Shadows of Bankor

If Daunt at the bar was a moment in a Star Wars movie, he would be the last shot on a starlit cosmos before music kicks in. In that moment put in slo-mo a few drinks could be had, and battered Zabrak was there precisely for that. Someone would expect him to drink heavily because of his size and yet for each day of bar attendance on Bankor he had drunk nothing more than a beer or a spritz. But a day came when he felt like drinking Corellian, and this was that day.

He wasn't alone.

After his flyover, after taking Nora's body to a transport headed to Coruscant with the correct bribes, paperwork, and honors... she'd go home to her family.

It was the last thing he could do.

Then he took a seat at the bar, ordered a supernova, and then took the drink in hand, contemplating a final toast to lost friends, interesting times, and chaos to come.

"Djanik." Daunt acknowledged the other man by the bar. His own forehead was still bandaged, vestigial horns perking out or straining the wrap. "Survivor's guilt?"

"Not... not exactly."

He sighed, took a drink, and added, "I knew some of those Imperial pilots."

Shaking his head, he glanced at Daunt. "One of them, I trained fresh from the academy - fought together in the Clone Wars."

Swirling his drink, he watched the glowing motes inside dance in the dim light. "Then, after the war, I fell in love with her, lost her, and today... today I killed her."

"That's the consequence of the choices you've made. You had a chance to walk away." Daunt said. "So I won't be consoling you in that department. When I was asked to kill a woman I cared about, I refused, and I expect to be dead because of it. Like we talked last time, if you put situations like this in a moral framework, its always choosing between various evils."

"That's right."

He glanced at Daunt and smiled, a tired sort of smile. His expression wasn't sad anymore, just tired. He'd walked this road before, and would again. In war, bodies had a habit of piling up.

"You're the first one who didn't give me pity, and for that, I thank you. She and I both knew what we were doing. It doesn't make it any less tragic, but it does mean I don't regret having done it."

With a weary shrug, he rolled out his shoulders, and added, "I regret that it had to come to that... but it's just one more crime to lay at the feet of the Empire, and the man in charge of it. One more body used up and spat out by a system that doesn't give a damn about anyone."

"You lessen her death by seeing her as a cog. She fought for the side she chose to stay on. You may disagree with the choice, but respect the warrior's spirit and her right to choose how she lived and died." Daunt said dryly.

"Oh, she made her choice."

He sighed. "I just doubt anyone above her will care - it is a system that abuses the trust of those who fight for it."

Taking a drink, he added, "Before all is said and done, I will doubtless have to kill more good men and women. I don't relish it, but I acknowledge it."

"Those above her not caring was part of that choice. I've been in situations like this." He nodded. "That's a good acknowledgement to have. Besides, death is not terrible in itself. Living is often worse on average." He chuckled. "When you're dead, the universe does something useful with your particles and you don't have to struggle to figure it out on your own. Killing is just one way to have this transition done."

"That's a rather unusual way to complement the afterlife."

Djanik chuckled.

"Still, she made her choices - and in the end, I made mine. It's the nature of war that our own feelings must give way before duty."

Swirling his drink, sending the little motes of light dancing, he added, "Besides, she was going to kill Ela and those padawans... and I wasn't about to let that happen."

"Purely out of sense of duty?" Daunt teased, sipping.

"Of course not - what I feel for my squad is more than duty... or if it is duty, it is the duty of friendship. You take care of your people - that is the supreme duty of any squadron lead."

He gave a little shrug, and added, "And for Elaranu, yes, it is more than that still. When I sit in the command chair, I have to be impersonal... or at least attempt to be. Without such a restraint here, I will admit I care for her deeply."

"Good I was quite taken when I got to know her. Otherwise I'd have given you reasons to dislike me." Daunt covered his lips with a sip of his drink to hide his expression. "You'd better catch up on your dancing skills then. She rather enjoys that."

"Ah, We've had a dance before - good to know I should keep an eye open for more live music then..."

He smiled faintly, if a bit wryly. "I would only have reason to dislike you if, once I had made my feelings and intent known, then sought to interpose yourself."

Taking a sip, he added, "Besides, I though there was that jedi we met underground... isn't she your girl?"

"She's my girl, yes. It's going to stay that way for some time. But she's no Jedi. And neither am I." It was his turn to smile wryly. "A puzzle, huh? People being good at killing with lightsabres yet neither the Jedi nor the Imperial scum."

"I don't know the labels - I lump them all in the same - has those unfair magic powers and bloody laser swords."

A little shrug.

"The only way I'd want to fight any of you is from the seat of an ARC-170... or possibly the bridge of a capital ship with a good gunnery team."