Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic I: Genesis - Vol. 1

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

SITH WARSHIPINIQUITOUS

The Star DestroyerIniquitous, its hull plating gleaming silver as it reflected sunlight from the system's primary star, speared through the blackness of space, orbiting high above a planet.

Admiral Saul Karath, Supreme Commander of the Sith Fleet, glanced up from his station and took in the view before him; the dark green world of Vurdon Ka spun slowly beneath the Iniquitous, the wisps of white cloud that formed the planet’s dense, moist atmosphere seeming to gracefully dance in the admiral’s vision. A mauve-tinted nebula floated behind Vurdon Ka, acting almost as a backdrop to the planet.

Karath knew that the planet was practically a paradise. The native species, the Vuvrians, had evolved with almost no natural predators, and so they were known as a peaceful people famed for their exceptional piloting and problem-solving abilities.

But... then again... thought Karath, those heads look bloody ugly.

The Vuvrians were not blessed with the most handsome of looks; with twelve eyes, distributed almost randomly around their entire head, a Vuvrian had omnidirectional sight, which also made their alien faces even more alien to the casual observer.

Lord Revan had arrived at Vurdon Ka to secure the Vuvrians’ partnership in his Sith Empire. Whether that was to be achieved diplomatically — or at the end of a lightsabre blade — was entirely up to them. Their planetary leader, Governor Mylthea, had been awoken in the early hours to find Lord Revan’s shuttle practically right on her front doorstep; seeing the Sith Lord flanked by his best troops was, Karath imagined, probably quite provoking.

Revan had been planetside for almost four hours now. His apprentice, Lord Malak, had attempted to contact Revan several times, but to no avail; he had even gone out of his way to disturb Karath a handful of times to get the admiral to contact Revan, and even he had only been able to receive a terse message from the group captain stating that they would be in touch once an agreement had been reached.

Karath turned to the officer working at his right, a dark-skinned human woman. “Lieutenant, is there any update from the surface?” he asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

She shook her head. “Not yet, sir.” A trilling began to sound at her station. “Admiral, sir. There’s a communiqué coming in, your eyes only.”

Karath nodded. “I’ll take it in my office, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Karath’s personal office was just off the main bridge, only a short distance down the corridor that connected it to the main turbolift network. As he entered, the room brightened as the motion sensors detected his presence, and he paced toward his computer screen. Tapping a few buttons, Karath brought up the communiqué that the lieutenant had forwarded to his office.

Immediately, Karath’s screen was filled with the startling visage of Darth Malak. “Lord Malak,” he said by way of greeting.

“Admiral Karath,” Malak replied. His voice was distorted by the tinny vocoder in his metal jaw and throat prosthetic, the remnant of an old duelling wound. “There’s a situation developing that requires your personal attention.”

“A situation, Lord Malak?” he asked carefully.

Malak’s yellow eyes seemed to bore straight through the admiral’s head. “Where do your loyalties lie, Admiral?”

“My... my loyalties, my lord?” Karath felt his jaw tensing slightly.

“If there were to be a... rearranging of the command structure,” Malak said, “would you remain loyal to the Dark Lord of the Sith?” He paused. “Whoever that may be,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Karath suddenly found himself in a dangerous position. If Malak was going to try to challenge Revan’s rule and take the mantle of Dark Lord for himself, Karath would naturally have to make a choice between the two Sith. Should he remain loyal to Darth Revan, or would his life last longer if he pledged his allegiance to Darth Malak? Either way, his life was forfeit if he now made the wrong move.

He also knew that the majority of the fleet would follow Karath himself, whichever choice he made; the commanders, generals, and admirals would fall in line, though a handful would require... subtle persuasion. Both Sith Lords had their own followers within the command structure, and that itself would cause hiccups along the way.

However, Karath also knew that Malak had his own spies aboard the Iniquitous. They were there primarily to keep tabs on Revan’s forces — Revan had also placed spies on Malak’s flagship, theLeviathan — and Karath was sure that if he were to say that he remained loyal to Revan, Malak would ensure his spies rapidly brought Karath’s life to a rather unnatural conclusion.

It was that image that settled the argument in the admiral’s mind.
“Lord Malak, you shall have my support.”

Malak nodded slowly. “Very good, Admiral. When the time comes, my people shall contact with you. Until then, I trust this conversation will remain between us.”

“Yes, Lord Malak,” said Karath, but Malak’s face had already disappeared from the screen.

Before the admiral could even begin to think of what life would be like serving under Darth Malak’s rule, the comm chirped to life. “Admiral Karath, Lord Revan’s shuttle has signalled that they are returning to the Iniquitous.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll meet them in the main hangar bay.”

********************

“Addendum: the massacre you unleashed was, without a doubt, the bloodiest massacre I have had the utmost honour of participating in.”

Revan’s personal droid, a rust-red HK unit that he’d built himself shortly after the Battle of Malachor, had been pontificating on the recent ‘talks’ with the Vuvrian leadership; Revan had been hoping to bring the Vuvrians into his empire through relatively peaceful means, but he’d always suspected that Governor Mylthea would more than likely turn against the Sith Lord.

Which was why Revan had filled his shuttle with two full squads of his best troops.

Following Revan’s arrival, the governor had proceeded with the charade of hosting a lavish meal set on his personal veranda, even though the Sith Lord had arrived in the early hours of the morning. Revan grew weary of the song and dance within an hour, and he had signalled HK-47 to begin firing on the manse.

Which was when Governor Mylthea signalled her own troops to attack.
As it turned out, the governor had been keeping her own army in the manse’s basem*nt level. Clearly, she had been prepared for Revan to initiate aggressive negotiations.

Mylthea’s forces had put up a brave stand against Revan, but she hadn’t foreseen HK-47 detonating bombs he had set up within the basem*nt level after her forces had left it. Revan then left the droid to blast his way through the detritus of the collapsed manse, putting an end to Governor Mylthea’s scheming one soldier at a time.

The governor herself had attempted to flee through a passage dug into the rock below; it hadn’t taken long for Revan to catch up with her — and bring her around to his point of view.

Now, Mylthea was being led off Revan’s shuttle, wrists bound, flanked by four troopers. Her nightgown was ripped in places, and she had a nasty bruise on the left of her face.

Revan looked around as he exited the shuttle. The mask Revan wore, a prize taken from the Mandalorian leader during the climactic Battle of Malachor at the end of the Mandalorian Wars, reflected the lights from around the hangar, and the Sith Lord’s eyes could not be seen beneath the black slits of the mask’s visor. Admiral Karath stood at attention, awaiting their return, as did a legion of Sith troopers. “With me, Admiral,” the Dark Lord said, and the admiral followed along as they made their way to the detention cells on deck 30.

They crowded into the spacious turbolift, and the doors closed behind them. “The planet is now under our control,” said Revan. “The Vuvrians will take orders from Governor Mylthea’s replacement, who will take orders from me.” He looked over at Mylthea, who shrank away slightly. “I don’t foresee any setbacks.”

“Very good, Lord Revan,” Karath replied. “What is to be done with Mylthea?”

Revan remained silent for a long moment, hoping to increase the former governor’s dread. “She is to be interrogated.” The lift stopped, and the doors opened. “Then she is to be terminated.”

As Revan ordered the troopers to continue escorting her to her cell, Mylthea gave the Dark Lord a look halfway between anger, denial, and terror. The doors closed again. “Bridge,” said Revan aloud, and the lift went on its way as ordered.

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISERINDOMITABLE

Admiral Forn Dodonna, supreme commander of the Republic Navy, stood on the bridge of the Republic cruiser Indomitable, watching the blue of hyperspace blast past the ship. They were due to rendezvous with a squadron of Jedi fighters in the Outer Rim system of Belsavis, and the admiral was waiting for the Council to contact her with the added details of the upcoming mission.

A half-hour later, the officer at the nav station, Lieutenant Gallea, announced that the Indomitable was to arrive at Belsavis in one minute. Forn knew she didn’t need to issue orders; she had a fine crew, and they worked together seamlessly.

The ship reverted to relativistic space, the sublight engines humming into life and reverberating through the deck plating beneath Forn’s feet. Outside the ports, the off-white orb of Belsavis, the seventh planet in the star system, expanded into view. As they came closer to the planet, Forn began to notice the patches of verdant green dotted around the globe; they were, she knew, the last remnants of Belsavis’ pre-glacial jungles, and the inhabitants had adapted to living in these jungles.

“Sensors, confirm that the Jedi ships are here,” Forn ordered.

“Confirmed, sir,” answered a young lieutenant. “Twenty-five Aurek-class fighters, as well as the Light of Alderaan, one of the old Praetorian-class ships.” Following the Great Sith War thirty years previously, the modern Hammerhead-class had superseded the Praetorian, and so the Jedi had acquired the surviving ships for their own use around the galaxy.

“Advise the fighters that we can only carry an additional tenAureks, should the pilots wish to stretch their legs. Hail the Alderaan,” she said, and the shadowy blue holographic image of Zhar Lestin, a Lethan Twi’lek and Jedi Master, appeared before her a moment later.

“Master Zhar, I wasn’t aware of your presence on this mission.”

“The Council feels this mission required one of us here to oversee events,” Zhar replied. “I simply volunteered my services.”

“I suppose you want to come aboard my ship?”

“That would be most hospitable of you, Admiral.”

“Well. Just be sure to not make a repeat of what happened the last time you were on the Indomitable,” said Forn, a grin creeping onto her face.

********************

Zhar popped the canopy and exited his fighter. It wasn’t often he was called upon to lead a military mission — owing to the fact that Zhar was more cerebral than high-octane — but this particular mission was... a special case. Zhar had been the only choice to lead the mission. If Kreia had been on Dantooine... if Kreia had heard about this attack, she would have been the first to denounce us, he thought to himself wistfully. Kreia would have had a personal stake in the mission, having been Darth Revan’s first master when he was still a Jedi. She would have hindered us, but to what extent? Zhar wondered.

Beside him, Zhar could see a handful of the other Jedi handpicked for this mission. Bastila Shan, a human woman in her early twenties, stood at the head of the group. Though she had only recently passed her Trials and become a Jedi Knight, Bastila was uniquely strong in the Force. Besides, her natural affinity for battle meditation made her presence on this mission a necessity. There had been very few Jedi who possessed the ability; even the ancient Masters of the Order had only the barest grasp of the technique. It was something that came around once in a generation, Zhar knew, and the Force had willed Bastila to be the next vessel.

Seeing him looking at her, Bastila walked over to Zhar, her navy-green flight suit sitting loosely upon her body. She offered him a smile.

“It seems we made it in time, Master.”

“I never doubted it,” he replied. Turning to his left, Zhar noticed a young Nikto officer making his way toward the group of Jedi. His red and black uniform softly reflected the light from the overheads in the hangar bay.

“Master Jedi,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Admiral Dodonna has asked me to escort you up to the bridge.” Smiling inwardly, Zhar nodded his assent to the officer, and he and Bastila followed him across the hangar bay.

********************

“Master Zhar, welcome aboard the Indomitable.”

The Twi’lek Jedi came toward Forn convivially, a broad smile upon his green visage. “Thank you, Admiral.” He clasped her hands fondly, and she returned the gesture. “It’s been too long since last we met.”

“Yes, that business on Geonosis left an indelible mark on my life. And my service record.”

“Yet you still made the admiralty within a decade.”

Forn turned toward the ports at the front of the bridge. “We’re just about to send the signal to Coruscant that we’re in position. Will you be leading the fighter squadron on this mission?”

Zhar shook his head, his lekku softly brushing against the back of his robes. “No, Admiral. Bastila here will be leading our Jedi squadrons.” The young woman behind him looked at him for a fraction of a moment, almost quizzically — as if Zhar had only now informed her of this decision. “Shall we get the attack underway?”

Forn nodded. Turning to her comms officer, Forn said, “Lieutenant, is the fleet reporting ready for departure?”

Lieutenant Tique, a female Duros from Chandrila, listened to her earpiece for a moment before responding. “All ships report ready, Admiral.”

“Very well, Lieutenant, open a channel to the fleet.” Forn strode to the centre of her bridge. “All ships, this is Admiral Dodonna. Set course for Vurdon Ka, and stand ready for immediate attack. Under no circ*mstances can this ambush be allowed to fail. Revan cannot be allowed to escape.”

The helm officer, a pilot Lieutenant Hobii, nodded at Forn; the hyperdrive was primed for the jump to hyperspace.

“All ships — jump on my command.”

With any luck, this would be the final battle in a war that had dragged on for far too long.

********************

SITH WARSHIPINIQUITOUS

The droid hammered its metal fist into Mylthea’s abdomen for what felt like the thousandth time and felt yet another bone crack inside her damaged body. Both of her arms were broken. Several of her toes had been detached, as had her left leg, all of which lay on the floor neatly lined in a row before her. Some kind of rod had been inserted into the open wound at her hip, and when activated via a console, it would heat or cool at a command. Three of her eyes had been removed. One was left dangling by the nerve. And yet, through all this, the droid still would not just... shut up. Throughout the ‘interrogation,’ the blasted thing had proceeded to give its personal opinion regarding organic life forms such as herself. He calls us ‘meatbags,’ she thought ironically. Searing heat overwhelmed her senses as the droid activated the rod inside her hip joint, and just before Mylthea thought she’d pass out from the pain, it disappeared and was replaced by a deep cold touch that was just as painful. Icy tendrils, like tiny daggers, clawed their way up her abdomen.

The metal door slid open suddenly as Mylthea heard heavy footsteps enter the torture chamber. “Aitch-Kay Forty-Seven, Lord Revan has a new mission for you.” Mylthea recognized the voice almost at once — the human admiral, Karath.

“Irritation: Admiral, I must say your timing is as illogical as always; my work here is not yet completed to the standards required by my programming.”

“The prisoner is to be terminated shortly, droid. Your mission here is ended; your priority is now to follow Lord Revan’s new orders.” Mylthea heard definite frustration in the admiral’s words.

The silence as HK-47 considered his response was palpable. It was almost as if the droid was imagining going against the admiral’s — and Darth Revan’s — orders, his programming be damned. Mylthea was turned away from the door; for all she knew, the droid was already raising his hand to crush Karath’s throat.

“Weary answer: Very well, Admiral Karath.”

“Very good, droid. Follow me, and I’ll brief you on the way to your ship.”

The sound of their steps died when the doors closed once again, leaving Governor Mylthea to her thoughts and to her pain.

********************

HK-47’s personal fighter, the Fiend, glided out of the Iniquitous’ hangar bay. His new mission was a target deep in Mandalorian territory. A female meatbag named Enfys Jakobi was making a name for herself as the leader of a local band of Mandalorians, using guerrilla tactics to strike at Sith bases throughout the Mandalorian sector. Clearly, this was not a state of affairs that Lord Revan could allow, and HK-47 was tasked with assassinating Jakobi before she could continue to build her forces and become a rallying figure within Mandalorian society. With any luck (not that he believed in such a thing, of course), HK-47 would return to his master following yet another successful mission, at which point he would indulge himself in a full soak in an oil bath.

HK-47 entered the hyperspace coordinates, and the Fiend accelerated into super-luminal flight.

********************

It is done, my Lord.

Karath reflected on the last words he had spoken to Lord Malak following the assassin droid’s departure. The Sith Lord had decided that HK-47’s presence was too dangerous for his plan to oust Revan as Dark Lord, and Karath had agreed with that assessment. The droid had racked up quite the tally for killing Jedi since Revan’s fleet had emerged from the Unknown Regions. If HK-47 was capable of killing a Jedi, he was also capable of killing a Sith Lord. Both Malak and Karath knew that if he were to have remained aboard the Iniquitous, the droid would have been a major problem, and they only had the one single chance to kill Darth Revan. And so HK-47 needed to be out of range. Now, Karath had only to ensure Revan was alone with Malak for the deed to be complete.

I’m sure as hell not going to get trapped alone in a room with Lord Revan, he thought to himself. Not that I’m anywhere near that foolish.

The intercom built into the wall in his quarters trilled, and the admiral moved to activate it with a press of a button. “Karath here.”

“Bridge, sir. We’re detecting a large Republic fleet emerging from behind the second moon.”

“On my way. Raise shields, ready weapons, and deploy fighter screens. Karath out.”

Exceptional timing, Karath thought ironically, his eyes rolling as he rushed out of his quarters toward the bridge.

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISERINDOMITABLE

The bridge crew worked feverishly as Forn watched them performing their tasks. The fleet had returned to sublight speed within the Vurdon Ka system. Using intelligence gathered by spies positioned in the Sith fleet, Forn knew the real-time positions of all of Revan’s ships orbiting Vurdon Ka. Hence why she had ordered her fleet to hide itself behind one of the planets’ moons.

Master Zhar stood to her left, his purple eyes focused on the view outside the bridge ports. Revan’s fleet was just now coming into view behind Vurdon Ka’s second moon. Forn counted at least eleven of the large Interdictor-class cruisers, four massive Centurion-class battlecruisers, three old and battered Derriphan-class battleships, as well as tiny pinpoints of light that represented the engines of hundreds of Sith fighters.

“This is going to be a tough nut to crack.”

Lieutenant Tique’s red eyes turned toward her. “Admiral, the enemy is turning to flee, their hyperdrives are powering up.”

Forn raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no you don’t, Lord Revan. Give it just a few moments, Lieutenant.” She turned to Zhar. “Any minute now.”

Just then, four Republic cruisers appeared in front of the fleeing Sith fleet. These ships had been retrofitted with the only interdiction systems that Forn could scrounge up from the Muscave Fleet Museum for this mission.

“Republic Interdictors have activated their gravity well projectors, Admiral, and have begun to unload fighters. The Sith fleet is trapped,” stated Tique.

“So far, so good,” said Forn. She turned to the Jedi Master next to her.

“Zhar, you may give the order.”

He nodded and activated the comm unit on his wrist. “All fighters, you are go for launch.”

“Acknowledged. Fighter squadrons launching now.”

Forn stood and strode to Tique. “Give me fleetwide.”

“Yes, sir.” She pressed a couple of buttons, and the intercom trilled.

“All ships, release fighters, and raise shields. We’re in for a rough couple of hours, I’m afraid. But we have a job to do get done, so let’s get it done. Dodonna out.”

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISEREXCALIBUR

Captain Hiyax Meru stood at the forward port on the Excalibur’s bridge, watching his fighters heading out to engage their Sith counterparts. I could very well have served with some of those Sith, he thought to himself. Even some friends.

But those friends had almost killed him back when they’d attacked his homeworld of Telos. Now, Telos was a barren wasteland. No animals, no plants. No life whatsoever. Just dead wasteland.

And to make it even worse, his own wife had turned traitor and joined the Sith ranks before the conflagration. She held just as much culpability for Telos’ bombardment as Malak or Saul Karath. Oh, she had attempted to lure him over, to convince him it was the right decision to make, that Revan’s empire would be better than the Galactic Republic. It was when she’d used their dead son’s memory, claiming that he would’ve done the same, that Meru had lashed out — hit his own wife — and left their home. An hour later he had left the planet. And he had never looked back.

He assumed, as he always did in combat, that his wife was on one of the enemy ships right now, working at one of the bridge stations. Maybe even commanding one of them. Which gave him all the more incentive to want to wipe the scourge of the Sith from the galaxy.

The Excalibur herself had been part of the mothball fleet in orbit of Muscave in the Coruscant system. The ships were there primarily for posterity but, like now, they were capable of being brought back into active service at a moment’s notice.

A stray turbolaser blast struck the ship’s shields close to the bridge tower, lightly rolling the Excalibur as if she were an ancient ship on the ocean. A few icons on the bridge stations around Meru blinked off and back on again in response.

“Comms,” said Meru. “Contact the Windward and the Mobius, tell them to begin strafing the Sith lines. Then let Captain Stryke on the Corvin follow us into the fray. The enemy isn’t getting out of this if we have anything to say about it.”

The comms officer, a human male from Coruscant, had been newly-assigned to the Excalibur direct from the academy. This was his first naval engagement. “Yes, Captain.”

Green turbolaser fire began to hit the Excalibur’s shields with more intensity as the gleaming silver ship joined her sister ships in attacking the enemy directly.

It wasn’t until about thirty seconds later that the Sith fighter squadrons started hitting them. Hard. Meru was dismayed to see sparks beginning to fly from some of the work stations at the rear of the bridge.

“What’s our shield status?” he asked.

“Fore shields at seventy-two percent and falling, Captain,” replied Commander Pash Dotellai, a native of Dantooine and Meru’s first officer. “Port shields at eighty-five percent, and starboard shields holding at ninety.”

Meru nodded. This information wasn’t surprising to him, nor was it particularly encouraging. If the shields fell, he wouldn’t be around long enough to complain about it. “Continue firing on that warship ahead of us. We’re going through their lines whether they like it or not.”

A squadron of Republic fighters raced past the Excalibur’s viewports, almost a blur to Meru’s eyes. Flashes of green and red marked the spray of weapons fire, and explosions marked the end of pilots’ lives in the cold vacuum of open space.

The bridge rocked as the Excalibur’s shields took a beating from the Sith warship it was fast approaching, the silver hull plating reflecting the light from the system’s primary. Hot golden sparks flew from a console to Meru’s right, the acrid smell of burned circuits assaulting his nostrils.

Another hit, stronger this time. Followed by another, and another. Sirens began to blare around him. “Captain! The Sith are focusing their fire on us; shields are failing!”

The enemy loomed large before Excalibur now. “Where’s the Corvin?” Meru asked.

“A hundred meters to starboard, sir. Her shields are failing, too.”
Meru nodded to himself. With the Corvin with them, they might just pull this off, with or without shields to protect them from certain death.

“Comms, tell Stryke to keep heading for the enemy ship ahead. Remind him of what happened at Randon.” The ship rocked again.

The comms officer gave him a somewhat confused affirmative. He listened in his earpiece, then said, “The captain asks ‘are you up or down?’”

“We’ll go up, ensign.”

“Yes, sir.” He relayed the message to the Corvin.

“Lieutenant, how good was your rating at the academy?”

The helm officer, Lieutenant Veronyka Opala, turned to face Meru.

“Top of my class, Captain.”

“Oh, good,” said Meru. “I was worried this might never work.” As an afterthought, he asked, “Did you ever hear about Randon, Lieutenant?”

Opala replied, “Sir. I know that this move worked against the Mandalorians.”

Another explosion tore through the Excalibur, sending yet more sparks flying.

“Yes, Lieutenant, it did. Barely.”

The lieutenant’s eyes went wide for half a moment before she returned her gaze to her console.

“Just be ready to kick into full gear on my mark, Opala,” said Meru. “Keep a channel open to the Corvin, Ensign.”

He began to make out individual viewports on the Sith ship now. Red turbolaser fire battered his ship, as well as the Corvin off their starboard bow. Jedi and Sith fighters continued to swarm around them, their dogfights raging through the bridge viewports.

“On my mark, people,” said Meru.

The Sith warship was so close now, Meru imagined he could almost see the faces of the bastards who populated it.

“Mark!”

Responding to his order, Opala sent the Excalibur flying above the enemy ship, while Captain Stryke’s own helmsman sent the Corvin diving below.

“Target their bridge and fire at will, Commander!” Meru ordered his second-in-command.

Dotellai hastened to acknowledge the order by activating the point-defence laser cannons on the Excalibur’s port hull. Though not powerful enough to punch through a ship’s shields alone, they were more than capable of damaging an enemy ship when within the shield perimeter.

Like they were right now.

The Excalibur’s lasers strafed the shining hull of the warship, causing explosions to violently erupt from the enemy craft. Then, faster than Meru could blink, Opala brought the Excalibur swinging around, allowing Dotellai to open fire with the ship’s forward cannons.

Meru never saw the damage inflicted as the Excalibur continued its 360-degree turn, but sensors told him all he needed to know; the enemy bridge had been obliterated and the warship had lost full attitude control, leaving her adrift in space. If her engineers didn’t work quickly, she would soon be drawn into Vurdon Ka’s gravity well.

“Very well done, everybody,” Meru said. “Opala, get us back on course and take us down into the atmosphere. Dotellai, ensure our troops are ready for a ground assault.”

*********************

Bastila sat cross-legged on the floor of the vacant science lab, her eyes closed and her concentration unwavering. She was deep in the Force, using its ebbs and flows in an attempt to influence the morale — and martial might — of troops, officers, and pilots from both Republic and Sith sides of this battle.

Through the Force, Bastila was able to use this gift, called battle meditation. It was an ancient technique requiring the user to delve deeply into the Force to rally allied forces — whilst disheartening enemy forces. The ability itself had been used by hundreds of Jedi and Sith during the many conflicts the pair had shared in the last millennia or so. By far the most powerful Jedi accomplished in battle meditation was Master Arca Jeth, who had fought in the Great Hyperspace Wars almost thirty years previously.

Six minutes into the battle, Bastila had influenced a great deal of the warzone; Jedi and Republic forces proceeded to take greater confidence in their battle manoeuvres, and the Sith forces began to fall apart in their inability to defend against the onslaught. All of this, Bastila could feel through the Force.

She could also feel two very strong presences in the Force, both strong enough to ignore her influence. Bastila knew that they could only be Revan and Malak.

She pulled herself back into the physical universe and opened her eyes. Sweat had begun to gather on her forehead, and the palms of her hands were just as slick.

Her wrist comm signalled, and Bastila answered to Zhar’s holographic image.

“Bastila, the Sith forces have become uncoordinated,” the Jedi Master reported. “It is time.”

She nodded. “Yes, Master,” she replied. “I’ll make my way to my fighter now.”

Zhar looked at her. “May the Force be with you, young one.” His grave face winked out of existence.

Bastila stood, smoothed her tan robes, and headed for the hangar bay.

********************

Eighteen Jedi fighters eventually followed Bastila into the Iniquitous’ main hangar bay. Republic fighters continued to draw fire away from the Jedi, though a few of Bastila’s wing-mates were cut to pieces in the crossfire. The remaining Jedi increased their speed, slamming through the Iniquitous’ force field and skidding to a halt on the hangar deck. The hangar was deserted of Sith troopers — all the interceptors had been launched, and there was a very low chance of anyone even daring to attempt boarding a Star Destroyer. Bastila popped open her co*ckpit canopy and leapt out.

Outside the hangar was a very different story altogether. Along every corridor, up every turbolift shaft, around every corner, Sith trooper after Sith trooper kept coming and coming, giving no quarter. After several minutes, the Jedi were slowly being pushed back the way they’d come.

That was when the young apprentice to Bastila’s immediate right had the uncanny idea to use the Force to bring the heavily damaged ceiling down upon an advancing group of Sith troops. Unfortunately, this same apprentice lacked the insight to beat a hasty retreat — as Bastila did — and ended up crushing himself in the process. The Force will guide him to where he needs to be, thought Bastila sombrely.

Deactivating her lightsabre, the Jedi directly behind Bastila — a Cathar named Anyara — said, “Great, now we’re trapped.”

“Not quite,” Bastila cut in. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” As my father used to say. With that, Bastila thrust her golden-hued lightsabre into the right-hand wall, and after a few seconds, had cut a Jedi-sized hole in the centre. “This corridor should lead directly to the bridge. Let’s move!”

Several hundred meters of running didn’t tire a Jedi. What did, however, was the constant threat of attack by Sith troopers interspersed at several intervals down the corridor. At the end of the passageway, a small contingent of enemy troopers were guarding the doorway to the Iniquitous’ bridge.

Bastila started forward, letting the Force propel her toward the troopers. Three of the other Jedi followed suit, while those remaining dealt with the troopers who were attempting to pin them down by showering grenades down upon them. The resulting explosion sent Bastila, the other Jedi, and the Sith troopers flying in all directions; Bastila and the Jedi flew through the bridge blast doors. With a flourish, Bastila landed on her feet and looked ahead of her.

She was immediately assaulted by a Dark Jedi, his red blade swinging for her throat. Arching backward to avoid the attack, Bastila then kicked the man square in the jaw as she flipped over. She sprang forward, not allowing the hooded man to return to the offensive and forcing him to remain on the defensive.

Behind her, her remaining companions were dealing with their own assailants.

Bastila’s golden blade clashed with her enemy’s; it was entirely plausible that they had previously known each other, from before Revan turned him to the Dark Side of the Force, but Bastila couldn’t afford to take that into account.

Their blades held together, testing their physical strength, until Bastila sensed a weakness in her opponent, turned on the spot and slashed at his abdomen. He fell to the deck, the life force draining quickly from him.

She looked to the fore of the bridge as her companions rallied around her.

The sight before them was staggering. Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, was Force-choking his second-in-command, a male human admiral. A mere moment later, he used the Force to throw the admiral across the bridge, intending to strike Bastila; the Jedi ducked and rolled forward, and through the Force jumped up into the air, somersaulting head over heels until she placed her lightsaber into a classic spearing manoeuvre. Revan easily dodged this, activating his own lightsabre in a blinding flash of crimson.

Bastila rolled as she landed, parrying an attack from Revan. She kicked out with her left leg, and connected with the Mandalorian mask that Revan had worn ever since his victory at Malachor V. The Sith Lord recoiled, somersaulting backward toward the front of the bridge, and Bastila imagined that she could see a sneer of contempt beneath his mask.

Revan propelled himself at her, his blade held low and feinted a slash at her legs. Bastila was ready, her yellow blade clashing with the crimson of Revan’s weapon.

Suddenly, Revan hurled Bastila backward with the Force, slamming her onto the deck with a bone-jarring thud. The three other Jedi helped Bastila to her feet as Revan used the Force to choke another of his subordinates. Walking forward, her lightsabre raised defensively, Bastila warned, “You cannot win, Revan.”

Any further confrontation was nullified as all were abruptly knocked to the deck as disrupter fire flew at the Iniquitous from a nearby warship — one of Revan’s own, no less. The resulting explosion ripped through the Iniquitous’ shields and hull plating, smacking the group to the deck yet again, before a rush of escaping air blew past them and attempted to pull them into the empty vacuum of interstellar space.

The explosion faded as the air blew into space. Bastila, as well as the others on the bridge, used the Force to pull themselves toward the deck, and then, continuing with the Force, held themselves there. Darkness began to creep into the edges of Bastila’s vision as her body succumbed to the first pangs of unconsciousness. Just as she was reaching the limits of her endurance, Bastila felt rather than saw a force shield being raised to cover the exposed hull plating.

Pitch-black smoke began to slowly clog the environmental systems, even as those systems were struggling to pump fresh oxygen-rich air into the bridge area. Golden sparks sprayed intermittently from bridge stations.

Silence punctuated the returning atmosphere as Bastila looked around for Revan, ready for another assault. But it was an assault that never materialized; crumpled on the deck below a computer console on the port side of the bridge, was the unconscious form of Darth Revan, fallen Jedi and Dark Lord of the Sith. His face burnt, bloodied, and bruised from the explosions. The mask that he’d taken great pains to wear in public had been knocked off and lay next to the Sith Lord. His black robes were shredded, and pockmarked with burns. There was no sign of his lightsabre.

Bastila reached out with the Force. A moment went by, a moment that was interspersed with continuing fire from other Star Destroyers, as she felt for Revan’s presence in the Force.

What she felt made her gasp.

Revan was dying.

Chapter 2: Chapter One

Notes:

6 months later...

Chapter Text

WARSHIPENDAR SPIRE,
TARIS ORBIT

Trask Ulgo looked up from the readout on his bridge terminal. A member of House Ulgo on Alderaan, Trask was a commissioned ensign in the Galactic Republic Navy, serving aboard the Hammerhead-class Endar Spire as a member of the ship’s tactical officer compliment. Today just happened to be his turn at bridge duty.

The ship was currently stationed in orbit of Taris, a planet just off the Hydian Way in the Outer Rim of the galaxy, along with a number of other support vessels as part of the seventh fleet. An ecumenopolis, Taris had once been known as the Coruscant of the Outer Rim until rampant overpopulation had stymied the planet’s morals — tens of billions of beings had lived on Taris, though now it was reported there were only six billion inhabitants. Then there were those karking rakghouls that infested the Undercity to contend with...

Trask looked through the transparisteel port in front of him; the planet was revolving slowly, with storm systems making their way through the atmosphere while lightning flashed through the clouds. Some of the taller spacescrapers could be seen poking through the topmost wisps of cloud, and the lights from the traffic strafed the atmosphere.

