The Force has led Kerr-Lonn-Ny to a darkened, rundown section of the ship, the air thick with unsettled dust. She looks around warily. She had expected to find Tcho here in a bad state, but the room is quiet and still. Suddenly the door is flung open and he runs past, not seeing her at all. She is about to say something when his pursuer enters. It is Renault, the guy with the creepy glowing red eye who is always chasing Tcho. “You!” she shouts.
A pale lavender fist comes at Renault out of nowhere as he runs through the doorway into a darkened room. He manages to dodge out of the way just in time. That scum has back-up! This must be a Jedi conspiracy. With the special gun in hand and a suitable target right in his face, Renault brings the cumbersome weapon to bear. There are all sorts of switches and dials on it that he does not understand, but he pulls the trigger anyway. A wave of energy surges from it, but his Cerean attacker ducks aside so that the edge of it only catches her arm before dissipating a short distance beyond her.
Tcho spares a moment to glance over his shoulder and sees Renault struggling with someone of athletic build. The light coming in from the previous corridor sparkles off the orange sequins of a sleeveless mini-dress. Kerr-Lonn-Ny’s white ponytail swings as she ducks away from the Stormtrooper, her black leggings and flat shoes allowing for fluid movement. Tcho is too far away to be immediately useful to her. The best aid he can hope to offer is falling back on his Zann training. He slips out of Renault’s view and doubles back. There is actually a fairly clear area along the wall here, so it is not as tricky to move swiftly and silently as Tcho had expected. He would really rather not hurt anyone, but with Kerr-Lonn-Ny now in danger and the fault resting solely on Tcho’s shoulders, he pulls out the shipjacker’s vibroknife.
What was that, some kind of weird stun blaster? Kerr-Lonn-Ny wonders at the strange tingling in her arm. The energy ring seems to have done no burning damage, just zapped her nerves in a disturbing way. She cracks her knuckles and settles into her boxer stance, throwing more careful jabs at her opponent. He is not wearing a helmet, nor armor of any kind. It is a strange but classy bout, her in her fancy get-up and him in his dress uniform. In the music-free space, she dances around him, feinting and striking. He repeatedly blocks her, keeping the large gun between them until she redirects a blow and knocks it out of his hands.
The experimental blaster clatters to the ground, and Renault dismisses it. Stupid thing, whatever it was. Didn’t even work! Falling back on a more reliable weapon, he draws the ceremonial sword at his side and lunges at the trained fighter before him. The Pantoran he has been chasing is currently out of reach, but if he can incapacitate this attacker, he will at least have someone to interrogate. “They mentioned you Jedi traitors at the academy!” he growls. “Your menace is not returning on my watch!” She has but bare forearms with which to block his strikes, and he lands a scoring blow across both of them.
Kerr-Lonn-Ny is bleeding, which is bad, but this guy looks more winded than she feels; Tcho must have given him a good workout. Renault has dropped one weapon already, so she focuses on getting him to drop another. One well-placed strike glances against his unprotected jaw, and she follows that up with an open-handed slap that sends the sword skittering across the floor outside the circle of light near the door.
Without weapons, without armor, Renault faces a foe who has taken some hits but is still steady. Hand-to-hand fighting has not been the focus of his training, but he refuses to back down. I need to finish this quickly so I can track down that Tcho. He brings his own fists to bear, exchanging blows with her, sometimes getting past her defenses to lay down new bruises.
This is the state of things when Tcho silently steps out of the shadows right behind Renault, vibroknife uncomfortably in hand. The whole way here, his stomach has been roiling with unease at the thought of what he will do at this very moment. Perhaps war and war-affiliated things are just not for me. If I keep putting myself in desperate situations like this, I will have to keep compromising my values. This is not going to work. When he reaches the entrance to the room, Kerr-Lonn-Ny is still up, but she is worse for the wear. Conflicted but feeling responsible for her condition, Tcho makes his move. He takes some small comfort from the medkit in his satchel; he will be able to repair some of the damage his blade causes. Such assurances ring hollow in his own mind, but he does not feel like there are any other good options here. The knife sinks into the unsuspecting Stormtrooper’s back, and Renault’s blood seeps across his light-colored uniform, blood that Tcho has spilled.
Renault roars in pain and anger. Kerr-Lonn-Ny, though, is relieved. Tcho is here, still up, still mobile. Great! We just need to knock this guy out and make this problem go away. Maybe drag him to the medbay or something. She keeps swinging away, landing a solid hit to his side as he turns to deal with Tcho.
Now out-numbered, Renault stands his ground despite how unsteady he feels. He cannot risk calling in backup. If I do nothing else in this life, I will take out this Rebel, going down in a blaze of glory. A strike at Tcho connects, but from his soldier training, Renault recognizes the feel of reinforced clothing beneath the crewmember uniform. He growls in frustration.
Tcho feels a sense of déjà-vu. As in their very first fight, he has tried to quickly solve the problem with a knife and that approach has failed. It is time for a more surgical strike. Forgetting the bloody vibroknife in his right hand, Tcho stiffens the fingers of his left and jabs them into the side of Renault’s neck, temporarily disrupting the flow of blood to his brain. The Stormtrooper’s eyes roll up into his head and he collapses, cracking his head on the floor.