Project Boussh: In Combat
by Majick

Mike wielded his new lightsabre clumsily. Despite the whisper light blade,
and the reassuring heaviness of the handle, it seemed to be unbalanced. He
stared belligerently at the drone, which had delivered the last of its
stinger darts into Mike's thigh seconds before.
Shalla watched on from her stance leaning against the cabin's outer wall,
observing as Mike tried to regain some of his long lost battle senses. It
had been a long time since he'd left his school behind.
Mike picked himself up, and watched his teammate reset the drone.
"You know, I'm already kinda shot up. Couldn't we pass?"
"No," she replied, simply. "We have to test the range of your new found
abilities, and Corran's asked me to supervise this part of it. Corran, Myn,
they, and others, will all help out too, but combat training is my forte.
Now, again."
Mike reactivated his lightsabre, and tried to reach out to the drone with
his uncharted Force abilities.

Sci watched form the inside of the cabin. He turned to face his companion,
Jedi Knight Corran Horn.
"What do you think?" asked Sci.
"I've taken a cursory look through the Jedi records, and there are some
indications of similar occurrences."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. Some people who've had their Force sensitivity switched on in
this manner have gone on to become great Jedi. Others have gone mad under
the sudden pressure," Corran replied.

Mike glared at the drone. Of the last clip of thirty shots, he'd avoided
almost half of them, blocked a handful, and the rest...
He wondered whether it would have hurt more for the low powered laser to
have been physical projectiles.
He snapped off the lightsabre, and tried a Jedi refreshing technique Vickie
had mentioned. Again, his reach far exceeded his grasp, and he failed to do
anything of note.
"Well?" he asked Shalla, as the other deactivated the drone.
"You got hit by thirteen of the shots in the last round, and seventy two of
the 150 over all. I'm surprised you're still standing.
"Nonetheless, I think that less than fifty percent as a starting point is
adequate, certainly for a civilian such as yourself."
Mike sighed, and resigned himself to being the Jedi at the back of the class
with the dunces cap on. For the umpteenth time since his skills had
presented themselves, he thought of Tionne, the silver haired Jedi whose
skills had almost no combat applications.

Elassar watched Mike walk in to the cabin, and move over to the laptop where
the Boussh party music was stored. He tapped briefly at the keyboard, and
jacked the connection cord into Whistler. 'Song 2' by some band Elassar
never wanted to hear of again of flowed out of the astromech's speakers. He
watched Mike lay his lightsabre aside, and peal off his jacket and sweater,
before picking his lightsabre up, and moving out onto the patch of clear
floor that had made up the dance floor of the previous two nights.
As the heavy beats kicked in, Mike spun and activated his lightsabre. The
blade hissed as he moved to the beat of the music, slashing, parrying,
thrusting, always staying inside a circle a few meters in diameter. The song
came to an end, and Jamiroquai's 'Virtual Insanity' took it's place. The
much slower song eased the speed of Mike's movements, and Elassar watched as
he practised more with the fine control of the blade, cutting at angles,
twisting the blade in loops and spirals.
The music changed again, to a dance tune that Mike had assured him was
popular. Elassar watched him deactivate his lightsabre, this time
concentrating more on his body. He saw Mike had his eyes shut, and wondered
if this were a test. The music carried him up to the back of a sofa from
which Myn and Kirney were watching the display. Still, with his eyes closed,
he stepped onto the back of the seat, and somersaulted backwards, landing on
his feet as the song ended.
The music changed again. And a haunting celtic melody flowed from Whistler's
speakers. Mike lowered himself to the ground, and Elassar assumed the
younger man was slipping into a Jedi trance.

Mike felt himself become aware of where he was. He looked around, to see an
insane dreamscape. The word seemed right, so he went with it, recognising it
from some long forgotten source. Neither Corran nor Vickie had prepared him
for this kind of Jedi experience.
All around him were clock's and calendars. Some stood upright, others lay on
there sides, or backs. Some dribbled across the landscape, like in the
painting's Mike always wanted to buy, but could never afford. Each clock
showed a different time, but that was okay. They were all moving at
different speeds.
He looked around, and then down at himself. He was wearing Jedi clothing,
akin to Obi-Wan's in The Phantom Menace. He grimaced, and hoped that wasn't
a legacy he'd have to live up to.
He looked around, again, and saw a group of X-Wing's flying towards him.
They neared his position, and when hey were overhead, they activated their
repulsorlifts, before dropping slowly to the ground. Belatedly, Mike dived
out of the way of the one heading right for him.
As the cockpit of the ship opened, Mike prepared to go toe-to-toe with the
arrogant son of a Sith Lord who'd damn near squashed him. Then the pilot
climbed down, and turned to face Mike. It was Corran.
"Hey, Horn," Mike began. "You want to watch where you land that thing?"
Corran looked straight through him, and mouthed something to the pilot
behind him. Mike spun around to see Bror, similarly distant looking. The
Thyferran spoke silently as well, this time looking in the direction of...
Vickie.
She too spoke soundlessly.
Mike swore, as loudly as he could.

As the music changed again, this time to a heavy guitar track no-one in the
room recognised, Mike climbed to his feet, and walked over to the corner of
the room. He slumped to the ground, resting against the join in the wall,
with his arms resting on the logs at shoulder height. The heavily bass led
track pounded it's way along.

