My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 89

Impossible feats are made possible by deniers of impossibility. 

"Your lightsabers will make a fine addition to my collection," General Grievous says, storing our weapons in a designated pocket beneath his robe. 

I look down at Artoo and nod with my right eyebrow raised, the signal we had agreed upon. Mayhem is the perfect word to describe what ensues. R2-D2 mocks malfunction, dismantling superficial details of his frame and ejecting easily replaceable tools, Anakin heads off to unshackle the Chancellor, Obi-Wan takes on General Grievous, and I face off against two Magnaguards. 

I do everything in my power to prevent them from outflanking me. The one to my right thrusts its electrostaff towards me. I grab the middle of it, keeping my lightsaber in a blocking position, and pull the droid to the left. Instead of stumbling into its companion, the Magnaguard takes back its staff and positions it over my head. 

It sends the weapon careening down, and in an instant, I have a choice to make. I get down and roll between the droid's automatic legs, throwing my lightsaber at its neck. The Force doesn't move my weapon, luck does, as my trajectory aligns with the bottom of the droid's head, slicing it clean off. The droid previously on the left—now right since we have switched—grabs my attention by trying to poke me with its electrostaff. My lightsaber blocks it, but it cannot cut through the reinforced metal. Their electrostaffs must be beskar-plated. 

In my periphery, the other droid straightens and twirls its staff like a bo. Zombie droids? I start to panic, blocking as many hits as I can while trying to find a solution. 

These droids must have a weak spot. All droids do. Perhaps their heads are not the central processing unit of these models (not a bad design, as any extremity is vulnerable and heads being home to CPUs were only ever made to mimic humanoid brains). 

I take one step back, returning to a safer guarding position. The less my torso is exposed, the better. After some more facing off against their electrostaffs, I get my opening: the right droid exposes its near shoulder. I cut its collarbone, then diagonally through its torso. The top half of the droid slides off with an uncomfortable screeeeech, and the force of that chute sends the legs down with it. 

My lightsaber meets the headless droid's staff again. It pushes harder than ever. I can barely keep my balance. My feet slip, my basin almost off its axis. My jaw starts to cramp up. I just keep pushing, but it feels fruitless. I close my eyes, hopeless. I have one chance. I see the Jedi Temple. Tall, ornate hallways. My humble bedroom. I cannot get there if I do not defeat this droid. I take a deep breath and open my eyes. 

I cut off the droid's hands in one sweeping motion, ducking its weapon. Then I grab the electrostaff with both hands and shove it deep into the Megnaguard's middle. It shakes, overwhelmed by the massive amounts of electricity overloading its circuits. Even as it falls to the ground limply, small violet bolts trace its metal frame. 

I drop the droid's staff, which disables upon reaching the floor, and finally breathe. I am going home. 

I clip my lightsaber back on my belt, turn towards the entrance of the bridge, and lose my footing. The air in my lungs is stolen from me in great, heavy gusts. 

I scramble for a ledge, a handle, something to grab onto. I find the edge of a desk and my fingers graze it ever so slightly before I slip. 

I can't scream, can't cry for help, can't even breathe. 

Someone grabs my arm, making me keenly aware of the chaos in the room. There is no viewport anymore—no barrier between us and the vast emptiness of the universe. 

It isn't until I fall to the ground that I can breathe again. I take deep and heavy breaths, like what space stole from me. I've never been this relieved to have oxygen. From now on, I won't take it for granted.