A signal came through on the computer display. It was from a Lieutenant Pryze, the tactical officer aboard the Ferocity, the flagship of the Republic’s seventh fleet — according to the lieutenant, the Ferocity would rendezvous with the Endar Spire in less than an hour, bringing the total number of ships at Taris to thirteen.

********************

Bastila Shan stepped out of the umbilical connecting the Endar Spire to the Ferocity, and watched as a pair of security officers came to attention before her. “Commander Shan, I’m Ensign Ulgo. We’ve been sent to escort you to the bridge.”

“Very well, Ensign. Lead the way.”

The Endar Spire was a Hammerhead-class cruiser, like the Ferocity. As Bastila was led through the corridors, she stretched out with the Force and felt the tension throughout the ship.

Stepping onto the Spire’s relatively cramped bridge, Bastila was immediately greeted by a ruggedly handsome man wearing an orange nerf-hide jacket and light stubble upon his face. “Commander Onasi, I presume,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the commander. “What are your orders?”

Bastila strode toward one of the bridge ports and gazed out over Taris. “What’s the condition on the surface?”

“Unknown at the moment, Commander,” Onasi replied. “So far, we’ve been ordered to remain in orbit or within the confines of the military base in the Upper City.” He coughed. “Our mole working for Davik Kang has failed to report in as scheduled.”

She pondered this development. “That will have to wait, I’m afraid, Commander Onasi.” She noticed a flash of lightning hundreds of miles below. “I’m not the only person of interest who’s come aboard from the Ferocity; there is an ensign — he used to be a smuggler before the war, but he was recruited after the Battle of Mon Gazza after his ship was impounded by one of our warships.”

“What about him?” Carth asked, furrowing his brow.

“I’m not asking for preferential treatment, Commander. But just keep an eye on him. He’s... well, I’m not entirely sure how much I can say, but the Council is watching him.”

********************

STAR DESTROYERLEVIATHAN

Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, stood on the bridge of his flagship, the Star Destroyer Leviathan, staring out of the ports watching the blue streaks of hyperspace flash past as the Leviathan tunnelled toward Taris. His apprentice, Darth Bandon, stood just behind him.

It was actually intelligence gathered by Bandon that brought Malak to Taris; a mole working for his apprentice had learned that the Jedi Knight Bastila Shan would be taking command of the Republic forces in-system for the foreseeable future.

Bastila had been partly responsible for the death of his master and former friend, Darth Revan — though Malak was really the one to blame for his death, owing to the fact that he had been the one to destroy the Iniquitous with Revan and Bastila’s strike team aboard. Though Bastila and a handful of other Jedi had survived the former flagship’s fiery end, Revan had been dead for months.

Malak knew that Bastila was strong in the Force, and highly proficient in the use of battle meditation; that ability was a pain in his ass, but over the last few weeks, Malak had been toying with the idea of capturing Bastila, turning her to the Dark Side, and using that ability against the Republic.

And now he was on his way to not only meet his own destiny, but to change the course of Bastila’s also.

Not that Bandon needed to know he was about to be pushed aside...

A lieutenant broke his reverie. “Lord Malak, sir?” Malak turned to gaze upon the visage of a human male, who appeared to be in his early 30s. “Our spy indicates that the target is definitely at Taris. He reports that she has recently transferred aboard the Endar Spire, a Hammerhead-class ship, my lord.”

“Good,” replied Malak. “Signal the fleet to encircle the Republic ships. They are to target and destroy all ships — aside from the Endar Spire. That one is ours."

********************

ENDAR SPIRE

Carth left the refresher in his quarters and stood by the small port by his bed. As a senior officer aboard the Endar Spire, Carth was afforded the luxury of private quarters, while junior officers such as Ensign Ulgo were forced to bunk together in pairs.

He looked down at Taris, slowly rotating miles below the ship. He could see atmospheric traffic lanes, the lights of thousands of personal shuttles and ships encircling the globe. He picked up the snifter of Tarisian ale and took a swig from it; the ale had been brought up in the last cargo transfer run and had been shared between the Spire’s crew.

Somewhere down there, a gangster controlled this sector’s branch of the Exchange. His ship, the Ebon Hawk, had strafed the Spire’s sensors a couple of times coming in and out of Taris; since Carth had no reason to hassle the Ebon Hawk, he allowed the Exchange to continue their activities.

Somewhere down there, a group of Jedi had massacred their padawans. Carth had never known much about the Jedi Tower incident, but what he’d heard from the Jedi Zayne Carrick was enough to dissipate any further questions on the subject.

Somewhere down there, millions of non-human beings suffered under the xenophobia highly prevalent all over the planet, especially so as the rich population — usually human — became richer and richer, while Taris’ poor, the aliens, ended up living in squalor and decay. There were even reports of the poorest living on Taris’ ground level, below the Upper and Lower Cities, forced to live in destitution and rampant viral infections — though there was currently no veracity to these claims.

Somewhere down there, people just tried to live. And, one way or another, most of them failed.

Sirens began to ring out throughout the Endar Spire, and the lights in Carth’s quarters turned to a vivid shade of red. He activated his wrist comm. “Commander Onasi to the bridge. Report!”

“We’ve detected a Sith fleet approaching from behind the planet, sir!”

“Get our shields up, I’ll be right there!”

********************

When Bastila arrived on the Endar Spire’s bridge, she walked into what seemed like controlled chaos. Commander Onasi was facing the forward ports, coordinating the fleet’s defences with his fellow commanders. Orders and reports were being relayed from station to station.

“Commander Onasi!” She was forced to shout above the alarm.

He turned to her. “Commander Shan, the Sith fleet was hidden behind Taris, where our sensors couldn’t detect them. It’s my guess that they were waiting there in ambush.”

“How many?”

“Twenty ships in all, with hundreds of fighters providing defence.” Carth shook his head. “We may not survive this ambush, Bastila.”

Before Bastila could try to make sense of the situation, Ensign Ulgo shouted to Carth. “Sir! The fleet reports that they are all target locked... except for us, sir!”

A cold realisation dawned upon Bastila. It was confirmed when Ulgo reported the arrival of the Star Destroyer Leviathan, ten thousand metres to starboard.

“We’re being hailed, sir! It’s... it’s Darth Malak, aboard the Leviathan.”
Carth’s face hardened. “Put him through, Ensign.”

“Republic Warship Endar Spire, we have arrived to accept your surrender,” Malak’s mechanical voice echoed ominously through the bridge. “You will then be boarded and searched, and all personnel will be transferred into the custody of my ship."

“Lord Malak, this is Commander Onasi of the Endar Spire.” He didn’t fail to notice Bastila looking at him. “We will not be surrendering to you today. You have encroached on Republic territory, and we will defend this system with everything we have. Leave this system immediately, or we will be forced to open fire.”

“You disappoint me, Commander Onasi. Your insignificant fleet is surrounded. I outgun you, and outnumber you three-to-one. I’m perfectly willing to destroy your entire fleet in order to acquire what I want.”

“And just what would that be?” Carth asked.

“A certain Jedi who’s no doubt on your bridge right this very moment, Commander. Bastila.”

The bridge officers remained silent as their eyes turned to Bastila. She could feel their eyes boring into her from all directions. Even Carth was looking at her.

Malak broke the silence. “Come now, Bastila. I’m sure we’d all be delighted to hear what you have to say about this.”

She could feel fear beginning to creep into her mind, the adrenaline beginning to flood her veins. “Alek,” she said finally, using Malak’s birth name as an insult to the Sith Lord. “I will never surrender to you, or become a pawn of the Dark Side of the Force. You are a fool, Alek, and you will be forced to kill me just as you killed Revan, and thousands of innocent beings.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself, young Bastila. I’ve made arrangements for my apprentice to... pay you a visit. Until then, feel free to watch as my fleet obliterates yours.” He laughed maniacally as the comm channel closed.

Bastila and Carth simply looked at each other.

“All hands, this is Commander Onasi. Battle stations.”

Bastila suddenly turned and headed over to Ulgo. “Ensign, I need you to check on our passenger.”

********************

“This is Carth Onasi. The Sith are threatening to overrun our position! We can’t hold out long against their firepower — all hands to the bridge!”

Darkness receded from Aaryn Savo’s sight as he opened his eyes. The corridor around him was barely lit, and sparks flew from the walls. A red T3 utility droid was busy attempting repairs, its multi-function arm fusing two optical cables together.

I’ve only been on board for a few hours, and already we’re being shot at, Aaryn thought sardonically as he lifted himself from the metal deck plating. “I should’ve stuck to smuggling.”

Before he could properly stand, the doors in front of Aaryn opened to reveal a young blond man, in his mid-twenties, running toward him. The ship listed again, and sparks shot out of a computer panel behind the approaching man.

“We’ve been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet!” The man sounded rather winded. “The Endar Spire is under attack — hurry up, we don’t have much time!” He barely managed to complete his sentence before the ship reverberated from another assault.

“Who are you?” Aaryn asked as he followed the officer toward the bridge.

“Ensign Trask Ulgo. I’m a tactical officer here on the Endar Spire.” The ship shook again. “I know all about your reputation,” he said, and raised a hand to silence Aaryn before he could respond. “How you used to smuggle spice and blasters along the Corellian Run. I guess the Republic figured since they couldn’t catch you, they might as well hire you.”

Aaryn had the wind knocked out of him by another Sith assault before he could respond to Trask’s statements. Picking himself up, he continued to follow Trask as the ensign led the way to another door in the bulkhead ahead. On the other side of the door, however, was a sight that he had not been expecting. Two Sith troopers were engaged in a firefight with a pair of Republic troops. Trask faced his bunkmate with a steely determination and brought his blaster up level with his chest. Aaryn followed suit.

“These Sith must be the advanced boarding party. For the Republic!”

Both Sith were surprised by Trask’s sudden battle cry — they obviously hadn’t been expecting anyone to rout their position from behind. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t given much opportunity to respond, as the combined Republic force quickly dispatched them.

Both Republic troopers stood to attention as Trask and his bunkmate holstered their weapons. “Sir, our position is untenable. Did you get Commander Onasi’s transmission?”

“That I did, soldier,” said Trask. “Now, come on, follow us!”

“Aye, sir.” This was the usual militaristic response.

Before the group arrived at yet another locked door, an explosion blasted through the two Republic soldiers, tearing them to burning shreds and splaying their bodies open. A fierce shower of sparks followed, and the corridor’s wall was blasted open, leaving the ship open to vacuum. The atmosphere, as well as the remains of the pair of soldiers, was immediately blown out, reducing the amount of oxygen in the corridor. Aaryn felt his feet ripped off the deck and found himself flying toward the breach. Nanoseconds before his expected internal biological decompression, Trask grabbed onto his hand with a vice-like grip.

As oxygen raced through the breach into open vacuum, a force field was gradually brought up to create a non-permeable energy barrier between space and the ship’s internal atmosphere. Ironically, this also meant a rather painful landing for Trask as he dropped face-first to the deck. Aaryn simply lowered himself to the deck, one leg at a time.

“Someone on the bridge is doing their job,” muttered the smuggler before helping Trask to his feet. Aaryn led the way this time, and once again waited for Trask to use his ID code to unlock the next door. The sight that beheld them as the heavy durasteel door opened stopped them dead in their tracks.

A female Jedi was engaged in a lightsabre duel with a male Sith warrior.

The Sith ducked and rolled to his right, bringing his crimson blade spinning up over his head, intending to cleave through the Jedi’s abdomen. She easily parried, somersaulting backward to land on the duracrete wall, then springing off that to slam straight into her opponent.

Aaryn and Trask simply stood in the doorway, almost star-struck. “This fight is too much for us!” exclaimed Trask. “We’d better stay back. All we’d do is get in the way.”

While the Jedi was still soaring through the air, the warrior concentrated and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the Jedi hurtling back away from him. With a flick of her own, she also summoned command of the Force, sending her energy weapon flying toward the Sith. It bisected his skull before flying back into the Jedi’s open hand. She swiftly deactivated the shimmering blue blade and strode confidently toward Trask.

“Thank you for staying out of the fight, ensigns,” she said. “Commander Shan is in grave danger. We must get to the bridge, quickly.”

They’d walked barely a couple of metres before yet another high-yield explosion threw the trio into the wall, hailing sparks and debris down upon them. Trask picked himself up and looked over to the Jedi. He checked the pulse on her neck, a neck that lay at an unnatural angle — she was dead.

“Damn,” he said.

Undeterred, the pair continued on through the next few doorways until they finally entered the main bridge. Trask dispatched the three Sith troops before saying, “Bastila’s not here on the bridge; they must’ve retreated to the escape pods. We better head there, too. The Sith want Bastila alive, but once she’s off the ship, there’s nothing stopping the Sith from blasting the Endar Spire into galactic dust!”

With that in mind, the two of them rushed off through the bridge’s only other exit, encountering no more resistance from the Sith. Eventually, they reached a junction in the corridor. Trask motioned for his bunkmate to take cover behind a near desk console, and he walked over to one of the doors, keying in his ID code. The door opened, only to reveal another Sith warrior. He activated his lightsabre — a pair of twin crimson blades, one at each end of the weapon — shimmered like bloodstained lights.

Trask immediately turned to Aaryn, a determined look on his face that Aaryn immediately recognised. “Damn! Another Dark Jedi! I’ll try to hold him off; you get to the escape pods — go!”

Before the smuggler could argue, the Sith used the Force to propel the door closed.

********************

It was just the two of them... a little too cosy for Trask’s tastes.
“You truly believe that you can stand against me?” said the Sith, his bald pate reflecting the overhead lights. “You’re bold. I’ll grant you that.”

It was then that Trask realised he had only his blaster to defend himself with. Against a trained Sith and a double-bladed lightsabre, he was clearly no match. The warrior simply laughed, held up his free left hand, and a blue bolt of deadly Force-lightning arced its way toward Ensign Trask Ulgo in an eternal instant.

Then the agony came.

********************

Aaryn could hear Trask’s dying scream even through the bulkheads as he sprinted through the starboard section of the Endar Spire toward the escape pod bay. He was barely able to hear his comm beeping away as Trask emitted one last defiant scream of pain and terror. He palmed the comm unit.

“This is Carth Onasi. I’m tracking your position through the Endar Spire’s life support system. Bastila’s escape pod is away — you’re the only surviving crew member of the Endar Spire. I can’t wait for you much longer; you have to get down here to the escape pods! But be careful, the sensors are picking up a Sith patrol down the corridor ahead of you.”

He hesitated. How could he just leave Trask’s killer to die in the resulting explosion as Sith interceptors blasted through the ship’s fuel systems? He could just finish the job himself, with his hands at the Sith’s throat, or his blaster punching a hole through the Sith’s body, draining him of his life. But he had a lightsabre. And with Aaryn’s hands at his throat, the Sith would simply guide his blade through the smuggler’s body with the Force. Firing his blaster at the Sith, and the warrior would simply deflect the energy right back at him. With but a gesture, he could snap his neck.

Dammit, man! Aaryn thought, frustrated. Trask sacrificed himself so that I could escape! Get a hold of yourself!

Once again, he ran. Taking heed of Carth’s warning, he slowed his run to stealth-walk, peering around the next corner. There was, indeed, a patrol of Sith troopers down the corridor. Aaryn waited until the closest of the armoured soldiers was within a hair’s breadth of the end of his blaster’s barrel and shot him point-blank in the side of the head. He watched the trooper drop unceremoniously to the deck before charging forward down the corridor. As he was about to key in his ID code to unlock the next door, Carth contacted him again.

“Be careful, Ensign. There’s a whole squad of Sith troopers on the other side of that door! You need to find some way to thin their numbers. You could slice into the nearby terminal and use the Endar Spire’s security systems against them.”

Searching around his position, the smuggler noted a deactivated Mark III sentinel droid. What’s more, it was armed. He spoke into his comm unit. “Or I could simply reactivate this sentinel droid here and blast them all to Nal Hutta.”

“Huh,” said Carth. “That could work, I suppose.”

He switched off the comm, fingered the droid’s activation panel, and instructed the droid to kill the troopers behind the door. It nodded an acknowledgment. Then Aaryn unlocked the door.

Needless to say, the enemy soldiers were taken aback by the sudden blaster fire emitted from the Republic sentinel droid. They were swiftly shot down so fast that a Jedi Master would have barely had time to say, ‘may the Force be with you.’

Aaryn thanked the droid, and it went on its way as if following a pre-programmed patrol route. He unlocked the next door and found Commander Onasi standing over a computer terminal, prepping one of the escape pods for launch. Carth was dressed in an orange Telosian jacket, and underneath, he wore Republic-issue black trousers. When he turned to face whatever had just entered the room, he had his blaster drawn and ready to fire. The commander quickly holstered his weapon when he realized who he was about to shoot.

“You made it just in time! There’s only one active escape pod left. Come on, we can hide out on the planet below.”

As Carth began to clamber into the indicated pod, Aaryn asked, “How do I know I can trust you, Commander?”

Carth sighed. “I’m a soldier with the Republic fleet, like you,” he explained. “We’re the last two crew members left on the Endar Spire. Bastila’s escape pod’s already gone, so there’s no reason for us to stick around here and get shot at by the Sith. Now, come on! There’ll be time for questions later!”

Aaryn still hesitated, but only slightly. As he clambered past him, Carth sealed the escape pod. A blast threw the pod out into the vacuum of space, just as the Endar Spire was torn apart by a combination of Sith disruptor and turbolaser fire, and the ignition of the warship’s fuel tanks. They stared in stunned awe as a small Sith vessel departed from the disintegrating Endar Spire’s hangar bay. Apparently, Trask’s killer wasn’t ready to get blown up, either.

The other ships of the fleet had suffered similar fates; Aaryn and Carth both saw the remnants of their burning hulks falling toward Taris, the black smoke spewing thickly. Aaryn knew it was highly unlikely anybody was still alive in those wrecks.

The ride down to Taris’ surface was rough, at best. At worst, it was as if they had a drunken Wookiee piloting the pod. Regardless, Carth’s piloting skills were still better than the smuggler’s own, and with that thought in mind, he consigned himself to watching Taris’ sprawling metropolis looming larger through the viewport at an ever-increasing speed. Within moments, they’d slammed through the highest layers of the planet’s atmosphere and were on course for a collision with the expanding city. The spires grew and grew as Carth desperately attempted to veer their course away from the built-up area, but resistance was apparently futile.

“What’s your name?” Carth asked.

“Aaryn Savo…”

“Well, Aaryn. This might hurt — hold on!”

The last thing Aaryn recalled before he was knocked unconscious was the pod punching through a skyscraper, then smacking his head against the communications console.

********************

“I have another mission for you, my apprentice,” Malak’s hologram said after he listened to Bandon’s report of the attack on the Endar Spire. “The Outpost reports that the level of neophyte learners has decreased in the past months. I need you to travel to Coruscant and steal a holocron for me…”

Bandon’s rage dissipated as he heard the details that Malak laid out for him, intrigued by the elegance of the plan.

“You failed to bring Bastila to me, Bandon,” said Malak. “You would do well not to fail me again.”

********************

UPPER CITY, TARIS

Aaryn woke with a start. He blinked, then looked around vaguely at his surroundings. A blurry figure was standing over him, dabbing at his forehead with a dampened cloth. After a couple of moments, the blur reformed itself into the shape of Commander Onasi. At least they’d both survived the descent.

He righted himself, catching hold of the cloth as Carth held it in place. Aaryn managed a smile as he sat, seeing that his CO had stubble that had obviously been built up over several days, and his lips were lightly chapped from slight dehydration.

“Good to see you awake, instead of thrashing around in your sleep,” he said to Aaryn quietly. “You must have been having one hell of a nightmare. I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. I’m Carth Onasi, commander of the Endar Spire. I was with you on the escape pod. Do you remember?”

Clarity began to enter Aaryn’s mind. “Carth… the one on the communicator. I remember.”

Carth placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Well, you’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now, so I imagine you’re pretty confused about things. Try not to worry. We’re safe… at least for the moment.”

Taking all of this in, Aaryn took a moment to check out his surroundings. There were the usual four walls, door, and windows. An air conditioning unit was online. “You don’t have to thank me,” Carth explained. “I’ve never abandoned anyone on a mission, and I’m not about to start now. Besides, I’m going to be needing your help.

“Taris is under Sith control. Their fleet is orbiting the planet, they’ve declared martial law, and they’ve imposed a planet-wide quarantine.” Carth winked at him. “But I’ve been in worse spots before. I saw on your service record that you understand a remarkable number of alien languages. That’s pretty rare in a raw recruit, but it should come in handy while we’re stranded here on a foreign world. There’s no way the Republic will be able to get anyone through the Sith blockade to help us. If we’re going to find Bastila and get off this planet, we can’t rely on anyone but ourselves.”

Aaryn found himself struggling to remember. Bastila... was she the Jedi that Trask was speaking about? “Bastila? She’s the one from the Endar Spire, right?”

Carth snorted. “That smack to your head did more damage than I thought. Bastila’s a Jedi. She was with the strike team that killed Darth Revan, Malak’s Sith master. Bastila is the key to the whole Republic war effort.” Carth strode ponderously to stare out of the nearest window. “The Sith must have found out she was coming aboard the Endar Spire and set an ambush for us in this system. I believe Bastila was on one of the escape pods that crashed down here on Taris. For the sake of the Republic war effort, we have to try and save her.”

Shaking his head, Aaryn pointed out, “If Bastila’s a Jedi, she can probably look after herself.”

“Bastila’s going to need our help.” Apparently, Carth disagreed, turning to face Aaryn with a serious look in his eyes. “Many of Darth Malak’s followers have mastered the Dark Side of the Force, and the Sith have already killed more than their fair share of Jedi in this war. I doubt anyone’s specifically watching this apartment or looking for us anymore - we’re not important. But if we’re careful we can move about the planet without attracting notice, a luxury Bastila won’t have. She’s going to have half the Sith fleet looking for her. They know how vital she is to the war effort.” He saw Aaryn’s questioning expression. “Bastila is no ordinary Jedi. She has a rare gift the Jedi call battle meditation — Bastila’s power can influence whole armies.”

Aaryn gave his CO an incredulous look. “If Bastila’s so great, how come the Sith managed to blow up the Endar Spire?”

Still, Carth persisted to make him see reason. “Through the Force, Bastila can inspire her allies with confidence, and make her enemies lose their will to fight. And often that’s all it takes to tip the balance in a battle. But there are limits to what she can do. From what I understand, it requires a great deal of concentration and focus to maintain her battle meditation. The attack on the Endar Spire happened so fast she probably never even had a chance to use her power. I’m guessing she barely got out alive, and now she’s trapped here just as we are. The whole planet is under quarantine. No ships can land or take off. So if Bastila’s going to escape Taris, she’s going to need our help. And we’ll probably need hers.”

Sighing, Aaryn shrugged his shoulders. “If it means getting off this planet, I guess I can help you find Bastila.”

“Good. We need to work together if we’re going to survive.” Carth motioned toward the apartment’s door. “While you were unconscious, I did some scouting around. There are reports of a couple of escape pods crashing down into the Undercity — that’s probably where we should start looking. But the Undercity is a dangerous place. We don’t want to go in there unprepared; it won’t do Bastila any good if we go and get ourselves killed.”

“The sooner we start looking for Bastila,” Aaryn said, smiling lightly at Carth, “the sooner we find her. Let’s go!”

Carth nodded his approval. “Good idea. We can use this abandoned apartment as a base, and we can probably get some equipment and supplies here in the Upper City. Just remember to keep a low profile. I’ve heard some grim stories about the Dark Jedi interrogation techniques. They say the Force can do terrible things to a mind; it can wipe away your memories and destroy your very identity! But I figure if we don’t do anything stupid, we should be okay. I mean, after all, they’re... they’re looking for Bastila, not a couple of grunts like us. You feel up to walking?” he asked.

Aaryn nodded.

“Alright soldier, let’s move out!”

As Carth holstered his weapons, the pair made for the door. Before Aaryn could even step one foot into the corridor, Carth pushed him back against the wall. Peering round, he soon learned why.

Two Duros were being harassed by a Sith soldier and a flanking pair of bodyguards, both of them war droids. Aaryn, noticing the rank insignia plaque on the Sith’s chest, saw that the soldier was a lieutenant. He was aiming a blaster at the closest of the Duros.

“Okay, you alien scum.” The lieutenant all but spat the words. “Both of you get up against the wall; this is a raid!”

The farthest Duros barely managed a response. “There was a patrol here just yesterday,” he said in Durese. “And they found nothing! Why do you Sith keep bothering us?”
“Scum!” The lieutenant stared daggers at the offending alien and shot him in the chest, exactly where a human heart would’ve been. The Duros, green blood cauterised by the blaster burn, went down with a thump. “That’s how we Sith deal with smart-mouth aliens!” He held the business end of his weapon toward the remaining Duros’ forehead. “Now you, get up against the wall before I lose my temper again.”

While the lieutenant turned to watch the remaining Duros walk to the right-hand wall, the war droids began to spread out, placing themselves twenty meters apart at opposite ends of the corridor. The droid closest to Carth and Aaryn stood only a few yards from the pair of Republic soldiers.

Leaning close so as not to alert the droid, Carth whispered into Aaryn’s ear. “Distract that droid if you can, then we’ll—”

“Blast them to molten slag?”

“Essentially.”

“Explain to me precisely how I’m meant to do that if I have no blaster,” said Aaryn.

Carth upholstered a blaster from his left side. “This is my backup. Try not to lose it. Oh, stang!”

Aaryn spun round to face the business end of a blaster.

“Hey! What’s this?” came from the lieutenant. It was obvious to Carth that the Sith soldier had already made up his mind about the sentence and was going straight in for the execution. “Humans hiding out with aliens? They’re Republic fugitives — attack!”

********************

UNDERCITY, TARIS

Pain. There was nothing worse than pain. Not at that moment, anyway. She was... where was she? A cage? No, it felt to her as if she were floating. But in what? Her skin didn’t feel wet, so the chances of her being in a refreshing vat of kolto were slim. Besides, she had worse problems.

She didn’t even know her own name.

She tried, and failed, to open her eyes.

Then it came rushing back to her. Her upbringing on Talravin. Her mother and father allowing her to go to the Jedi to be trained. The fierce duel with Darth Revan on the doomed Iniquitous. The Endar Spire…

Bastila, she thought. My name is Bastila.

She began to use the Force, building it up and up, until that inescapable moment when the pressure was so great it had to be released. Bastila released it with all her might. Nothing happened — nothing that she expected, at any rate. What she received for her escape attempt was a severe electrical shock to her entire body. Dazed, Bastila entered unconsciousness.

********************

Interesting. My people actually looted something of value for once.

Brejik stood facing the Jedi woman. She was slumped, quite unceremoniously, on an examination table inside a durasteel cage. Unusually pensive, he pondered the possibilities of breaking her mind; of making her fight for his group, the Black Vulkars. Maybe he’d sell her. Maybe he’d kill her. Maybe he’d use her for more intimate means.

He turned to his protégé. Kandon Ark, a green-skinned Twi’lek born here on Taris, constantly polished the gleaming Mandalorian armour he kept in his quarters whenever he had the chance. Aside from himself, Kandon was the only other member of the Vulkars whom Brejik trusted, but only up to a point. After all, Brejik had betrayed his own leader, Gadon Thek — so there was no reason for Kandon not to get the same idea about him.

“How long has she spent in that cage?” he asked.

“About fifty standard hours,” Kandon replied in Huttese. “What do you want out of her, anyway?”

Brejik turned and headed for the door. “Everything. Eventually, of course, she’ll be sold to the highest bidder. But I want her to be prepared for the future. Keep her restrained. I’ll be back in an hour to personally see to it that she knows exactly what to expect in her new life.”

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

Smoke lashed from the smouldering holes in the metallic chests of the war droids. A blaster bolt flew over Carth’s head and hit the ceramic wall panelling behind him. Aaryn rolled and landed nimbly behind a plasteel crate, then followed up with several shots to the Sith lieutenant’s torso. He was brought down in a hail of energy bolts, hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The surviving Duros peeked out from behind a second crate, then stood — with his hands over his head. He proceeded to lower them to a more comfortable level as he saw Carth and Aaryn holstering their weapons.

“Poor Ixgil,” he stated in Durese. “He should never have talked back to that Sith. Thankfully, you were here to step in and help us, humans. This isn’t the first time the Sith have come in here to cause trouble for us, but hopefully it will be the last.”

Aaryn held out his hand and, the Duros taking it in his own, they shook hands. “I’m just glad we could help.”

“Don’t worry about the body and the debris. I will move them so it looks like they were attacked elsewhere. That should throw the Sith off the track. With any luck, they won’t be bothering us again for a while.”

Aaryn and Carth bid good luck and farewell to the Duros, then continued to walk out of the apartment complex and into the Upper City streets.

Buildings dozens of floors tall stood like sentinels amid the Tarisian skyline; they continued downward for hundreds — if not thousands — of feet, reminding Aaryn of the few times he’d visited Coruscant, the Republic’s capital planet, on smuggling runs. Shuttles and cloud cars teemed through the air above and below, as well as patrolling Sith fighters. Hundreds of Taris’ denizens gilded the walkways and thoroughfares throughout the visible Upper City, though — as it seemed to Aaryn at least — there was an apparently high ratio of humans to non-humans. Clearly, the Sith lieutenant’s xenophobia wasn’t a one-off event. The air itself smelled slightly salty, as if there were an ocean breeze cutting through, and Aaryn recalled that Taris, unlike Coruscant, had yet to build over its waterways. Taris’ primary hung high — it must’ve been around midday.

He turned to Carth.

Chapter 4: Chapter Three

Chapter Text

STAR DESTROYERLEVIATHAN

3,957 BBY

Darth Malak, newly-christened Dark Lord of the Sith, paced the perimeter of his personal quarters. Something was wrong. Something out of place. As if the Force itself were trying to communicate to him. One of the only Jedi techniques he had truly valued was that which allowed its user to tune in with his or her intuition; to become swept up and taken away — but to a point. It was best compared to a search and rescue attempt on choppy waters when explaining to non-Force users.

Malak sat cross-legged in his meditation chamber, his black cloak and red-orange body armour left loosely by the locked doorway, and stretched out into the Force. The war effort would last at least another year, that much he was certain of. He knew that the Republic would fall to its knees, begging for true leadership, true power; not the puppeteering of the current supreme chancellor, the rash fool Tarkin. He, Malak, would give that to the citizens of his Empire. That was what the Force had told him, and thus he had deceived and killed his old master, Darth Revan.

Revan had been everything to Malak once; confidant, friend… they’d spent almost every minute of every day together, searching for a reason to leave the Jedi and the Republic behind them. And then the war began.

The Mandalorian Wars had been the most destructive conflict the galaxy had known for thousands of years, often the bloodiest. As such, families were torn asunder, whole worlds annihilated, species eradicated. Millions of Republic troops were sent out to the Outer Rim worlds in order to fend off the approaching Mandalorian armada. It was no use, however; Mandalorian shields were far stronger than those of the Republic, and so entire fleets burnt in front of the eyes of every Republic admiral. Dantooine had threatened to secede, allowing hundreds of like-minded senators to follow suit. The Republic began to crumble.

And yet the Jedi were doing nothing.

Whole fleets were routed, whole worlds ripped apart, and yet the Jedi Order sat back in their halls debating the origins of the Mandalorian aggression. Many apprentices, even masters, had voiced their concerns, and still the council did nothing. Revan, however, could not be placated so easily, and so he, Malak, and several Jedi marched straight out of the enclave on Dantooine and straight on to the flagship of the Republic fleet, the Hammer. Needless to say, the Jedi Council, in particular Master Atris, was not happy. Vrook, ever blunt, had given Revan and Malak an ultimatum: return to Coruscant to face the council, or be renounced by the Order. The stakes were too high either way; in the end, they’d chosen their convictions and duty over their masters’ needs. The Order cut all communications with them.

