What You Leave Behind

[Taegin Roan]

One of the things I really like about Karmack is that he is always growing. From the very beginning of We Are Gray until now. It is cool to see also not just the character growth, but the power and responsibility growth. When Karm first started writing about Karmack and Arnor, I believe that Rowahn would have been able to defeat them fairly easily. Now however, for all Rowahn's power, he'd lose a fight with Karmack so fast you wouldn't even know that there had been a battle. At least with the levels of power that the characters are at at this specific time in their respective stories. It is sad to see Karmack die, but sometimes the death of a main character is what is needed for the battle to go a certain direction. Kind of like a catalyst for things to come. And if Karm truly is dead (that's a good joke), I really hope that his death, though sad, will have that kind of an impact on the rest of the galaxy.

[TheDutchman]

Who says he survives?

Anyway glad this came out the way we wanted - like all good 'endings' it sets off a whole bunch of new beginnings. I especially liked the Karm v. Mendax, it was always going to happen, but the twist that he has just learnt all these amazing powers...and now that very power has made him 10X more vulnerable to a thought bomb is just a fantastic addition by Karm - a very sobering moment for Karm...if he lives...

One of the things i have liked about the series as a whole is the more 'episode' feel of it - swapping more between characters than any of our other series  but still keeping a 'theme' across different places in each chapter.  I really like this feel, to me it makes each chapter more like a TV episode e.g. Game of Thrones - 3-4 different people/places but with a connecting thread slowly building up - something I tried and didn't quite nail in Children of the Aether, and got better with in Legacy...and now with more experience this has come out better.

Anyway the reason I blather about this is because this is how Fate of the Aether will be structured more as it goes along (Once we get past the 'Set up' chapters), and that was a shift from the one character POVs of my prior stories inspired by the collaboration with Karm on this story. So as Arc 1 comes to a close, much appreciation to Karm for the collab, and our readers for unfailing support as always!.

Yes, I noticed that as well  .  As I said: this is my favorite arc to date 

Truly this collaboration takes the best of both worlds from LSG and Karm, giving us what I feel the Officially SW works have not: an outstanding, compelling, engrossing narrative filled with characters that we care about and evoke a passionate response.

I applaud you both: I feel that this story is the perfect example of a culmination of excellence!

Superlative work my friends!!

[Karmack]

Thanks guys!  One of my main objects in all of this has been to keep the characters growing.  I never thought I'd have such a wide variety, either.  :-) 

As for Karm...  Dead or Alive, there will be character growth!  LOL

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to both Karm and LSG for this collaboration (along with many fantastic ideas  )

This takes place after "Interlude-Conundrum"
****************************************************************************
Chapter 12: What Looks On Ahead…, Part I

“Please Messer Hermm…we were told that you were the “foremost authority” concerning minerals, ores, and stones.”  Zearic’s already strained patience barely kept the disdain that he felt for this…creature from his respectful tone.  He knew that he needed to relax.  

The Toydarian looked at the big man from over his anachronistic bifocals, the bored expression upon Hermm’s face evident as he unnecessarily consulted a datapad for what seemed to be the thousandth time.  “…I am.”  He practically yawned.  “…But as I’ve said…do you have an appointment?”  Behind him several droids were engaged in busywork, most going nowhere fast.  One repeatedly kept ejecting and inserting the same datanode in the dataport.  From beside Zearic, Jaim suppressed a sigh, trying unsuccessfully to appear serene.  Shifting his stance, Zearic thought to try another tactic.

“Messer Hermm…I was assured from one of the docents at the Celebratus Archive that there was but only one single expert that could possibly identify an item of interest that I possess.  I myself am no stranger to geology and pedology and have never seen an element quite like this…”  That seemed to strike home, the Toydarian recognizing Zearic’s sincerity.  However…

“…Mr. Vih’Torr…I will have to check my schedule to see if I can accommodate your inquiry.  I am a very busy man.”  There were no other persons in the Toydarian’s souk; indeed, Zearic and Jaim had been the only persons to enter the shop during the interim.  “…I will be back.  But this may take some time…”  Hermm’s flapping wings disturbed some of the papers on the top of his desk in what could only charitably be called a chaotic mess.  He slowly flew to the back of the shop, disappearing through a darkened doorway.

“…I’m sorry, brother.  I tried…but like I said: I didn’t think any of my Mind Tricks would work with a Toydarian.”  Jaim’s long, sallow face looked apologetic.  Zearic smiled briefly, patting the taller man’s shoulder.

“I know Jaim.  Not your fault.  I would never have gotten this far without your help, brother.”  Zearic’s placating tone was meant to assuage his friend’s feelings…as well as his own exasperation.  “No need to stress… Besides…let’s see what he has to say if…when—” the big man stressed, “—he returns…”  However, he inadvertently rubbed both of his knees around his cybernetics, a move that Jaim was quick to notice.  Once again the Gray Master worried about his friend.  He could sense a…necessity in Zearic that had not been there before.  Which was one of the reasons that he’d agreed to help: he hoped that whatever this search was about that his friend would be put at ease…

Upon arriving on-planet, they’d found that Obroa-Skai indeed had as near a complete galactic record as had been hoped…unfortunately, just not what Zearic wanted and certainly not what he’d expected.  When entering the specific dynamics of the Oblivion material within the database, the only result that the computer provided was a string of reference code half as wide as the maenowan but with the codicil “Edbr Hermm.”  As if the name were explanation enough.

As it turned out, it was.  Or rather, once Zearic had asked one of the librarians for clarification, he at least had the name of someone who could provide answers.

Or so he hoped.  As it happened, Messer Edbr Hermm was initially as helpful as a refrigerator on Hoth… With remarkable timing, Zearic’s cybernetics began to glitch again as if reminding him of his failures.  Which invariably made him think about what he’d found out about D’Aylanna at the Vhal’Dan Archives…

At least Edbr Hermm was a local of the capital city of Obroan Prime.  That, and he had a very vocal anti-Empire sentiment.  Brave…considering that Obroa-Skai was still an Imperial protectorate planet.  But with the Empire’s diminishing power and constantly losing territory to the New Republic, Imperial presence on Obroa-Skai amounted to a single star destroyer in orbit.  He and Jaim had only seen a pair of stormtroopers while visiting the Celebratus Archive and it was clear that they were only there for public perception…

Regardless, Zearic had been glad that he and Jaim had taken precautions.  Jaim’s freighter, Dualism’s Soul, had been fitted with a CorSec transponder, giving them virtually unlimited entry to Imperial, Republic, and even Hutt Space.  Nevertheless, the big man had voiced his concerns in wanting to avoid the territories belonging to the various former Imperial commanders that had proclaimed their autonomy, like Warlord Zsinj.  Furthermore, he and Jaim had switched out their robes for some plain, drab, unremarkable dark utilities, although with their lightsabers easily accessible should the need arise…

“…Mr. Vih’Torr…it seems that I have a short slot of time available…but only if you can show me the item in question.”  Edbr Hermm floated just behind his desk, not even bothering with the battered syncloth chair.

“Of course, Messer Hermm.”  Zearic produced the marble, the light around the small orb seeming to dim.  “Could you please tell me everything that you know concerning this stone?”  Handing it to him, the Toydarian then hefted it in his hand, obviously surprised by the weight of so small an object.  But the surprise that had been expected wasn’t anywhere in evidence…and neither was his interest.