Mike watched the snubfighters rise up and leave him. The roar of the engines
cut in, and the ships soared far away quicker than Mike would have believed
possible. He looked around him again, and noticed the number of clocks and
calendars had dropped slightly. He blinked, before realising that his
clothes had changed again. Now he wore his usual outfit of jeans and a
jumper. Hearing voices, he spun around happily, to see his fellow AFW'ers
laughing and dancing as an Ewok roasted over an open fire. He hurried
towards them, and was cheered by their voices. As he approached their party,
however, a series of wires snaked out and wrapped themselves around him. His
legs were yanked out from under him, and he crashed face first into the
ground. Blackness fell.

Elassar sprinted to Mike's side as blood started to spill from his nose. The
music pounded on in the background.

Mike awoke to the grisly sight of T'Cab, as he'd left her. The faceless body
held the homing beacon in her decayed hand, as a squad of stormtroopers
pinned Mike to the table. Each of them was injured in some way, and Mike
knew the injuries all to well. They were the troopers he'd killed in
Washington. Mike tried to scream, but a hand was clamped over his mouth.
Mike looked up along the dazzlingly white clad arm to a pair of hypnotically
red eyes. The Chis -it couldn't be Thrawn!- forced Mike's head back onto the
table, while T'Cab activated a silver bladed lightsabre, and sliced him open
from collar to belt.

Elassar felt an unseen force try and push him away from Mike, as the young
man writhed underneath him. Tears streamed from Mike's eyes as the Terran
tried to scream. Elassar looked up at Corran, who shook his head.
"He's locked me out of there," the Corellian commented. "His mind is shut
down so tight it feels like it's wrapped in steel. Although..."
"Although what, Horn?" Elassar almost screamed. He'd spent a lot of time
tending to Mike's injuries this trip, and yet another one could lead to
serious damage to Mike's body even he couldn't fix.
The rest of the Boussh team stood helplessly by as Mike thrashed. The music
continued to play, unheeded

Mike awoke again to find himself somewhere cool and dark. He felt his chest,
and found no scar, no tattered clothes. He breathed a sigh of heartfelt
relief. While he was having trouble sorting dreams from reality since he
entered the trance, at least that hadn't been real. He looked around him,
and relaxed. The room, wherever it was, it was empty. No... That wasn't
right. It wasn't a room. It was a tunnel. Bright at one end, dark at the
other. As he gathered his senses around him, both light and dark advanced,
until he stood on the terminator line, one foot in shadow, one in light.

Elassar stood back, watching his patient drop limply back against the cabin
wall. He turned to look at Corran.
"'Although' what, Commander?"
"I don't know," Corran admitted, the words clearly a struggle. "I've never
felt so incapable when I've probed a mind before. It's never been a strength
of mine, but even so..."
"You think Mike developed a resistance when you were linked to him during
the operation?"
"I think Mike developed something. Sci?"
The Boussh team commander stepped forward.
"The three of us need to talk. Who else can keep an eye on Mike?"
"Ooryl's off on Mendellia... I'd say Kirney is our next most capable first
aider..."
Sci gestured for Kirney to watch over Mike, Emily stepped forward to assist
as well.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't believe this for a second. My own subconscious is
doing this to me? Bugger *that.*"
Mike well recognised the idea. The idea of light and dark was all over
literature and religion throughout the ages, usually with only a single
connotation.
Usually.
"Sodding Pratchett. Sodding Weatherwax. My own bloody subconscious tries to
trick me. I'm going to write a very strongly worded letter when I stop being
an intergalactic warrior, or somesuch."
He looked around him, at the light and the dark.
"Oh, alright, alright. I'll choose."
He faced the light.
"Happy now?"
And stepped back.
"Because I am."
Around him the darkness eclipsed the light, then faded again. He found
himself back in the first dreamscape, with the clocks. Again, there were
fewer clocks. Mike remembered an old nursery rhyme.
"Hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck one,
the mouse ran down, hickory, dickory, dock."
Mike looked at the nearest clock, and snapped his fingers. The clock
vanished and reappeared in his hand
"I love my subconscious sometimes," he murmured. The clock read 12.50.
"Ten to one, huh? Now, how long since the operation?"
The clock ticked backwards. Mike blinked, once.
"Oh, okay."
He looked at the calendars. Each showed the same date.
"Um..."
He snapped his fingers again.

And awoke to the concerned faces of Kirney, Kristey and Emily.
"Well..." he managed, before Elassar appeared at his side.
Probably just as well, all things considered.
"How do you feel?"
"Good, actually. How long have I been out?"
"More than two hours. Corran wants a word with you."
"I just bet he does."

The conversation lasted only a few minutes, and ended with Mike more certain
than ever about what the future held for him. Corran looked very concerned
as Mike walked back over to where Kirney was tapping frustratedly at the
keyboard of the laptop.
"What's up?"
"This song won't stop. It's been on repeat play the last two hours."
"Oh... sorry... probably my fault. Here," he reached out, and tapped the
[Esc] key. The song ended on a deep chord.
"What's the song called, anyway? No-one here knew it."
"No? I'm not surprised. It's a tune about a raven."
"A raven? The bird?" Kirney asked.
"Almost. Quoth the raven, 'nevermore'," Mike replied.
Behind him, the clock struck one.