For a few days, they’d believed they were on their own. It wasn’t until the First Battle of Omonoth that the Republic’s Rear Admiral Saul Karath began to realise what a resource the Jedi could be; even though all sides were forced to evacuate the Arkanian Legacy at the last minute, Karath gradually brought the Jedi, in particular Revan, into his mission briefings. Before long, Jedi General Revan, Jedi Commander Malak, and Jedi Commander Min Xhosa were representing the Republic in many of the major campaigns of the war. Revan was given ultimate command of the Republic fleet, and Malak promoted to the rank of general, but a setback in the Charros system brought news that Xhosa was killed in action, so Revan chose another, a Jedi Knight named Meetra Surik, to promote to general, giving her almost as much leeway as Malak himself. There were certainly times when he had believed Surik was plotting against him, but victory after victory under her command raised the morale of the troops on the frontlines, and so Malak grew to grudgingly respect her skills. It wasn’t until a few months later that everything would change.

The infamous Battle of Malachor V was the single most vicious and bloodthirsty campaign in the history of the Republic. Ordering virtually all of his Jedi to remain behind, Revan had lured the multitude of the Mandalorian fleet to an agricultural world in the Malachor system in the Outer Rim. The system itself was taboo among Mandalorian culture - as it was in the Jedi Order — though it appeared that this did not phase the Taung Mando’ade, Mandalore the Ultimate, who was struck down by Revan himself in single combat. Revan took the Mandalore’s mask for himself, and the Republic fleet began to rout the Mandalorians. Unbeknownst to almost everyone though, Revan ordered his prized General Surik to activate a single weapon, the mass shadow generator.

What came next was horrifying — even for Malak.

The generator was set up in the planetary core of Malachor V, above which the two enemy armadas were fighting. After its activation, the generator artificially increased the mass (and therefore, the gravity well) of the planet and in return the great warships of both fleets were drawn into a descending arc of burning flames. What was once a pastoral world was now a rotting, roiling ball of metal, planetary debris, and blood. The remainder of the Mandalorian fleet transmitted an unconditional surrender. Revan, however, wasn’t buying it. He and Malak took what was left of the Republic’s fleet and pursued the Mandalorians into the heart of the Unknown Regions, giving the people of the Republic, and the Jedi Order, the idea that they were lost, forever missing in action. A year later, they were all proven wrong.

There was something connected to these events that the Force was now showing him, Malak was led to believe. He immediately discounted the possibility of Revan; Malak himself had felt his old master’s Force presence diminish as he fired upon and destroyed the Star Destroyer Iniquitous.

The Force may well have been guiding him toward the Jedi commander he had heard rumours of, the one in command of the strike team that had boarded and left the dying Iniquitous’ hangar bay. Darth Malak immersed himself still further into the Force.

After a moment — or maybe an hour? — he found himself in what he recognised as one of the apartment complexes of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He looked at the door to his left: Apartment 2-228-Kappa was written in standard Aurebesh. He walked forward, instinctively knowing that his presence would pass through the door, rather than it opening for him, as it would with a physical body. Inside, a 40-something woman was undressing after a rigorous bout of combat training — the bruising on her back, shoulders, and thighs gave it away. Her brunette hair, hanging only to the base of her neck, appeared sticky and gleaming with sweat. Then she looked round.

She couldn’t see him of course, not physically — Malak was certain. But he was fairly sure that she, whoever she was, could see him through the Force. Her eyes widened in abject shock as she clearly realised who he was and, keeping her gaze at Malak’s eye-level, she pressed her intercom.

********************

Bastila had never known such surprise; in all her life as a disciple of the Force, no one — no one at all–had been able to freely enter her apartment through use of the Force. She knew instinctively who the intruder was just from his mere presence in the Force — Darth Malak, newly-crowned Dark Lord of the Sith. Thinking that he wouldn’t be able to physically stop her, Bastila reached for the intercom to her left. She had barely activated the channel to Master Zez-Kai Ell before a massive surge of Force energy slammed her into the ceiling and pinned her there.

You’re the commander of the Jedi strike team sent to kill my old master, aren’t you?

“What?” she replied. Was that Malak asking her, or Master Ell? She couldn’t tell, for her mind was racing faster than any swoop race on Tatooine.

“Bastila, this is Master Ell. Are you okay?” That came from the intercom, she was sure of it.

She inhaled to answer, but Malak’s presence pushed against her throat, choking off her reply.

Bastila, is it? Well, Bastila, you and I are going to start seeing more of each other in the future. I sincerely hope that will accommodate my needs, for I have need of you. And your Force capabilities — in particular that famed battle meditation which you prize above all else. Running footsteps could be heard coming toward them from down the corridor. I will have you, Bastila. That much is certain.

Malak’s Force presence vanished, dropping Bastila to the floor with a painful bump just as Jedi Master Zez-Kai Ell entered the apartment. The middle-aged man, a bushy moustache lining his upper lip, peered around the room, attempting to discern any residual Force presence.

********************

Malak slumped onto the black tiled floor of his meditation chamber. This session had tired him more than any previously. This Jedi — this Bastila — was strong-willed and determined, that much he could sense. But below that, on a more intuitive plane of existence, Malak knew that the Force had led him to her. Bastila was the disturbance he had sensed. He had already found an apprentice… but where Darth Bandon had little if no experience with battle meditation, Bastila did not. And that was what could win the war in favour of the Sith.

Chapter 5: Chapter Four

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

3,956 BBY

Aaryn and Carth had entered the Tumbling Dice, the local cantina in this part of the Upper City. At the door they’d encountered a Sith guard. Probably just the bouncer dressed up trying to scare away potential trouble, thought Carth. Carth had seen a lot in his time with the Republic Navy, so it really wouldn’t surprise him in the least. Fortunately, he was happily surprised to find that the cantina itself was clean — as far as cantinas went, at least. A couple of green-skinned female Twi’leks sat at a pazaak table, eagerly grabbing their winnings from the hands of their opponent, a burly-faced woman of a species Carth did not recognise. The woman, over-sized ear lobes and tan-orange skin reinforcing Carth’s inability to recall her species, was congratulating her opponents.

“It seems you two are a force to be reckoned with,” she said.

“Of course we are,” began one Twi’lek.

“What can we say?” continued the other. “You must have inherited your mother’s pazaak skills.”

As the Twi’leks laughed to themselves, the woman leaned forward menacingly. “Never make fun of my mother — Rule of Acquisition number thirty-one.”

“Oh, please, Oshta! Your kind are too hard on yourselves! Isn’t that why those Mandalorians conquered your homeworld, to bring you some civility? After all, you wouldn’t even allow your women to wear clothes until the Republic rose to power!”

At that, the Twi’lek pairing upped and left, leaving the woman to stew in her own anger.

Peering toward the bar, Carth noted the Tarisian bartender handing drinks to a triplet of small, furry Chadra-Fan. Carth had met members of their species, having served with many in the Navy during the Wars. Though most of the time, he’d tended to run into them in the corridors rather embarrassingly, tripping over their small metre-high forms. During the Mandalorians Wars, their homeworld, Chad, was besieged by the Mando’ade invaders. Its inhabitants were forced into domestic slavery for years before the Republic Navy, led by Revan himself, finally liberated the oceanic world.

Since then, the Chadra-Fan, as a whole, had kept quiet on the galactic scene, but some individuals had taken the time to head off-world, making their way to several other Outer Rim worlds, such as Dantooine or Christophsis. As a general rule of thumb, Carth tried never to judge people, but he couldn’t help himself from wondering if this was really the best planet to live on, especially now, what with the Sith in control.

Aaryn had found a quiet table away from the bar, obviously intending to keep the less-discernible folk from interacting with them. He looked at the electronic beverage menu set into the table. “What do you want, an abrax?”

Carth batted him a dirty look. “Well, okay,” said the ensign. “While — technically — we’re still on duty… we have no commanding officer in-system. We can drink all we like, Celestials know I need it.” Aaryn continued to peruse the menu, until he’d apparently decided upon some ancient alcoholic beverage called tequila, while Carth agreed to a pint of Kashyyykan bitter berry beer. A minute later the server droid, a GE3-series protocol droid answering by the designation 9C-1Q, set their order down on the table, and swiftly left after receiving Carth’s payment.

Carth was surprised to see that Ensign Savo downed his shot of tequila within a second. Maybe he’d finally found a drinking partner who could actually keep up with him…

“Want another?” asked Aaryn. “Oh, no, sorry… I kinda forgot guys your age can’t keep up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Ensign?” Carth asked, placing heavy emphasis on Aaryn’s rank.

Aaryn was about to snap a witty retort when a young woman, clearly inebriated, stumbled into the table and spilling Carth’s pint on his chest as he was taking a ship. The woman stood, and faltered once more eventually taking ahold of the back of Aaryn’s chair to straighten herself. “Hi there,” she said. Her eyes were ever-so-slightly unfocused. “I haven’t seen you around before. Of course, they don’t give us Sith officers from the military much time off.”

Aaryn looked somewhat taken aback. “You’re from the military base? You don’t look like one of the Sith.”

The Sith officer, or so she claimed, bent down over Carth suggestively. “I’m off-duty right now, so I’m out of my uniform. My name is Sarna — junior officer, first class, with the Sith occupation force.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarna,” said Aaryn. “I’m Ben, and this is Uthar.” Carth eyed his junior officer.

Sarna turned her to face to ‘Ben.’ “I’m actually a little surprised you’re talking to me at all,” she said, before turning her gaze back to ‘Uthar.’ “Most of the people here on Taris can’t stand us Sith. It makes this job pretty lonely…” Sarna winked at Carth. Surely she doesn’t think anything could possibly happen between the two of us…?

Before Carth could say anything to cool Sarna off, Aaryn interjected on his behalf. “You’re just doing your job, right? I don’t hold that against you.”

“Save the sympathetic best friend act. I’m not buying it.” Sarna more or less spat the words at Aaryn.

“Sorry,” said Carth. “We’re not trying to judge you.”

Sighing, Sarna nonchalantly took the third seat at the table, sloshing her glass of Alderaanian rosé next to Aaryn’s empty shot glass. “Ah, it’s okay. I might have overreacted a bit. But can you blame me? Everywhere I look, I see one of you Tarisians glaring at me with hate in your eyes.”

“We’re not actually from Taris,” Aaryn pointed out. “We’re just stuck here until the quarantine ends.”

Sarna’s eyes widened a touch. “You’re offworlders? Huh, I figure you’d be even more angry, being stuck on a foreign planet and all.”

The server droid was collecting glasses nearby, Carth saw; he gulped the remainder of his beer, and called out to the droid. “Nine-cee, can we get another round here for the two of us?” he asked, pointing to himself and Aaryn.

The droid looked at Carth with what could only have been blankness — though, had it owned a face Carth was sure it would’ve given him a face full of spitefulness — before taking the empty glasses and walking back toward the bar. When 9C returned with their refilled drinks, Aaryn was saying to Sarna, “Hey, we’re both strangers on Taris. We have to stick together.”

“You’re right!” replied Sarna. “It’s like everyone on this backwater planet is in a permanent bad mood. Don’t they know they have to make the best of things?”

“Everybody has their ups and downs… it’s how you deal with them that counts.”

“Exactly!” the Sith officer explained. “It’s all about attitude. I didn’t ask to be assigned to this backwater planet, but I try to make the best of it!” She downed the last of her drink. “It’s pretty easy to get depressed on an assignment that’s like this, but we do what we can to keep our spirits up.”

“It must be tough, being stationed on a hostile world,” Carth chimed in.

Sarna looked at him gratefully. “That’s true. It’s nice to meet someone who understands what I’m going though. It’s good to talk about this stuff — it gets pretty lonely up at the military base. I have to get going soon; I’ve got a shift at the base. But some of us junior officers are having a party tonight to blow off some steam. I’d really like to see you both there. Why don’t you drop by the party? It’s at my place — Fryd Sector, Za’Fraan Towers, one hundred sixth floor, apartment fifty-two.”

Carth swiftly memorised the address — and by the looks of it, so did Aaryn — and said, “Sounds good! We’ll be there.”

“Don’t be late. We’re starting right after our shifts end at eighteen hundred hours. Most of us won’t even be going back to the base to lock up our uniforms.” Sarna stood somewhat unsteadily. “I look forward to seeing you there.” And before anyone could stop her, she’d bent down and planted a lustrous kiss on Carth’s lips. After a few seconds she finally let go, and left.

A moment of silence passed

Aaryn whistled. “And here I thought she wasn’t into you,” he mused.

Chapter 6: Chapter Five

Chapter Text

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

Forn Dodonna, admiral and Supreme Commander of the Republic Fleet, was rarely — if ever — allowed a chance to sleep. What with the Sith Empire running rings around the Republic fleet, combined with Republic soldiers deserting left, right, and centre; many were left wondering as to just how Dodonna managed to keep on going. The answer, as her happy-go-lucky aide would say, was a nightly routine of an hour-long soak in the bath, quickly followed by a relaxing massage from the best Twi’lek masseurs credits could buy. The truth, as told by Admiral Dodonna, was an hourly routine of caf, caf, and more caf. Most nights she barely got a minute’s rest due to the sheer amount of caffeine coursing through her blood.

Thank the Force for make-up.

And so it was that Dodonna had taken to piling duties onto her aide; in turn he’d begun to pile those same duties upon his own aides. It wasn’t every day that dozens of junior under-secretaries to Republic senators were expected to draft a plan of action to retake a system here, or destroy a shipyard there, but Dodonna simply needed a break. Preferably before she made a fatal mistake and accidentally allowed Coruscant to be overrun with Sith Acolytes bearing lightsabres.

Fortunately, that was not about to happen any time soon. Almost a full year ago, the Republic had routed a massive Sith fleet in orbit of Lannik, and the enemy garrisons had been on the defensive ever since. Now, Dodonna was in the midst of a full inspection tour of duty on the front lines, and she’d chosen Palesia, capital city of Lannik, as her base of operations for the time being. Unfortunately for the Republic’s annual budget. Dodonna’s move also meant that the entire defence department had to up sticks and move with her. Already, the HoloNet was awash with anti-Dodonna sentiments, most of which sprouted, unofficially of course, from those working within the senate itself. As long as Dodonna kept fighting the good fight, the supreme chancellor couldn’t afford to fire her.

Or, at least, she hoped.

Dodonna was career military, so it was unsurprising to note that she lived like a Mandalorian, thus the only items to be found in her quarters were a large, wroshyr bookcase, a small durasteel desk flanked either side by a pair of uncomfortable durasteel chairs, and a considerably large ceiling fan, which Dodonna had requested be fit after two days of profuse sweating in the dry Lannik heat. To the left of the desk, an antique wroshyr door opened to a hall with similar doors leading to a small bedroom, a refresher egress, and a personal dining room. Apart from a small pile of flimsi on her desk, Dodonna’s quarters were spotless. Her aide, Marloon Zher, often commented on Dodonna’s lack of personal touch; not a single holo of her family or close friends in sight. She’d even kept the Lannik decorators from changing the colour scheme from the neutral greys and whites that adorned the room.

Already in the middle of her twelfth cup of caf that morning, Dodonna, sat behind her desk, was expecting a call from the supreme chancellor’s office on Coruscant. She did not, however, truly expect anything different from the last time she’d been commed. The loss of whole systems, the admiral knew, would force the chancellor to place the blame squarely on her shoulders, yet again — if only to save his own ass. For the sake of argument, Dodonna would play along. But when the time came to write her memoirs, the admiral would reveal everything she had on the chancellor; all the dirt, lies, and scandal — from his family’s background, to how he’d managed to win a landslide victory mere days after the previous chancellor, Jhorash B’etann, was killed in the Battle of Vanquo. All in all, Dodonna surmised the chancellor would take up at least five or six chapters of her memoirs alone.

Dodonna’s personal holocomm beeped, interrupting her musings. She keyed in her access code, and waited with bated breath.

Supreme Chancellor Fiennes Tarkin, regaled in a red shimmersilk robe, had been in his mid-fifties when he’d been sworn in six years ago, with black hair in a fashionable Eriaduan style. Dark brown eyes, deep-set and rimmed in a prominent brow, had always been regarded (though Dodonna would whole-heartedly disagree, if only in secret) as one of the kindest, most caring pair of eyes ever to grace the Galactic Senate. Now though, the black hair was gone, entirely replaced with deep grey. The so-called kind and caring eyes were beset by wrinkles and scare that weren’t present when last they’d spoken. The smile was the worst part of the man, though; a smile that had always reached his eyes, even when he lied through his teeth, and Dodonna secretly regarded it as the bane of the Republic. Still, the senate regarded Tarkin as their saviour, their knight in shining armour, and Dodonna was not prepared to deny them that.

“Supreme Chancellor. To what do I own the pleasure?”

“Admiral Dodonna,” Tarkin acknowledged. “May I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”

Dodonna co*cked an eyebrow. “Naturally.”

Tarkin, a man who always kept his face neutral, unusually mimicked her expression for a split-second before going on. “I’ll endeavour to keep this brief. I trust I need not remind you of the status of the Sith fleet.”

Dodonna chose instead to answer Tarkin’s rhetorical question. “Of course, Chancellor,” she said. “Malak has our forces effectively on the defensive. Hell, if a lieutenant on Ryloth sneezed, the Dark Lord would know about it. I trust I need not tell you, Chancellor, that we are losing this war; we simply do not have the resources necessary to strategically rout Malak’s forces.”

Tarkin’s holographic gaze became hard as durasteel. “It would be bad for morale, Admiral, if any of the troops on the front lines knew about this."

By bad, you mean that I’d be out of a job, thought Dodonna sourly. “Believe me, Chancellor, there is absolutely no risk of our men losing morale.”

Unnervingly, Tarkin produced one of his famous — infamous, in Dodonna’s mind — smiles. He remained like this — still, silent, and smiling — for a short moment, before returning to his usual neutral self. But it was a moment fraught with warning, nonetheless. “Grand Master Vrook reports that some of his Jedi have disappeared.”

“Yes, Chancellor,” replied Dodonna. “Marloon informed me of the Endar Spire’s disappearance over Taris. The reports I’ve received are, thus far, sketchy.”

“Did Marloon also report that Taris is now under Sith control, Admiral?”

Dodonna swallowed loudly. She had hoped to have kept that little piece of intel under wraps until she could put together a rescue mission.

“Did he also tell you, Admiral, that the Endar Spire was destroyed rather than having disappeared?”

That got her attention. No one, no one, was supposed to about what had happened at Taris, and the loss of the Endar Spire. Well, no one aside from herself, Marloon, and the Jedi Council. Chancellor Tarkin, ideally, should never have even heard about the whole debacle until weeks after any survivors had been debriefed. That the chancellor knew put Dodonna very much on edge. She downed the remainder of her caf. “Excuse me, Chancellor, but I bel—”

“Cannok got your tongue, Admiral?” Tarkin interrupted. His face became dark, as if the lighting had lowered on Coruscant. “The Endar Spire may have been just one ship, but Taris is an entire system that’s now lost to the Sith. You are not on the senate’s payroll to lose our systems, Admiral Dodonna. From Taris, the Sith are a couple of dozen victories away from taking the entirety of the Hydian Way. After that, they’ll only be a couple of jumps away from Coruscant itself. The casualties will be atrocious; it will be a bloodbath akin to nothing we have ever before known in the Republic’s history!” Tarkin’s gaze stared daggers through the HoloNet connection. “On your head be it, Admiral Dodonna.” The chancellor ended the communication.

Dodonna stood in silence. She couldn’t yet decide if she felt furious at being treated like a schoolgirl, or terrified of the chancellor’s wrath.

All she knew was that she was in desperate need of another cup of caf.

Chapter 7: Chapter Six

Chapter Text

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

To the denizens of the Republic, Jedi Council meetings were thought of as mind-numbingly boring, with the Masters sitting in their high-backed chairs debating whatever subject the senate found to be too petty.

Master Vandar, usually the infectious calm in the storm, had walked from the chamber over an hour previously in order to head back to his responsibilities at the Dantooine enclave. Master Chitt, the only Toydarian in the Order, fluttered in front of the Order’s historian, Master Atris, all the while flailing his arms around in disgust as Atris continued to argue her point all-too vehemently. The Geonosian Master Prilka Doj’s powerfully built wings beat in the air in frustration, practically every time the bearded Master Veryte uttered a word. Masters Vrook Lamar, Zhar Lestin, Tiimah, Dorak, Lonna Vash, and Zez-Kai Ell simply sat in their places in silence, their eyes closed and thoughts shut off from the physical world. The messenger who’d brought about this particular argument, the Rodian Vice-Chancellor Hreeda Tan, had gracefully entered, spoken eloquently, answered what questions the Masters had put to him, and left without uttering another word.

Kavar was the first to admit he’d been particularly ready to defend any of Tan’s actions, past or present, and his actions today — well, his manners, really — had only proven Kavar’s opinion of the Rodian.

The argument was beginning to gain volume. Doj’s wings were beating so fast he was actually gaining height. Within minutes, Vrook was on his feet and raising his voice, augmenting it with the Force so that he was heard above the ruckus.

“Stop this! All of you!”

The Masters who were currently on their feet, and, in Doj’s case, in the air - fell silent immediately and turned to face Vrook. The sixty-seven-year old Jedi Grand Master simply gave each of them a highly condescending look. This apparently held enough sway with them, Kavar mused, that the Masters returned to their seats, egos bruised and tempers cooling. Only after the last, Chitt, had sat did Vrook return to his own place in the chamber.

“If anyone here wishes to continue acting like a babbling, bumbling band of bantha,” said Vrook, “they will kindly leave this Temple at once.” When silence continued in the chamber, Vrook went on. “Now, we must decide what we are going to do about the Taris debacle.”

“If what Chairman Tan told us is true,” Dorak said, “the chancellor will use this ambush to discredit the Order.”

Chitt’s wings sprang up in anger. “He wouldn’t dare!” he said, his clicking language in full flow. “The Galactic Senate would never be swayed by manoeuvring so transparent!”

“Calm yourself, Chitt,” Vash spoke. “Your faith in the senate is commendable, but even you know that the senators have always supported Chancellor Tarkin. Remember Malachor Five.”

Tiimah, his four hands resting on his powerful thighs, spoke with a weariness not easily acknowledged. “Lonna, I am sure none of us here need reminding of that terrible day.” The Besalisk turned to Vandar. “Master Vandar, your empathic abilities are legend; can you sense nothing of Bastila?”

Vandar, his eyes closing, sat still for a long moment. Eventually he opened his eyes and Kavar could immediately see that his old master had failed. “I sense nothing of Bastila, Master Tiimah, though I suspect we all would have sensed her passing, were she indeed dead.”

Atris, her long white hair cascading down around the back of her waist, admitted, “It is not Bastila we need to worry over; it is her… companion… who truly holds the key to a Republic victory. If he dies, so does the Order.”

“There is no need to repeat this argument again, Atris,” said Vrook. “I, for one, would like to return to the subject at hand.”

“Taris cannot remain in Malak’s hands,” Zhar said. “There are simply too many resources for Malak to exploit. The Republic could very well lose this war.”

“Just one of many reasons the chancellor cannot afford to turn against us, not fully,” said Vash, nodding.

Kavar, and several on the council, were nodding, too. The council had long suspected Chancellor Tarkin of spreading, unofficially, anti-Jedi sentiment throughout the Republic and several of the outlying systems since the beginning of the Jedi Civil War. The senate, ever-indebted to their glorious leader, had backed Tarkin’s appeals behind the scenes, and so the Jedi had been forced to start taking a back-seat in the war against Malak. And like every other part of the Republic, the Jedi relied on a yearly budget.

A budget that had been cut quite severely.

Because of the lower funding, the Jedi Temple had suffered; the exterior paint-work was peeling, and light fixtures were routinely falling from the ceilings. The chancellor had even gone so far as to cut the electricity supply to the Temple, leaving the lowest rooms in the sub-levels bathed in utter darkness both day and night. All in the name of “assisting the war effort.”

Atris’ face was one of scorn. “Bah! We are down to ten percent of reserve power and refresher systems are beginning to shut down! It won’t be long until we’re forced to recharge out lightsabres using a public terminal.”

“I suspect that is what the chancellor is trying to do,” Kavar said in measured tones. “I also suspect that he would not wish any further Jedi involvement on Taris.”

Zhar was appalled. “Surely the chancellor cannot expect us to attempt another project like the Jedi Tower — it’s preposterous!”

Vrook was on his feet. “The Jedi Tower was an abject failure, an embarrassment to our Order. I can only hope to the Force that the general public does not gain knowledge of those eve—”

The Jedi Master halted mid-sentence. Kavar felt a series of vibrations under his booted feet, and a low murmur was heard in the air. But the worst was yet to hit them.

********************

The blast tore through the ferrocrete walls of the Jedi Temple in a spectacular array of shrapnel. Two Jedi, meditating in silence around neighbouring fountains, were forced off their backsides and dozens of metres into the air, before being hit by the airborne projectiles that previously made up the nearby wall. The Jedi fell to the floor with sickening crunches, and neither moved again.

For every Jedi taken into the Temple here on Coruscant, at least five were accepted into the Sith Academy on Korriban, Darth Bandon knew. The Academy, founded during the Great Sith War almost four and a half decades previously, was one of the many such institutions spread throughout the known galaxy, training would-be acolytes in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force. Bandon himself had been accepted into the academy on Korriban. He’d excelled on all levels, and before long had caught the eye and admiration of a certain Darth Malak.

After the treacherous Jedi attempted to destroy Darth Revan, Malak’s former master, Malak had travelled back to Korriban in order to search for an apprentice of his own. And since all the other candidates had met with “unfortunate accidents” in the Valley of the Sith Lords, Bandon was the only acolyte left in one piece for Malak to take on as his apprentice. Over the months, Malak and Bandon had become so entwined with the Force, that onlookers had fled in sheer terror at the sight of the pair mowing down unwary enemies.

Suddenly, Bandon felt the tell-tale presence of those strong in the Light Side of the Force. The Sith Apprentice wrapped his Force aura tight around himself, lowering his own presence so as not to give himself away too soon. As several Jedi began to gather in the nearby doorway, Bandon slipped into the shadows beneath a large waterfall, mindful to keep his aura cloaked.

A lanky, somewhat non-descript Togruta, who to Bandon’s eye could be no more than twenty or thirty years of age, was the first to enter the enormous Room of a Thousand Fountains and, trading words with the human comrade on his left, cautiously stepped forward to survey the once-tranquil room. It took all of Bandon’s self-control not to place his hand on his lightsabre and ignite the twin crimson blades; he longed to cleave those filthy Jedi heads from their filthy Jedi bodies.

The Togruta continued stepping gradually forward, lightsabre at the ready. Within moments he’d passed beneath Bandon’s hiding place and entered a large copse of assari trees. Bandon’s lips curled into a vicious smile. The Togruta, unwittingly, had just elected himself to be the next to die.

The Sith Apprentice, mindful to keep his aura gathered tightly to his body, silently slipped through the shadows from under the waterfall and stalked the Togruta. It wasn’t particularly difficult, mused Bandon. All he had to do was pounce on the alien Jedi from behind and the filthy Togruta’s body would fall limply to the floor.

In pieces, added Bandon inwardly.

********************

Kavar ran into the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and came to an abrupt stop. To his left, the Jedi Master saw a gaping hole in the wall, with blue sky in the distance, mostly obscured by heavy smoke. Two apprentices, Gallar Styles and M’Tas-Lioe, lay in unnatural positions on the debris-ravaged floor. What a snap-hiss Kavar activated his lightsabres, the usual blue blade paired with a shoto of the same colour. Up ahead was danger, and he knew he was walking directly into the thick of it.

Kavar stalked further into the room, wary of an ambush. Clearly, the attacker — whoever they were — had known exactly what they were doing. Kavar, however, had absolutely no clue as to what the attacker had planned. Stretching out with the Force, Kavar’s eyes widened in shock; the attacker was trained in the Force, attempting to cloak themselves within the mystical energy field. He smiled knowingly… had the infiltrator learnt that particular talent from Master Vash, they most likely would’ve been able to elude him. It was fortunate that they had not.

The Jedi Master, using the Force as his aid, sprang thirty or so metres into the air and propelled himself like the expert acrobat he was. His blades ready to stab into the attacker as he hit his mark, Kavar fell through the assari treetops. The blue blades plunged into the floor up to their hilts. His expected opponent — his expectantly dead opponent — was not there.

Before he could peer around his location, Kavar was blasted back by a powerful by a powerful wave of Force energy. Rolling to his feet as he landed, the Jedi Master raised his lightsabres in the Jar’Kai variant of a Form VI defence. He was momentarily taken aback as he saw a lone figure, wielding a crimson blade of their own, racing toward him.

The blades of the two opponents clashed with a heat all of their own. Master Kavar, almost stunned by the sheer raw power possessed by the infiltrator, attempted to drive his opponent back, but to no avail. In fact, it was Kavar who was being driven back. Step by step, his opponent’s blade slammed into his own with amazingly deft and agile grace, which almost made Kavar wonder whether his opponent had studied under an actual blademaster.

Spotting an opening, Kavar feinted with his off-hand, bringing his right-hand lightsabre over his opponent’s blade so as to decapitate that dark warrior and bring the duel to an abrupt halt. His opponent wasn’t fooled so easily, however. As soon as Kavar’s blade swung back for his neck, the warrior dived down and almost took Kavar’s legs off at the knees. Kavar flipped into the air and landed nimbly on the floor two metres from the warrior’s left. From the smell Kavar deduced that the warrior had come just a tad too close for comfort; the legs of his robe pants were badly singed. He had to bring this to an end, and quickly.

Deactivating his lightsabres, Kavar stood facing his enemy. “You are foolish to believe you can end my life, warrior.”

“My master has allowed me to kill all who attempt to stop me. This is the beginning of a new age — the Age of the Sith!” The warrior cackled with hatred so strong that it stung Kavar’s eyes. “And no Jedi shall have a place in the New Order. You time is at an end, Kavar. Face it, and die with what little honour you still command.”

The warrior hefted his lightsabre above his head, preparing to sweep the weapon through the air and cut Kavar in two. The Jedi Master gathered the Force around him, feeling its currents and eddies, until he could take no more. Finally, before the warrior could hurl his blade, Kavar unleashed a blast of pure Force energy that hit the warrior, lifted him off his feet, and sent him flying toward the other side of the enormous room — some thousand hundred metres away.

“After you, sir,” said Kavar as the warrior hit the wall with a loud smack.

Unfortunately, the warrior recovered quickly enough to escape before Kavar or the other Jedi could capture him.

Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

UNDERCITY, TARIS

She woke with a start. Her torturers had finished with her… how long ago? Must be several hours, at least, she thought.

Bastila’s world was pitch blackness; her eyes failed her after a particularly lengthy “interrogation” had over-stimulated the occipital lobe in her brain, causing her to scream in pain as her vision brightened to painfully bright white light for several minutes, before turning to blackness and causing her to fall unconscious once more.

Apparently her torturers had considered that unworthy of continuing with the sadism.

Hearing wasn’t good, either — in fact, she was virtually deaf. One of the sad*sts, an Anzat of lithe body, blue eyes and red hair, had unsheathed the pair of proboscises she kept hidden in her cheeks and proceeded to guide them into her ear canals so as to simply amuse herself. The pain of feeling her tympanic membranes perforated bordered on the extreme. Now that she’d awakened, she could feel the blood and the pus dried down her neck and her exposed body.

Yet she wasn’t going to be defeated.

All in all, Bastila was thoroughly skrogged off. And whenever — however — she escaped, her captors would have the worst kriffing day of their lives.

********************

UPPER CITY

Night had fallen. Taris’ moon Rogue was high in the sky — soon to be followed by the remaining three satellites — and yet the ecumenopolis of Taris continued to be as lively as it ever was during the height of daylight. Carth was taking a power nap on one of the apartment’s single beds. Aaryn, however, wasn’t getting much rest due to Carth’s incessant snoring. Instead of attempting to get some shut-eye, Aaryn had wandered over to one of the apartment’s windows, opened it a few inches, and basked in the cool Tarisian breeze.

The city-scape was almost breath-taking — or at least it would be if one could wipe away the racism and inherent arrogance from the faces of many of Taris’ upper class. Aaryn and Carth had seen it for themselves the moment they stepped out of their apartment just that morning. Then there was an old man who was whining on about how “alien scum were poised to invade!” — as if he had any kind of right to dictate who could and could not walk the free streets of Taris. Aaryn hadn’t long been able to remain composed; Carth, fortunately, had stopped him from lashing out in any way, shape, or form, before any innocent (and no-so-innocent) passers-by could get hurt through any ensuing violence.

