Yes, I know, I have to upload the next chapter of the Terran Jedi. But it kind of died in a dryer in The Dalles, Oregon after I left my USB drive in the pocket of some rather damp jeans. I'm writing it again, honest! But then this damn thing fell into my mind, distracting me from my many other writing projects (which include two books on Amazon now, thank you!) and I had to write the damn thing down. Yes, it's a part of the Jedi Harris-verse. A future part, in a way....
Oh, and I do not own these characters.
It was dusty on the roof beam. Not particularly comfortable as well, but it was the best that he could do for the time being. He was hidden from view from below and that was the important thing. He could also take the time to think over what he’d done the previous night now that he’d woken up from the healing trance he’d gone into to make up for missing a night’s sleep.
The Brits had a saying for when something was both good and bad – a Curate’s Egg. He’d looked it up once and it went back to some old cartoon from the late Nineteenth Century. Well, the previous night had definitely been a Curate’s Egg.
He’d been on patrol when he’d seen the car full of vampires and their unconscious victims drive by. Two women, both in uniform. It had turned out that they were both Petty Officers from the USS Abraham Lincoln, on liberty in what had turned out to be the wrong part of town. Both had been knocked out by the vampires, who it turned out had been minions for a particularly insane master vampire.
He’d met said master vampire in the warehouse where he was now sheltering. Kind of. Ok, he was hiding. Having followed the minions to the place he’d discovered their boss putting the finishing touches to a pentagram that was obviously designed to summon up something nasty by adding a lot of blood.
Luckily the following battle had been quite short and sweet – he’d dusted the vampires near the prisoners first with his lightsabre, before moving on to the rest of them. The master vampire had spent most of his time shrieking curses at him before pulling out ‘The Sword of Grapatulous’, if he’d heard the name pronounced correctly. Sadly the sword had not performed according to the master vampire’s expectations, because his lightsabre had cut straight through it, removing his head a microsecond later.
So score one for the good guys – all the vamps dusted, a summoning ceremony thwarted, two innocent women saved. Unfortunately one of the CPOs, the brunette, had been hit so hard that she had bleeding on the brain, so he’d had to pause long enough to put her into a Jedi healing trance in order to save her life. He’d succeeded, but by taking so long to heal her, the other CPO had had enough time to recover. And when she had woken up she had been, well, a bit pissed. Understandably so.
The moment that she’d been sufficiently awake enough to stand up she’d been on her feet, looking wildly around. He’d tried to calm her down a bit, but she’d been rather unwilling to listen and he hadn’t been able to stop her from running for the doors as she pulled out her cellphone and dialled 911.
By the time that he’d heard the first sirens the injured CPO had been well out of danger and had been sleeping peacefully. Naturally there was only one way into or out of the warehouse, so the moment that he’d seen the first flashing lights outside he’d force-leapt straight up into the roof beams. And he’d been there for the past hour.
He sighed silently. He’d heard the Metro police officers arrive in a blaze of sirens and noise, he’d heard the other CPO babble confusedly at them, he’d heard the equally confused statements from the other CPO as she woke up. He’d heard everything. Including the lead Sergeant state, with an interesting amount of annoyance, that they’d have to call in the assholes from NCIS on this case. At which point he’d put himself into that brief Jedi healing trance in order to recharge his batteries.
He knew what was going to happen next. The duty team from NCIS would be sent, they’d liaise with Metro, they’d talk to the witnesses and then they’d enter the warehouse. The problem was that he had an unpleasant feeling who the duty team was made up of.
And sure enough he heard two rather familiar voices approaching. One was whining.
“..can’t believe that I cut my fricking finger on that damn fence! Do you think I should get Ducky to take a look at it when we get back? I mean what if I get tetanus? Does Ducky have any tetanus shots boss? I mean… oh. Shutting up now, boss.”
“Thank you so much, DiNozzo. And by the way that’s a brand new fence and there aren’t any horses in the area that I can see, so you can stop worrying about dying of tetanus any time soon.”
“Thanks boss. Where’s Ziva?”
“Talking to the witnesses. Where’s McGee?”
“Ah. I don’t know boss. I rang his apartment – no answer. Rang his cell as well, but no answer.”
The figure on the roofbeam frowned slightly. That reminded him. His own cellphone was in his pocket – wasn’t it? He felt the pocket and then closed his eyes. Sithspit. It must have fallen out during the fight with the master vampire.
“Yeah well, that reminds me. Metro officers said that they’d heard a cellphone ringing in here earlier on, when they were sweeping the place for the attackers. Said that they hadn’t looked for it as they wanted to leave the crime scene to us.”
“Nice of them. Whoa – weird pattern on the floor there boss. We dealing with more whackjobs?”
“Could well be, DiNozzo, could well be. Dusty in here. Odd. Try McGee again on his cell. I want him here.”
“On it boss.” There was a pause. “It’s ringing.”
A noise broke the silence. Music. The Imperial March actually, from the soundtrack to The Empire Strikes Back.
“Hey,” DiNozzo said, “I know that ringtone!” Footsteps rang across the floor as he walked over to one side, where some broken packing cases lay and then there was the sound of wood being moved. “I found the cellphone boss,” DiNozzo said in a deadly serious tone of voice. “It’s McGee’s.”
On his uncomfortable perch on the roof beam Timothy McGee pulled a face. He was in so much trouble.