“…Oh, this…”  He handed the marble back to the Gray meanowan, disappointment dripping from the Toydarian’s voice.  “Yes, I’ve seen…this.  It’s the kind of thing rebellious sorority girls buy for weekend rituals in their first year of study…Neo-Witchraft rubbish…”  He took his seat again, producing the datapad he’d been perusing earlier.  “…and here I thought you were serious…”  He said just loud enough to be heard.  Not rising to the implied insult, Zearic sighed, reaching behind him and pulled from his belt the item that he’d kept all other eyes from seeing.  The Tenebris Pugione.  Almost absently, he began to slowly turn the dagger in his hand.  And said nothing.

Almost immediately, the Toydarian’s eyes greedily latched onto it.  “…I…where did you say that you got this?”  Gone was the bored, disinterested tone now.  Even his wings had stopped flapping.

“I didn’t.”  Zearic answered bluntly, his face mirroring his tone.  He made as if to put the dagger away in the holster in the back of his belt.  Involuntarily, Hermm made a move as if to try to stop the maenowan from doing so, checking himself briefly before busily fidgeting with one of the numerous datapads upon his desk.  Zearic smiled inwardly.  “…Please, you were saying, Messer Hermm?”  He placed the dagger between them.  No sooner had Zearic put the weapon down than Hermm’s hand shot out trying to clutch the dagger.  The big man’s cybernetic hand clamped down upon the ricasso in response.  The dagger didn’t move a micron.

“…It…I was saying that I know of this material.  But much of it is, that is, knowledge…incomplete…”  The Toydarian trailed off, his eyes disbelieving.  “…So much…”  He whispered.  For a moment Hermm’s eyes were unfocused, dreams of avarice readily apparent in his face.  Then, seeing that Zearic was looking intently at him, he quickly regained composure, his blue face suddenly blank.  “…Yes…ahem…as I was saying, I know that this material is found only on a Deep Core planet in one, single system.”  Hermm weighed his words against his suppositions concerning the dagger.  Which would win out?  His amazement and curiosity or his gluttony…  …So nature versus nurture… Zearic thought, suddenly on edge.  He needed to find out where the Tenebris Pugione came from…

Jaim said nothing but stared intently.  Not at Hermm but rather his friend.  He could feel his brother’s need radiating off of him.  But before the tall man could say anything, the Toydarian was speaking again.

“If you tell me where you got it from, I will tell you the name of the system…” Hermm’s eyes were shrewd, his face inscrutable.  And thanks to his Toydarian heritage, completely unreadable in the Force.  …Well, sometimes you have to roll the hard twelve… Zearic thought.

“Kuat.”  He intoned.  “I found it among a Dathomirian witch’s possessions.”  His baritone voice was expressionless.  Yellow-green eyes were locked onto hazel, intense, probing…but Zearic had his best sabacc face on.

“…What happened to the witch?”  Both men could tell by the Toydarian’s tone that he was hooked.

“Now Messer Hermm, that wasn’t the deal.”  Zearic said lightly.  With a knowing smile, Hermm nodded almost imperceptibly as if the big man had gained some sort of approval.  Maybe he had.  Regardless, when next the Toydarian spoke, his tone was much more respectful.

“DC_10004568.  The system has no name nor is it on any starmap.  I can give you the coordinates for your navicomputer…if you tell me what happened.”  Again, his eyes had discerning bent about them.  …Well two could play that game… Zearic thought.

“I will tell you…if you provide me with not only the coordinates but also all that you know about this material.”  And silently he waited.

For long moments, neither of them so much as blinked.  Jaim kept looking from his friend, to the Toydarian, and back again.  Hermm’s eyes kept stealing to the black dagger still under Zearic’s durasteel grip, the light around it perceptibly darkening, moreso even than the marble.  Again, Jaim wondered just what his friend’s endgame was…or even if he’d thought that far ahead…

Finally, Hermm broke eye contact, his full attention on the dagger.  “Deal.”  He keyed his datapad, going through different databases before transmitting the coordinates to Jaim’s own datanode.  Once done, Zearic looked to the taller man for confirmation who nodded silently as Hermm began speaking again.  “As I said, System DC_10004568 is the only place it’s known to have been mined, first by Separatists and the Trade Federation during the Clone Wars in an attempt to locate a new cache of shipbuilding materials.  Later, the Empire tried but never yielded sufficient quantities to be of any use except just as a curiosity, although it was used for some mining drills…”  He rubbed his bulbous chin with a thick finger and thumb.  “As aggressions between the Empire and the Alliance progressed, mining and production came to an abrupt halt; there was no profit for such material considered so much a novelty, regardless of how durable…”

“But how is it that this material isn’t identified in any periodic or elemental database?  There are no records even as an aggregate: no compression stresses, no composite materials catalogues…nothing.”  Zearic didn’t have to fake the amazement in his voice.  And neither did Hermm when next he spoke.

“No, you wouldn’t have.  Even given that there is only one such system from where it is available, the scant information surrounding it suggests that the lack of such is deliberate…”  They were two people talking about their shared interest, defenses down.  But, as suddenly as it had came… The Toydarian’s eyes were staring at the big human when Hermm’s entire face changed back to impassivity… “Now.  What happened to the witch?”  Again, his yellow-green eyes held a fire that had nothing to do with the setting sun streaking through one of the windows in his souk.

Deliberately, Zearic held up the dagger.  “I killed her.  With this.”  Standing, he affixed a neutral expression upon his face, Jaim already half-way to the door.  “Thank you, Messer Hermm for your assistance.”  Turning, both men exited the small building, hurrying to Dualism’s Soul.  While walking back, Zearic felt both simultaneously excited and anxious…

He was close, close to finding answers, to saving my family and friends…

…To finding purpose…

The thought came unbidden…but inexorably.  …Dammit…  He thought.  And as their ship entered into the hyperspace tunnel, having loaded the coordinates given to them by the Toydarian, both men wondered what awaited them in the Deep Core…

            <<<<< >>>>>

Zearic found himself staring at the familiar elevator, in the same large industrial corridor, rusted steel flanking the walls as small clouds of condensation collected along the ceiling, D’Aylanna and Jorya behind him.  In front, the growing aura of menace—death—that increased the closer the rising lift came…

While he knew that no warning that he gave would save them, he shouted one anyway.  Panic welled from the pit of his stomach as he screamed at them, raged at them, spewed vitriol—even hate—in a futile attempt to make them leave, to save their lives.  Behind him, the doors opened… Even as Zearic moved to intercept, he knew he was ineptly slow.  He tried to close his eyes against the violence that he knew was inevitable but instead stared helpless as the enormous black sword skewered Jorya, bisecting her as she was thrown from the blade.  In another instant, he saw D’Aylanna fall, her body split in half, from groin to neck.

Screaming, he could not turn from the carnage.  The only consolation was that he knew that he would soon join them in death.

Only, the expected killing blow never came.  As silence reigned Zearic realized that he had stopped screaming…only to look down to his hands.  With growing horror and realization, he saw that the person who had wielded the black sword was none other than himself…

<<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 12: What Looks On Ahead..., Part II

Inhaling, Zearic awoke drenched in sweat.  Attempting to stand, his legs were a split second late due to the feedback loop between the neurons in his brain telling them to move and the cybernetic’s kinetic mechanics receiving the signal.  As a result, when he jumped up from the bunk he abruptly fell hard upon the deck.  Closing his eyes against the pain, he took a moment to collect himself, and not just physically.

…You will kill them, all of them…

The doppelganger from his other nightmare had said.  True to form, the vividness of the horrible dreamscape and what he’d done was imprinted in his mind.  And looking across the cabin, his eyes focused on the naked blade of the Tenebris Pugione sitting atop the locker…where he knew that he had locked it in.