Hundreds of pairs of blazing lights signalled the headlamps of Taris’ night traffic, each pair corresponding to several varieties of airspeeder whizzing along at high speed. Aaryn found himself wondering about the passengers of those speeders; who they were, what species they were, where they might be going. Unfortunately, the Sith conquest had grounded all non-Sith ships from leaving the planet’s atmosphere, as well as any planet-wide traffic throughout the ecumenopolis. Usually, Aaryn surmised, there would have been thousands — tens of thousands — of speeders in the air, even in the of night.

A drawn out yawn signalled Carth’s awakening from his slumber. “Feels almost like home,” he mumbled to himself after a lengthy pause.

Home… for Aaryn, home was on Deralia, a planet in the Outer Rim. Located within the Tammuz sector, Deralia held a pair amount of trade due to being close to a major hyperspace route connecting the Perlemian Trade Route with the Corellian Run. During the Mandalorian Wars, the planet had taken in hundreds of human and Stereb refugees after the Mandalorians devastated their ancient homeworld, and Aaryn, then a full-time smuggler, had been present among the Republic forces who had ferried the survivors from the destruction. Aaryn’s world had twice resisted Mandalorian forces, pushing them back into Hutt Space on both occasions, and so Admiral Dodonna had personally recommended the agricultural biosphere as a site for relocation.

For most worlds, taking in refugees involved a certain loss to that particular world’s economy. But the Deralian economy had in fact been dramatically bolstered by the influx of population.

“Yeh,” Aaryn replied. “I guess so.”

Carth sighed silently. “Before the Sith came, Thani — our capital city — was much like this; kilometre-high skyscrapers, etcetera. At night, there would be crowds of people bustling through the walkways.” He moved over to stand next to Aaryn, his forearms resting on the seam of the open window. The cool dusk air fanned at Carth’s dark brown hair.

Without looking at his companion, Aaryn motioned toward the door. “We should get going, if you’re ready.”

The commander nodded, and made his way to the ensuite to shower and change.

********************

Having left their apartment tower behind them, Carth and Aaryn were pacing toward the elevator across the walkway that would take them to Sarna’s place, which was located on the neighbouring tower’s 114th floor. Hidden in the shadows, before the elevator doors, was an elderly human man. Another human, of not-so-gentile nature, and an Aqualish were standing in front of him, both carrying heavyweight weaponry — a mark III Zabrak Tystel on the Aqualish, and an Arkanian heavy pistol on the human.

“Davik says you missed your payments,” stated the human.

“Davik don’t like you missing payments,” added the Aqualish, apparently the lesser of two evils.

The old man looked scared half to death. “Here – I’ve got fifty credits! A down payment, that should buy me some time, right?”

The human thug tutted and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, hefting his pistol. “You’re out of time. Now, it’s all or nothing. Davik can’t have people not paying his debts.”

The Aqualish grew agitated and slowly began to raise his weapon. Carth whispered into Aaryn’s ear. “I know we have to be careful about drawing attention to ourselves, but are we just going to let them drag this guy off?”

“That too bad,” the Aqualish was saying. “Davik going to want us to make example out of you! You’re coming with us!”

“No! Help; somebody help!” The old man was sobbing uncontrollably as he backed himself into the wall. “They’re going to kill me!”

The human thug noticed Carth and Aaryn watching the situation unfold, and held out a hand to stop his companion from inadvertently shooting the blithering man. “Hold on a second. Lookays like we got ourselves a couple of witnesses here.

The Aqualish turned to the Republic officers. “Davik don’t like witnesses.”

Aaryn, however, wasn’t intimidated, and Carth was left wondering as to whether the young officer would even be bothered by having a blaster waving picometres from his face. Aaryn pointed his blaster at the human. “Leave this man alone, or you’ll have to deal with us.”

The thug’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. The Aqualish’s mouth leapt agape in utter shock, as if no one had ever before thought to fight back.

“Guess we have to teach you two to mind your business,” said the human, recovering from his shock.

Before either thug had their weapons raised to fire, Carth and Aaryn had sent at least six shots each into the pair, sending them over the edge of the walkway and down into the abyss below.

********************

Brejik was not in the mood for games. It had been almost a week since his men had captured the woman, and only now had Brejik finally gleaned some kind of information on her. She went by the name Bastila Shan. She was born on the planet of Talravin in the Core, nearly 27 standard years ago. She worked for the Galactic Republic, and not just as an officer in the armed forces. It turned out that Bastila was a Jedi. A Jedi of all things! At last Brejik could begin to understand her resilience to torture.

Which was when he’d decided to hire in the services of an Anzat to help the process along. Anzat were known for their immunity to certain Force-based abilities, and this particular Anzat female came at quite a price — but in Brejik’s mind, she was worth every deci-cred. Though her body couldn’t quite amount to Bastila’s, not with years of gruelling training in the Jedi Arts at least, Nakia Yoru had been highly recommended by the bounty hunter Calo Nord and, as such, Brejik had secured a one-to-one meeting with the torture specialist.

Nakia was not what he’d expected. Her hair was red as blood, contrasting perfectly with the icy blue of her eyes. Her skin was pale enough to suggest she’d spent many a year on somewhere like Hoth or Ando Prime. She wore deep red lipstick and very little mascara, and wore skin-tight rancor hide that did not leave much to the imagination. Brejik had given Nakia 50,000 credits — just over half of her full payment — upfront, and gave her the chance to demonstrate her abilities first-hand by allowing her access to Bastila. After just ten minutes, Nakia had left a bleeding, temporarily blind and deaf prisoner, who was literally gagging for more abuse.

It made Brejik’s mouth salivate. Luckily for the leader of the Black Vulkars, Bastila could easily take more punishment.

Oh, yes. Brejik was most certainly in the mood for games.

Brejik’s thoughts were interrupted as Kandon Ark paced into his private sanctum. “What is it?”

Kandon swallowed. “There are several strange men making their way through the Undercity. Witnesses report they used the main elevator from the surface, and that Taris is now under direct control of someone they called Darth Malak. The newcomers see—”

“Sith!” spat Brejik. “Sith in the Undercity! We must stop them. I want everyone to ready their swoops.”

“Brejik?”

Brejik stopped, his mind in full gear. “No… round up eight of our best and have them meet us in the garage in half an hour. It is imperative we strike now!”
Kandon nodded. “Yes, Brejik.” He left.

********************

UPPER CITY

“Hey! You made it!”

Aaryn and Carth had just stepped inside Sarna’s apartment, to be greeted by a cacophony of music and laughter, and by a warm hug from Sarna herself. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show! The party’s in full swing — come on in!” Sarna, apparently drunk, handed both of them pints of some yellowish, semi-translucent alcoholic liquid. “You have to try this Tarisian ale — it’s fantastic!” Sarna immediately threw her head back and downed her own pint of ale in only a few huge gulps.

“We should’ve conquered this planet ages ago!” And with that, Sarna left to rejoin the party.

Aaryn and Carth slowly turned their heads and faced one another and snorted in laughter. “Don’t look at me,” said Aaryn. “You’re the one who agreed for us to come here.”

Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

Chapter Text

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

Kavar had led the teams of Jedi from the pinnacles of the Temple’s spires to the darkest caverns of the catacombs below the foundations. The Dark Jedi had yet to be found — even Master Vandar had crept through the ventilation systems throughout the Temple’s infrastructure, but to no avail. The warrior hadn’t even let his guard down accidentally.

The only other places to search were the four council chambers.

Kavar stood outside the main double doors, with Atris and the Rodian Jedi Knight Fel Druorr backing him up. “Masters, what happens if this warrior is not here?” asked Druorr.

Atris scoffed at him. “He is still here in the Temple. I sense him.”

Kavar knew that Atris could be abrupt with those she considered to be below her. He also knew her to be strong in the Force. But Kavar was sure beyond a doubt that his Force potential was greater than that of Atris’ own. And he had absolutely no sense of the Dark Jedi within the High Council Chamber, or indeed within the Temple itself. “Atris—”

“He is here, Kavar. He is here, and once we find him he shall die.”

She was resolute, of that Kavar was certain. But he had to admit that Atris’ attitude had become disturbing of late. Since Meetra Surik had been forced to leave the Order after the closing of the Mandalorian Wars, Atris had become brusque, standoffish, boastful — and arrogantly so. Kavar often thought about where his old sparring partner was, what she was doing. The day Meetra stood in the council chamber, the day they had exiled her, she had seemed so right, so… full of conviction for her actions in the war. And yet there was something else — deeper, past the surface.

Meetra Surik had been empty. As if she’d let go of the Force.

Or had the Force let go of her? Kavar wondered.

Kavar turned to Atris. “No, Atris. If he is to die, it will be Malak who swings the blade. Not us.”

“We are Jedi. We will do what we have to; if that means killing those who defile our Temple, so be it.”

“Calm, Atris,” said Kavar. “We are Jedi, yes... but that gives us neither the need nor the right to take any life.” He looked into his colleague’s eyes, pleading with her inner nature. “All of us took that same oath. This Dark Jedi, should we find him, will only die by my hand if there is no other course available. Will you do the same?”

Atris’ face seemed to soften a little, but it hardened once again in a flash as her personality reasserted itself. “Do what you will, Kavar, and I will do as I will; as the Force bids me.”

********************

Darth Bandon, hanging upside-down in the rafters of the High Council chamber, and concealing himself in the Force, had almost had enough. He could hear two of the Jedi talking just outside the doors. Instead of entering in an attempt to locate him, the Jedi were squabbling. Perhaps Malak had a few sympathisers in the temple…?

Perhaps another Great Schism was on the horizon.

Bandon grimaced at the thought. That was all he needed; more Jedi turning to the Dark Side, becoming stronger in the Force for the effort, and all the while his master would continually search for Bandon’s replacement among their ranks.

Before he could continue with his line of thought, Bandon heard the faint hum of the opening double doors. Three Jedi entered — a Rodian and two humans; the Rodian Bandon didn’t immediately recognise, however he knew the man and the woman from his prior life as a Jedi Apprentice.

Kavar had barely escaped with his life in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Now it seemed he believed three of them could stand against a Sith warrior. No matter. Bandon had yet to unleash his full capability against him, and then he would fall upon his blade. The Rodian would fall. As would the vaunted Master Atris.

“I sense your presence, warrior! Come out and face us, instead of hiding like the coward you are!”

Atris was certainly feisty. Bandon knew to be on his guard when facing her; Jedi historian or no, she was still a lethal weapon when provoked.

Therefore, she was a threat to him.

Darth Bandon, apprentice to Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, leapt down from his position and activated both of his twin crimson blades.

********************

Within moments of hearing the distinctive him of lightsabre blades igniting, Kavar activated his own lightsabres and spun on the spot — only to see Fel Druorr quartered by a rapidly spinning twin-bladed weapon. Atris leapt into the air, her mastery of Ataru slipping into lethal gear. This allowed Kavar to pivot to his right — exactly where Atris had been — and block a horizontal swing by the Dark Jedi, who immediately bounded toward Master Chitt’s council seat in an attempt to gain some ground.

Kavar caught up to him and swung his primary sabre through Chitt’s seat; the warrior leapt over Kavar, who had to duck and roll to avoid a fast and furious death, and the top portion of the seat fell to the marbled floor with a loud crack. Atris landed nimbly to Kavar’s left.

Three Jedi blades, against two Sith blades. Two masters against an apprentice.

They stood stock-still, stares piercing each combatant like bolts of lightning thrown from an ancient deity.

Atris was the first to break the silence. “You have no hope of victory here, warrior. You will leave, or you will die.”

The dark warrior laughed. “You are wrong, Master Atris. It is you who will die, not I — I have foreseen it. The Jedi Order shall crumble and fall, and I shall lead the galaxy into a new dawn!”

“You?” Kavar asked, astounded at the very notion. “What of Malak? You foresee your master’s death, too?” This was a bluff; Kavar had no idea whether this warrior was connected to Malak in any way.

The response was that of a large sneer from the warrior’s mouth. “Naturally. He is weak, and I am strong. It is the role of the apprentice to kill the master. As Malak did to Revan, I will do to Malak. For I am Sith.”

“And it is the role of the Jedi,” spat Atris, “to eradicate the Sith and restore balance to the Force.” She brought her brilliant blue blade up in a defensive posture as she spoke.

The warrior smiled. “Then, by all means, follow me.”

Before either Atris or Kavar could act, the warrior used the Force to shatter the glass window behind him, leaping out onto the roof of the temple a metre below. Prior to landing, however, he hurled the shattered glass toward the two Jedi Masters. Atris Force-leapt out of the way, though Kavar was caught unprepared and sent flying through the opposite pane of glass. Without stopping to check on her colleague, Atris sped out of the chamber, lightsabre in hand, intent on following the assailant.

********************

The roof of the Jedi Temple was close to six hundred metres square, covering the main temple precinct used by the Order in a patchwork of durasteel tiles. Coruscant’s false surface of durasteel and flexiglass surrounded the vista like a snug blanket. The air was still.

The Dark Jedi threw his left arm out behind him and sent Force lightning hurling toward Atris, who interposed the crackling blue energy with her blade. The pair continued to run along the roof; the warrior heading toward the north-west, and Atris in pursuit. Suddenly, the Dark Jedi leapt into the air and brought himself down behind Atris, who kept running forward without abandon. Before she could reposition herself, she felt her body lift into the air and tossed around and around in a dizzying spin. Every so often, Atris caught a glimpse of the warrior — laughing with a crackling evilness that she could’ve sworn she could feel in her bones.

It took almost twenty long seconds of this before Atris saw black creeping into the edges of her eyesight. Wind was being swept up around her, and her extremities were beginning to feel the effects of paraesthesia, and her stomach felt as if it were performing backflips.

Before she began to vomit, Atris blacked out.

********************

Bandon cackled as the Jedi Master Atris fell limp in the centre of his Force-induced maelstrom. Clearly she was not a true threat to him or his plans. Master Kavar hadn’t pursued, so the Sith Apprentice assumed that the weapons master had been injured by his impromptu attack.

Bandon used the Force to stop the maelstrom, watching as the Jedi Master fell hard on to the durasteel tiles, before continuing toward the temple’s archives. His master had ordered him to make the feint look as real as possible, and Bandon had taken it upon himself to make a stop by the holocron chambers.

It wasn’t as if Malak ever had to know what Bandon was really here for.

Bandon used a Force-augmented leap to clear the last fifty metres to the approximate location of the archives; before landing, he swept his blade in a rough circle and dropped through the durasteel roof, landing a hundred and fifty metres on the tan coloured marble flooring, using the Force to cushion the fall.

All around him were selves of nerf-hide bound books three metres high — the Jedi had yet to convert to the new holographic form — spread out over sixteen levels.

Unfortunately there were no Jedi milling about for Bandon’s bloodlust to consume. They were all too busy searching for him. Opening himself to the Force, Bandon began a systematic sweep for the holocron chamber. Holocrons — especially the more powerful ones — often gave off a strong presence in the Force; Jedi, Sith, and all manner of Force-users included a portion of their will inside the handheld device. No one quite knew how this transference created the Force presence, but it was undeniable to those who called the Force their tool.

There was only one holocron Darth Bandon had his sights set on.

He paced toward the central computer stations. The archives truly were deserted — he sensed no presences in the entire archival chamber. It made Bandon’s mission that much easier.

Though, he’d be the first to admit that he was massively disappointed.

********************

Captain Hiyax Meru followed Vice Admiral Tiran Cede through the shuffling crowds. The admiral had chosen Monument Plaza as his own — and his senior officers’ — personal de-stress area on Coruscant. Hiyax wasn’t all that surprised, to be honest. The Republic Navy was taking quite the beating at the hands of the traitors Malak and Karath out in the Mid Rim, and Cede had been appointed as the commander of the Coruscant Home Fleet. Hiyax doubted Cede had actually wanted the assignment, not least because the admiral was not on the best of terms with fellow officer Admiral Dodonna.

The admiral looked older with each passing week. The current war, already being called the Jedi Civil War, had lasted for roughly one and a half years now, and practically every officer’s hair had turned grey since the beginning, with wrinkles not too far behind. Dodonna herself had gone from a deep brunette to plasteel grey in less than six months, though her commanding demeanour had fortunately not borne the brunt of time’s assault.

The alternating intonations of emergency sirens interrupted Hiyax’s ruminations. Dozens of metres above Monument Plaza, Coruscant Security Force speeders shot through the atmosphere, sirens screaming and lights blaring. Looking back at Cede, Hiyax saw that the admiral was speaking animatedly into his comlink, a look of grave concern on his face. After several minutes, Cede returned his comlink to his belt and strode over to the colonel. “That was the Anti-Terrorism Unit. They’re responding to reports of incidents in the Jedi Temple, in which several Jedi are believed to have been injured.”

“The Jedi Temple?” Hiyax almost didn’t believe it. The temple was supposedly impenetrable against any form of assault, easily dissuading anyone from attempting such a feat. “Surely everyone would know that attacking the Jedi would be suicide — what would possess anyone to do that?”

Cede appeared to frown at the suggestion, his dark face a mask of concern. “From what I’ve been told, there’re supposed to be lightsabres involved — red lightsabres.”

Hiyax paled at those words.Sith, here on Coruscant?he thought. Was it possible that Malak could be lining up to assault the Republic’s capital?

Chapter 10: Chapter Nine

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

"Get ready for me, love,
'cos I'm a commer
I simply gotta march,
My heart's a drummer!
Nobody, no, nobody is gonna
Rain on my parade!"

Belting out the final lyric, Sarna bent over double, her back screaming with pain that was dulled down by the sheer amount of Tarisian ale in her body. Not one to announce such weakness, she decided to drop her microphone, then hurl her legs up into the air and over her body, performing a perfectly drunken part-somersault and landing flat on her gluteus muscles.

Without even batting an eyelid, Sarna returned to her feet and immediately fell once again — this time being caught by the arms of one of the most masculine men she’d ever known. “You okay?” Uthar asked, and Sarna’s heart fluttered.

She batted her eyelids, before replying. “Kiss me!”

And she slapped her hands onto both of Uthar’s cheeks and forced her lips to mate with his.

********************

Carth and Aaryn watched as Sarna attempted to perform a somersault. Landing on her backside after incomprehensibly screaming the lyrics to an ancient song that no one seemed to have enjoyed. Carth was forced to rush forward as the drunk performer stood and immediately began to fall again. Landing in his arms, Carth said to her, “You okay?”

The Sith officer’s eyelids appeared to flutter, before she said something that resembled an incredibly vulgar word, slapped both her hands onto Carth’s cheeks and put her lips to his own.

The kiss was so unexpected that Carth simply couldn’t pull away from Sarna before feeling her tongue press against his lips, attempting to gain entry to his mouth. Then it got worse.

In the span of seconds, Sarna vomited all over Carth — breaking the kiss — and fell to the floor unconscious. She then vomited again, spewing partly-digested alcohol over the floor of her apartment.

Carth turned to face Aaryn. The junior officer was struggling to stifle a laugh, and Carth had to admit that he was beginning to do the same. The contents of Sarna’s stomach dripped from his face, either landing on the floor or on his prized orange flight jacket. “Don’t say it."

“I never realised your kissing was so bad.”

Carth simply raised an eyebrow by way of response.

Aaryn slugged the remainder of his drink, then went to the bar to pour another for himself.

********************

UNDERCITY

Leaving the door ajar, Brejik exited the ‘fresher and padded, naked, to his bed. He lay down, and brought his hand sweeping across the equally naked body of a fair-skinned young woman. Her body was so tempting to Brejik, so much a reminder of Bastila’s own that he almost forgot the subtle differences.

Almost.

“My dear, sweet Ada.” He spoke into her ear, his voice softly lilting.

Ada woke, her dark eyes opening and turning to meet his. She wasn’t unlovely, certainly not by any sane person’s standards, but she was by no means a match for Bastila’s beauty.

And Brejik told this to Ada.

Tears pooled in her eyes, finally streaming down her face and neck, and eventually her breasts. To Brejik, it was highly erotic, reminiscent of some of his previous sexual relationships. He and Kandon Ark, for instance, had been friends here on Taris for years before finally giving in to their hormonal urges. Kandon was originally from Sleheyron, a planet in Hutt Space, and they’d first met when Kandon’s family had fled their homeworld after the Hutts began to subjugate the population to slavery. Omeesh, a particularly vile Hutt and self-styled governor of Sleheyron, had been viciously stabbed to death by one of his slaves, a Twi’lek girl named Yuthura who’d been enslaved during the Hutt’s rise to power.

After their first night together, Kandon had admitted to Brejik that Yuthura was his cousin, and that she’d been missing ever since Omeesh’s death. Kandon had been so upset (and Brejik so bloody uncomfortable at his outburst) that he’d left his Twi’lek lover to calm himself down.

That roughly translated to Brejik finding another lover — Ashana, the lead vocalist of the Twisted Rancor Trio.

A sharp pain flared in Brejik’s left cheek, jolting him out of his reverie. Ada had slapped him, though the hit was pathetically weak. Brejik simply slapped her face with the back of his hand, tossing her to the floor in a heap.

“Don’t you ever slap me again, you kriffing piece of filth!” He grabbed Ada’s clothing from the floor, opened the door that led from his room, and flung them out. He then proceeded to seize Ada’s hair in his right hand, and dragged her out into the corridor and throwing her down roughly. “You will be put to work in the kitchens! And I shall personally see to it that every member of this swoop gang has access to your bunk.” He slammed the door on her.

********************

UPPER CITY

Aaryn opened the draw beside Sarna’s bed. He caught a glimpse of light reflected from a large piece of polished plasteel. Beneath it were more pieces, and Aaryn felt his luck increase. Perhaps all that Force-kark the Jedi keep going on about it true. He’d only been able to gain access to the chest of drawers after waiting hours for every other member of the party to either leave or fall unconscious. Even Carth had succumbed to blacking out once or twice.

Heaving the armour back to their apartment — he’d left Carth at Sarna’s party to sleep off the alcohol — Aaryn laid it out on the table and systematically placed the pieces of plasteel in the best way he could guess the armour was worn. It didn’t help that he’d never worn a full set of armour in his life. After sorting the Sith armour, Aaryn got undressed and slipped into bed, his mind beginning to ache slightly from the drink.

Looking to his right and out through one of the apartment’s windows, Aaryn’s mind wandered. Taris was in the grips of Malak’s Sith Empire, but the Republic hadn’t — thus far — seen fit to retake the system, though naturally the Sith were censoring any and all incoming news from the Tarisian population, so it wasn’t difficult for Aaryn to imagine Taris was virtually blind to the rest of the galaxy.

Taris had only just begun to recover from the Mandalorian Wars, barring the somewhat dramatic rise of humanocentrism via the Tarisian nobles, and Darth Malak had predominantly halted that progress. The Sith Lord is nothing more than a brute. A coward.

A shadow rushing across the window jarred Aaryn from his thoughts, and he leapt up out of the bed in shock. Taking his blaster from under the pillow, Aaryn squinted his eyes and struggled to detect any presence in the darkness. He activated the lights.

The apartment brightened. Aaryn took a full minute to peer around — nothing. The apartment was as secure as when he’d returned from the party, with no possible source of the shadow.

“You seem well, old friend.”

Aaryn virtually jumped out of his skin, spun and fired several times at the precise location of the voice. The coherent bolts of laser energy hit the wall in front of him, passing through the ghostly visage of an old woman. The cowled, greying twin plaits and slightly hunched stance felt familiar to Aaryn, though he knew he’d never met the woman before.

The ghostly woman’s face emitted a lopsided grin. “Blasters were never effective against me in the past,” she said, her low alto voice seeming to echo throughout the apartment. She paused for a couple of seconds. “You don’t recall me.”

Her face took on a funny sort of look, that of a disappointed mother expecting more of her child. Aaryn’s face, meanwhile, had remained white as a sheet of flimsiplast. “Should I?”

The woman remained silent for a long moment before answering. “Perhaps.”

Still pointing his blaster at the woman, Aaryn retreated and sank back onto the ruffled bed. “Who are you?” he asked.

She smiled.

Then she simply disappeared, evaporating into the air like mist, the air around her glowing with a dim white blur for a second before Aaryn was left alone, his thoughts and his heart racing.

Chapter 11: Chapter Ten

Chapter Text

SENATE BUILDING, CORUSCANT

To the general population of the Galactic Republic, the holding office of the Supreme Chancellor, directly beneath the Grand Convocation Chamber, was only ever glimpsed at during HoloNet reruns of Rema Lamar’s The Life and Lies of Fiennes Tarkin, that were repeated only on the lesser-tuned and pirated channels. By 53, Rema — admittedly not the best of holojournalists — had been reporting on the machinations of Republic politics for over three decades. Her first major job had been to document an eyewitness account of the financial and ecological crisis on Deralia a few days prior to her 24th birthday. Naturally, being (as most impetuous youths recall of themselves) ‘so good’ at her job back then, the documentary was redrafted as a bestselling docu-novel.

Literally overnight, Rema Lamar had become a galactic celebrity. Her reports were being broadcast everywhere from Bothawui to Rodia, from Manaan to N’Zoth — although the N’Zoth broadcasts had produced a full-scale revolt among the entire Yevethan population, resulting in the mass-destruction of every HoloNet transmitter in the Koornacht Cluster.

And then the Mandalorian Wars began.

Rema’s boss, Nichelle Kyar, was adamant that she be sent out on assignment to the front lines, and Rema’s first wartime assignment was on Onderon. Iziz was in the first throes invasion by Mandalore’s primary fleet. Needless to say, the city didn’t last long under Mandalorian assault, leaving Rema to drop into Iziz in disguise, making herself out to be a Mandalorian warrior — an experience she never wished to repeat — eventually securing a bolthole in the back rooms of The Latinum Mine, a local cantina owned by a Hutt named Pablax.

Pablax, rather fortuitously for Rema, was no friend of the Mandalorians, and by constantly bribing the drunk warriors who came too close to stumbling upon Rema’s hideout the Hutt and the journalist became quite the pairing. In return, Rema kept business coming into the cantina in droves, with Iziz’s non-Mandalorian citizens virtually bulging the cantina’s walls to breaking point. And that was how it worked for three long, terrifying years.

The night the Occupation came to an end, Rema and Pablax were on a date — a karking date for Force’s sake! They’d drifted past Ov Taraba, Onderon’s premier university, and were about to set foot — and tail — onto Per Lakrea beach, when an astoundingly loud boom cracked through the air, startling the pair of would-be lovers enough to make Rema yelp and leap into Pablax’s pudgy arms. Dxun, Onderon’s primary satellite and would-be sister planet, was high in the sky, stretching across a vast swath of the panorama. As Rema looked on, she began to make out a rather large cloud of smoke drifting from Dxun into Onderon’s own atmosphere. Eventually a huge stretch of tropical forest became cast in flame, producing far more toxic levels of smoke to come spooling from Dxun.

Pablax crooned as the staccato of blaster fire drew his attention to the south-east. Without so much as a warning, Ov Taraba exploded, showering durasteel and transparisteel shrapnel upon the surrounding area. A dozen Centurion-class Republic battlecruisers appeared, seeming to explode forth from the fireball, an escort of Foray-class blockade runners and hundreds of Aurek-class fighters screaming through the air overhead. Basilisk war droids, piloted by Mandalorian warriors, raced to meet the invaders.

“Mee dwanna go stupa!” Pablax blurted. “U wamma wonker?”

“Me?” asked Rema, stupefied. “Why would I want to pay for this? And of course I didn’t order this, the Mandalorians did, in their own way.”

“Kuna kee wabdah nenoleeya.” Without so much as another word, Pablax literally turned on his tail and fled, his stubby arms flying around in sheer terror.

More explosions tore through Iziz, barely allowing Rema the chance to feel hurt or angry. As she watched, dazed, dozens of NR2 gully jumpers — used by the Republic navy for just shy of two decades — proceeded to spill from the ventral hangars of the battlecruisers and landed at different locations in an around Iziz. One such craft descended and grounded not a hundred metres from Rema, and she sprinted toward it at full pelt. The hull parted, revealing the craft’s innards, which immediately spewed white-armoured Republic troops and brown-robed Jedi Knights, blasters and lightsabres held at the ready.

The lead Jedi, a brunette woman who appeared to be in her late-twenties, held her blue blade with a grace borne of years of training. Green blaster bolts sped at her; some travelling past her, missing by mere nanometres, though more ended up being batted directly back at the entrenched Mandalorians. Other Jedi fell lifeless to the dirt three at a time, but the lead Jedi — who, Rema noticed, was sporting a bright red armband on her right bicep — simply advanced forward, continuing to swat the Mandalorian assault back at the enemy.

Three hours later, the Republic forces had pushed the Mandalorians back deeper into the Unifiar Temple, the official residence of Colonel Vaklu and sanctum of Onderon’s military history. The Mandalorian commandant, Mandalore the Ultimate himself, was rumoured to be awaiting the Jedi in the centre of the temple.

Within twenty minutes, the Jedi leader, flanked by nine other Jedi Knights, had made her way through the Mandalorian lines and breached the temple’s main entrance.

For close to an hour all anyone heard from the temple were sounds of blasterfire, random screams of pain, and phases of lingering silence. Eventually, the armbanded Jedi crashed through a thirty-sixth floor window and plummeted to the concrete plaza beneath. Showing an amazing feat of Force ability, the Jedi took control over her fall and, landing on the exterior wall of the temple, literally ran down the side of the building and landed in a crouch. As she sprang back to her feet, a loud bang threw everyone’s heads skyward. A Basilisk sped out of the temple and raced up and out of Onderon’s atmosphere.

Breathing heavily, the Jedi said, “He obviously can’t take the heat.”

Rema pushed her way through the crowd, intent on getting a primetime interview. Upon arriving at her target, Rema took her voice recorder from her pocket and held it at waist height. “You’re quite the acrobat. Where are the others who followed you in?”

The brunette woman looked Rema in the eye. “Dead. Mandalore slew them.” The Jedi recalled her lightsabre, which had landed twelve feet away, to her hand via the Force. “We’ll catch him. Revan and I will make sure of that.”

As the Jedi began to walk away, Rema noticed her stumble and limp slightly. “Are you okay, miss...?”

“Meetra Surik. I just took a bit of a beating, is all. Nothing to concern yourself about... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rema Lamar. I’m a holojournalist for the Kyar News Emporium. Been on location here in Iziz for the past three years.” Rema held her hand out to Meetra, and the Jedi Knight shook it in greetings. “So that was actually Mandalore? You must be... what is it you say — strong in the Force — to have survived a confrontation with the Mandalorian leader when dozens of your peers have not. I once heard of several Jedi Masters that were slain by him at Geonosis.”

Surik shook her head. “I’m afraid your information is incorrect, Miss Lamar. Those masters were slaughtered by a Sith Lord named Sion, but he was soon hunted down and defeated. Mandalore the Ultimate was busy bombing Serroco into submission at the time. Come, we must get you to a landing craft and get back to Coruscant before the Mandalorians return in greater numbers.”

And so Rema followed Meetra to the closest available NR2, and together they headed up to the battlecruiser Ravager, the flagship of the Republic’s third fleet. The view from the Ravager’s main bridge viewports allowed Rema to take in the vista of the Dxun moon aflame. From what she’d garnered from eavesdropping on conversations in The Latinum Mine, Rema knew that thousands upon thousands of Mandalorians resided in the dense jungles of the forest moon. Surely the Jedi wouldn’t be complicit in such blatant and, quite frankly, violent genocide?

The Ravager soon entered hyperspace and rocketed out of the Outer Rim toward the Core and Coruscant. The Centurion-class battlecruiser measured approximately 1,200 metres in length, carrying a crew of nearly 31,500. The fleet’s commanding officer, one Rear Admiral Saul Karath, approached Rema on the voyage home, proceeding to lightly interrogate her on her version of events during the Mandalorian occupation.

“You seem almost... unwelcome at the thought of returning to Coruscant, Miss Lamar. I assume Nichelle Kyar will be most pleased to hear of your survival.”

Rema attempted a wan smile. “She would, yes, Admiral. I imagine she’s rather concerned for my lack of reporting regarding the Occupation.”

Keeping silent, Karath stalked away from Rema, leaving her to stare into the maddening blue swirls of hyperspace.

