Careful with that thing; it's been though hell

XI - Flight

By the time Trilla takes her hand away, Cal is aware of two things.

One: he needs to dodge faster next time.

Two: he can't afford to give Trilla that kind of ammunition again.

Another traitorous tear escapes as Trilla turns away, descending the entry ramp back to the hangar. He can't even wipe it off: his hands are still glued to the hoverchair. But then both tears start to dry in the cold air and Cal decides he's had enough.

Come on, He scolds. Pull yourself together.

He starts to count. By ten, he still feels the burn of Trilla's leather-gloved touch on his cheek, so he tries another ten. The tears vanish. Thirty. The tension eases in his chest. Forty. He can't hear her words anymore. Fifty. The sensation of Trilla's hand disappears altogether. You're okay. You're okay.

He gets to a hundred before he's interrupted the sound of heavy footfalls in the distance. He blinks, scanning the dark shuttle. From the entry ramp, a pair of feet make an appearance. He watches the pair of feet, one red and metallic, the other orange-brown and organic, come closer. It grows into a person.

A female Dowutin, to be specific.

The Ninth Sister stands in front of him. "Missed me, Padawan?" She says, her lips twisting into a sneer.

"You!" Out of curiosity, Cal can't help but immediately direct his gaze to her right hand. He finds it's been replaced by a red cybernetic part, matching her leg.

"Yeah, it's me." The Ninth Sister steps closer, her sneer turning into a snarl. She fists his jacket in her cybernetic hand, yanking him close enough that he can see each and every one of her scars in detail. "Betcha thought you got rid of me on Kashyyyk, huh? Well, I lived"—She jabs a claw at his chest—"And now you're just one of Second Sister's little keepsakes." She smiles, all pointed teeth. "Though, if it were up to me..." Her claw digs into his flesh, making him gasp out in pain. "I'd make you pay. And more."

"Too bad it's not," Cal says, entirely aware that it isn't the cleverest response—but hey, he's in a lot of post-rib-break pain. He gets some credit for trying.

The Ninth Sister scowls. "Yeah, it's unfortunate. But we'll be seeing a lot of each other on Coruscant; you'll have that to look forward to."

At the mention of his homeworld, Cal feels his heart sink again. That's right: they're going to Coruscant, where he just might witness his family die at the hands of the Empire. Don't say that, he insists. You'll find them.

Trilla returns just then, and the Ninth Sister lets go of him. Behind her are a squad of Purge troopers, along with a grey-skinned Kage in an Inquisitor uniform. He's talking loudly, irritation laced with his voice.

"...no reason why the Grand Inquisitor wanted me to—" He cuts himself off, his gaze landing on Cal. His face splits into a grin. "Oh. So that's the Jedi?"

Cal feels something tick inside him.

"The Padawan, yes," Trilla corrects—which only makes it worse.

"Ah." He leans closer, analysing him with gold eyes. "It's nice to finally meet you," He says.

Cal keeps silent. The Inquisitor turns back to face Trilla. "You said he was more talkative."

"I said nothing of the sort, Third Brother," She says, shaking her head. "It was your decision to interpret the reports that way. The reports, might I add, that were meant for the Grand Inquisitor."

Reports? Third Brother shrugs. "Then you shouldn't have left your datapad on."

Cal hides a smirk. Whoever this Third Brother guy is, he's clearly a source of irritation for the normally calm and collected Trilla. The amusement fades, though, when the Third Brother takes a seat near him, leaning back with a sigh. With the addition of another Inquisitor, it now makes for a grand total of three Inquisitors, along with a squad of Purge troopers, that he'll have to evade later. Cal doesn't like those odds.