Zearic now felt that he knew at least one thing for certain about the dagger: it sought out his deepest fears.  And, having found them, made them worse.

…They left without you for a reason…

Squinting in anger, the big man tried to banish the thought with rationality.  He knew that his family and friends would never deliberately leave him…

But the doubt in his mind made the reasons sound…hollow.  Weak.  Useless.

Instead of trying to sleep—he’d had enough dreaming—Zearic used the refresher, dressing in his black tactical utilities while grabbing a thick black hooded cloak in preparation for their destination.  Meanwhile one nagging, almost trifling thought kept echoing in his mind.

…They left without you for a reason…

            <<<<< >>>>>

As Dualism’s Soul came out of hyperspace, Zearic was reminded why he hated travel in the Deep Core.  The last time he’d been here was over a decade ago, memories of Byss thrust foremost in his mind.  …G’av… Even now, his friend’s death hurt.

…You will kill them, all of them…

Mentally shaking his head, Zearic thought of the problem at hand.  Deep Core travel was problematic, at best.  The dead heart of the galaxy, more difficult to get to than the Unknown Regions, and three times harder to get out…or so the old aphorism attested.  And he was forced to agree; as such, they needed…someone to point the way.  Sure, they knew which system…but not the planet, much less region.  Once again, both Zearic and Jaim knew that what was required was hands-on intel.

It had no official designation but had nevertheless been given a name by the local populace, miners that were several rungs below the worst scum both men had encountered on Prakith.  Bent, filthy, and morose auras surrounded the entire outpost, the last stop on the lone hyperlane leading to the enigmatic System DC_10004568.  

This was Mamzer Station.

Jaim barked a quiet, short laugh.  “‘Mamzer.’  Either someone has a dark wit or is blissfully unaware…”  The taller man looked sideways at Zearic, noticing the big man’s blank face.  Jaim explained, “‘Mamzer’ is Rakatan for ‘bastard’ or ‘illegitimate.’”

“Fitting.”  The maenowan muttered.  The bastard populace of a bastard place had him on edge, any anticipation that he may have had was as dead as any hope in this place.

Thankfully they’d dressed the part: almost to a being, everyone was bedecked in mud-spattered black cloaks.  At least, Zearic hoped it was mud…but given how bad some of them smelled, he couldn’t be certain…

“…Are you sure you don’t want a larger shirt?”  Jaim joked, feeling the mood.  Zearic smiled appreciatively but quickly sobered as they debarked Dualism’s Soul.

After an hour of wandering the municipality (if it could even be called that), they switched tactics and instead relied upon Jaim’s skills to…“expedite” their search.  Between his Mind Tricks and the three other humanoid miners that he “questioned,” they were pointed in the direction of the colony’s largest building, fittingly, the Mamzer Station tavern.  It was there they were “assured” that they’d find answers.

Upon entering the building, Zearic immediately saw a problem: he and Jaim were too healthy, too…clean.  Silently cursing his lapse, he pulled his hood closer about his face.  Heading directly to the bar, the big man had to wait a few minutes before a blasé bartender bluntly asked what they wanted, using an amalgamation of pidgeon-Basic, Rakatan, and what must have been some local dialect that neither of them could begin to decipher…

“Wh’t kin ya, ke?”  His…her(?) voice was rough, rasping and low.  …Him… Zearic decided… The bartender’s shoulders were almost as wide as his, their calloused hands busy scrubbing a utilitarian metal cup.

“Tatooine Sunrise.”  Jaim said from behind before Zearic could warn him.

Almost immediately, everyone within earshot stopped talking, turning to look at the tall man.  …Shavit… Zearic inwardly cursed.  Loudly, he coughed and then ordered for them both.  “Two tuber liquors.”  At that, conversation began to slowly resume, the room’s attention no longer focused upon Jaim.  Or rather, not entirely; he was still one of the tallest beings in the room…

Handing them two cups full of frothy dark liquid, one of the patrons at the bar joked at the bartender as the two gray Jedi sat in a corner.  “So…wh’n yer bairn c’min, Sera?”  The bartender said something indecipherable while fondly rubbing her belly.  …Well, guess I was wrong… Zearic thought, hiding a small smile behind his cup.  Looking up, he saw the question in Jaim’s eyes.

“Jaim…we need to keep a low profile.  Anything not ‘local’ should be…avoided.  You know, ‘when in Coruscant…’”  Even though it was advice, Jaim recognized the imperative.  Slowly, he nodded.  …Now…to work… Zearic thought.

Opening himself to the Force, he focused his senses outward, enhancing his hearing.  Someone in the bar was drunkenly humming a passable rendition of the Imperial March… Narrowing his attention, Zearic listened to the surrounding banter…

“…naws, th’ Boss ‘s say’n n’ more d’ble time fer f’rst h’r ov’rtime…”

“…tanta ke, nosse watanbe, sumja gud, ja…”

“…heard that th’ Sons ‘ave taken over now that they ‘ave some new ally, Jedi ‘r some such.  Mikt’r or Malkor?  Somef’n…”

Zearic knew that he needed to refine his search while keeping vigilant on every conversation he heard but the linguistic idiosyncrasies of the locals made it difficult.  …Bastard Basic… he thought, quietly laughing at the irony of the situation.  But then…

Zearic suddenly focused on a speaker, an ancient miner missing most of his teeth.  Slowly rising from his seat, he approached the withered old human, the man’s fingers twisted and remaining teeth calcified with age.  His dirty beard was long and unkempt, his eyes were rheumy and bloodshot.  But it was what he said that had caught the big man’s attention…

“‘Scuse me, sire.  I couldn’t help but overhear you.  Well, I want to buy you a drink…” Zearic motioned to the bartender to refill the old man’s cup.  “…As well as offering a friendly ear to listen.  Would you repeat your last?”  Grabbing the refilled cup, he handed it to the man, taking a seat next to him.  He had the dusty smell of minerals, soot, and dirt, not to mention an unwashed body…

After downing the cup in one go, he pushed it back at Zearic.  Dutifully, he refilled the cup again but didn’t offer it back at first.  Nodding slightly, the dirty human began to talk again.  “…Likes I’s sayin’ der’s ghost ships headin’ straight to d’ Core!”  Zearic handed him the cup, listening intently.  “Black ships!  Darksider ships!  An’ whot’s more, dey leadin’ straight to d’ Goddesses!  I seen ‘em I tell yar! Past der Persephene Nova…”  A dirty rag hit the man in the face, hard enough that he fell from his seat.  Laughter filled the room as one of the more inebriated patrons half-yelled, half-spit a pronouncement.

“Ah, he’s crazy, drunk I tells ya!  He’ll be on about seeing Chiss ships out here next!”  Roaring laughter filled the room, drowning out the old man’s protestations.

“B’t…I seen dem!  Blue-skinned deamons!  Eyes as red as da Abyss!  Der as cold as der world!  Dey were headin’ t’ da ‘void!’”  But whatever else he said was drown out amidst a cacophony of derisive shouting and laughter.  …Well that was a waste… Zearic irritably thought.  Standing, he made his way through the crowd to rejoin Jaim at their table…but the tall Gray master was no-where to be seen. …What the hell…? The big man thought, looking around.

Gently, he felt a not uncomfortable pressure in his head.  …Please join me… It was Jaim.

Feeling him first in the Force, Zearic soon found him huddled in the corner with another human swimming in coats, the many hoods completely obfuscating his face.  Turning his head towards him, Jaim motioned to his friend to sit and join them.  “Tell my brother what you told me.”  His voice was controlled but held an undercurrent of excitement.  “Tell him.”