After five hours, the Ravager reverted to realspace. Rema had spent the majority of the flight in one of the ship’s endless number of mess halls, and as the Ravager entered into Coruscant’s orbit, the holojournalist headed to Jedi Surik’s quarters on deck 16.

Upon hearing the customary chime at her cabin’s door, Meetra invited Rema inside and the pair sat on chairs occupying the Jedi’s desk at the aft end of the cabin.

“How can I be of service, Rema?” asked Meetra, pouring two glasses of perfectly clear water.

Reaching out to take the filled glassed offered, Rema answered, “As I’m sure you know, Jedi Surik, my cabin isn’t connected to the subspace comm system.”

“Ah yes,” said Meetra. “Admiral Karath’s insistence, unfortunately. He’s rather uncertain as to your true intentions, Rema. A holojournalist, stranded on a planet during an enemy occupation for three years without so much as a scratch on her.” Rema opened her mouth to rebuke Meetra’s words, but the Jedi held out a hand to stop her. “I know you’re no friend of the Mandalorians, Rema. Admiral Karath, however, does not. That’s all I’m saying.”

After a moment of shared silence in which both women sipped from their glasses, Rema said, “Well, I’m still a journalist, with a job that hasn’t been completed in quite a while. Is it asking too much to use your comm suite, Jedi Surik?”

Meetra drained her glass. “No, of course not. Go right ahead. I’m needed on the bridge, at any rate.”

Rema spoke to Nichelle Kyar for almost four hours straight, before being asked — courteously, of course — to attend an impromptu gala at Kyar’s home at 500 Republica that night. After schmoozing with the big brass of the Republic Senate, Rema was promoted to lead anchor of all political stories within the Galactic Republic, and she spent the time between the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War following the fall from grace of the then-Supreme Chancellor Tol Cressa.

Cressa had been a man intent on peace. Unfortunately for him, Senator Tarkin of Eriadu had taken a rather large disliking to him and succeeded in ending his chancellorship in due course, eventually replacing the disgraced politician the very day before the dual nightmare of Darth Malak and Darth Revan began. Chancellor Tarkin had fought back with the entire might of the Republic Navy — which was severely depleted thanks to Revan and Malak’s defections to the so-called Dark Side.

Admiral Karath’s defection had been a low blow to Tarkin’s leadership, due to the admiral’s handing over of sensitive Republic intelligence to the Sith, allowing Darth Malak to annihilate more than half of Bothawui’s home fleet. Eventually Karath, acting like the true bastard he was, commanded the Sith fleet that attacked Telos IV, destroying the planet’s ecosystem and murdering millions of innocent people. The fallout in the senate rotunda had been practically legendary; Senator Morvis of Chandrila, a raven haired woman with a reputation like durasteel and serving her fifth term in office, had almost ousted the chancellor with a vote of no confidence, though Tarkin was saved by the votes of senators bribed by the Kuati senator Lako Naberrie.

And now, Rema Lamar was stood in the entrance to Chancellor Tarkin’s private sanctum, preparing her notes for their upcoming interview. With Taris now under Malak’s control Tarkin had essentially barricaded himself inside of his office, cutting the galaxy’s media out of his public and private lives, albeit temporarily. Without Kyar’s influence, Rema would never have had a chance at landing with the chancellor — certainly not any time soon — and Rema had been prepared for that eventuality; she’d lined up several interviews with prominent senators: Ilex of Eriadu (Tarkin’s old stomping ground), Naberrie of Kuat (the ship-building capital of the Republic), Naylor of Nakadia (an agricultural world in the Mid Rim). In light of Kyar’s victory over Tarkin’s ego, Rema’s rival — Ejas Brunal — had willingly taken the senatorial interviews, much to Rema’s chagrin.

Vice-Chancellor Mikael Schooe, one of a pair of vice-chancellors, strode out to stand directly before Rema, blocking her view of the chancellor’s holding office. A somewhat ghastly human being, Schooe had been elected to his title just two months prior to Chancellor Cressa’s downfall. A few in the senate firmly believed that Tarkin and Schooe had worked together to oust Cressa from his esteemed position, though most remained sagely silent on the issue.

“Supreme Chancellor Tarkin will see you now,” said Schooe in the flattest monotone Rema had ever heard from a human mouth. Without preamble, Rema followed obediently until she was facing a seated Tarkin. The chancellor’s desk was empty, conveying nothing about his personality — which was “pretty much mute, anyways” according to Admiral Dodonna. What was practically a very large round room, the chancellor’s holding office was decorated with simple pale crimson walls and a dark ruby colour. Even the wood used to manufacture Tarkin’s desk had a slight red sheen to it, if one looked closely enough.

Tarkin’s grey eyes appeared to literally gaze into Rema’s soul. “Rema Lamar,” he said, his voice attempting warmth but, to Rema’s ears at least, utterly failing. The chancellor indicated the seat beside Rema. “Please, have a seat.”

Wanting to be as affable as possible, Rema cooperated, with a blithe smile on her lips issuing thanks to the leader of the Galactic Republic. “Chancellor Tarkin, may I take this opportunity to offer my deepest regrets for the loss of the Seventh Fleet at Taris. I understand this may become difficult for your political future.”

Tarkin’s faux smile was wiped from his face. “Rema Lamar, my political career is as healthy as it was ten years ago, if not healthier. I can assure you and your patrons that Taris will be taken back forthwith. I have ordered Admiral Dodonna to formulate a plan of action regarding the retaking of certain Outer Rim territories, including Taris, and I am certain the admiral will not disappoint me or the ever-faithful populace of the Galactic Republic.”

“Of course, Chancellor. Please forgive me if I sounded at all... derogatory in my phrasing.”

And so they continued on, back and forth, for the next hour or so, until she gradually began to draw the interview to a close. The answers she’d received had been insightful, though certainly controversial. Tarkin had essentially proclaimed an intensely anti-Jedi stance, and deepening Rema’s suspicions regarding the chancellor’s personal taste. As she exited the senate building and strode toward her personal airspeeder, she began to wonder about her brother. She’d never met her older sibling, but she knew he’d been accepted for training with the Jedi, and currently sat on the Jedi Council, but she also knew that Tarkin would become bad news for Vrook and his comrades.

She also wondered whether The Life and Lies of Fiennes Tarkin hadn’t been so far from the truth.

********************

Chancellor Tarkin remained seated as he watched the famed holojournalist leave his office. He had lied through his teeth to her throughout the entire interview, though he had to admit that the little speech he gave her — regarding the Jedi after the war’s conclusion — had been the icing on the cake . “In fact,” he said aloud, “I may go even farther.”

“Chancellor?” Schooe had remained stationary behind Tarkin’s right shoulder through the duration of the interview, and had obviously heard Tarkin’s rhetoric.

Tarkin didn’t answer immediately, instead standing and beginning to pace the circumference of his holding office. Coming to a stop only after striding the entire office, the chancellor finally deigned to answer his senior aide. “Bring me Admiral Sommos. She and I have business to discuss.”

Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

Aaryn knew that he didn’t recognise her, and yet, at the same time, he did. The old woman was an amalgamation of mystery and certainty, truth and deception. Without knowledge as to who she really was, Aaryn wasn’t just about to take her at her word — though there weren’t many of them to begin with.

He gazed down at the bed. Carth had finally returned about an hour after the woman had disappeared, and practically fell forward onto the somewhat comfortable piece of furniture. Aaryn frowned as he saw the dried vomit still on Carth’s face, and hastily decided he would not be the one to clean the bed linen once dawn broke.

Without making enough sounds to rouse his CO, Aaryn lent over and began to don the Sith uniform piece by piece. There was only one way to test its effectiveness in the field, and he was the only member of Taris’ ‘Republic Underground’ who was not currently taking a nexu-nap. Putting the helmet on was challenge enough for him; the HUD on the inside gave Aaryn a 360 degree view of the environment around him. The heads-up display had been designed originally by the ancient Mandalorians to aid in their conquests, and had been used devastatingly during the Mandalorian Wars. Apparently Darth Malak, who had served in the war as a Jedi Knight, had the presence of mind to adopt his former enemy’s technology.

Aaryn had once been lucky enough as a boy to find a Mandalorian helmet. He and his parents were visiting Herdessa, which had previously been plundered by the Mandalorians during the Great Sith War. The helmet was laid atop a large mound of soil, and Aaryn’s parents had, somewhat hesitantly, allowed their son to wear the helmet for a few minutes. The HUD responded almost immediately, surprising given the amount of time since it must have received fresh power. Sights and sounds Aaryn had never discovered prior were being sent through his visual and auditory systems with such precision that it almost overwhelmed the seven year-old.

Fifteen minutes later, Aaryn was walking the moonlit streets of Taris’ upper levels. The first thing he noticed was how the locals kept their distance from him, even though he clearly wasn’t armed. Then it began to dawn on him — about 90% of all the locals he passed were human, with the rare exceptions being a few Ithorians, a couple of Twi’leks, and even an Iktotchi (though Aaryn only recognised her from the pair of horns that were hidden beneath the cowl of her robe). Even though he knew Malak’s empire was humanocentric, Aaryn believed there was a deeper reason behind the blatant discrimination.

The helmet beeped twice in Aaryn’s left ear, alerting him to a message being broadcast over the suit’s personal comlink. “Thesh Two, report in.”

His heart began to race. Taking a few quick breaths to steady himself, he tentatively answered. “Thesh Two reporting in as ordered.”

“Thesh Two, there is a disturbance on the Mewl/Ciras intersection three blocks from your current position. Report there immediately and respond with all necessary force.

“Oh, and the commander wishes to see you regarding your promotion.” Aaryn thought he could hear an air of condescension from the operator. “Base out.” The woman’s voice vanished, leaving his left ear ringing somewhat. In his HUD, he could see other Sith troops milling through the crowd, no doubt responding to just the same call-out. This was to be a true test of Aaryn’s infiltration skills, and the ex-smuggler was determined to do it right — preferably without getting killed in a shower of blaster bolts.

As Aaryn approached the intersection in question, he saw dozens of Sith troopers forming a defence perimeter around a group of fifteen aliens, all of different species; he saw Twi’leks, Rodians, a couple of Iridonians, and at least one Neimoidian — who was grasping a blaster in his violently shaking hands. The group was surrounded.

Aaryn pushed his way to the front of the Sith perimeter. One of the Twi’leks, a woman with pale green skin, was snarling in Twi’leki at the being who appeared to be the ranking Sith trooper; the trooper wore the rank insignia of an Imperial commander. He was also extremely tall... and appeared built enough to fight a group of Wookiees and live to tell the tale. “Thesh Two, reporting as ordered,” said Aaryn.

The commander turned and faced Aaryn. A clicking sound went off in the helmet — the commander had switched to a personal comm channel to speak privately to Aaryn. “Thesh Two, eh? I’ve heard of you, Lieutenant.” A click echoed in Aaryn’s helmet. “See to it that all this alien ‘schutta’ is disarmed and escorted to base. For interrogation.” The alien group appeared to shudder in response to the commander turning his blaster on them.

Aaryn gulped. “And if they don’t come quietly, Commander?”

The trooper laughed. “Then send them to the rakghouls! Like so...” The commander closed on the closest alien, one of the Twi’leks, and sent his knee into her gut. She yelped wildly, but before her compatriots could help her the commander hauled her up and, dragging her by her lekku, hurled her up and over the railing separating the public thoroughfare from oblivion. The commander kept her held there as he gazed around the alien group, looking each in the eye and almost daring them to intervene. The poor woman looked terrified beyond belief.

A shiver seemed to travel through the Sith ranks as one of the Iridonians, clearly the woman’s husband, tried — and failed — to rescue his beloved. The troopers opened fire on the remaining aliens followed the Iridonian’s lead. The commander hurled the screaming Twi’lek hard onto the thoroughfare, then brutally pummelled the innocent husband to within an inch of his life, at which point he unholstered his blaster and proceeded to use the Iridonian as target practice. The screams of pain were lost to the continuing whine of the Sith commander’s blaster.

The Twi’lek’s screams were silenced as bolts of energy hit her body. She lay there unmoving.

On the perimeter’s exterior, a throng of Tarisians had gathered to gaze upon the racist spectacle. The majority were simply watching — very few were openly shocked. Some even chanted xenophobic slurs. Aaryn actually noticed credits changing hands.

“Problem, Lieutenant?”

Aaryn felt sick to his stomach. Bile was building in the back of his throat and threatened to spill out into his helmet. The commander had finally decided to stop firing at the charred corpses. The abdomen of the Twi’lek woman had burst open from the sheer amount and pressure of energy thrown into her body, leaving entrails and superheated blood seeping from uncauterised wounds. The entire left side of her face was gone, reduced to organic slag seared onto the pavement.

“No problem, Commander.”

The commander then turned and strode off. “Somebody clear up this mess,” he said to no one in particular as he made his way back to base.

********************

ITHOR

Hundreds of individuals swarmed through the spaceport, determined to either enter or exit Coruscant territory. Fortunately, none were the wiser to one particular individual. Cloaked and hooded, the man made his way past Capital Terminal’s security bureau and aboard a shuttle bound for the Ottega system. Without making eye contact, he passed fellow passengers throughout the shuttle’s interior corridors and chose a starboard cabin as his temporary home. Sealing the door, the man removed the hood from his bald pate and took from his satchel a curious artefact many of the galaxy’s archaeologists would’ve prized.

As Coruscant’s space scrapers retreated from the cabin’s viewport, the man sat and crossed his legs on the floor. Placing the artefact directly in front of him, he closed his eyes. The man stayed this way for many hours, never opening his eyes nor flinching whenever the shuttle hit some minor hyperspace turbulence. Even when the shuttle’s orderly commed to inform the passengers of their arrival in-system, the man remained motionless.

After arriving at Ottega’s primary planet, known throughout the galaxy as Ithor, the cloaked man continued to reside within his cabin, though the shuttle was now empty of other passengers.

Several hours had passed, and still the man remained rooted to the spot. The shuttle’s pilot and mechanic had powered-down the vessel long ago; the only light being that of Tafanda Bay’s hangar complex. The capital city of Ithor, Tafanda Bay had been designed to float above the planet’s surface due to the Ithorian’s zealous worshipping of their so-called ‘Mother Jungle’ on Ithor’s surface. The cloaked man knew that to be a weakness.

It is a weakness the Jedi exploit, and they shall pay for their crimes.

The cabin’s door opened. A human male, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, stepped into the man’s cabin as the door slid shut. The newcomer was dressed in native Ruusanian costume — almost the perfect disguise for someone of his ilk.

The cloaked man, still refraining from opening his eyes, said, “You may dispense with the pleasantries, Jaq. What have you brought me?”

Jaq stepped forward and, bending down, handed a slip of flimsi to the man. Upon opening his eyes and reading the information printed on it, the man tore the sheet in two.

“How many thus far?”

“Seven,” replied Jaq. “Another two are targeted for thirty-nine hundred hours tonight, local time.” A thin smile came to his face. “It may well get... painful for them.”

The man contemplated this for a while, before slowly nodding his assent to Jaq’s plan. “Make a mess of them, I want the Order to know precisely what happened here. A time is soon approaching when their kind will be cast asunder by the Republic itself; when we will rule and the Jedi will be no more; when their precious temple will be swept away with the swing of a lightsabre. I have foreseen it.”

“Always, my Lord Bandon.” Jaq bowed, and left Darth Bandon to return to his meditations. Oh yes, thought Bandon. The Jedi shall indeed pay.

Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Text

DURO

3,962 BBY

The starfield was awash with destruction. Capital ships, pounding furiously away at Mandalorian Kandosii-class dreadnoughts, hung above the upper reaches of the planet’s atmosphere. The Mandalorians had pulverised Duro’s surface into an uninhabitable wasteland the day previous, forcing the Republic’s hand and sending the fleet to engage the barbarists.

“Sir, we’ve five Basilisks on our starboard bow,” reported Ensign Jayk, the Iniquitous’ helmsman. “Initiating evasive pattern Revan-Besh-Seven.”

Satisfied with his officer’s initiative under fire, the Jedi Knight Revan remained sitting upright in his command chair, using the Force to root himself there and keep from being thrown around during battle. “Admiral, have aft turbolasers fifteen through twenty-two target those droids and fire at will.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Rear Admiral Saul Karath. “You heard him, Lieutenant.”

Revan felt the Iniquitous turn as Jayk sent the warship rolling to port. The aft turbolasers flashed into deadly use, hitting their marks and more than easily destroying them without delay. An enemy dreadnought was bearing on them from directly ahead, Revan saw, and he ordered his crew to head on in. “Fore and starboard shields to maximum; take power from life support if you have to. All hands,” he said as he pressed a button on his chair, “Prepare to broadside.”

“Enemy shields failing,” stated Karath, who had transferred from the Ravager three months ago at Revan’s insistence. Then his eyes went wide. “So are ours.”

Revan didn’t hesitate. “So be it. We have the Force — the Mandalorians do not. Keep pounding them with everything we’ve got, Admiral.”

Explosions flared over the outer hulls of the two great ships. Revan had long ago devised a way of producing turbolaser fire that could punch through beskar — Mandalorian iron — with the ease of a knife through butter, and this was serving the Jedi Knight’s purpose.

The Iniquitous poured more and more destructive energy into the Mandalorian command ship. Fire was blazing within the interior, though the Republic flagship wasn’t faring any better, Revan had to admit. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it’s time to introduce the Dar’yaim to some friends of mine. “Admiral, contact the Ravager. Have Commander Surik come to our assistance immediately. We’re sending these Mandalorians into whatever hell they believe in!”

Revan and Karath saw the Ravager turn about and head to their position, coming in through the Dar’yaim’s sensor blind spot. After ten seconds, Surik’s personal flagship opened fire on the dreadnought. Under the combined assault the Dar’yaim began to implode; Karath commanded Jayk to take the Iniquitous out of combat range, before the Mandalorian dreadnought literally burst in a typhoon of fire, metal, and gas.

The holographic representation of Commander Meetra Surik, a Jedi Knight and quickly becoming one of Revan’s most trusted allies, appeared on the left arm of his command chair. “You called, General?”

Revan chuckled. “Even I’ll admit that was a close call.”

Surik’s smile came easily, and it added to her beauty. “I’ll assume that was your way of thanking me. The Mandalorian lines are breaking; if we push now they won’t be strong enough to resist.”

“I agree, sir,” added Karath. “We have a chance to turn the tide in this massacre. We all know the Haran is leading this force. Without their leadership the Mandalorians will crumble.”

Nodding his approval, Revan said, “Coordinate the push with the other commanders. I want the Haran surrounded, after which we will begin boarding actions.”

“Understood, General. May the Force be with you.” Surik’s image winked out.

The Haran was the Mandalorian flagship, commanded by Mandalore the Ultimate himself. The Republic had come close to capturing the enemy leader in the past - first at Onderon a couple of years ago, then more recently at Nazzri, and then Exodeen two weeks ago. Each time, the Mandalorian had evaded them, resulting in a mix of victory and massive losses, and now it was time to change that. Mandalore was a monster, of that even the famed Chancellor Cressa knew.

Six minutes later, the Iniquitous, flanked by the Ravager and fifteen other Republic ships — five Praetorian-class and three Axehead-class frigates, and seven Hammerhead-class cruisers — along with dozens of Aurek- and S250 Chela-class fighters, and a dozen Heraklon-class transports, were soaring toward the Mandalorian flagship and her own defence flotilla. When the two flotillas came to blows, the Mandalorian Basilisk droids charged them through the Republic’s fighter screen, tearing them to shreds.

A boom resonated throughout the Iniquitous’ bridge, hurling most of the assembled officers up and back down to the deck. Revan, still using the Force to hold himself in place in the command chair, heard several sickening cracks as bones were broken and limbs dislocated upon impact. He heard Ensign Jayk shouting, “We’ve lost helm control! We’re dead in the water; even the hyperdrive’s shot!”

Explosion after explosion ripped through the ship. Consoles began to spew flames, the heat coming into contact with and cracking the transparisteel viewports. Karath stumbled toward his commander. Revan noticed the admiral was clutching his arm — or rather, the stump that was left. Blood seeped through Karath’s fingers. Evidently the arm had been lost during the last large explosion. “General Revan,” he shouted over the background noise. “The Testament, the Champion of Iridonia, and the Veltraa were destroyed in that initial volley. Reports suggest Admiral Morvis is still alive along with the rest of the Veltraa’s crew.”

“Morvis is a survivor,” Revan commented under his breath.

“General! Thrusters are back online,” reported Jayk. “Our heading, General?”

Revan sat back in his chair and steeped his fingers. “Transfer all power — life support, shields, everything — into the thrusters, and set a collision course. Ram the Haran with everything we’ve got.”

“Sir?”

“You have your orders, Ensign.” Turning to Admiral Karath, he said, “Comm the fleet, inform them of what’s about to happen, and that I recommend they retreat to a safe distance. We’re boarding them, Admiral, whether they like it or not.”

The Iniquitous sped toward the Haran on thruster power alone. The fighter screen — what was left of it — backed off several dozen kilometres, as did the remaining Republic warships.

“Ten seconds,” said Jayk.

The Mandalorian flagship kept pouring wave after wave of turbolaser fire into the Iniquitous’ hull; whole sections of the interdictor warship were blasted off into the vacuum. Under Revan’s orders, the Republic flagship locked a tractor beam onto the Haran, keeping the warship stationary before they collided.

“Five seconds.”

“All hands, brace for impact,” said Revan over the ship’s comm system.

“Three seconds,” Jayk continued the countdown. “Two. One.”

A tremendous jolt, powerful enough even to break Revan’s Force-hold, threw every officer present on the bridge onto the deck with a resounding chorus of painful yelps. Horrendous screeching — that of durasteel against beskar — resounded throughout the Iniquitous and tearing at Revan’s tympanic membranes. Another jolt, followed by another and another, hurled the Iniquitous’ crew all over the bridge. Sparks flew from consoles; one such explosion caught a female lieutenant in the back, burning through her uniform and causing a scream to burst from her mouth in a fit of horror.

The blasts tore through the Iniquitous’ interior bulkheads, shearing the fore section of the warship off of the hull completely. The durasteel dug a swathe in the beskar hull plating of the Haran, tearing into the Kandosii-class’ bulkheads, and continuing to plough deeper. The acceleration of the Iniquitous’ thrusters forced the interdictor ship deeper still, cutting through crew quarters and med bays, destroying anything in its path.

Eventually, the great warship came to a bone-jarring halt. Revan, Karath, Jayk, and the other bridge officers (alive and dead) were sent flying forward to hit the bridge’s main viewports. Using the Force, Revan landed squarely on the helm console on his knees, lightsabre swinging from his belt.

“Admiral Karath?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

The rear admiral replied after a large amount of groaning. “Yes, General. I’m still here... I think.”

“I am going to board the Haran. You are in command, Admiral, until my return.”

“Thank you, sir.” Karath coughed violently. “I’ll try to tidy the place up for you. May the Force be with you.”

Revan nodded. “You, too, Saul.” And with that, he stood and sped off the bridge through the aft doorway, and into darkness...

********************

UPPER CITY, TARIS

3,956 BBY

Aaryn woke gradually from fitful sleep. What was he dreaming about? It seemed so real... like a memory. But of course, it couldn’t have been. Aaryn’s life had never seen him on the frontlines of the Mandalorian Wars, let alone serving on the bridge of the Republic warship Iniquitous under the command of the then-Jedi Knight and General Revan. And it was impossible for the dream to be showing the present to Aaryn — Darth Revan was very, very dead. Bastila and the Jedi had seen to that.

Admiral Karath was another individual of note. Saul Karath had served in the Republic navy under Generals Revan, Malak, and Surik, until the time when Revan and Malak had taken the fleet and disappeared into the unknown. A few months passed, and when they returned having fallen to the Dark Side, Darths Revan and Malak unleashed their newly-revamped fleet upon the Republic. Karath turned traitor and allowed Malak to bring devastation to Telos, destroying the planet’s ecology and turning all life upon it to ash. The admiral, while leaving with his new puppeteers, also left with plenty of traitorous Republic officers and soldiers in his shadow.

General and Jedi Knight Meetra Surik... she was one individual that Aaryn had next to no knowledge of. Surik fought with Revan during the Mandalorian Wars, but elected to return to Coruscant to face trial in preference to following her fellow generals into the Dark Side. After that, the galaxy had forgotten Surik. The Jedi obviously hadn’t executed her; instead, they would’ve sent her into exile — or perhaps she’d exiled herself. Either way, Meetra Surik had left no footprint, no breadcrumbs for anyone to follow where she walked now.

There’d been talk of Force-using bounty hunters for millennia, of course; there was every possibility that this was Surik’s fate, though Aaryn had no way of being sure of that. Without any evidence, the galaxy would just have to remain in wonder.

Aaryn’s musing was interrupted by some mumbled groaning to his right. Carth, his eyes screwed up in pain, continued to groan as he brought his hands to his forehead in an attempt to rub away the inevitable hangover. He began to open his eyes, though he soon regretted that decision as the morning sunlight streamed through the window and into Carth’s face. “For karking sake...” he muttered under his breath.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Aaryn asked, almost cheerfully — and perhaps a little too loud for Carth.

Carth raised his hand to ward off any more loud noise. “That would be great, thanks, Aaryn.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

Judging his stability, Aaryn stood slowly, eventually feeling stable enough to walk over to the apartment’s single sink. Retrieving a small glass from a cupboard, he poured a fair amount of water from the sink’s faucet and handed the glass to Carth’s waiting hand. The Endar Spire’s former commanding officer sipped from it regularly, keeping one hand rubbing circles into his forehead. “Great party, huh?” asked Aaryn.

“I couldn’t say,” said Carth. “Don’t remember much, well — any of it, really. What happened to that woman?”

“You mean Sarna? Oh, she was frizzled the entire night.” He frowned. “Do you want some anti-veisalgia tablets? You keep rubbing your head anymore, you’ll set your brain on fire from the friction.”

“I doubt you’ll find any in this place.”

Aaryn shrugged. “Fine. Suffer away.”

They laughed — or rather, Aaryn laughed while Carth chuckled quietly so as not to flare his aching head.

********************

They strode among the local Tarisians and Sith troops in the city centre. Sunlight poured through spaced between the spacescrapers, filling the duracrete streets with a golden glow. The towers, soaring to well over five kilometres into the atmosphere, created huge shadows on the upper boardwalks.

“The med centre should be on this street, according to the local maps,” said Carth. “Unless we get some on the black market, that’s the only place we’re gonna get some of those tablets.”

Aaryn smirked. “Are you sure we can’t just leave you there? I know I’ll definitely get a better night’s sleep that way.”

Carth gave Aaryn a dirty look, though they both knew he was being sarcastic.

“You’re certain that Sith uniform worked?” Carth asked, his voice hushed so as not to be overheard by any of the troops walking by.

“I would’ve been shot if it hadn’t, Carth. You’d rather I be in a bloody... mush... at the bottom of the Lower City? Wow, Commander, never knew I had that impression with you.” At Carth’s flustered look, Aaryn raised his arms in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m kriffing around.”

“I’ve been going over the battle on the Endar Spire over and over in my head since we crashed,” Carth said, seeming to ignore Aaryn’s jibe. He hesitated, as if second guessing his own thoughts. “Some things just don’t add up for me. Maybe you could tell me what happened — from your perspective.”

Aaryn raised an eyebrow. “It’s like you said when we first met; Bastila didn’t have time to use her powers.”

Nodding, Carth said, “True... Bastila is as powerful as they say. She’s the one who defeated Darth Revan, after all. Hmm,” he said, thinking to himself. “I guess that no Jedi ability, no matter how powerful, makes up for being completely surprised and outmatched.

“We didn’t choose that battle, anyway; it got forced on us. Hell, I’m just amazed that any of us are alive to talk about it.” They turned a corner in the street. “Come to think of it, it’s more than a little surprising that you happen to be here, isn’t it?” Carth stopped and turned to face Aaryn. “Just what is your position with the Republic fleet, anyway?”

Aaryn shrugged. “I used to be a smuggler, if you must know. A Jedi Knight worked with me on a run to Mygeeto a few years back, and she saved my life. I repaid the favour by joining the Republic navy as a hired gun, and using my knowledge to aid our people.” He remained silent on the specifics of the Mygeeto situation.

Carth smiled crookedly. “A smuggler, eh?” He chuckled. “I should’ve guessed. Still, isn’t it odd that a smuggler — who was added to the Spire’s crew at the last minute — just happens to be alive?”

“You’d rather I wasn’t?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Carth. “You’ve more than proved yourself since the crash... we wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But still...”

Aaryn mind raced. Is he accusing me...? “Are you implying I had something to do with the battle?”

The commander shook his head. “No. Well — maybe. Don’t get me wrong, it just seems odd that someone Bastila’s party specifically requested to transfer aboard happened to survive.”

Aaryn lost his patience. “It doesn’t make any difference, Commander,” he snapped. “Go ahead and be paranoid. We’re here.”

They entered the med centre. Owned by a Tarisian named Zelka Forn, the facility wasn’t the most popular in the Upper City, though Forn had always found a way to run a good business — from what Aaryn and Carth made out from the local HoloNet transmissions. The rear wall was lined with kolto tanks, while the entrance wall held three well-made beds recovering patients. Carth began to head further in, as Forn himself — a dark-skinned human man with dark eyes, greying black hair, and a greying moustache — walked out from his personal office. “Yes, gentlemen, how can I help you?”

********************

They left Zelka Forn to his business half an hour later. Carth was finally happy, though Aaryn was still in a foul mood after their conversation prior to entering the med centre.

It took them the walk back to the apartment for him to articulate his frustration. “Are you always this suspicious?”

From the look on Carth’s face, Aaryn saw the question had taken him by surprise, though he suspected there was a little trepidation, too.

“Look, okay... it has nothing to do with you, personally. I don’t trust anyone, and I have my reasons. But no, I am not going to discuss them — certainly not with someone I’ve only known all of five minutes. And I’m not trying to be paranoid. So can we just keep our minds on more important things?”

Aaryn stood facing the window. “I consider this important.”

His commander sighed as he sank into a dining chair. “You’re pretty damn tenacious, you know that? We’ll talk about it,” he said. “But later.”

********************

TAFANDA BAY, ITHOR

The Jedi stumbled and fell, her pulse already neutralised, her breathing permanently stalled. Red blood dripped from a curved blade, the weapon held in the hand of her killer, Jaq — as he was known to his associates — felt empty; killing Jedi made him feel, but only when seeing the death-look upon their faces. This time, he’d killed the Jedi from behind, and her face was covered by her fair hair.

The other Jedi, flowing white locks and bright green eyes staring at Jaq, twisted into the air and used the Force to throw herself at him. Jaq simply rolled and stabbed upward with the knife, piercing the Jedi’s defences and slicing through her chest. She died instantly.

Darth Bandon stepped forth, hands clasped in utter glee upon watching the spectacle. “Well done,” he said. “Very well done. Almost comical, even. And you say you’re not sensitive to the Force?”

“No more than a drunken bantha. I just kill Jedi by forcing emotion; that way they do not sense their end coming until it’s right on top of them.”

Bandon smiled. “You have one more test. There is a Jedi named Arren Kae. She was reported to have been killed when Revan destroyed Malachor Five. My spies tell me she lives still, and continues to train Jedi, though she is long-exiled from the vaunted Order. Kae is a Jedi Master, fully capable with the Force. She is the widow of the famed General Yusanis, and a mother to a single daughter. Kill both mother and child.

“Oh, and I should point out that you just killed her twin sister. Good luck, Jaq.”

Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

“Another patrol heading down into the Lower City?” asked the armoured guard. “Good luck; I’ve heard it’s pretty rough down there. There’s a big swoop gang war going on, you know? You better watch yourselves, those gangs will take a shot at anyone — even us! It’s too bad we don’t have the manpower to just sweep those slums clean.”

“Yeh, too bad, Lieutenant,” replied Carth. “Can we go down now? Or do I have to report to Admiral Karath that you’re obstructing our search for the Jedi?”

“Of-of course not, Lieutenant,” stammered the guard as he moved away from the elevator entrance. Aaryn and Carth got in, closed the door, and selected their destination via a button pad on the elevator’s interior.

