The Black Dawn is just as you left it, though ice has formed over the hull. Being an Arnian vessel, it has adapted to the cold rather easily. Any other ship, unless designated for cold weather use, would be effectively useless.
Ker'Raos deposits Wraith into the storage space that you converted into a medical bay then heads up to the cockpit.
"Keep Gremon out of here," Ker'Raos warns. "I don't want him trying anything."
Gremon just offers a grim smile.
Pade packs his militiamen into the troop transport, which he hotwires and flies himself. It lifts off and is up and away, leaving the lone transport abandoned on the landing strip.
The Black Dawn takes off, breaking some of the ice with its lift thrusters and the sudden heat of the engines. It turns in the direction of the troop transport. Ker'Raos locks on with the targeting computer and sends a single torpedo streaking toward it. The next moment, all that remains of the troop transport is a molten heap of scrap.
"We're off," Ker'Raos informs you over the comms. "Pade has sent coordinates. I, uh, don't want to share them with our guest, so it will be a surprise..."
Meja'Tsid, now the gravesite of four-hundred Royal Arnian soldiers, is left behind as the troop transport moves ponderously over the terrain, the Black Dawn following after.
Moving at the pace that the troop transport has set, it takes several hours to reach your destination. Pade expresses a fear of Arnian starfighters being sent to apprehend them, but none come. The journey is made longer still when Pade insists that you avoid all towns and industrial sites, flying at a higher altitude to remain unseen and undetected, or simply flying around civilization to keep outside of sensor range.
Gremon sits quietly the entire time, staring at you.
Gremon is about to speak when your companion kicks him in the ribs.
However, Wraith, when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Excruciating pain strains your throat and you are unable to make a sound other than a hoarse, incomprehensible rasping noise. Any continued effort to speak makes you light-headed and you must sit down to keep your balance.
In the medical bay, you are able to make rudimentary scans of your injury and suss what has happened. The knife, with its wide and jagged edges, has permanently damaged your vocal chords. You have become mute and are unable to communicate by spoken word.
This life that you live has started taking its toll on you, Wraith. You lost your eye to that Dark Jedi on Rakata Prime, now your voice to an Arnian Prince on Arnia... how much will you lose before you lose it all?
-
"I fear you think too highly of yourself," Gremon says. "The future is always in motion. But I do not expect you to understand this. You are a magnificent fighter, Kaliero; Manette and her henchmen made the mistake of training you beyond their own abilities, no doubt. But your connection to the Force is weak. I can sense it."
Wraith remains still for awhile, hit with the realization that he will never again hear the sound of his own voice, nor will anyone. He decides that he will attempt to secure a prosthesis at some point, just as he had for his ruined right eye.
He thoughtfully rubs the eye, a cold metal object that can access extra-sensory modes of vision. It resembles the head of a screw, though the line that crosses it glows a dull purple. But despite the intimidation and benefits it brings him, he still wishes he had his original eye.
Damn it all, Wraith thinks, bitterly.
"And just because you do see it doesn't mean it will happen," Gremon responds. "You must understand that you are putting yourself in grave danger in attempting this. It can only end in grief for all."
A prosthetic voice box may be possible, Wraith, but you do not know if you can find one amongst this rebel movement. In your experience, rebel movements tend to be poorly supplied in everything but guns and loud-mouths.