The human that Jaim was talking to had a vacant expression on his face, his voice completely monotone.  “Zhere sellin’ blackstone dere.  1,000 credits for da cubic cent’meter.  Cuts diamonds, it do…”  As the hirsute face smiled, the human’s cheeks disappeared under the thick, dirty blonde beard.  Zearic’s excitement grew… “…’Tis on the South Cont’nent of da ferth planet.  ‘Round an’ ol’ red dw’rf star…”

Jaim’s brown eyes looked intently into Zearic’s, stopping him from rising.  “Wait.”  Jaim turned back to the man.  “Finish.”  It was evident by Jaim’s tone that something was amiss.  Zearic settled back down, unconsciously taking a drink from his cup.  Almost immediately, he wanted to vomit up the dark liquid; the tuber liquor was revolting.  Surreptitiously, he spit the contents back into the cup, putting it back on the table.

“Yah, der dose Darksiders, priestf’lk an’ da like… Der in charge… Ol’ Imp garrison, but da mines are deep…”  Zearic silently cursed, thinking: …And here I thought things had been too easy…

As Jaim gave the man “final instructions” to forget them and be content, the maenowan brooded over how he and Jaim could possibly infiltrate such a place.  Then, he realized that the answer was—quite literally—in front of his face.

“Jaim.”  The taller man focused upon Zearic who looked pointedly at the miners.  “We’ll blend right in with one of the shifts.”  Or at least they would with a liberal application of dirt and mud on their black cloaks.

As they made their way back to Dualism’s Soul, Zearic again felt anticipation…and anxiety.  What would he find at the mines?  Was there anyone whom could give him the answers that he so desperately sought?  And what if he did find those answers?  His mind was awash in possibilities…

But for Jaim, his worries were all about the here-and-now: why was his brother being so obstinate with his search and why was he trying to hide his cybernetic rejection syndrome?  

Both men kept their own counsel as the freighter entered hyperspace, the last leg of their destination merely a short jump to their goal and hopes…

But what they would find was greater than their expectations…and worse than their fears.

[Karmack]

So now we find out what Zearic has been up to!  Seeking his own answers - and finding only more questions (so far).  And these nightmares...    Coupled with cybernetic rejection syndrome...

They say that your attitude has a lot to do with healing.  I can't help but wonder if Zearic isn't shooting himself in the foot, so to speak?  (you saw what I did there, right?)

And what could be in those mines.....       

*screams echo*

[Lord_S_Gray]

So now we find out what Zearic has been up to!  Seeking his own answers - and finding only more questions (so far).  And these nightmares...    Coupled with cybernetic rejection syndrome...

Yeah Zearic like the other characters has a lot of built up issues from the Wind Chimes Saga and even before that- I think the most haunting part is 'They Left without you for a reason' his wife daughter left him behind - he is what has been left behind in his own story that has to be compounding the physical issues he's experiencing.   One thing I didn't pick up from in the draft was how that parallels to Mamzer Station and all the bastards there...rejects, refuse scrounging for reason much like he's feeling himself even if he's not fully aware of it. 

And the Toydarian, Dutchman you always manage to add so much life to the more transient characters that show up in your stories - I still remember the infamous Bortl at the start of Gray and unchained!

[Karmack]

yeah, I love the Toydarian!  Especially that he's essentially an academic!  I have flash-backs to a scene in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" - in the prologue, a young Indiana bursts into his dad's study - and his dad has a short conversation with him without saying anything.  This Toydarian has that same trait - total absorption into his field.  LOL   But he's still also a Toydarian... 

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part I

“No plan survives first contact…”  Or so conventional wisdom—and Master Kazic Ovarug—had taught Zearic.  As Dualism’s Soul, glided through the frigid stratosphere of the unnamed fourth planet of System DC_10004568, he thought once again that what Jaim had told him must be somehow wrong.

“…And you’re sure?  The sensors aren’t…I don’t know, mistaken because of the cold?”  This time Zearic couldn’t completely mask the exasperation from his voice.  Thankfully Jaim knew that he wasn’t the object of his aggravation.

“Quite.  But for brevity’s sake, here’s an audio snippet that the Soul intercepted…”  Sitting under the canopy of the bridge, Jaim keyed the monitor.  Suddenly, the audio blared over the ship, both men introspective as they listened intently.

“…currently under martial-law, as per Imperial Mandate 3874-Cresh, under the auspices of Moff Foga Brill.  All laborers are to return to their assigned excavation duties; Imperial personnel are to sanction all insurgents with extreme prejudice.  There will be no further warning.  Repeat: these mines are subject to Imperial Edict and are currently under martial-law, as per Imperial Mandate 3874-Cresh, under the auspices of Moff Foga Brill…”

Jaim reduced the volume, crossing his arms in front of his narrow chest, a wry half-smile upon his face.  Zearic sat and closed his eyes, unconsciously rubbing his knee at the cybernetic joint.  “…Of course we’d walk into a slave revolt…”  The big maenowan barked a laugh.  “…kriffing hell…”

Jaim stood motionless, concerned once again for his brother.  The Gray master knew that this mission had become an obsession, yet… For all of his mental Force abilities, Jaim was at a loss for what to do for Zearic.  He’d tried talking to him, commiserate with him, even dissuade him.  Nothing seemed to work.  …Well…there is one avenue I haven’t tried… He thought.

“Zearic.”  Hearing his name, the big man locked his strange hazel eyes upon Jaim, a questioning look upon his broad face.  “…I think that you’ve become too…preoccupied, too consumed.  Even without telling me, I know that you’re suffering from some melancholy.  I’m…concerned for you, my friend.”  Jaim walked over, putting a hand upon Zearic’s heavy shoulder, thinking about the time he saw his brother really change.  “…What did you find at Celebratus Archive?  Ever since then, you’ve been…morose.”

Zearic’s face went blank, his eyes staring off in this distance…and completely silent.  Sighing, Jaim continued.  “Brother…I am your oldest friend and—besides D’Aylanna—have known you the longest.”  Contrary to what Jaim expected, Zearic’s face tightened at the mention of his wife’s name, anger flashing momentarily.  Jaim saw his hands tense into balled fists, the big man’s jaw clenching.  But as the muscles in his jowels rippled, his face eased, anger replaced by…hurt?  Almost imperceptibly, Zearic shook his head.

“…I’m sorry Jaim.  You’re right.  This dagger, this…thing, has been giving me nightmares now for months, each one worse than the last.  And…I think that it shows, no…not ‘shows.’  Evokes in me my greatest fears.”  Zearic slowly exhaled.  Jaim looked on intently, finally getting some of the answers that he had wondered about.  “And now…to make things worse, on Obroa-skai I…I learned that D’Aylanna has been…lying to me, keeping things from me.”  Again, Zearic’s strange hazel eyes bored into Jaim’s.  “…I want to know…need to know…why…”  As he fell silent again, Jaim saw his friend’s face contort in doubt.  Jaim sat back, relaxing a little as some of his concerns were assuaged.

“Well, I can’t attest to the da—”  Suddenly, warning klaxons sounded, the freighter lurching as the autopilot took evasive maneuvers.

“What the hell?!”  Zearic virtually snarled, half a step behind Jaim as the tall Gray master fell back into the pilot’s seat.  “Jaim, what’s going on?”  As if answering the big man, a TIE Interceptor streaked across the canopy, the ion engine’s roar reverberating through the cockpit.  “…Oh shavit…”

A grim expression upon his face, Jaim said nothing, completely focused upon his piloting.  Glancing at the sensors, he saw that there wasn’t one TIE Interceptor following them, there were three.  “…Kriffing hell…”  Jaim muttered, the rare expletive sounding odd coming from the tall Gray master.  Zearic wondered just how many more of the spacecraft were in the area.