As the elevator began to descend Taris’ levels, Aaryn said, “Good thing we found that Duros again.” Originally, they’d planned on using Aaryn as a mock prisoner, but then they’d run into the Duros they’d met a couple of days ago, and they quizzed him about where he’d hidden the dead Sith officer. And so it was that Aaryn was stuck wearing Sarna’s armour, while Carth took on the persona of the Sith officer.

“Good thing he remembered where he put the remains,” remarked Carth. “Is it me, or do you feel a chill?”

Aaryn frowned. “A chill? No... why?”

“I’m wearing the uniform of a dead man; that’s just... creepy, if you ask me.”

Sighing, Aaryn asked, “How long do you think this’ll take?”

Carth smiled. “Good thing I rescued my pazaak deck. What have you to bet, Mister Savo?”

The two Republic infiltrators played hand after hand of the infamous card game, with Aaryn winning practically every hand and Carth losing the vast majority of his credits to the younger officer. The match finally ended with Aaryn wearing the largest smirk that Carth had seen on anybody. “One minute to go,” said Aaryn.

They returned the apparel they’d removed during the descent to their bodies; Aaryn his helmet, Carth his nerfhide belt, boots, and military cap. The elevator began to whine down, and Aaryn felt vibrations through his feet. The doors opened.

Immediately, blaster fire singed the back of the elevator, forcing Aaryn and Carth to take cover beside the opening, blasters at the ready. Aaryn heard one of the assailants shouting, “Sith aren’t welcome here!”

Peering out through the door, Aaryn saw that there were three beings attacking them — one human, and two Nikto. He shot at the human, who screamed as the blaster bolt hit him in the centre of his chest. The Nikto were eventually brought down by Carth’s assault; one felled by a shot to the torso, the other by having the left half of his head blasted off.

“Too bad we aren’t Sith,” remarked Aaryn.

They hid the bodies in the elevator, returning the cart to the Upper City. Keeping their weapons in hand, Aaryn and Carth continued on down a long corridor, passing several doors until they came to one that was well-lit and guarded by a green-skinned Rodian. “Hoche apenkee,” he said. <<Welcome.>> “Kee hasa do blastoh.” <<Drop your weapons.>>

“We came here for a couple of drinks,” said Carth as Aaryn removed his helmet. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Kava doompa D’emperiolo stoopa,” continued the guard. <<You’re low-down Imperial fools.>>

“Da beesga coo palyeeya pityee bo tenya go kaka juju hoopa,” Aaryn replied, much to Carth’s surprise. <<The last fool who called me that got his antennae stuffed down his throat.>>

“Smeeleeya whao toupee upee,” replied the Rodian. <<Smile when you say that.>> “Go on in,” he said in heavily-accented Basic. The doors opened at the Rodian’s command on the keypad, and the two Republic soldiers entered.

Upon being blasted by a wall of sound and smell, Aaryn deduced that they’d walked into another cantina that wasn’t wholly unlike The Tumbling Dice in the Upper City. The main difference, or course, was the distinct addition of a menagerie of alien species. Here, a Nikto exchanged alcoholic beverages with an Ishi Tib; there, five Rodians dealt hands of pazaak with a couple of Rutian Twi’leks and a Dug. Interestingly, as they got toward the bar in the centre of the room, Aaryn noticed two Twi’leks and a Rodian appearing to admonish a human man. All three of the aliens wore similar garb to that of the gang members Aaryn and Carth killed when they’d arrived in the Lower City.

The human said, in a voice devoid of happiness, “Go away.” He didn’t even look at them; his back was turned as he was trying to enjoy a drink at the bar.

“Hey,” said the Rodian in accented Basic. “You not talk like that. We just want to say ‘hi’ to big, bad bounty hunter Calo Nord.”

One of the Twi’leks, olive-skinned with chunky lekku hanging from his bald head, frowned. “Nah... this can’t be Calo Nord. He’s supposed to be tough. This guy’s nothing but a runt,” he said, chuckling.

Calo simply said, “One.”

The three gang members laughed loudly. “One? What you mean?” asked the pink-skinned Twi’lek in broken Basic between bouts of laughter. “You be funny, tough guy!”

“You know who we are, Calo?” asked the olive Twi’lek. “We’re members of the Black Vulkar gang. You don’t want to be getting funny with us, tough guy!”

“Two.”

The pink Twi’lek, his thin lekku swung around his neck, said, “Me no understand. One? Two? Why he count?” He looked to his cohorts. “He trying to count how many of us is against him?”

The other Twi’lek turned back to Calo Nord and said, “It’s three against one, Calo. What do you think about those odds?” Silence. “Well?” he asked; still more silence. “You have something more to say?”

Calo smiled into his drink. “Three.”

In a split-second, Aaryn and Carth watched dumbfounded as Calo Nord launched a smoke grenade at the three Black Vulkars. Before the smoke cleared, Aaryn heard three thumps on the floor of the cantina. The bar had become silent — even the five-piece Bith band had stopped playing their Wroonian Blues stood watching as the smoke began to clear.

The gang was on the floor, dead. Calo was at the bar, downing the remainder of his drink. The bounty hunter placed the empty glass on the bar and strode briskly past Aaryn, only sparing him a quick glance as he went past.

As soon as the cantina’s door closed behind Calo, the Bith band started playing again — this time a Wroonian classic called The Keller’s Void — and the cantina’s usual chatter resumed in earnest.

“Don’t look so... wide-eyed.”

Carth turned to his partner, startled. “Me, wide-eyed? Aaryn, I’m a commander in the Republic Navy. This isn’t exactly the worst I’ve ever seen.” They got to the bar. Carth requested a pair of jawa juices from the Neimoidian barman. They both scanned the cantina over the top of their drinks, looking for anything, or anyone, that could lead to information on Bastila’s whereabouts.

Setting his drink on the bar, Aaryn noticed three Rodians heading toward a lone Rutian Twi’lek — he noted that she appeared around only fourteen or fifteen by human standards. They began to converse in Huttese. The Twi’lek girl told them, in no uncertain terms, “Get out of my face, you sleemos!” She then strode off and settled into another part of the cantina. Aaryn went back to his drink.

“You served in the war, didn’t you?” he asked Carth. “Against the Mandalorians.”

Carth took a final glug. “Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just... well, you know, I only ever fought the Mandalorians in skirmishes on the Outer Rim during smuggling runs; I never fought in the war proper.” He gazed at his jawa juice ponderously.

“Even by doing what seemed like small acts, you saved a lot of lives, Aaryn,” said Carth. “If that’s what you’re on about.”

Aaryn shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I... what do you know about Meetra Surik?”

The commander looked Aaryn in the eye. “She was a Jedi General, second only to Revan and Malak themselves. I never met her; I as posted to the fleet in the Ottega Sector through most of the war. I imagine her name may have cropped up a couple of times on the HoloNet.” He motioned the barman over for another drink. “From what I recall, Surik was a capable commander and her troops loved her.”

Taking a sip of his jawa juice, Aaryn asked, “What about Saul Karath?”

Carth seemed to visibly turn to stone at the question; his arm muscles tensed up, squeezing his newly-filled glass to breaking point.

“Carth?” asked Aaryn, becoming concerned. “Carth...?”

Aaryn’s commanding officer remained frozen for several long moments as he stared into his drink. Though they’d known each other only a few days, the two officers had begun to become accustomed to each other’s mannerisms, habits, and so on. Up until now, Aaryn had not before seen Carth react this way.

“Commander, are you okay?”

“He’s a traitor, that’s what he is,” Carth said, his voice barely a whisper. Aaryn followed his example and simply peered into his drink.

The pair remained that way for several long, quiet moments as the Bith band continued droning on with their music. Surprisingly discreet, a Wookiee strode across toward a gloomy table to Aaryn’s right, taking a tray of raw meat away from the bar to consume in semi-privacy.

They’d come down into the Lower City looking for information on the escape pod, or anything that could possibly lead to Bastila’s present whereabouts — but after that, then what? Obviously, they couldn’t simply blast their way through the Sith blockade, even if they had a ship, without the risk of Darth Malak trailing them and killing thousands — if not millions — of innocent individuals to capture the young Jedi Knight. And then even more would die. And Taris, Coruscant — the galaxy itself — would burn.

Perhaps they could appeal to the Jedi Council, seek sanctuary until the war ended. Even Malak wouldn’t dare to go toe-to-toe with the Masters, assuming they were willing to provide protection in the first place. But, thought Aaryn, first things first.

He looked to his left. The young Twi’lek girl was again being harassed by the same three Rodians. She did not appear happy, and nor did she sound it, judging by what he and Carth could hear.

“I told you to leave me alone!” she exclaimed. “So give me some space, bug-eye. Your breath smells like bantha poodoo!”

The leader, the ‘bug-eye’ on the right, gave her a witheringly contemptuous look. “Little girl should not be in bar,” he said in Rodian. “This is no place for little girl. If little girl smart, she run away home now.”

The Twi’lek raised her brow. “Who are you calling a little girl, chuba-face?”

“Little girl needs lesson in manners?” asked the lead Rodian, his body language suggesting he was becoming aggravated.

The girl sighed wearily. “Just a sec, boys.” She gave a short, sharp whistle. “Zaalbar... a little help here?” she called. “I need you to rip the legs off some insects.”

Zaalbar — the Wookiee who, up until this moment, had been quietly consuming his meal — replied in the gruff growls of his native Shyriiwook. [Mission, I’m busy. They just brought me my next course.]

“Quit complaining, you can finish your food later. Besides, you need the exercise, so get over here.”

Six Rodian eyes suddenly widened exponentially as three hundred pounds of Wookiee strode over from his table.

“We want no trouble with Wookiee,” said the leader. “Our problem is with you, little girl.”

The Twi’lek — Mission, as Zaalbar had called her (Aaryn found he’d unconsciously understood most of what the Wookiee had said, though he had never had any dealings with the furry beings in the past) — simply crossed her arms. “You got a problem with me, then you got a problem with Big Zee. So unless you want to take on my furry friend, I suggest you greenies hop on out of here.”

The Rodians hesitated for several long seconds. Finally the leader said, “Little girl lucky she has big friend.” They ran out of the cantina, and promptly went straight into the wall opposite the door, knocking themselves unconscious as onlookers turned their attention back to their own business.

Mission and Zaalbar turned to face Aaryn and Carth — the only two people in the cantina who were actually watching their exchange with the Rodians. “Say, I don’t recognise you two and I pretty much know everyone in the Lower City,” Mission said to the pair as they joined them. “I guess that makes me and Big Zee your official welcoming committee — even if you’re wearing Sith disguises.” She eyed the pair knowingly.

“What?” asked Aaryn apprehensively.

“Those uniforms. Unless the Sith have very bad fashion sense, they don’t fit you very well.” She put her hands on her hips. “Relax. No one here’s a friend of the Sith.”

Reluctantly, with a nod from Carth, Aaryn made introductions.

Carth smiled genially. “You showed a lot of guts dealing with those Vulkars, kid. You got a name?”

“My name’s Mission Vao,” she replied, grabbing a glug of her drink. “And this big Wookiee is my best friend, Zaalbar. I’d offer to give you a tour, but the streets down here aren’t safe. But if there’s anything else you need...?”

“So how do a Wookiee and a Twi’lek street urchin end up as best friends?” Aaryn asked, changing the subject.

Mission shrugged. “We just kind of fell in together, really. It ain’t easy on your own here in the Lower City, and everyone’s looking to push you around.”

“So we noticed,” said Carth. “Still... you seem like an odd pair.”

Mission sat on the vacant stool next to Carth. “When I first met up with Zaalbar, it seemed like a good match — I knew we would look out for each other. With my street smarts and his muscle, we make a great team.”

Aaryn emptied his glass. “What do you know about the Lower City gangs?” he asked.

“There’s only two gangs worth worrying about here in the Lower City: the Black Vulkars, and the Hidden Beks. Sometimes, Zaalbar and I hang out at the Bek base. The Beks are led by Gadon Thek — he’s a good guy,” she said, smiling to herself. “Lost his sight in a swoop bike accident a few years ago, but even blind he’s a great leader — not like that traitor, Brejik.” When several heads turned toward them, Mission hushed her voice. “Before he took over the Vulkars, he was a Hidden Bek. Gadon considered that ungrateful space slug his adopted son.”

“Why did he leave the Beks?”

Mission leant forward. “When Gadon went blind, everyone figured he’d step down and appoint Brejik in his place. But Gadon figured Brejik wasn’t ready yet; he wanted him to wait a few years. But Brejik was too impatient. He left to join the Vulkars, and ever since he’s been waging a war to wipe Gadon and Beks from the face of Taris! This gang war in the Lower City is totally Brejik’s fault. They’re the ones killed everything that moves out on the streets. It’s like they’ve gone insane.

“You know, this dive’s pretty boring. No action around here... come on, Big Zee, let’s go.”

[But I haven’t finished eating!] growled Zaalbar.

“Can’t you think of anything else besides your stomach for five minutes?” asked Mission, standing to shake Aaryn and Carth’s hands.

“Come on, we’ll go see if there’s anything good to eat at the Bek base.”

Watching the odd pairing leave, the Republic officers turned to face one another. “Interesting girl,” Carth remarked.

Aaryn raised an eyebrow. “Look, Carth, I know that Rutians can be quite... appealing to us men, but isn’t Mission a little young for you?”

“Oh, shut up, Ensign,” said Carth, wearing a sabacc-face. “Or I’ll personally see to it you face court martial.”

Not long after this, the pair removed their Sith uniforms and stashed them not far from the cantina.

********************

BELKADAN, OUTER RIM

The boy fell in two pieces, his green-hued training sabre lost from his grip, his chest bisected by the shining metallic blade.

“Try telling me where she is, and next time you’ll live.” Jaq looked down at the teenage boy’s bleeding corpse. Jedi scum.

He turned as fallen dalloralla sticks snapped not too far away to his left. Suddenly, Jaq felt himself thrown backward by an invisible force — the Force, he knew it to be — and landed roughly, twenty metres from the boy’s body. A young human man — late twenties by Jaq’s estimation — leapt through the forest and shoved the emitter of his lightsabre in Jaq’s temple. “What is your purpose here?”

Jaq laughed, his mouth twisted into a visage would’ve charmed any woman. “Your master. What is her name?”

The Jedi pushed the emitter harder into Jaq’s temple. “You are here for Master Kae? What business would the likes of you have with her?”

Much to Jaq’s delight, the Jedi screamed in pain and horror as the assassin’s dagger — that he’d hidden in his sleeve - tore into the Jedi’s abdomen. Clearly, Kae hadn’t taught her students how to manage severe pain. Disappointed, Jaq knelt over the dying Jedi.

“Try going back to school, Jedi. Maybe then you’ll learn not to give your enemy crucial information.”

Standing, he used his dagger to slit the Jedi’s throat, hastening his path to whatever afterlife the Jedi Order believed in. The man had just confirmed Jaq’s suspicions. He’d spent several thousand credits sifting through terabytes of data, tracing Kae’s movements since the destruction of Malachor V. Before arriving on Belkadan, Jaq initially headed to Scipio, and then on to Mygeeto. He had tracked one of Kae’s former students to the city of Jygat, but unfortunately Jaq had been forced to kill the Jedi before she could contact the local authorities. Amid the junk piles of Raxus he’d stumbled upon another group of Kae’s students studying the planet’s ecology. Jaq’s hand was forced once again.

Eventually, in a downtrodden bar in the Hapes Cluster, a mere smuggler had drunkenly informed him of a Jedi training facility on the very edge of the galaxy. The smuggler then died of a sudden brain haemorrhage several minutes later, having ingested a poison in his drink. After Hapes, Jaq headed to Gizer, followed by Corsin, and up above the galactic plane before heading to the coordinates provided by the dead smuggler.

What Jaq found was a planet covered in foliage, which hadn’t really surprised him. Arren Kae, typical of Jedi, would feel right at home on a planet abundant with life - the Jedi thrived on it. The native herbivorous life forms, quadrupeds that resembled Corellian traladon, bolted whenever he came close to them; this told Jaq that they’d had contact, however recent, with humanoids. That was when he’d seen the apprentice and ambushed him.

The smuggler had told Jaq that he’d sold provisions to a Jedi Knight by the name of Olon Hawer, and that she (and her academy) had been eager to employ a smuggler to provide regular information and supplies. Having approved of the deal, Hawer escorted the smuggler to the secret academy. That had now become her fatal mistake, though; the smuggler had never possessed the presence of mind to wipe his navicomp after returned to the civilised galaxy, and so the coordinates fell merrily into Jaq’s hands.

Jaq spent the next several hours searching for clues as to the location of the academy’s entrance. He knew he was close — the apprentice would never have been allowed too far from his superiors without a more experienced Jedi in tow.

Pretty soon Jaq heard rumbles of thunder off in the distance, all the while growing closer to his location. Bright green flashes flared to life through the forest canopy, the leaves silhouetted against the cerulean lightning. Jaq’s brain told him that this was a plasma storm — and a bad one, at that — a weather phenomenon the smuggler had warned him about. He needed to find shelter.

Without warning, a bolt of superheated plasma struck the tree next to him, cracking the trunk and setting the leaves aflame, hurling Jaq with the force of a hand grenade explosion. He landed on his right arm, forcing a grunt from his gut as he sprained his wrist. A sonorous howl of thunder roared overhead, reverberating throughout Jaq’s body. His arm flared into pain, leaving him clenching his jaw so as not to reveal his location to any would-be ambushers.

Jaq, hoping that the lightning would no longer consider him a target, decided to stand and try to make a run back to his ship. He got two steps forward before realising that his injured arm was bleeding as another bolt of plasma energy hit the ground five metres from him, throwing him up and back to land hard on his pelvis. Through the pain, Jaq realised he’d severely underestimated Arren Kae. There was no thunderous sound of rain coming from the treetops. This storm was one borne of the Force.

Only Jedi Masters and Dark Lords of the Sith had this kind of power, and Jaq doubted Malak or Bandon were here.

Jedi Master Arren Kae had arrived. And evidently she was well and truly pissed off.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Text

“Master?”

The decades-old Jedi Master in-exile kept her eyes firmly closed, using the Force to concentrate on the matter at hand. Kae was far too used to having to multitask, and constantly being asked questions to which her students, by rights, should know — whilst also attempting to meditate. The assassin was being held in one of the academy’s sparring rooms, watched over by five of Kae’s more promising students, which happened to include a Wookiee. Even an assassin like this one would think twice about escaping. Especially after Kae herself had used the Force to capture him in the first place.

Master Kae had felt his presence in the Force the moment he entered orbit of the planet. She’d expected Revan to come for her eventually, but both the Order and Darth Malak had seen to him before that could happen. The assassin had come for her, of that much Kae was certain; both the Force and her own intuition told her so, and at least a couple of her students had commented upon the assassin’s Force aura.

The eager young padawan who’d approached her, a Kel Dor named Pol Temm, remained patiently waiting by her side, with his fingers interlinked before his body. It was said that prior to the formation of the Republic, the Kel Dor people had been an elegant and unobtrusive race. Temm, fortunately, was the epitome of his race.

“I will face him. Alone, Padawan Temm,” Kae said. She stood, flexed her muscles, and made her way through the academy.

The halls, illuminated by the flickering light of candles, were lined with stone imported from Belkadan’s sole lunar satellite — Kae herself had named the planet after one of her previous apprentices, Bel’kad’an - giving the academy an almost pale complexion. To her left and her right, as she paced the halls, doorways led to personal quarters, science labs, and leisure facilities. Kae had located the system after pouring through the gigaquads of data within the Jedi archives prior to her abrupt departure to Malachor.

Malachor. When uttered, veterans tensed at the mere reminder of the ordeal — no, the bloodbath. The carnage. Kae had escaped with her late husband, Yusanis, a fellow general who had aided the Republic forces during the war, before the planet’s destruction. Her former apprentice, Revan, had ultimately issued the order for his third-in-command, Meetra Surik, to activate the mass shadow generator which sealed Malachor’s fate, and the fate of the Mandalorian Wars. Hundreds upon thousands perished.

Coming to a juncture, Kae turned down the right-hand passage and came out into sunlight. She hadn’t left the academy; exterior light streamed through panes of glass set into the jungle floor above her — the entire academy was subterranean. Plant root growth was managed through use of the Force, so as to halt the slow destruction of the walls. Kae passed a couple of padawans on her journey, both human males. They appeared to be laughing between themselves, their hands firmly clasped in the other’s. Kae didn’t stop this. She had instead promoted romance and family within her academy. Love was an emotion nobody — especially the Jedi — had the right to deny.

Arren Kae had been exiled from the Order after the High Council were informed of her marriage to Yusanis and their young daughter Brianna. She had stood her ground, accepting the punishment while vocally denouncing the beliefs of the Order, that Jedi should be allowed to marry and raise families. Dorjander Kace had attempted to argue alongside her, imploring the council to allow her to remain. Grand Master Vandar was adamant, however; after the Sunrider situation, the council could no longer stand by and accept Jedi who disgraced the Order’s core tenets. Kae handed over her lightsabre, bid Kace farewell, and left Coruscant and the known galaxy behind.

Without a physical gesture, Kae used the Force to open the door to the assassin’s temporary accommodations.

********************

LOWER CITY, TARIS

Her breath came in shallow, ragged pants. Her arms had been broken and reset several times over, as had her legs, and her hair had been burned in random patches.

“Bastila, you really ought to stop this petty resistance,” said Brejik. “I promise you that when you do, this will be over.”

Bastila apparently had no strength left in her to vocalise a reaction. She instead spat at Brejik, spraying a mix of saliva and blood at his face. Brejik simply wiped it off with his hand, then backhanded the Jedi hard enough to fracture her jaw. “You will put a stop to this, Jedi,” he warned. He reached for his comlink. “Kandon, get in here.”

A few moments later, Brejik’s green-skinned Twi’lek lieutenant entered the chamber, carrying a copper tray. Brejik noted Bastila’s eyes turning tacitly to the objects atop the tray and quickly looking away again. He grinned.

“I will never join you,” said Bastila through gritted teeth. “I am a Jedi.”

Brejik’s lips thinned, and he bared his teeth. “Oh, this torture will be much worse, I assure you, Bastila.” Kandon handed him a syringe containing a translucent liquid, “This, in case you didn’t already know, is a little something called skirtopanol. We’ve been having it steamed into your cell throughout your sessions. Fortunately, I have worked out that it really needs to be directly injected to be fully functional.” Brejik took another syringe, this one filled with a yellow substance. “This one’s called tritroxinate. It’s supposed to be quite painful, but I have no idea about that.” He motioned for Kandon, who held up a third syringe. “And this last one is called bremelanotide. Simply put, it’s a love potion.” Both he and Kandon grinned wickedly at that.

Brejik nodded to his right-hand man, ordering him to begin the next round of sadism.

“I’ve heard about your vaunted Jedi techniques, Bastila. But are they powerful enough to stop these drugs from persuading you to see my point of view?”

Bastila remained stoically silent as Kandon injected a 10 nanolitre dose of skirtopanol, followed by 10 of bremelanotide.

Bastila was his — whether she liked it or not.

********************

BELKADAN

Jaq looked up to see a white-haired woman enter his holding area. It was the same woman who’d thrown him around in the forest — Arren Kae. He may not have been a shabla Jedi (that was what the Mandos called them, he knew) but he could still tell when one of their kind was struggling with their emotional control.

Unfortunately, Kae had recovered from her temporary lapse in the forest. Still gonna be fun, though.

Kae stood silent as the door closed behind her, blue eyes looking Jaq up and down as if judging his appearance. He wasn’t Force-sensitive (that he knew of, at any rate), but Jaq could feel the Jedi trying to get into his mind. After a moment she faltered, taking a step backward as if she’d been physically pushed. She recovered herself, and tried again. Again, Jaq mentally repelled her. So arrogant. You all think the rest of us are so weak-minded that we don’t know how to defend ourselves. You schutta Jedi.

“How are you doing that?” she asked him, her voice devoid of emotion.

He smiled. “Professional skill. Comes in hand when I’m taking out your kind.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Blocking you from my mind, or killing Jedi?”

“The latter,” Kae said as she began walking slowly toward him.

Jaq laughed. “There’s no point telling you if you don’t already know.”

The Jedi remained silent at that, either unwilling to provide an answer, or ignorant of what answer to give. She stopped walking as she got to where he sat, stun cuffs affixed to both his wrists and ankles. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed, assassin. While we’re here, in this academy, you cannot kill me or anyone else.”

Jaq raised an eyebrow. Time to change tac. “You think so, do you? Okay then... say I let you into my mind. What do you think you’ll see?”

Again, Kae didn’t answer. She simply closed her eyes and, to Jaq anyway, appeared to concentrate. That’s right, Jedi, go deeper. See my victims. Their faces. Hear their screams.

Without warning, the Jedi’s face blanched. She’d found the particular memory Jaq had wanted her to find. He grinned wickedly. Do you like watching me killed your sister, Jedi?

********************

LOWER CITY, TARIS

Having left Mission and Zaalbar a couple of days ago, Carth and Aaryn had concealed themselves in yet another abandoned apartment, and now were consuming field rations that Carth had saved from the Endar Spire. Meeting Mission and Zaalbar was an eye-opener. A young teenage girl and a Wookiee, together in the lower depths of Taris’ cityscape. Not exactly something you saw everyday around the galaxy. Nor was dreaming about a traitorous admiral and a dead Sith Lord.

“Commander,” began Aaryn.

Carth didn’t look up at him immediately, instead continuing to eat a concentrate stick. Between mouthfuls, he finally replied. “Yes, Ensign Savo?”

Aaryn swallowed silently in apprehension. “Commander, I wanted to apologise for earlier. You know, about bringing up Karath. I should’ve realised he’d be a sore subject for anyone in the Republic Navy, especially considering... especially after what he did.”

Carth remained stone silent. His expression was as lifeless as the surface of Peragus II, and Aaryn briefly wondered whether he’d offended his CO yet again. After a couple of long moments, Carth’s face became warm, and he smiled — though Aaryn could see that he was only doing it to soothe the situation. “Ever train to be a diplomat during your smuggling runs, Savo? You’d make a hell of an ambassador.”

“Only the most informal of training,” said Aaryn. “A couple of incidents, civil wars and such. Nothing too hectic.”

“Nothing too hectic?” Carth repeated.

He waved a hand. “Oh, I never got involved with the Mandalorians, if I could help it. Obviously, they’d get in the way every now and then, but I always had a couple of Jedi friends who dealt with them, if need be.” Aaryn took a final mouthful of rations before helping Carth to repack their survival kits.

They left the apartment and walked through the shadows, peering into crevices and doubling back on themselves to make sure they weren’t being followed by the Sith or the local swoop gangs. To Aaryn, Taris looked so alike to Coruscant, they were almost clones. From the spacescrapers which seemed to groan from the strain of Taris’ atmospheric winds, down to the deepest corridors, they would’ve felt right at home on the galactic capital.

Only twice had Aaryn actually visited Coruscant; the first with his parents after a spice run from Ruusan, the second via returning several Jedi to the Jedi Temple after a lethal ambush set by a being known only as Sion.

Rather abruptly, they came to a dead end — a locked door.

“Hey!”

Behind them a brown-skinned human woman, wearing a yellow and orange suit and carrying a longsword, came striding toward Carth and Aaryn from the direction they’d come. “You can’t just walk in here! This is Hidden Bek territory How do I know you’re not Vulkar spies sent to kill Gadon?” she asked. Her blade was held ready to strike.

Aaryn stepped up to her. Her dark eyes, radiating with ferocity, came up level with his chin. “We need Gadon’s help,” he said. “We were told to speak with him by Mission and Zaalbar.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A lot of people want to go inside and speak to Gadon; he’s a hero of the common folk. But the days of the Hidden Bek’s open door policy are long gone. Between the Sith and the Vulkar gang war, Gadon has more enemies than he used to.” She now stood firmly between the door and the Republic pair. She flexed her weapon arm as if to intimidate them. “We’re being careful about who we let in.”

Carth took a moment to respond. “Maybe we could be allies against all those enemies, ma’am.”

“Well,” she replied, evidently remaining cautious. “We do need all the help we can get. And you don’t look like you’re with the Vulkars — or the Sith. Besides,” she said, raising the point of her sword to within millimetres of Carth nose. “It’s not like you could harm Gadon in the heart of his own base. Not with Zaerdra watching him.”

“So you going to let us in?” Aaryn asked.

The guard stepped toward the door, prised open a panel, and entered a code into the unit hidden there. “You go in and speak to Gadon if you want. Just remember to be on your best behaviour... the Hidden Beks are watching you.”

********************

BELKADAN

Kae splashed cool water over her face. The assassin remained in his holding cell, until such time as she knew what to do with him. She couldn’t execute him; no matter what his allegiance, it went against everything she stood for as a Jedi. But keeping him here on Belkadan was foolish, also — Kae would be tempted by the Dark Side of the Force, and would take matters into her own hands. It was for this reason that Jedi were... ordinarily... forbidden to marry.

My sister is dead.

Kae slammed a clenched fist into the mirror hanging above her basin, smashing through the glass and clean into the stone wall. She’d used the Force unconsciously. She pulled her hand from the damaged wall, pieces of stone lodged into her knuckles and her wrist, bleeding. Using the Force again, Kae stemmed the flow of blood, feeling the wounded skin pull itself together as a temporary fix.

My sister is dead.

A well of tears threatened to erupt as Kae made her way through her quarters. She never made it out of the bedroom.

Your sister was killed.

Kae fell onto her bed, tears flooding down her cheeks, her fraught sobs aching her throat. She stayed that way for hours, eventually falling asleep as day turned into night.

She was awoken by Padawan Temm, who wore an almost fearful expression. “Master Kae, the assassin has escaped.”

That brought Kae back to her senses. “Escaped? How? When?”

We found Padawan Rivera comatose. We estimate she’d been there for half an hour before we found her... he’ll have made it deep into the forest by now, Master.”

Kae stretched out with the Force, searching for the assassin’s unique presence. “He’s here, in the academy. In the mess hall. Just... waiting.”

Temm swallowed. “How do we play this, Master?”

My sister is dead.

Your sister was killed.

He killed your own sister.

“We don’t,” she replied. “I must face him, alone.”

Kae swept from the room, leaving Padawan Temm in the darkness of her quarters.

Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Text

LOWER CITY, TARIS

“You’ll have to forgive Zaerdra,” said Gadon. The leader of the Hidden Beks had met them in his base’s mess hall after Zaerdra, his Twi’lek right-hand woman, had questioned and escorted Carth and Aaryn to him. She now remained by Gadon’s side. “Ever since Brejik and the Vulkars began this war against us, she’s been a little over-zealous in her security duties. The problems with the Sith haven’t helped things. Zaerdra seems to think I can’t look after myself. Now, how can I help you?”

“Your lookout mentioned you have problems with the Sith,” said Carth.

“A foreign army invades Taris, declares martial law, and locks down travel to and from the planet? You damn well bet I have a problem with that!” He took a swig of his jawa juice. “If the Sith ever moved in down here, all the swoop gangs would unite against them. We’d use hit and run guerrilla tactics to pick them off... their casualties would be enormous.”

Carth shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, Gadon. The Sith would never commit to that kind operation, not under Malak’s command. They’d... they’d probably do something grand and more deadly.” He paused. “Like Telos.”

There was an unexpected silence. Carth, Aaryn, Gadon, and Zaerdra each sipped their drinks in turn as the moment lengthened. Finally Gadon spoke. “But so far, the Sith have stayed out of the Lower City and our strength is wasted on this stupid gang war! I tried to explain this to Brejik, but he and his Vulkars won’t listen.”

Aaryn put his empty glass on the table. “We need information on those Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity a couple of days ago.”

“The escape pods?” asked Gadon. “You know, I heard the Sith have been asking around the Upper City about them as well...”

“They might be spies, Gadon!” spat Zaerdra, her teeth bared and a hand resting on the butt of her blaster. “They might be working for the Sith!”

Gadon placed placating hand on her arm. “Calm down, Zaerdra. If the Sith thought we knew anything useful, they’d have a battalion of troops kicking down our door. No,” he said slowly. “I think these offworlders have their own agenda.”

Aaryn gave a slight smile. “Don’t worry, we’re not working for the Sith.”

