastila?”



“That smack to your head did more damage than I thought,” Carth replied dryly. “Bastila’s a Jedi. She was with the strike team that killed Darth Revan, Malak’s Sith master.”



“Yeah, in the cheerleading section,” Orin said, moving her eyes from Carth’s to her own reflection. She started. Carth quickly came up, offering a slightly bloodied handkerchief to clean the oozing gash across her forehead. But that hadn’t been what startled her. Not even the fading black eye or split lip. She took the handkerchief and broke a medpac over it, the kolto solution soaking into it, and began cleaning the cuts, wincing at the tenderness and the stinging of the solution. It was the icy grey-blue eyes. Them, and the white-blond hair, shorn close to her scalp. But as long as she could remember, she’d looked like that. She’d had the high and tight military haircut even as a girl. Still, every time she saw her reflection, inexplicably, it surprised her. It’s just not a common combination.



“Bastila is the key to the whole Republic war effort,” Carth said, having waited for Orin to finish cleaning her face. “The Sith must’ve found out she was on the Spire and set an ambush. We have to try and find her.”



“How do you even know she’s alive?” she asked, now dunking her head under the faucet, trying to get oil and grit from the crash out of her short hair.



“I don’t,” he said. “But Bastila’s young, and she has a powerful command of the Force. We survived the crash landing, so I’m willing to bet that she may have, too. Besides, what’s the alternative?” His voice was suddenly hard. “I mean, if she’s dead, then no one can stop Malak and his Sith from wiping out the Republic. And I’d rather operate on the assumption that she survived.”



“But how can one person, even a Jedi,” she qualified, “be so important?”



“Bastila is no ordinary Jedi,” he said, handing her a ratty towel. “She has a rare gift the Jedi call Battle Meditation. Bastila’s power can influence entire armies. Through the Force, Bastila can inspire her allies with confidence and make her enemies lose their will to fight.” He shrugged. “Often, that’s all it takes to tip the balance in a battle.”



Well, that did sound handy. And explained why she was with any strike team. And why she couldn’t fight worth a damn, if she was always sitting around thinking good thoughts for her side. You’ve only seen her fight in a dream, Orin thought. For all you know, she’s the best fighter in the galaxy.



“Of course, there are limits to what she can do,” Carth said, watching Orin think. “From what I understand of her ability, it requires great concentration and focus to maintain it. The attack on the Spire happened so fast, she never had a chance to use her Battle Meditation. Like us, she barely got out alive.”



Orin examined the burns on her ribs and thigh. Almost healed. Carth must’ve cleaned them up while she was out. “If she’s a Jedi, she can look after herself.”



Her tattered combat suit was thrown in her face. Carth crossed his arms, looking stern. “Bastila’s going to need our help. Many of Malak’s followers can use the dark side of the Force, and the Sith have already killed their fair share of Jedi in this war. Nobody’ll be looking for a couple of common soldiers like us. And if we’re careful, we can move about the planet without attracting notice; a luxury Bastila won’t have. She’s going to have half the Sith fleet looking for her. They know how important she is to the war effort. The whole planet is under quarantine. No ships can land or take off. So if Bastila’s going to escape Taris, she’s going to need our help. And we’ll probably need hers.”



Orin pulled on the suit silently. Finding a way off-planet would be a lot easier without a teenage Jedi following them around. It’d probably be easier without Carth too. Was she still obligated by her contract to help the Republic? Was there an exploding ship clause that would let her disappear and return to smuggling? She glanced up at Carth as she zipped the suit. He quickly looked away. He seemed trusting enough. She could leave him most anywhere. A thought suddenly hit her squarely on the head.



“You. You could’ve left the Spire without me. Everyone else who could, already had.” He looked back at her, then shrugged. So the only reason she was alive was because he’d waited, putting his own life in danger he could’ve easily avoided. She holstered her pistol and got to work on fitting her new vibroblade with an upgrade. “Any idea where we should start looking for her?” she asked nonchalantly.



“While you were out I did some scouting around.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “There are reports of a couple escape pods crashing down into the Undercity. That’s probably a good place to start.”



“Well, the sooner we start looking for her, the sooner we find her. Let’s go.” She sheathed the vibroblade and long sword and shouldered her pack.



“Just remember to keep a low profile,” he said, eyeing her obvious show of weaponry. “I’ve heard some grim stories about the dark Jedi interrogation techniques. They say the Force can do terrible things to a mind. Even wipe away your memories and destroy your very identity!”



“Won’t help them much if they want information.”



Carth looked a bit irritated at having his scary proclamation undercut with sarcasm. “But I figure if we don’t do anything stupid--” he gave her a rather pointed look, “--we should be okay. I mean, after all, they’re... they’re looking for Bastila, not a couple of grunts like us.” He straightened, pulling on his own pack and pushing aside his hesitation. “All right, Dakall, let’s move out.”