“Jaim…does Dualism’s Soul have any offensive weaponry?  Turbolasers?  Proton torpedoes?  Hell, I’d settle for some phased-laser cannons…”

Shaking his head, the Gray master sighed.  “Even if she did, we’re not only out-gunned, but also out-classed in speed and maneuverability.  The Soul only has superior armor and working primary shields.  We have to land…”  Zearic shook his head, rubbing at his cybernetic eye.

“Wonderful; this just keeps getting better and better…”  He mumbled under his breath.  Straightening, the big maenowan grabbed his dark cloak, throwing it over his shoulders.  Double-checking his lightsabers, vibroblades, and even a heavy blaster strapped to his hip, Zearic gave a cursory glance at the TIEs before strapping into the passenger’s seat.  “This might actually be a blessing in disguise; if they follow Imperial SOP* then we should be questioned in the hoist house adjacent to the Civil Bureau Offices…”  Zearic would know; he’d seen how Imperial digs—and the attendant facilities—were carried out…all too graphically.  “…Which means that we should be able to question some of the Imperial assayers.  And finally: some answers.”

Jaim looked momentarily at his friend.  “…I’d ask what you have planned…but I already know that even you’re not sure, either…”  The hint of a smile showed on the tall master’s lips.  “But that’s how you live much of your life: by luck.”

Zearic’s face broke out in a sardonic smile.  “Not luck…well, not only luck.  Intuition.”  Making certain that his lightsabers were well hidden, Zearic thought fondly of what D’Aylanna had told him…castigated him for, really.  …Shakal, following the will of the Maker or the Force should never be confused with coincidence… Suddenly, his smile turned cynical.  With what he’d recently learned about D’Aylanna, Zearic wanted—needed—to understand why she did what she did… “We’ll try it ‘nice and quiet’ at first…but if the Imps want a fight, then we’ll oblige them…”  Zearic felt that he was close…just to what he was uncertain…

            <<<<< >>>>>

As they both stepped off of the ramp, Zearic and Jaim looked quite the pair: one tall and slender like a Kaminoan, one as wide as two humans, both as dirty and mud-covered as the miners of Mamzer Station.  And—judging by the looks that the junior officer gave them both as they disembarked—they smelled just as bad.  At least to those Imperial personnel that were not wearing a mask; the dozen or so stormtroopers were more fortunate, their masks able to filter the air.

“Why did you two deviate from the standard flight path to the mines?”  The officer looked as if he might suddenly vomit.  Conspicuously, he held his gloved hand to his dark face, only his brown eyes visible.  “And where did you two sleemos steal this ship from?”

“Sworry, ser; ‘tis me cuzins.  N’ver bin t’ th’ dig site; me cuzin’s tol’ me th’t Imp’s ‘r payin gud f’r bl’ckstone!”  Jaim had adopted the mannerisms and accent of the locals.  And, just as he had on Kuat, he was…flawless.  Slowly the stormtroopers lowered their weapons, relaxing, while the two other Imperials made some snide comments about Jaim’s questionable parentage.  Whether or not the junior officer believed the ship belonged to “a cousin”… He sniffed sharply…and subsequently regretted it.  Coughing behind his glove, he spit loudly before regaining a modicum of composure.  “Alright.  But what about this fat frellik?”  He pointed at Zearic.  “What’s your problem,
laserbrain?”  He squinted a discerning eye before Jaim deliberately stepped in front of him.

“Sworry, ser.  Me brudda-‘n-l’w ‘s a mute.  K’ck’d ‘n da head as a k’d.”  Jaim comfortingly patted the big man as Zearic quickly adopted a placid look, smiling idiotically at the junior officer.  Sighing loudly, the officer coughed and turned.

“Corporal, take these two back to the station for processing and dig detail assignment.”  The officer didn’t bother to hide his contempt as the two filthy men were escorted by the corporal and four of the stormtroopers, the others already forgetting the incident…

            <<<<< >>>>>

Once within the hoist house adjacent to the deepest shaft, Zearic and Jaim were put through a battery of identification protocols that, thanks to Jaim’s mental abilities (and Zearic’s method acting), were able to convince the Imperials of their bona fides as soiled, disgusting miners.  But as soon as both men noticed that the stormtroopers left the room, that was when Jaim pounced.

Using all of his skill and subtlety, Jaim gained control of the corporal sitting across the desk from them.

“I need for you to take us to the Assayer’s Office.  There is no need for the stormtroopers to accompany us, you can handle yourself.”  Jaim’s quiet speech only reinforced his Force Suggestions on the hapless Imperial.

“…I will take you to the Assayer’s Office.  There’s no need for the stormtroopers to accompany us, I can handle myself.”  The corporal’s eyes had glazed over, his face blank.  But from the time that he arose from his chair to when he exited his cubical, his eyes had recovered clarity.  Calling off the stormtroopers immediately, the corporal led the two Gray Jedi down the utilitarian hallway and through two inner blast doors, finally turning into a cramped office.  And with a word, Jaim took care of the final obstacle.

“Sleep.”  The tall man muttered, gently easing the corporal down into one of the chairs within the room.  “Lower desk, top file drawer.  I saw it in his mind.”  Jaim quietly told Zearic.

“Thanks.”  The big man pulled on the armrest and sat on one of the chairs.  Creaking dangerously, he almost didn’t fit.  Sharing an amused look with Jaim, Zearic opened up the drawer in question and began perusing the datafile disks.  “…And…here we go: ‘Blackstone Ore.’”  He inserted the disk within the datanode, bringing up the mine’s schematics.  “…OK…now, there are several shafts leading down…looks like a normal ‘room and pillar’ set up…”  Zearic muttered to himself as he scrutinized the mining plan.  “…And on the lower adits, they converge, leading to a single shaft…”  Zearic looked up, thoughtful.  “…Jaim, I think that we should look in the lowest adit which leads to this shaft…”  He said, indicating the lone shaft…one that abruptly ended on the diagram.

Jaim stared at his friend.  “OK.  Now for those of us that aren’t ‘rock-hounds,’ tell me that again in Basic.”  There was a ghost of a grin on his face.  Zearic smiled.

“Sorry.  OK, a shaft is an excavation that runs vertically and an adit is one that runs horizontally.  They effectively become tunnels leading further in- and downward into the excavation.  And given the density of the Oblivion stone…it has to be in the lowest strata mined…”  Zearic crossed his arms, a look of consternation upon his face.  “…But what really worries me is this insurgency and just what it portends…”  The big man locked his strange hazel eyes onto Jaim’s as he subconsciously rubbed at the cybernetics in his legs.  “…Jaim, were you able to discern anything else from the corporal that might help us?”  Both men looked pointedly at the sleeping Imperial now drooling, crumpled up in the chair next to them.

“…Just that the workers were to continue excavating and that there were stormtroopers garrisoned throughout the mine…”  Jaim’s usually stoic face scowled.  

“…Dammit…”  Zearic quietly sighed.  “…If only we could find one of the Imperial Assayers… Either way, if I can see the Oblivion stone in situ as an ore, or how the veins of blackstone are arranged within the rock strata, I’d at least have some answers…”  The big man was too lost in thought to notice Jaim’s analyzing look in his eyes.

“Zearic…are you sure that this is a good idea?”  There, he’d finally said it.  Having done so, the words poured from Jaim’s mouth.  “Think, brother.  There must be dozens of stormtroopers and other Imperial personnel in-between here and the ore.  Not to mention the possible insurgents of unknown quantity.  Then, once you find the ore, are you certain that you’ll get the answers that you want?  Or that there are any to be had?”  Jaim put a hand on his friend’s heavy shoulder.  “What is it you hope to find?”  That last was the armor-piercing question that both men had been wondering about.