“I suppose I could tell you what I know. It’s not like it could do any harm to me or my gang... but it might cause problems for the Vulkars, and that’s okay in my book.” Gadon returned Aaryn’s smile as he spoke. “The Vulkars stripped those pods clean within hours after they landed. It’s too bad we didn’t get there first, considering what my spies reported the Vulkars found.” Gadon stood and headed for the galley to refill his jawa juice. When he returned, he said, “A female Republic officer named Bastila survived the crash. We Beks don’t believe in intergalactic slavery, but the Vulkars aren’t so picky. They took her prisoner.”

Carth and Aaryn looked at each other, This was potentially bad news; if she’d been captured, and her access to the Force was somehow denied to her, Bastila was in serious trouble. Carth turned back to Gadon. “Bastila’s a slave? What will happen to her now?”

“Normally,” Gadon replied, “the Vulkars would take a captured slave and sell them for a nice profit to Davik or an off-world slaver like that Trandoshan Cahhmakt. But a Republic officer is no ordinary catch.

“She’s too valuable to leave with the Vulkar scum at the base, either; Brejik’s probably got your Republic friend hidden away somewhere safe until the big swoop race. You’ll never find her.”

********************

Bastila shook herself from the pervading chill. Brejik had finally allowed her to wash, though to call it a bath would be a severe understatement. Now, she was standing in her cell, naked, her hair tousled about her shoulders, shivering like an icicle on Hoth.

The door opened unexpectedly. Brejik and his Twi’lek lieutenant entered. Bastila noticed that the Twi’lek was carrying some kind of whip, making her step back and flinch unconsciously. Brejik flashed her a crooked smile. “My brother used to say a lot of crap when we were younger. Before we killed our father, he said to me — ‘always leave some physical torture ‘til last,’” he said, all traces of mercy non-existent in his voice.

********************

“I’m afraid your friend has become a pawn in Brejik’s game to take over the Lower City,” Gadon explained. “He’s offered her up as the Vulkar’s share of the prize in the annual swoop gang race. By putting up such a valuable prize, Brejik hopes to win the loyalty of some of the smaller gangs. Their numbers will allow him to finally destroy me and my followers.”

Aaryn and Carth took a few moments to take in this new information. Carth was the one to ask the million-credit question. “So how do you propose we go about rescuing Bastila, then? We can’t fight all the gangs.”

“The only hope you have to rescuing Bastila is to somehow win the big season opener of the swoop race,” said Gadon.

Winning a swoop race? Carth was a fair pilot, Aaryn knew but a swoop bike was a completely different beast than a speeding escape pod. Aaryn himself had swoops before, but he was only a child then — and that was a very long time ago. He had no idea whether or not those piloting skills remained. Maybe if he’d been lucky enough to have been born with the Force... but Bastila was counting on him. Commander Bastila Shan, a Jedi Knight and Aaryn and Carth’s commanding officer, was counting on Ensign Aaryn Savo to pull her out of Brejik’s grasp.

“Gadon,” Aaryn implored. “Can you help us with this?”

The Bek leader thought for a minute. “I might be able to help you with this, if you would be willing to help us. We both have something to gain here — and much to lose.”

“What are you proposing?” asked Carth.

“The swoop race is for the Lower City gangs only. I could sponsor you as a rider for the Hidden Beks this year. If you win the race, you’ll win your friend’s freedom. But first you’ll have to do something for me.” Gadon took a breath. “My mechanics have developed an accelerator for a swoop engine. A bike with the accelerator installed can beat any other swoop out there! But the Vulkars stole the prototype from us. They plan to use it to guarantee a victory in this year’s race. I need you to break into their base and steal it back.”

“How are we supposed to get inside the Vulkar base?”

“Getting into the base won’t be easy,” Gadon replied. “The front doors are locked tight. But I know someone who might be able to get you in the back way. Mission Vao.”

“Mission?” Zaerdra asked suddenly, disbelieving. “Gadon, you can’t be serious! She’s just a kid — how’s she supposed to help them with this?”

“Mission’s explored every step of every back alley in the Lower City,” said Gadon placatingly. “Plus, she knows the Undercity sewers better than anyone. If anyone can get the inside the Vulkar base, it’s her.”

Aaryn’s eyes flickered between Gadon and Zaerdra as the two shared a rather tense moment. Finally, hesitantly, he asked, “Where can we find Mission? I mean, we’ve already met her back in Javyar’s Cantina, but...”

“She and her Wookiee friend Zaalbar are always looking to stir up a little excitement,” replied the Bek leader. “They like to go exploring in the Undercity, despite the dangers. Your best bet is to look for her there, but you’ll need some way past the Sith guard post at the elevator.”

“We’ve got some Sith uniforms to disguise ourselves,” explained Aaryn.

Gadon shook his head. “A simple disguise might have worked on the Upper City guard,” he said. “But the security down here is much tougher. You’ll need the proper papers to get past them. Luckily,” he said, smiling, “my gang ambushed one of the Sith patrols headed down to the Undercity. They never made it, and their security papers fell into my hands. Since we’re working together now, I suppose I could give them to you — in exchange for your uniforms.” Gadon waved down Carth’s coming rebuke. “With the security papers you won’t need a disguise anyway.”

Carth and Aaryn looked at each other. After a moment, the commander nodded, and Aaryn gave the location of where they’d stashed their disguises.

“Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

Aaryn smiled. “We’ll be back when we get the accelerator.”

“I suggest you hurry,” said Gadon. “The swoop race is coming up in a few days, and we want you to have time to practice before the race. Good luck to you.”

Chapter 17: Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Text

“Oh, hey... Canderous. We didn’t know you was working for Davik now.”

“Yeh, we were just goofing around here. We don’t want no trouble with a Mandalorian. Here’s Davik’s cut.”

Two Black Vulkars were being harassed by a pair of mercs, both male humans. The Mandalorian, a man with a rather stern face, black hair that was greying at the hairline, and wielding a heavy repeating blaster, seemed to be emitting terrified squeals from the pair of Vulkars.

You could almost mistake them for Gamorreans, thought Carth. He and Aaryn had been walking for a couple of hours (with half an hour spent on a pitiful lunch of yet more Republic rations) before they’d noticed the altercation between the Vulkars and the mercs, and hidden themselves behind one of the many massive bulkheads that ringed the corridors of the Lower City, hoping that the Tarisian natives would pass them by without altercation.

The Vulkars were literally shaking in their boots. One, a Rodian, handed a credit chip to Davik’s agent by his shaking hand. “I knew you boys would see reason,” said the agent, smirking. “Now, get out of here.”

The Vulkars ran, sprinting down the passage as if they were being chased by a hungry rancor.

“Too bad,” said the Mandalorian — Canderous, they’d called him — before sighing lightly. “I was looking forward to cracking some heads.”

The agent smiled. Waving the credit chip he said, “Maybe next time, Canderous, I better get this over to Davik. I’ll call you if anyone else gets behind on payments.” And he simply turned on his heel, and left.

Seemingly alone with his thoughts, Canderous began to speak to himself. “Those Vulkars are dumber than a Coruscant granite slug! They actually think being in that pathetic gang of theirs makes them important. Gadon keeps his Hidden Beks in line, but Brejik’s getting delusions of grandeur. Ori’buyce, kih’kovid.” Canderous fingered his weapon, checking the power cell, before he himself began to walk down the passage. “If Davik’s smart, he’ll slap that young punk back down.”

Watching Canderous disappear down the passage, Aaryn and Carth looked at each other. “No,” said Carth, in reply to Aaryn’s raised eyebrow. “We are not working with a Mandalorian.”

********************

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

Admiral Dodonna hadn’t slept that night. In fact, she hadn’t slept since her last holocomm with the chancellor. Tarkin had incensed Dodonna, there was no doubt about it; even Marloon and the junior aides had been keeping a reasonably safe distance over the last couple of days. After another ten minutes of relentlessly tossing and turning on her bunk, Dodonna flung back the covers and, naked save for a pair of black socks, immediately headed for the caf dispenser she kept in her quarters.

She took a sip of the steaming caf, then padded over to her only window; opening the blinds, she was forced to hold a hand to her face as the bright blue morning sunlight from Lannik’s primary burst through the window and stung the admiral’s retinas. Unfortunately in doing so, Dodonna tipped the still-hot caf down her bare chest, eliciting a string of curses that would have made even the most battle-hardened of Mandalorians blanch.

I suppose that’s one way to make sure you’re awake, Dodonna thought sardonically.

Quickly placing the now-empty mug on her caf table, the admiral rushed to her shower and immersed herself in a steady stream of cold water. She then towelled herself off, and returned to her sparse living area. Taking a seat on her sofa, Dodonna reached down under the seat and brought out a portable medpac, from which she retrieved a tube of kolto salve. Beginning at her left shoulder, she applied the salve, gently working her way down to her navel.

As she began to pack away the first aid meds, the admiral’s intercom started to beep, vying for her attention. Dodonna keyed in her command code as she slipped into a black gown, and the holographic image of her aide Marloon shimmered into view atop her desk a few seconds later.

“My apologies, Admiral, but we have a situation. Commander Beltane is requesting reinforcements. He also informs me that General Me’haas is dead.”

“Transfer my signal to the commander immediately.”

Marloon bowed his head. “Yes, Admiral.”

Dodonna’s senior aide disappeared, replaced by the image of Commander Jórdo Beltane. The heavily-armoured, dark-haired human carried a large scar on his face, stretching from his right temple to the side of his mouth. Sounds of bombardment and artillery fire could be heard over the comm channel. “What’s the situation, Commander?” asked Dodonna.

“Admiral, our forces are stretched thin out here,” replied the commander. “The Sith began bombarding our positions an hour ago, and the general—”

Dodonna raised her hand, cutting him off. “I know about General Me’haas. How would you estimate our losses, Commander?”

“Latest reports from the runners indicate five thousand dead, with twelve thousand casualties and rising. We cannot take anymore of this, Admiral.” A large explosion ripped through the ground directly behind Beltane, showering the commander in dirt. The audio systems transmitted the last moments of several screaming infantry, forcing Dodonna to momentarily lower the volume.

“Commander,” said Dodonna. “Hold your position for as long as you can. You’ll have your reinforcements within the hour. Dodonna out.”

Beltane’s holographic form shimmered out of existence, leaving the admiral alone once more, pondering where she would get some reinforcements from.

********************

The admiral entered the command centre to a rush of motion, non-coms buzzing back and forth between the men and women stationed at computer displays around the perimeter of the room Taking it all in, Dodonna strode over to the central holoprojector, where Jedi General Vima Sunrider was directing an assault on the Sith’s shipyards on the opposite side on Lannik. Sunrider, a Jedi Master with flame-red hair worn down to the small of her back and blue eyes the colour of ice, had been a part of Dodonna’s fleet since the beginning of the war, commanding the Republic’s forces when Dodonna was indisposed or off-duty. The admiral came to a stop at Sunrider’s right shoulder. “Report.”

The Jedi Master inclined her head toward the holoprojector. “As per your instructions, Admiral, we have five brigades moving in to supplement Commander Beltane’s position. Two brigades are moving into position in order to rout the Sith forces from behind. Admiral Telottoh is in order at the given coordinates and is awaiting further orders.” She paused as a non-com handed her a flimsi printout. “Thank you, Yeoman.”

Noticing the slight frown on Sunrider’s face, Dodonna asked, “What is it, Vima?”

“The Jedi Temple has been attacked. Those responsible have vanished.”

“Casualties?”

Sunrider nodded grimly. “Two apprentices were killed. Masters Kavar and Atris were injured, though they’re both expected to make a full recovery.” She gazed down at the holoprojector.

Dodonna moved closer to the Jedi Master, so as not to be overheard. “Vima, if you want to return to Coruscant...”

After a moment of silence, Sunrider shook her head. “No, Forn. I’ll be fine. The perpetrator shall be apprehended in due course — I feel it in the Force. For now,” she said, directing the admiral’s attention to the holoprojector, “let us return to the job in hand.”

“Very well.” Dodonna now raised her voice to be hear over the cacophony of the command centre. “Mister Antilles, signal the Testament. Have Admiral Telottoh open fire at the specified coordinates.”

“Aye, Admiral!” came the reply.

“Inform Commander Beltane of imminent orbital bombardment,” ordered Sunrider. “We don’t want our own men getting caught in friendly fire.”

“Aye, General!”

********************

SENATE BUILDING, CORUSCANT

“Master Lamar, I am afraid I find your lack of foresight disturbing.”

Exasperated, Vrook replied, “Chancel—”

Chancellor Tarkin slammed his hand down onto his desk as he stood, fury igniting in his eyes. “Not good enough! I don’t think you realise the implications of this debacle, Master Jedi. A Sith has landed — infiltrated upon — the galactic capital, the heart of the Republic, and launched an attack inside the temple of the very beings who are charged with the defence of that very same Republic! Not only did this Sith steal what is a potentially a very valuable artefact, but he was also seemingly allowed to escape unharmed! So while this planet’s security forces are scouring the streets building-by-building, and closing the spaceports to all incoming and outgoing traffic, you — the sole representative of the Jedi Order in this escapade — sit here in my own office and explain this preposterous turn of events as a, and I quote, a cloak of shadow being lowered across the Order’s ability to view the Force.” He sighed heavily. “You expect me to accept that as an explanation?”

The holding office remained silent as Tarkin stared red-faced at Vrook. Eventually, the chancellor found his seat behind the desk; only then did he notice that he’d left a slight dent in the red-tinged wood, the fist-sized indentation drawing his gaze away from the Jedi Master. Vrook, meanwhile, simply continued to sit with his hands clenched and held to his chin, his legs crossed at the knee, his lightsabre barely visible under the brown robes.

Stifling a grin, Tarkin thought to himself, of course the Jedi are finding it hard to see through the Force. The Sith — and, consequently, the Dark Side — are everywhere. They are legion. Even the vaunted Jedi Order will bow to their presence. Malak’s been corrupting Jedi to his cause, and that apprentice of his... from what Lamar’s told me, he’s got flair.

The silence was only broken by the beeping of the chancellor’s intercom. Tarkin fingered a button on his desk, bringing up the holoimage of Vice Chancellor Schooe. “Yes, Mikael?”

“Chancellor, Admiral Dodonna reports that she has begun a planetary bombardment of Lannik. The Sith forces in the system appear to be collapsing.”

Tarkin nodded. “Very good. Inform the admiral that I expect a complete after-action report as soon as she is able.”

Schooe bowed. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

He disappeared from the desk, leaving Tarkin and Vrook alone once more. “Well, Master Lamar, it seems Admiral Dodonna has the job well in hand.”

“As does Master Sunrider,” added Vrook.

The chancellor smiled tightly. “Yes, of course.” Using the keypad on his desk, Tarkin called up a set of data on the screen behind him, over his right shoulder. “Now, Master Lamar, allow me to bring your attention back to closer locales.” He indicated the lower left-hand quarter of the screen. “There have been reports of uprisings on Allanteen and Circarpous.”

“Peacekeeping forces have been sent to aid the anti-Sith elements in those systems,” Vrook stated, his hands remaining clenched, save for both forefingers being held together. “Trust in the Force, Chancellor, and we shall soon see those systems back in the Republic’s fold.”

Hypocrite. Smiling, Tarkin replied, “I’m heartened to hear you say that, Master Lamar.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “The Taris situation, however, will not be so easy to rectify. Latest reports indicate that Malak is reinforcing his position in the system. Within days he may be in readiness to make a push to Ralltiir.”

“What do you propose, Chancellor? Even with the addition of the Jedi, the Republic only has so many ships in so many fleets, while Malak is continually swelling his forces.” Vrook gazed warily at the chancellor. “Our resources are not infinite, Chancellor. If we cannot halt Malak’s march, this Republic will fall.”

Tarkin pondered the question for a moment. “We pull our forces to Vulta. If the so-called Dark Lord wishes to skip merrily down the Hydian then he shall face a wall the likes of which he shall never recover from.

“Oh, and one more thing, Master Lamar. If that Sith Apprentice appears on this planet again.. I shall have your head.”

On my desk, if I’m lucky enough, he thought to himself, a smile playing upon his thin lips.

Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Text

UNDERCITY, TARIS

“Go on, you two! Get out of here!”

The two beggars who had immediately beset Carth and Aaryn as they’d exited from the elevator that they’d ridden from the Lower City ran off, scared. The guard stationed at the top of the elevator, a Sith Trooper adorned in full uniform, had allowed them to pass after Aaryn flashed him the security papers Gadon had given them.

If only there weren’t some blaster cannons behind that guard, thought Carth. Perhaps the Sith could start branching out into pacification. Huh. Imagine that — a nice Darth Malak... Carth grinned at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that,” said the woman who’d scared the beggars off. “Those two give everyone in the village a bad name! We aren’t all like that, you know. Most of us are good people.” As she spoke, the woman’s dark brunette hair caught the light from the fires burning in the distance. She had full lips, a reedy neck, and dark blue eyes the colour of the deep Manaan ocean.

Carth smiled kindly at her. “I’m sure you are, miss. It’s just too bad you’re little welcoming committee is there to give people a bad first impression.”

Holding out his hand, Aaryn introduced himself and Carth. “My name is Shaleena,” she replied. “You’re from the upworld, aren’t you? I’ve... I’ve never seen it. I was born here in the Undercity.” She hesitated. “Is it as nice as they say up there?”

Aaryn flashed his own smile. “The surface is a beautiful place, Shaleena,” he lied convincingly.

“I’ve never been to the surface, but sometimes I think I can see it in my dreams. The sun, the sky, the stars... it all sounds so... so... so wonderful!”

Shaleena led the two officers through the village as she continued to speak, telling them about Gendar (the leader of their village), about the village’s oldest resident — Rukil — and a story about something she called the Promised Land. Aaryn asked if she’d seen any other upworlders passing through the village, to which Shaleena replied that there had. Apparently, a large group of upworlders wearing shiny armour had marched through, not bothering to answer any questions as they passed.

About half a mile from the elevator, they passed an enclosure filled with about six or seven humans. Some looked unwell, though the majority appeared to be healthy. Carth pointed it out to Shaleena.

“The villagers infected with the rakghoul disease are quarantined beyond that gate,” she said. “It’s only only a matter of time until they transform into horrible creatures that would destroy us all.”

Carth stopped suddenly. “So you just lock them away in a cage?”

Shaleena sighed heavily. “For the sake of the village, we have to keep the infected ones locked away. And when they finally transform into rakghouls, we’ll let them destroy each other.”

“There must be something someone can do!”

Their inadvertent guide shook her head. “Nothing can be done for the infected villagers. Even the serum to counteract the rakghoul disease wouldn’t be any use now. Nobody would be foolish enough to risk going into the pens to give them the cure.” As she said this, two of the infected villagers — a man and a woman, their eyes streaming with fresh red blood — began to writhe in pain. A few seconds later their entire bodies began to transform; their arms elongated, their fingers amalgamated into three long claws on each hand, and the hair on their heads began to grow and fall out in clumps.

The raw stench was immeasurable.

Their skin began to turn from the healthy flesh colour to a metallic-grey, and bone could be heard splintering as their bloodied eyes physically shifted to the very sides of their heads. Their mouths widened to an impossibly-inhuman width, and their teeth fell to the ground as sharper predatory teeth grew out from their greying gums.

“The infected ones could transform into rakghouls and attack them at any moment,” Shaleena continued.

Almost on cue, the newly-transformed rakghouls immediately set about annihilating the other occupants of the enclosure. Claw scraped keenly against bone as the victims screamed out in horrific terror as their blood seeped through beneath the gate, adding another layer to the already-thick stains on the ground.

Carth and Aaryn turned away from the carnage, unable to stop themselves retching and vomiting. This is definitely not the best start to the day, thought Aaryn.

He turned to see Shaleena, tears dripping freely from her eyes, emotional pain evident on her face.

********************

BELKADAN

Arren Kae walked away from the refresher. Wiping the spittle and leftover vomit from her mouth and chin, Kae let a slow sigh escape her. The very thought of the assassin murdering her sister threatened to drive her back to heaving over the lavatory bowl. She’d barely stopped herself from retching in the presence of her apprentices, but as soon as she’d left them, Kae’s insides twisted.

Yet still, the assassin waited.

Her sister’s killer was simply waiting for her to come to him.

Hesitating only to finish cleaning her face, Kae pulled her lightsabre from her belt and began her silent journey to the academy’s mess hall.

The walk took just under four minutes. In that time, Kae passed students who’d yet to evacuate the levels surrounding the mess hall. She passed empty room after empty room, her steps echoing throughout the long stone corridor.

At long last Kae stopped before the door. Her heart barely beat in her breast.

She turned the door handle, and entered.

The mess hall was empty of students. Chairs and stools had been upended during the rush to evacuate. Pots and pans of food in the kitchen area were beginning to boil over. But the assassin was nowhere to be seen.

No... to my left. The shadows part, revealing the assassin in plain sight.

A smile crept onto Kae’s weathered face. Using the Force, she slipped her lightsabre from her hand and let it fall until it was half an inch from the tiled floor. At that point, Kae sent her weapon flying silently above the floor until it swept toward the assassin’s hiding place. Through the Force, she ignited her blade.

The problem was that Kae saw no being standing within the shadow. The celadon hue of her blade cut through the darkness, adding yet more shadow to the surrounding area.

“You are clever, assassin,” Kae spoke to the room.

A voice replied from nowhere. “Thank you, Master Kae.” A pause. “I see you’ve come alone.”

“As you knew I would.” Kae called her weapon back to her hand, keeping it ignited. “I’m abundantly aquiver to know the identity of the man who killed my sister.”

A cold laugh preceded the response. “Jaq. My name is Jaq.”

And in that moment of his divulgence, Kae felt him. She felt his location, she felt his spirit, and most importantly of all... she felt the flicker of the Force within him.

“Why so silent, oh great Master?”

Was it a feint, a deception? A plan to force her to lower her defences if she felt any form of pity for him? Was it possible for him — a mere assassin — to have kept his Force-sensitivity secret from a fully-trained Master of the Order? “You really should keep in mind, assassin, that it is unwise to lower your defences.” And with that, Kae hurled her blade at Jaq. The assassin had hidden in the waste disposal system, and Kae’s celadon blade carved through the plasteel like a knife through butter, causing a loud yelp to issue from the disposal piping.

A second later, blaster bolts flew from the still-molten opening of the disposal chute, forcing Kae to sidestep to her right and hide herself behind one of the mess hall’s many stone pillars. Without waiting for another volley of blasterfire, Kae used the Force to hurl three of the boiling pots of food toward the disposal chute. The blasterfire immediately halted.

Not hesitating, Master Kae called her lightsabre back to her hand and held it in a defensive posture, ready for another volley. But no blasterfire came.

At least, not from the disposal chute.

Blaster bolts came at her from all angles; her lightsabre twirled in her hands as Kae spun through the air in order to dodge the incoming fire. Landing to the left of the mess hall entrance, she intercepted a particular set of bolts and deflected them toward the location of another blaster at the back of the room. Moments later that blaster exploded in a small ball of flame.
For ten minutes Kae continued with the tactic — taking out one blaster at a time, sometimes two or more in order to speed the process. Only once did she need to call on the Force for energy, and only once was she hit by a stray blaster bolt.

“You sweating yet, Jedi?”

“Not quite yet, assassin.”

A slight pause. “Good.”

Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Text

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

Admiral Dodonna turned her attention to the holoprojector once more. The orbital bombardment had ended three hours ago, and the holoproj showed that the Sith forces were in retreat. Reports had come in telling how the Sith dropships had been annihilated in the bombardment, and the enemy’s commanders had decided to commit suicide rather than surrender to the Republic or return to a displeased Darth Malak.

The volume in the command centre had dropped to a hush since the end of the bombardment. Master Sunrider was studying flimsi printouts inside the communications hub with Lieutenant Antilles, while the comm began to buzz from an incoming call. “Admiral Dodonna—”

“Patch it to the holoproj, Lieutenant. This might be something we’ll all want to hear.”

Antilles hesitated for a split-second. “Aye, ma’am.”

The blue forms on the holographic communication was routed. Dodonna had been expecting this call for a while now, and she was adamant about receiving it in the presence of her subordinates. The holographic image merged to form a large human man. With a bald pate and a fearsome physical frame, the man was an imposing figure.

Not least because of the cybernetic jaw.

“Admiral Dodonna, I presume.”

She nodded. “You presume correct, Darth Malak.”

“It appears that you have forced my armies into retreat, Admiral.”

“Again,” replied Dodonna. “You are correct. Your powers of observation are most astute, Lord Malak.”

“You flatter me, Admiral.” The holographic Malak placed his hands behind his back. “I would, however, be most interested to know if you are intent on rescuing Taris from my clutches.” Had he a mouth, Dodonna would’ve sworn that he was grinning at that moment.

“Believe me, Lord Malak, the chancellor is fully aware of the Tarisian occupation. As is the Jedi Council. Rest assured, we will be retaking the planet — just as we’ve retaken Lannik.”

Malak hesitated, though only slightly. “You may want to take a look at your sensors, Admiral Dodonna. Rest assured, you will not have retaken Lannik without a price.”

Dodonna turned silently to the sensor station. “Nothing, Admiral,” reported Master Sunrider, who’d moved over to the station during the admiral’s conversation with Malak. Dodonna allowed as slow breath to escape her mouth. Thank heavens. If Malak was sending a fleet...

“Wait... Admiral. We have incoming.”

“How many, Vima?”

Now it was Sunrider’s turn to hesitate. “Fifty ships, Admiral. The fleet is entering orbit.”

Dodonna turned vehemently back to Malak’s holographic form, only to see that the Sith Lord was laughing. “Forgive me for being dense, Darth Malak, but I was under the impression that this was not a laughing matter.”

“I’m laughing because you fail to realise just how far I am willing to go in order to obliterate my enemies.” He turned to someone out of the holoprojector’s range. “Have Admiral Varko begin bombardment forthwith.” He turned back to Dodonna. “Here’s a taste of your own medicine, Admiral Dodonna.”

Dodonna spun toward Antilles. “Cut the transmission!” Malak’s laughing image winked out of existence. “What’s the status of the shield generators?”

“Non-operational, Admiral.”

“How long until they are operational, Lieutenant?”

Antilles gulped audibly. “Too long.”

The command centre became as silent as a tomb, the occupants awaiting their end stoically.

********************

OUTCAST VILLAGE, TARIS

Aaryn awoke to screaming. Gazing around, he saw Carth standing by the entrance to their tent, watching whatever commotion was unfolding.

The two of them had managed a couple of hours’ sleep after the horrendous episode in the quarantine yard. Shaleena had introduced them to Gendar during their brief tour of the Outcasts’ village, and the leader had allowed Aaryn and Carth to shelter for as long as they required. The tent they’d been given was located directly opposite the village’s main exit — right where the screaming was coming from.

Holstering his blaster, Aaryn stood and walked toward his commanding officer. Only then did spoken words approach Aaryn’s ears:
“Hurry, Hendar, hurry! I can hear them coming!”

Aaryn and Carth both stepped outside of the tent, watching as a bearded man hobbled toward the metal gate — in front of which stood the gatekeeper (Shaleena had pointed out that his name was Trewin), and a woman. Apparently this woman was the primary source of the frantic screaming. “He’ll never make it!” shouted Trewin. “He’s doomed... Argh! I told him he was a fool to leave the village!”

The woman turned to Trewin in disgust. “He will make it; run, Hendar, run!”

“Open the gate — quickly!” yelled Hendar from beyond the gate, his hand clutching the left side of his torso. “There isn’t much time!”

Trewin hesitated. “I... I can’t — the rakghouls are too close!”

The woman was becoming hysterical now. “The mutants will kill him if you don’t open the gate!”

“And if I open the gate, it will kill us all.”

“No!” screamed the woman, tears streaming from her eyes. “You can’t do this — it isn’t fair!”

Just then, the woman looked toward Aaryn and Carth, and her eyes widened with renewed hope. “Please,” she screamed imploringly, “make him open the gate. Hendar will die if he doesn’t!”

“I can’t open the gate,” Trewin said, also looking to the Republic officers. “Not while the rakghouls are so near.”

********************

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

The silence was deafening. Every soul within the command centre stared at their screens, fear of their imminent deaths palpable on their blanched faces. That fear had finally begun to empathically erode Vima’s psionic defences, ultimately threatening to push the Jedi Master into catatonia.

And then Hell fell upon them.

The sound of a huge explosion, more deafening than any silence, tore through the north wall and hurling Republic officers in all directions — some landing on computer consoles, other unceremoniously on other officers. The single duracrete column supporting the ceiling buckled under the continuous Sith barrage, threatening to bury the surviving officers alive. Sparks flew from the consoles as officers — including Admiral Dodonna — attempted to assay the situation around the planet.

Before Vima could shout a warning to Dodonna, the ceiling collapsed under the strain of turbolaser fire just as the primary power cut-out. Several of the surviving men and women inside the powerless and lightless command centre yelled as the ceramic tiles and durasteel framework plunged down through the granular air.

Vima opened her eyes gingerly. Silence filled her ears. Darkness filled her sight. She had no idea how much time had passed since Malak had brought the ceiling caving in upon her. A dull ache throbbed up her body, emanating from her left leg, and she felt a liquid warmth on her face — possibility of a head wound. Otherwise, Vima was unhurt.

She reached out with the Force in search of other survivors. Dodonna she felt in an instant; though faint, the admiral’s presence in the Force was unmistakable. Stretching out, the Master felt at least nine other Force presences, each one gradually diminishing. She had to facilitate an escape, and soon, if any of them were to survive.

She couldn’t, of course, simply use the Force to lift the collapsed material off of herself — the shifting weight could further exacerbate the situation, and could very well kill the other survivors. There was, however, some other technique she could use... using the Force, Vima spent a half hour slipping into a meditative state, then proceeded to control the flow of oxygen in her immediate vicinity.

That was just the easy part.

Under normal circ*mstances, breath control could be used to hold a single lungful of air for about an hour — it was even rumoured that Master Vrook had once been forced to hold a single breath for at a day or more while on a mission to Manaan — but like Vrook, it could be used for an extended period under the most pressing of circ*mstances. Nonetheless, the solution running through Vima’s mind was nothing if not drastic; she didn’t even know if she had the sheer power to pull it off in the first place.

Vima first visualised herself in Dodonna’s position then, through the Force, reached out and created a bubble of oxygen around the admiral’s body. Feeling that she wasn’t going to burn out from the sheer Force power pouring through her cells, Vima expanded her reach to the remaining nine officers, repeating the process time and time again until all the survivors were within individual cocoons bound by the Force.

The only thing to do now was await rescue. How long that would take, even the Force held no clue. And so Vima Sunrider was left to ponder the possibility of aid in the calignosity of the command centre’s ruins — one of many such ruins appearing all over the surface of Lannik.

********************

OUTCAST VILLAGE, TARIS

Aaryn was quick to make his decision. Trewin made his surprise plain for all to see. “You would risk your life for a stranger?” he asked, momentarily taken aback. “You are brave, up-worlder. I will open the gate for you, but you’ve got to be quick. In a few seconds I must close and lock it again.”

The heavy metal gate opened as Trewin operated the levers, allowing Aaryn and Carth to rush through as they drew their blasters. Hendar ran through the closing gate, leaving the pair to bring the rakghoul down alone. The hideous mutated beast came at them, claws primed for vivisection.

Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Text

The rakghoul, a silvery-grey butchering machine of a predator, came at them with speed. Both Aaryn and Carth ducked down behind large pieces of duracrete that had fallen from the canopy above, no doubt victims of centuries of natural decay. Blasterfire flew from their weapons, pockmarking the beast with angry red energy bolts.

It took several dozen hits to bring the rakghoul to the ground; Aaryn’s blaster was nearly out of gas by the time it was dead. A silence leaden with echoes filled Aaryn’s ears as he and Carth looked around, on the lookout for more mutants. There were none. Aaryn hastened to change the cannister on his blaster, just in case.

The gate to the Outcasts’ village opened as Hendar, Trewin, and the deliriously happy woman ushered the pair back through. Just as the gate closed again, Aaryn saw a blue blur run through in the nick of time. A Twi’lek — the young Twi’lek girl from Javyar’s Cantina, Mission, by the looks of it — stopped running before she ran through Aaryn and Carth’s temporary bedsit, breathing hard from the exertion.