Zearic stared into his friend’s face, his eyes intense.  “…I don’t know.  Yes, there are a lot of Imps around, and yes there are probably a fair number of insurgents.  Like I said, I do know that if I can see the blackstone in situ, then I’ll be able to deduce some answers.”  Zearic’s eyes took on a pained quality to them.  “But most importantly, I’ll hopefully find the answer to the problem that has been plaguing me of late: am I the one that’s holding back the people around me?  The reason for their…embarrassment?”  Not once did the big man blink, but he continued to absentmindedly message his arm where the cybernetic mated with his flesh.  And when next he continued, Zearic’s voice became durasteel.

“With D’Aylanna, she’s the most patient teacher I’ve ever seen…but it still takes me far longer to learn the Ways of the Force than anyone else that I’ve ever seen or heard about.”  The big man’s voice became momentarily wistful.  “And Jorya…I’m her master but now…she’s more powerful than me.  I’m proud of her—damned proud—but…I wonder how I can still hope to teach her everything when she’s likely to outstrip my abilities in no time at all?”  Zearic’s tone was suddenly full of shame.  “And Karm…when I had to tell him that I had lost the Ancient One to Mellichae… He said he didn’t blame me… But I still blamed myself.  And when he left to go after the Zabrak without me…”  When next the big man looked into Jaim’s eyes, the tall master could see more than just a hint of the self-reproach, the pain, and the anger that his friend was feeling.  He’d never seen Zearic this…vulnerable, this open before.  Why now?  It was so…uncharacteristic of him.  But before Jaim could say anything, Zearic shook his head, inhaling suddenly and abruptly standing.

…They left without you for a reason…

“Let’s go.”

            <<<<< >>>>>

******************************
*SOP: Standard Operating Procedure

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part II

As both men entered the mines, they saw several squads of stormtroopers interspersed among the miners as they all busily headed towards their respective dig assignments.  No one challenged them or even approached them, both Jaim and Zearic looking virtually identical to the numerous other miners that populated the dig site, allowing them to penetrate further in and ever downward.

But as they did so, they both noticed that the expected miners and stormtroopers were soon joined by others, these newcomers completely unexpected.  But not unknown.

“Jaim…”  Zearic said quietly, his nod towards the group of humans almost imperceptible.  “…Do you know who those are?”  Jaim took pains to not be conspicuous, silent for a moment.  Finally, the taller man shook his head, at a loss.  Zearic continued.  “Do you see that red sigil on their robes?  It’s the Church of the Dark Side…”

The group of humans all wore black robes of the softest septsilk, voluminous sleeves and hoods even now obscuring their faces.  But one and all, they proudly displayed crimson badges of office as members of the Church of the Dark Side.  And behind them was a squad of heavily armed humans in red armor…

“When I was convalescing after Geonosis, I was talking with Master Chillum and Talia Cam and their…experiences on Scardia Station…”  Zearic went silent as a pair of stormtroopers came within earshot of the Gray Jedi, only continuing when he was certain that no one could hear them.  “…Well, they brought back intel that the Church had made Scardia Station their headquarters.  They were able to destroy the station…but at great cost…”  Zearic suddenly became as silent as the grave leaving Jaim to wonder what had happened.  

In the three years since he’d last seen Zearic, Jaim had noticed a discernable change concerning his friend.  Much he’d just ascribed to growing older…but seeing the big man so insecure and fearful…it went against his character.  And not for the first time Jaim wondered just how much his friend was influenced by the dagger that he carried... Could it be deliberately twisting his fears to this magnitude?  Zearic quietly started speaking again.

“It makes sense that the Church would be here.  I read the After-Action Report from Balnard Kohl and the intel that he’d accumulated from Scardia Station.  Even with the destruction of the Station, the Church still had its share of powerful members…namely one ‘Moff Foga Brill.’  And the Imperials had been very vocal in announcing that this is Brill’s territory…”  Zearic directed Jaim’s attention to the red-armored humans.  “…Which makes them the ‘Red Police.’  They’re local militia members attached to Brill’s territory...”  The big man’s tone became pensive.  “…Of course, the insurgency.”  Unconsciously, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling.  “...Dammit… Something isn’t adding up though…”

Jaim nodded, thinking the same exact thing.  He could see why Red Police would be here, but he disagreed with Zearic about the Church of the Darkside and their reason for being here… “Brother, I don’t think that the Church members are here just because Moff Brill controls this area of space.”  The taller man said, just above a whisper.  Zearic didn’t turn his head but Jaim heard him quietly ask.

“What are you thinking, brother?”  The big man opened the door to one of the numerous lifts leading down into the mine’s depths.  Jaim only answered after they were descending on the lift.

“I think it would behoove us to get details from the source.  These mines are absolutely enormous… There’s bound to be a place where we can do some impromptu interrogating.”  Jaim saw his friend smile, a bit of the “old Zearic” coming through.

“So…just like old times, eh brother?”  Unconsciously, he flexed his right cybernetic hand.  “Well then, let’s find us a candidate…”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Despite Jaim’s attestation, finding one of the hooded priests turned out to be a bit problematic: each and every one that the two Gray Jedi had come across were accompanied with several Red Police.  And twice they were challenged by stormtroopers; only with Jaim’s quick explanations—and in one case, Mind Trick—were they able to continue unmolested.  However, their persistence paid off, if not exactly how they had initially expected.

“You two, stop!”  The high voice that came from behind them was loud and imperious.  Slowly turning, Zearic and Jaim saw that the voice belonged to an enormously fat human in dark, soft robes, the sigil of the Church distended upon his flabby chest.  He was only accompanied by a single Red Police officer, a muscular albino woman who had an electro-tonfa in hand.

“Sworry, ser.  Me brudder ‘n me ‘s on da way to da dig.”  Again, Jaim’s impressions were impeccable.  Zearic smiled dully, a streamer of drool dangling from his chin.  As both the fat man and the policewoman approached, they both seemed to be weighing the filty pair.  Whatever they saw, they both visibly relaxed.

“I couldn’t care less if you were traveling to Canto Bight to collect your fortunes.  I need a pair of workers to assist me and my brethren.”  He pointed at the woman.  “Constable Wolam Griou will keep any insurgents from threatening our person.”  Zearic caught the deliberate use of the fat man’s singular reference but kept up the act.

“Ah, us f’llow, ke Boss?  F’rstand.”  And with that, Jaim and Zearic fell into step behind “Constable Griou” followed by the fat priest.  After walking for about 10 minutes, they came to a lift unlike the others.  From studying the mine’s schematics, Zearic knew that this lift would take them away from where he’d wanted to go but instead take them much further down.  He casually whispered as much to Jaim.

“Quiet.  You’re a brainbolted mute, remember.”  The taller man admonished Zearic but nevertheless fought the wry smile threatening to overwhelm his lips.  Zearic winked to Jaim as the fat priest pushed between the two and pressed an Ident-badge, opening the lift doors.  After shuffling in, the priest pressed the badge once again on the datanode and entered their destination: Sub-basement 33.  Before the inertial dampers could fully mitigate the effects, they could all feel the elevator speeding down into the unknown.