“Please, you have to help me!” Mission implored after gulping down several lungfuls of air, crouching down on the ground from exhaustion. “Nobody else is going to help me — even the Beks won’t help me. But I can’t just leave him there; he’s my friend! You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Aaryn crouched beside the young girl. “Slow down, Mission. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Zaalbar. He’s in trouble — big trouble!” She stood suddenly. “We have to help him. If we don’t they’ll sell him into slavery!”

“Calm down, Mission,” Aaryn said, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

Mission did as she was told, then continued. “Me... me and Zaalbar were just wondering around here in the Undercity. Ya’ know, looking for stuff we could find, just kind of exploring; we do it all the time.”

Carth knelt down beside the two of them. “I guess with a Wookiee at your side you’ve got to figure you can handle the odd rakghoul attack.”

Mission shook her head. “Only this time, they were waiting for us. Gamorrean slave hunters. We didn’t even have a chance to run. Big Zee threw himself at them, and he roared for me to run! I... I... I took off!” A tear started to creep from the corner of her eye. “I figured Zaalbar would be right behind me. But there were too many of them — he couldn’t get away. They’re going to sell him to a slaver — I just know it!”

“Mission,” said Aaryn. “Listen to me, okay? Do you know where they took him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know for sure, but those Gamorreans like to hang out in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess. That’s probably where they took Big Zee.”

“If we can help you get Zaalbar back, Mission, can you get us inside the Vulkar base?” Carth asked.

Mission nodded fervently, her lekku swinging back and forth. “It’s a deal. As soon as we get Big Zee back, I’ll show you a way into the Vulkar base! Now, come on; we have to find Zaalbar before they sell him to slavers — or worse!”

“Well,” said Aaryn. “How’s about we get some rest first? Start out fresh.”

********************

BELKADAN

Kae’s blade cut a celadon light through the corridors as she pursued the assassin — Jaq, he’d called himself — around the innards of her academy. Jaq had evaded her attack in the mess hall; escaping through the disposal chute to the level below, he’d proceeded to race the labyrinth of corridors in the substructure of the subterranean building.

These sub-levels were deserted of students — they’d been ordered to remain in the dormitories until such time as Kae returned to sound the all-clear. The mere fact that he’d led Kae into the sub-levels was bad enough; however, that didn’t mean to say that an assassin knew the layout of the academy any better than the Jedi Master herself did.

Far from it.

She proceeded down the barely lit corridor. Doors — made from the wood of trees felled in Belkadan’s jungles — lined both walls, spaced equally apart every few metres. The corridor eventually led to the stellar cartography room, though only Kae’s retinal print could break the seal on the lock. It had been that way since Kae had brought her first students to the remote planet; the academy itself was built within the ruins of an ancient stone temple. Older than anything discovered even on Yavin 4, the temple had contained obelisks, statues... even ancient technology and droids. The droid defences had been overcome, but not without some difficulty on Kae’s part.

The stellar cartography room — or rather, chamber — was located directly below the room Kae had chosen as her personal quarters. Inside the chamber was a single piece of archaic technology — a pyramidal shape that opened as Kae had approached upon her first investigative survey. Three dark grey arms had unfurled to the ground, revealing a spherical projector orb that floated up until it rested in the centre of the construct. A holographic representation of the galaxy then appeared from the orb, allowing Kae to begin to plumb the secrets of the temple and the beings who had originally built it.

Years later, she had yet to even find out the name of the builders, other than the term ‘The Builders’, which had been used by several of the droids — who, curiously, had all spoken in an ancient dialect of the Selkath language used on Manaan.

A shadow to her right drew her sight away from the stellar cartography doors. Extending her perceptions, Kae encountered what she could only describe as a... nothingness. A hole in the Force... like a single Hutt among a thousand humans, it immediately drew her attention. She smiled. His camouflaging skills are impressive, though sorely in need of practice.

Suddenly a blaster bolt struck her left shoulder from behind, startling Kae out of her thoughts and forcing her to turn to face this new threat, lightsabre prepared to strike. What...?

Jaq was there, pointing his blaster at her, a smug smirk creasing his otherwise handsome face. It was clear he had been behind her the whole time. So what was causing the hole in the Force?

“Distracted, Jedi?”

“Not in the least, assassin. My sister died at your hands, just as you shall die at my own. All shall be equal, all shall be in balance.” She raised her blade to strike...

... and then a pain like no other flared through her abdomen.

********************

Jaq was about to deliver another assault of blasterfire as the Jedi raised her blade, and suddenly... she stopped. A short, shocked gasp escaped her lungs. Her eyes, which had been studying his face up to this moment, were staring up blankly at the ceiling. A spear-like staff had pierced through her stomach, red blood was pooling around the Jedi’s feet. Then he saw it.

There was another pair of feet behind the Jedi.

The staff was ripped from Kae’s body, letting her fall limply to the ground. The humanoid being who remained, when it stood tall, was above six feet in height. Its ears were both tapered to points, and the eyes were black as obsidian. Strings of longs, greasy black hair hung from the thing’s head, and cranial ridges lined the forehead, as did several black tattoos. There was no nose; where the cartilage and nostrils were usually seen on humans, only an empty space remained. It was covered from neck to toe in some kind of grey-black armour plating. The spear, now that Jaq could take a closer look at it, was — to his astonishment — alive. Where there should have been a bladed tip, there instead was a living head. The rest of the spear — or body — was writhing gently within the alien’s grasp.

The alien snarled as it launched the strange snake-like creature at Jaq. He ducked quickly back inside the room he had originally hidden away in, barely escaping the set of fangs that soared through where his head had just been. It landed with a thud onto the ancient stone floor.

“Khapet!”

The alien’s voice — a low, guttural bark that set Jaq’s teeth on edge — echoed down the corridor. The serpent-weapon was readying itself to strike again at Jaq, its body coiling to spring. Jaq aimed his blaster at the thing and fired; the energy bolts were simply deflected by the thing’s hide and sent caroming into the walls and ceiling.

There was no sense staying here — after all, the job was done with. The Jedi, Arren Kae, was dead. There was no simple way for Jaq to bring down this new foe. He drew a short blade and hurled it at the creature, before turning and sprinting back down the corridor. He didn’t linger long enough to watch the knife splinter upon impact with the creature’s hide.

“Do-ro’ik vong pratte!” Until now the alien had remained still, but now it proceeded to give chase as soon as Jaq had left the confines of his hiding place, retrieving the creature it used as a weapon.

Jaq reached the door to the main staircase; the alien threw the serpentine-creature — now shaped like a spear once again — which barely missed Jaq’s left hand on the door frame. Almost fearing for his very life now, Jaq sprinted up the stairs three at a time. Without the ability to Force-sprint, he knew he was at a distinct disadvantage against this mysterious assailant. It was either flee, or die.

Jaq could hear the alien giving chase behind him, the footsteps light as the being flew through the academy’s corridors. There was an open doorway coming up on the left, and Jaq took it, almost slipping as he turned sharply. Immediately he ran headlong into a dazed Twi’lek apprentice, and the pair fell to the stone floor as the alien appeared in the doorway, its face an ugly sneer. The strange weapon flew from its hand, fangs primed to sink into Jaq’s flesh. Random thoughts began to enter his mind as he saw imminent death drawing nigh.

A yellow flash shocked Jaq’s mind out of its stupor; the apprentice had reflexively activated her lightsabre and blocked the weapon’s strike. Amazingly, the serpent hadn’t been decapitated — it was immediately readying itself for another attack. The Jedi turned to Jaq. “Stay behind me.”

Jaq raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you say,” he replied.

The serpent struck, jaws flared open wide. The Jedi pivoted to her left, bringing her golden blade in line with where her chest had been, and the serpent hit the blade with a piercing rending sound, like nails across sandpaper. Again, the thing landed and didn’t seem even to be fazed by the energy blade. It’s as if it’s made from Mandalorian armour, Jaq thought.

“Do-ro’ik vong pratte!” the alien shouted again.

“I’m sorry,” said the Jedi, her lightsabre raised in a defensive stance. “We don’t understand you.”

The alien hesitated momentarily, before rushing at the Jedi woman. The lightsabre flashed and sizzled as it struck the alien’s armour, the Jedi spinning to her right as she leapt up into the air to evade an attack from the serpentine creature held in the alien’s grip. Without warning, the alien kicked out backward with its left leg, connecting with the Jedi’s solar plexus and eliciting a harsh grunt from her. She landed hard against the corridor’s wall, hissing in pain as she struck it. The serpent flew at her then, fangs bared. Apparently calling on the Force, the Jedi thrust her free hand forward as if to push the oncoming serpent away.

The serpent, however, had other ideas.

Even Jaq let out a brief sigh of pain at seeing the serpent’s fangs sink into the Jedi’s flesh. Red blood leeched out in rivulets from the puncture wounds as the Jedi attempted to lever the serpent’s jaws off her arm, with little success.

The alien proceeded to round on the injured Knight, its own fangs bared threateningly. For some unknown reason — against even his own better nature — Jaq found his arm raising to take aim with his blaster at the back of the alien’s head. It was almost as if his body had been possessed; he hated Jedi, even those who had saved his life, so why was he returning the favour?

A red energy bolt flared from the blaster barrel and struck the alien square in the back of the head. Or at least Jaq thought it had. A part of the alien’s armour plating had somehow raised to protect its top flank, almost by reflex (don’t tell me that armour’s a living being, too...?), from which a little grey smoke was raising. The shot had the positive effect of gaining the alien’s attention, however, and as Jaq began pouring blaster bolts into the alien’s armour in a vain attempt to forestall his coming demise, the alien seemed to close the distance between them in seconds.

A flash of searing light caught Jaq’s eye when he was within ten metres of death; the Jedi, still bleeding, had used the Force to hurl her lightsabre at the alien’s back like a pike, the blade held by the Jedi’s mystical control. Black smoke rose from the impact site. Clearly, the Jedi’s plan was to melt through the armour and force the blade through the alien’s gut.

It took the alien a few moments to take notice of the assault. The serpent had upped its own assault on the Jedi’s flesh, however, and was busying itself with biting at her again and again and again, oftentimes pulling free cloth and flesh. And still she kept her yellow blade melting through the alien’s armour, black acrid smoke still emanating from the assault.

Jaq triangulated his own fire, targeting one area of the armour specifically. More smoke rose, and soon enough that section of armour began to literally crack under the combined assault of blaster and lightsabre. This invariably seemed to enrage the alien still further, whose face took on one of the tightest scowls Jaq had ever lived to see. Suddenly, Jaq changed tac, and took the chance to fire right at that ugly scowl.

The Jedi’s lightsabre struck the alien’s internal anatomy at the exact moment Jaq’s energy bolts burnt a hole through its nasal cavity. The alien fell to the tiled floor with naught but a dull thud on impact. Silence reigned. Then Jaq remembered about the serpent creature.

He caught sight of it bearing down on him from above, fangs bared and dripping with the Jedi’s blood.

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty

Chapter Text

TARISIAN SEWERS

“Big Zee’s my family, you know? My parents... well, I guess they’re dead. It was just me on my own until the day I saw Zaalbar in the Lower City. I could tell right away he was in trouble.”

Mission had been recalling to Aaryn and Carth about how she’d first met the Wookiee Zaalbar. They’d spent the better part of the last hour crawling through access shafts and down ladders (that had, in Aaryn’s opinion, seen better days), only to find themselves caught waist-deep in sewage. The sewerage pipe they followed led to another, and another, until the trio finally came to the main flow pipe. This then led them to one of several broad access shafts that were placed throughout the sewerage system, all the while finding evidence of Gamorreans, as well as rakghoul infestation.

“Who’d want to pick a fight with a Wookiee?” Aaryn asked, more to himself than anything.

Mission shrugged. “Hey, nobody said the Vulkars were smart. But there were three of them, so maybe they figured they could handle him... I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t like Vulkars at the best of times, and when I saw them picking on this poor Wookiee — all alone on a strange planet, overwhelmed by the big city — I just lost it. I screamed out, ‘leave him alone, you core-slimes!’ and charged right at them. One of them saw me coming and slapped me hard he just about knocked me cold.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t fry you with a blaster,” Carth said over his shoulder.

“Hey,” replied Mission hotly, “I don’t need a lecture from you. You ain’t my father! I knew what I was doing. Those Vulkars didn’t scare me; they’re nothing but cowards. Big Zee let out this howl and yanked that Vulkar a metre up off the ground and held him there by his throat.”

Aaryn’s interest was piqued. “What did the other two Vulkars do?”

“Oh, they screamed and ran. Can’t say I blame them.” As they rounded a corner, they were forced to traverse around a large mound of fatty deposit. “The first time you see an angry Wookiee up close isn’t a pretty sight. I thought Zaalbar was going to rip that punk’s arms off and beat him to death with his own fists. The Vulkar was so scared he fainted. Or maybe Big Zee’s breath just knocked him out. I keep telling Zaalbar to brush those choppers of his, but he never listens. Just stay upwind when he’s speaking and you’ll be fine.”

She stopped talking suddenly. Strange scratching sounds could be heard from beyond the intersection to their right. Keeping silent, all three raised their blasters, ready to pour blasterfire into the body of whatever came into their sights. As the creatures — whatever they were — went past the intersection, their sounds ebbed away, though continuing to echo through the unknowable darkness of their tunnel.

Returning her blaster to its holster, Mission continued, quietly this time. “Anyway, I knew those Vulkars would be back with friends, so I grabbed Zaalbar and we took off. Ever since then, we’ve been a team; we look out for each other, you know?”

They kept moving forth down the tunnel. Dripping — maybe rain water, perhaps waster — wept from above, seeming almost malefic in their relentless march toward a dank oblivion. “How did you survive before you met Zaalbar?” Aaryn asked, hopeful he wouldn’t upset the adolescent Twi’lek.

Mission stopped walking suddenly, her visage one of impetuousness. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said through semi-clenched teeth. “You think I can’t take care of myself? I’ve got street smarts! I know how to get by on my own! In fact,” she added, “I look out for Zaalbar more than he looks out for me, you know?” Mission appeared to calm now somewhat, beginning to walk forward once again. “Big Zee’s a little too gullible to make it alone on the mean streets of the Lower City.”

“How did Zaalbar end up on Taris?”

“He was fleeing some kind of trouble back on Kashyyyk.” She shrugged. “That’s all I know, really. Big Zee doesn’t like to talk about it. In case you didn’t notice, he’s the strong-silent type. Doesn’t matter to me, though; I accept him for what he is, not what he was. Me and Zaalbar like to live in the present.”

Carth put a hand out to silence them. The commander pointed with his blaster — he hadn’t holstered it earlier — to discarded heating unit in a chamber off to the left. Grey in colour, it was essentially an oblong that had been hit several times until it had been broken beyond repair. “Still warm,” Carth said, bringing his free hand away from the unit. He looked over at the open hatchway on the other side of the chamber. “Let’s go. Eyes open, and keep quiet.”

They began down the tunnel. The lighting units on the ceiling were out of operation, so Carth and Aaryn were forced to use flashlights that the commander brought out of his jacket pocket; attached to their wrists, the flashlights illuminated the tunnel like a full moon on a clear Alderaanian night.

Mission broke the silence by whispering in Aaryn’s ear. “It’s like I used to say to my brother — fast talk and slick words don’t get the job done.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Aaryn replied, also whispering.

“My brother’s a touchy subject, you know? It just so happens I don’t really feel like talking about him right now. Nothing personal, you know?”

A red blaster bolt singed into the wall directly over Mission’s right shoulder, forcing a small yelp from the young Twi’lek’s mouth as she dropped into a crouch. Aaryn’s eyes probed the tunnel for the source of the attack. Nothing stood out, even in the artificial light from his wrist. Porcine grunts pierced the silence, giving the trio the ability to zero-in on their attacker’s location — Gamorreans, judging from the sounds.

Aaryn could see Mission digging around in one of the pockets on her form-fitting grey gilet. After a few seconds she pulled out a small spherical object. Arming the grenade, Mission stood and threw it in the approximate direction of the Gamorreans. “Down!” she shouted.

The grenade landed behind a bulkhead in the tunnel about two hundred metres ahead of them. As the Gamorreans began to turn and run from where the explosive had landed, the grenade went off. Bright light lit Aaryn’s eyes even from where he laid prone against the grating of the tunnel’s floor; the sound of the explosion ripping through the constituent atoms of the air, of the tunnel, and of the Gamorreans reached his ears a second later. Vibrations emanated from the blast radius, keeping the trio pinned to the ground lest they stumble over again just as soon as they stood up.

The vibrations continued to echo down the tunnel in both directions, and doubtless above and below. Carth, Aaryn, and Mission slowly stood after a few seconds, certain the Gamorreans were gone, yet unwilling to test the proverbial waters too soon.

Commander Onasi looked at Mission agape. “Don’t suppose you’re willing to tell us exactly where you got hold of a thermal detonator?”

“Not particularly.”

They focused their flashlights toward the blast site. The grating on the floor and ceiling had been melted away, and what was left was twisted and blackened. The one door in the blast radius, metallic-grey and to Aaryn’s right, had been blown inward; the electronic locks were showering hot sparks into the air every so often.

Several Gamorrean grunts were coming from behind that door.

“Relax boys,” said Mission as she brought out another grenade, this time baton-shaped. “I got this.” And she armed the grenade and threw it at the door. Instead of exploding violently, it simply landed and let out a spray of chemicals. “Now give it about ten seconds.”

Aaryn and Carth waited the suggested amount of time, watching the chemicals coat the door, as well as the surrounding area, covering the surfaces in a thickening layer of cold as it began to freeze.

Mission looked at the Republic officers like they’d just forgotten how to chew. “Well blast it, then,” she said, as if that was something everybody would’ve known what to do.

Aaryn and Carth shot at the frozen door, blasting it back into the chamber beyond in large pieces that hit the Gamorreans behind it, squeals perforating the din of the falling debris. Mission sighted with her own blaster and commenced firing at any of the porcine slavers that hadn’t been knocked unconscious, and both Carth and Aaryn joined with her, mowing down their enemies in short order.

Suddenly Aaryn saw a huge Gamorrean, hefting an axe the porcine aliens called an Arg’garokay, running right at him from the corner of his eye. Aaryn rolled, avoiding the Gamorrean by less than an inch. As the hulking being ran headlong into the wall, Mission and Carth brought their blasters to bear on him — at least they’d assumed it was masculine — and felled him with ease. The body slumped to the grated floor, twitching first once then twice, before finally being still.

Mission holstered her blaster and gazed around the debris-strewn chamber. There were two more doors leading out of the chamber — one had the usual electronic lock; the other a non-standard manual lock. The Twi’lek ran up to it. “The sewers are the only place where you’ll see one of these on Taris. You can’t use conventional security spikes on these old locks, but don’t worry. I’ve come across them before.” Mission stretched her arms out as she clicked her knuckles. Reaching into yet another pocket on her gilet, she pulled out a queer-looking handheld contraption. “I’ve rigged up a little device that should do the trick.”

********************

Zaalbar had heard as well as felt the commotion happening outside of his cell. To his Wookiee ears, the sound of explosions and blasterfire pierced the monotony of his captivity. Though, to be honest, the Gamorreans had given him some form of entertainment. Looking down at the floor on his left, he thought ruefully of the slaver who’d had the bad sense to enter his cell. Or rather, what was left of the slaver; congealed grey-green blood was pooled around the corpulent corpse, rivulets dried to form a crusty layer of haemoglobin on the floor.

Suddenly, there was a clicking coming from the locked door to his cell. Minutes passed before Zaalbar saw the door finally open to reveal — as opposed to what he’d been readying himself to see — two humans and a blue Twi’lek girl.

Zaalbar roared in delight. [You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mission!]

Mission ran up to him and hugged the Wookiee tightly. “I’m glad to see you, too, Big Zee! You didn’t think I’d forget about you — Mission and Zaalbar, together forever!”

Letting go of Mission, Zaalbar asked, [Who’s that with you?]

Mission brought Zaalbar up to speed about their journey down into the sewers.

[Don’t mention it,] said Aaryn in passable Skyriiwookay, his throat protesting the harsh guttural sounds. [We were happy to help.]

[You know the language of my people?] Zaalbar said, amazed. [That is rare among your species. I am impressed.

[You have saved me from a life of servitude and slavery,] he continued. [There is only one way I can ever repay such an act: I swear a lifedebt to you.]

Mission looked astounded. “A lifedebt?” she asked. “Are you sure about that, Big Zee?”

He nodded. [I am sure, Mission. This is an issue of great importance to me; because of our great physical strength, Wookiees are being used as slave labour on our own homeworld. They see us as brutes and animals to be exploited. Over the years, slavers have taken many of my people; we must always be on guard against raids facing our villages. When the Gamorreans captured me, I thought I was doomed to a life of servitude. I have been saved from such a fate, and the only way I can repay that is through a lifedebt.]

“Big Zee swearing a Wookiee lifedebt to you,” said Mission, her face one of astonishment. “Wow. This is major. Do you realised what this means?”

Aaryn nodded. “It’s some kind of loyalty vow, isn’t it?”

“A lifedebt is the most solemn vow a Wookiee can make,” explained Mission. “It means he’ll stay by your side for the rest of your life. Wherever you go, whatever you do, Zaalbar will be there with you.”

[In the presence of you all, I swear my lifedebt. Forever after I will be by your side, Aaryn Savo. May my vow be as strong as the roots of the great Wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk.] He held out his arm to Aaryn, hand open.

Aaryn stepped forward and took his arm in his own. “I’m honoured to accept this vow.”

Mission grinned mischievously. “I guess this means you’re stuck with me, too. Wherever Big Zee goes, I’m going. I almost lost him once — it’s not going to happen again.”

Carth came forward to shake Mission’s hand, and smiled. “We’re glad to have you aboard, Mission.”

“Sooo... I guess I owe you one secret path into the Vulkar base. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” She shrugged. “Don’t worry, I know a backdoor into that scum den!”

********************

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

Darkness of night pervaded where the artificial light could not. What was left of the command centre, a smouldering and smoking husk of a ruin, lay amid what was once the city of Palesia. Local police as well as Republic forces surrounded the vestiges of wreckage; medics treated those who’d been injured, covered those who hadn’t survived.

Dodonna sat in a medical speeder, her injuries being seen to by a male Nautolan. Yes, Dodonna had won the Battle of Lannik, but it had been a pyrrhic victory at best. The latest reports indicated a ninety-two percent loss of Sith forces through Malak’s bombardment; sixty-eight percent of Republic forces had been taken with them. Buildings had become mass tombs. Blast craters had become mass graves. It was far too close.

“Admiral?”

Dodonna turned to the medic, who was beginning to put his equipment away.

“I’ve sutured the gash on your head — you’ll need to keep the memory-plastic as clean as you can for the next week or so. Try not to put any weigh on that ankle either, or you’ll find yourself bawling in pain. Other than that, you’re free to go, ma’am.”

The admiral nodded her acknowledgement as he left to address the next patient, a female corpsman with a heavily-bloodied uniform. Behind them, Dodonna could make out the off-white garments that belonged to Master Sunrider; the Jedi was stood over an unconscious Twi’lek who was missing both legs from the waist down. Hobbling over to Vima, Dodonna asked, “Is he likely to wake?”

Vima took a moment to answer. Her red hair was tussled and caked in dust, as was her clothing. “Not for several hours. Once we get him aboard a medical cruiser we can get him fitted for prosthetics.” Opening her eyes, she turned to face Dodonna. “It won’t take long for the chancellor to get wind of this slaughter, Forn.”

Dodonna nodded.

“Most likely, you will be made a scapegoat, held accountable, and brought before a court martial.”

Dodonna nodded.

“This could mean the end of your military career.”

Dodonna nodded.

Vima remained silent for a moment. “You’ll let Tarkin get what he wants?” she asked unsympathetically, an edge creeping into her voice.

“And just what is it that that man even wants? He’s unpredictable at the best of times.”

“True. But you cannot rise to his bait, Forn. He wants you replaced, one way or another. If that includes butchering your career, so be it.”

“If it comes to court martial? Who would you side with?” Dodonna asked, probing.

Vima sighed lightly. “I would side with the truth. Though if Tarkin pulls his strings, it’ll do you no good.”

The admiral frowned at that. “The Jedi know something about him.”

Her friend studied her face, Vima’s blue eyes seeming to search Dodonna’s soul. “The Council is... suspicious of him, yes. And no,” she said knowingly, “I can’t divulge to you what we have.”

“But you’re saying the Council believes him to be bad news.”

“Of course he is,” replied Vima. “Anyone with half a midi-chlorian can see that.”

“Hmpf. If only they’d seen that before they elected him.” Dodonna began walking toward what was left of her headquarters, Vima following not far behind. “There’s a saying on my homeworld — ‘que sera, sera.’ Whatever will be, will be. If Tarkin wants to take me down for this, let him try. Otherwise, we go on fighting against Malak, and both he and Tarkin can go kark themselves.”

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Text

BELKADAN

The serpent thrust itself at Jaq from above, red blood still dripping from it’s bared fangs, aiming for his neck.

He shut his eyes, too weak to even try to evade the attack.

The attack never came.

A yell forced Jaq’s eyes open again, and he saw a blur as the Jedi threw herself over his head and caught the serpent in her hands. It immediately curled its head around and dug the fangs into her arms in an attempt to force her to let go, but some inner strength within the Jedi kept her grip vice-like.

Jaq watched her land. Then she appeared to simply stand still; the serpent remaining attached to her arm, though she kept absolutely still, not moving but an inch. Was she using one of the many varied Force techniques? Without warning, the serpent threw itself off of the Jedi in recoil, coughing and sputtering as if to remove some harmful substance from its mouth. The Jedi took the opportunity to end the fight by thrusting her lightsabre into the serpent’s spluttering mouth, cutting off the hiss of pain that surely would’ve resulted from such an attack. The serpent’s dead form lay on the floor, acrid smoke rising from where the yellow energy blade had struck.

The Jedi put her back against the wall and, deactivating her lightsabre, slowly sunk down until she was sprawled in the floor propped up by the wall. She was breathing heavily, and blood dripped from wounds all over her body and onto the floor. Jaq lent against the wall behind him, the effects of the battle still fuelling the adrenaline in his system.

Even five minutes later they still remained in those positions, breathing heavily.

Jaq had never prepared for moments like this... that a Jedi — an enemy — would defend him and damn well save his skin. The faint tinge of metal could be smelled in the air; his blood, as well as the Jedi’s, intermingled to create a sickly-sweet scent that pervaded the room.

“Assassin.”

The voice was so weak that Jaq almost didn’t hear it. He replied simply, “Jedi.”

“Must,” she said, her breathing still laboured, “return to your cell.”

Jaq began to get to his knees. “No, I don’t thi—” He felt a force physically push him back down to the floor, holding him there like a piece of metal caught on an electromagnet. “Let me go!” he snarled. Without thinking, Jaq looked to his left — three lightsabre blades, two blue and one yellow — were staring down at him. Osik, he thought to himself.

********************

STAR DESTROYERLEVIATHAN, TARIS ORBIT

His head hurt, and nine hours on bridge duty didn’t help matters. Admiral Saul Karath stood in the centre of the Leviathan’s main bridge, watching as the officers on duty continued with their standing orders — to bring the fleet into a single cohesive blockade surrounding the city world of Taris below them. The last report Karath had received, from an overly-eager young cadet by the name of Fenn Yasha, stated that the Centurion and the Havoc were almost in position, and now the admiral was preparing himself to report the blockade’s status to Lord Malak.

It wasn’t that Karath didn’t particularly like Malak; he’d served under the Dark Lord since the fall of Telos two years previously, as well as during the Mandalorian Wars half a decade ago. More than that, he simply found himself continuously... on guard around Malak, especially so after the former Jedi’s turn to the Dark Side of the Force. There was just no way of knowing if Malak might believe Karath to have returned his sympathies to the Republic.

There was no way of knowing if Malak might shove Karath into an airlock...

“Admiral.” Fenn Yasha, ‘pad in hand, was heading his way.

“You have something to report, Cadet?”

Yasha’s military-cut black hair reflected the bridge lighting as the nodded an affirmative. “Captain Varko reports that his troops have located the Jedi’s escape pod in the Undercity,” he said, handing the ‘pad to Karath. “They’re attempting to trace her movements since the landing, but the captain believes it may be some time before they discover Jedi Shan’s location.”

Karath nodded. “Good, Lord Malak will be pleased. Anything else, Cadet?”

“Not officially, sir. But... Admiral, sir... permission to speak freely?”

Karath nodded. “Granted.”

Yasha hesitated somewhat, cautiously looking around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Admiral... I’m not sure I completely understand Lord Malak’s methods in dealing with the Lannik situation. Err... what I mean, sir... err... was it really necessary to fire at our own forces as well as the Republic’s?”

“Because, Cadet, our forces — you — are indispensable.”

The cadet’s face blanched so quickly that Karath thought he’d died right there and then. The hair on the back of Yasha’s neck seemed to suddenly prick up; Karath decided that each strand would have been able to cut clean through durasteel, had the need arisen. The young cadet turned around slowly, caution deemed the correct tactic.

“L-Lord M-M-M-Malak...” he stammered.

Malak simply raised an eyebrow. Needless to say, this unnerved Yasha more than any other reply from the Sith Lord. “For us to defeat the Republic — to pummel it into submission — we must be willing to incur sacrifices.” He peered menacingly down upon Yasha. “If you are... offended by these tactics, Cadet...”

“N-N-N-No, my Lord M-Malak! I c-can a-assure you o-of that!”

“You have much to learn, Cadet,” said Karath as Malak stalked away. “Fortunately, you will learn at the hands of the best our fleet has to offer — aboard the flagship, no less.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Yasha.

Karath nodded. “Very well, Cadet. Return to your duties.”

Yasha saluted before returning to his station. Karath’s eyes were brought out onto the visage beyond the bridge ports; Taris hung suspended in the invisible liquid of the vacuum, spinning on her axis almost like a children’s spinning top. The huge city that sprawled around the planet’s surface came back into view as the admiral watched, curiosity in his veins.

A glint of light stole his attention.

The glint — a ship, Karath knew — was headed straight toward the Leviathan, apparently intent on either running the blockade, or outright attacking the Sith fleet. More likely the former, thought Karath. “Commander Tobin, keep a target lock on that ship. And prepare a tractor beam.”

“Yes, Admiral,” came the acknowledgement.

The ship continued on its course toward the fleet. “Cadet Yasha, scan that ship. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
It took a few seconds for the young cadet to deliver his report. When he did, Yasha said, “Light freighter, sir. J-class; no heavy weaponry. Hyperdrive is of Kuati design... it reads as the Fortunate, Admiral. Should I hail them, sir?”

“Negative, Cadet,” Karath replied. “I have a feeling they know exactly what they’re up to.” He turned to watch as the Fortunate continued to come closer to them. “When they’re in range, lock tractor beam. If they try to escape, destroy them.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Commander Tobin.

Yes, thought Karath, this is going to be a very long shift.

********************

BELKADAN

The door slammed shut with a thud. Jaq picked himself off the tiled floor and dusted off his clothes as he got to his knees. The cell the Jedi had stuck him in — his new temporary residence — was somewhat sparse; a roll of blankets and a pillow were laid out on the floor for sleeping, as well as a ‘fresher in the corner. The door had no window or bars as one would expect; the Jedi used the Force to feel that their prisoners were still alive in their custody.

Jaq knew that Jedi did not kill their prisoners.

He’d have to formulate an escape plan, after he’d healed up, of course. The trouble was that the Jedi would now be on their guard, lying in wait for anyone or anything that attempted to penetrate their vaunted defences. He would no longer be able to bring into play the tricks he had used to initiate his first escape attempt.

Looking through the transparisteel window in the back wall of his cell, Jaq saw that daylight was encroaching upon the moist Belkadan jungle. The stifling humidity would soon rear its ugly head, which would be forever worse in a cell where the walls were already soaked with moisture.

Turning to the bundle of blankets, he did his best to unravel them and lay them flat upon the floor before laying himself down on them. His head hit the pillow — which was slightly softer than he’d expected — and began to drift into a fitful sleep.

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic I: Genesis - Vol. 1 - AJLambert91 (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Chapter One

Notes:

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Chapter Three

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Chapter Four

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Chapter Five

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Chapter Six

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Chapter Nine

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Chapter Ten

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Text