And not for the first time, Zearic wondered if the Maker directly influenced the lives of sentients or was only circumspect in His ministrations…

When the doors opened, they exited into a single tunnel leading off into the darkness.  But after only a few minutes of walking, the hallway opened into a large chamber, the walls covered with electric torches, all focused upon a single, dark door.  As the fat priest and the policewoman moved forward to join the growing numbers of their respective orders, both Grays scrutinized their surroundings.  Gathered within the enormous chamber were about 30-40 workers and about a dozen each of the priests and Red Police officers.  Jaim noticed that the miners were keeping to themselves excepting the occasional intense glance at the Red Police, quiet murmurs almost buzzing from the collected workers.  The Red Police certainly noticed.

But it was the door that occupied all of Zearic’s attention.

“Jaim, look.”  The big man quietly spoke.  “That door.  It’s an alloy of quadranium and…cortosis.”  His tone was equal parts amazed and incredulous.  “That should be impossible… Unless…”  Zearic’s eyes scanned the area around the door.  Squinting, he rubbed at the cybernetic replacement in his left socket, cursing under his breath.  But when he looked again, both of his eyes in focus, he indicated to Jaim the small, innocuous plaque hidden in plain sight among the Aurabesh script atop the door.  “There.  Jaim…that’s Palpatine’s old House crest from back when he was merely an alderman on Naboo.  I…I think that this is one of Palpatine’s Vaults…”  His voice trailed off.

Jaim looked skeptical, his attention split between the preoccupied miners and now the door.  “How can you be sure?  And how do you even recognize that as Palpatine’s crest?”  They both noticed that the collective priests had gathered around the door, huddled around one member specifically as if they were focused on something.

“When I first got the Tenebris Pugione, I tried searching every database at Bar’leth University that might have been even tangentially related to it and the Oblivion material.  I’d about given up when I took a break…and came across this display showcasing paraphernalia pertaining to Grand Moff Tarkin.  I was about to dismiss it out of hand when I saw this piece of paper—of all things—that was seemingly out of place amongst the other items.”  Zearic looked up into Jaim’s eyes.  “There was a list of planets targeted for destruction by the first Death Star: Corellia, Mon Calamari, Ryloth, and other Alliance worlds.  And below them, written in the Emperor’s own hand, was a single entry.  Aethas.  Well…this got me thinking about something that the Night Sister had said concerning old myths around a race of beings called ‘Aethans.’”  The big man’s gaze glazed over, lost in thought.  “Ever since then, I tried to learn as much as I could; first about these ‘Aethans’ and then about our former Emperor.”  When next Zearic looked at the taller man, his eyes were almost predatory.  “Jaim…what if Palpatine knew a lot more about the Aethans than anyone could have guessed?  What if the stories surrounding his Vaults are true: that they were not just for hoarding Force-objects but also used for safe-keeping?”  But when Zearic’s eyes next glazed over, his face also twisted in what Jaim could only identify as…longing.  “Incredible, powerful artifacts…like the kind that I could use to help D’Aylanna…or Jorya; the kind that I could use to help supplement, say even Karm’s abilities as Sage of Song…”

And for the first time, Jaim felt the cold realization that his own worries concerning his friend were far from groundless.  And he knew that the Tenebris Pugione was at least helping to orchestrate Zearic’s obsession, enticing him through fear.  But just as Jaim was about to speak, the priests let out a collective cheer.  And then one of them exclaimed, “Look!  The key worked!  The door is opening!  The Orb of Annihilation is ours!”

Slowly, the massive door swung open, the light playing off of the dark green surface of the quadranium/cortosis alloy.  After about two meters, the metal of the door gave way to an ever-widening opening, old automatic electric torches flickering on as they detected movement from the advancing crowd.  With the throng of bodies tightly packed around the two Grays, they were herded forward through the door.

At first it was nothing more than a short industrial hallway, different from the hollowed-out rock tunnel of the mines.  But as Zearic and Jaim continued to walk forward, the hallway suddenly emptied them into a large room.  It was evidently an old oval cargo tunnel, naked steel rusted and greasy with age.  Suddenly, Zearic stopped, shock and fear radiating off of him in waves.

“…By the Maker, no…”  His voice was small and full of terror.  In front of him was the lone feature within the room: a cargo lift.  Jaim looked down at his friend apprehensively.  And saw something that he’d never seen from Zearic, not even after his battle with Gaetana back on Byss.

Zearic was literally shaking with fear.  No, abject dread.  “Brother…what is it?”  Jaim tried to comfort his friend by putting his arm around the big man’s wide, heavy shoulders.  But to no avail.

“…It…it’s the place from my dreams.  It…it’s exactly like my nightmare…”  Jaim didn’t have to ask; he knew what his friend was referring to.  The Gray Master looked down at the place where the dagger was concealed on Zearic’s belt.  And thought that he could almost feel power emanating from the Tenebris Pugione.  But then he realized, with growing trepidation that it wasn’t coming from the dagger…

Suddenly, the lift began to move, the ancient machinery coming to life in a grinding cacophony as derelict equipment long unused started working again.  And Jaim could feel the tides of raw power increase concurrently as the lift came ever closer.

It was at this time that Zearic was finally able to feel the inundating surge of power as it washed over him.  Looking around, he could see that—with the exception of Jaim—everyone else was oblivious.  Again, the horror of the nightmare threatened to overwhelm him but Zearic fought to control both the fear and himself.  The people within the chamber no longer crowded them and the tunnel leading back to the mine was virtually empty.  The waves of primal power flooded the entire room, the two Gray Jedi the only people aware of the change.

As the lift came to a stop, Zearic heard the locks engage, ensuring that the elevator was secure.  Knowing that he had seconds to act, he turned towards Jaim.  “Forgive me, brother.  Give my love to D’Aylanna and Jorya.”  As the words left his mouth, the doors of the lift opened, a silent torrent of pure power engulfing the room.  And with that, Zearic exploded into a furry of motion.

He propelled Jaim out of the room with a mighty Force Push while simultaneously Pulling the massive door closed.  Having timed it almost perfectly, Jaim flew out of the opening, clearing the closing door by mere centimeters.

“Jedi!”  Someone shouted as Jaim flew through the door, drawing the attention of everyone within the room.  Before he could defend himself, Zearic was mobbed, fists, electro-tonfas, and excavation tools battering him down.  Before collapsing, he took several blows to his head but saw the door close with a definitive clanging finality.  …At least Jaim is safe… He thought.  Even as dazed as he was, the big man relented fully to the expectation of his death at the hands of the shadow that had haunted his nightmares.

All around him, priests, Red Police, and miners stirred, their attention on either one of two things: Zearic or the enormous shadow that occupied the lift, drowning out the light yet still seeming to glow preternaturally with flames of shadow.

Some of the priests genuflected to the figure, some gazed in wonder, while others stared in disbelief.  But almost all of the Red Police and the gathered miners shared the same look of fear.  One of the priests yelled, exultant and sycophantic.

“Great One!  We are the inheritors of our Emperor’s Treasures!  But it is to you that we now bow!  The Church of the Dark Side belongs to you!”  But instead of producing the intended effect, the Red Police looked doubtfully, the collected miners now near panic.

And then, someone shouted.

“Bruddas!  Trow off da sh’ckl’s of da f’lse priests, ke!  Dey apostates; non true churchmen, ke!  Comen for da Sons o’ Kess’l!  NO MORE MAST’RS!”  

And then the shooting began.

First the firefight was just between some of the miners and the Red Police but soon everyone who had a weapon had opened fire.

One and all, they’d ignored and forgotten two things: Zearic (who lay crumpled upon the ground insensate) and the shadow figure on the lift.  The big man did not stir.

The armored shadow…moved.

No, that wasn’t right; he wasn’t so much “moving” as he seemed to teleport around the room, suddenly brandishing an enormous black sword.  And when he came into contact with people, death followed.  Blood erupted, fountaining rivers of crimson that rained a deluge that covered the walls, the ceiling, the floors.  The armored shadow cut a swathe through the Red Police and Priests, yet interestingly left the miners untouched.

Ironically, it was only Zearic, having collapsed in a heap of pain and injurious disorientation, who was spared the carnage of the bloodbath.  And as he finally succumbed to the darkness, he saw with detached horror that the shadow was finally coming for him…

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[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part III

With a start, Zearic awoke, eyes blinking as he fought to regain his cognition.  As he did so, he became aware of the aching throughout his entire body.  …Good…proves that I’m still alive… He tried to reassure himself.  Looking around, he tried his best to take in his surroundings.

He lay naked upon an unremarkable table, angled so that his head was above his feet.  There were no restraints of any kind that he could tell, yet it was impossible for him to move his arms and legs, his body and head.  He could only move his eyes.  Even now, his cybernetic eye started glitching, moving between the infrared spectrum and back again to visible light.  But his ears were finely tuned to the sounds surrounding him.

He heard the faint sporadic dripping water from condensation, the faint hum of machinery working to recycle air through the ducting, the ragged breathing coming from his chest and throat.  He could hear everything.

Which was why when the hulking armored shadow walked into view, he was surprised.  It made no sound at all.  And despite his fear, Zearic fixed a mask of indifference upon his face.  For long seconds, the black creature did not move.

Then, slowly, deliberately, it reached behind itself, pulling something from behind it and displaying it in full view of Zearic’s gaze.

It held the Tenebris Pugione.  Shocked, the big man’s eyes widened but only for the briefest of moments before he schooled his gaze back to impassivity.  Again, the figure remained as motionless as a statue.  But then, it did something that Zearic had never expected.

The armored giant spoke.

“I should thank you for returning Iphosies’ dagger.  Saves us all the trouble of recovering it.  And after so much…”  Zearic was silent; he would not yield anything to this would-be interrogator.  The figure continued, almost conversationally.  “Surely you can already feel the difference, Zearic?”

Even though his face was blank, his mind worked.  …What difference…? and …How do they know my name…?

As if reading his mind, the giant intoned.  “But no…instead you’re thinking about ‘what’ and ‘how’ instead of ‘why’… You’ve asked the wrong questions…”  Zearic stared straight at the wall where it met the ceiling, involuntarily listening as the armored shadow moved around him and out of his field of vision.

“Did you ever wonder Zearic Vih’Torr…why out of all the gangers, all the emaciated youths you were the one Kazic found?  You were the one blessed and cursed with powers you did not understand?”  He remained steadfast; he would make no response to the snide interrogation tactic despite his shock.

“Your mother was a pleasure slave wasn’t she…”  Ah, now the insults came, the attempt to anger him, make him slip some clue in a venom filled riposte.  “And her mother before her…twenty generations back in fact...to one woman…one woman taken from her home…forced into a galaxy she could not comprehend…starved because the food was designed for humans…”

What was this strange story meant to illicit in him, interest, annoyance?  What interrogation tactic was in play?

“Her body cannibalizing itself, immune system compromised as she was abused…but life finds a way…a one in a billion chance…that her eggs were so degraded to be compatible…a miracle perhaps…or an act of daemons…”  Despite himself he was becoming engrossed, sympathetic to this unknown woman.  “…That her body prioritized the foetus over her muscles and bones…dying as the child came forth…a hybrid creature…”  The voice was emotionless and mechanical, translated from behind the mask, but Zearic sensed the next were spat rather than spoken, “…Weak, imperfect…a final insult upon her…the best of her genes lost…only the echo of connection remained…the blood only diluted further until…”  The giant came back into view, standing next to his right side.

The black hand lifted his cybernetic arm.  “This…weak flesh incapable of repairing itself…yet…something remained through all those generations…something Kazic was drawn to however unknowingly…”
 
Zearic's eyes widened as he realized…the woman was his ancestor…far removed but still…

“You are painful for us to look upon…a reminder of all that we lost, yet a hope that life…however distorted finds a way…”

The being paused.  “There are few of you left now…eight that we know of…well two less now…if I told you who you would not believe me...”

It stepped in front of him, all Zearic could see was an impenetrable wall of a breastplate.  “You are too far gone to help…but for your ancestor we could not help…”

There was a dull hiss, a clank then a bang as something hit the floor, a white hand raised before his face as the being stepped back… Black slashes filled his vision…his cybernetic arm spasmed then died as the tactile sensors overloaded…he felt a warm fluid run down his face as his artificial eye died in its socket then bounced off his chest…his own blood…simultaneously, he felt both of his legs below the knees go numb, phantom sensations assaulted his nervous system while he heard two more loud clangs reverberating from the metal floor.

The white hand crackled red; red filling his vision as Zearic screamed unendingly…

[Lord_S_Gray]

Always with the excellent details- the Red Police, Foga Brill, the queer speech patterns of the denizens and unimpressed Imperial officers -and the Star Wars Adventure of Jedi infiltrating and Imperial world looking for secrets, added with a dark motivation twist and the hint of dark hands pulling the strings! This feels like it fits into the Canon or Legends or whatever, the politics and characters all align so well, it does more Star Wars true things in more emotive ways in one chapter than some entire EU books did.

Again love what you've done with Zearic here, the struggles, but also more often here shown from Jaims POV, he just can't figure whats wrong or what if anything can possibly help - because ultimately neither does Zearic, but in sending Jaim out before the tide hit I wonder about his state of mind - Zearic was obviously trying to protect Jaim but from what - what came up the elevator or himself?

[TheDutchman]

Always with the excellent details- the Red Police, Foga Brill, the queer speech patterns of the denizens and unimpressed Imperial officers -and the Star Wars Adventure of Jedi infiltrating and Imperial world looking for secrets, added with a dark motivation twist and the hint of dark hands pulling the strings! This feels like it fits into the Canon or Legends or whatever, the politics and characters all align so well, it does more Star Wars true things in more emotive ways in one chapter than some entire EU books did.

Again love what you've done with Zearic here, the struggles, but also more often here shown from Jaims POV, he just can't figure whats wrong or what if anything can possibly help - because ultimately neither does Zearic, but in sending Jaim out before the tide hit I wonder about his state of mind - Zearic was obviously trying to protect Jaim but from what - what came up the elevator or himself?

Thanks LSG!  I have good writing partners; that's the secret 

Your last question is--for me--the crux of Zearic's motives and, of course, you pinpointed exactly the struggling inner conflict that's driving (or should I say, governing) his decisions. 

This story is such a wonderful example of character study.  My thanks to you and Karm for including me 

[Karmack]

Woot!  Love it!

LSG hit the nail on the head: Zearic is very afraid that he's becoming the "weak link" for his family and friends.  He's full of anxiety and fear.   And fear...

...well, according to a short green dude, fear ends in suffering.   But Zearic's?  Or others?

Or both?

Hmm....


Oh.  My turn! 

[Karmack]

Chapter 14: The Tide of Death


Golden light filled the chamber.  For the first time in centuries they were all present.  The energy of the thought bomb was crashing ever inward.  They were in danger.

They were ALL in danger...

"So, how do we stop it?" Do'Rian asked.

"Divert it?" Vi'Rys Xandir asked.  "Worked on the UnNammed one, and it nearly worked on Ruusan."

"It's the 'nearly' that bothers me." Slo'Ma'Mack replied.  "I nearly died from that energy transfer, and it didn't save the One Hundred in the end.  And that was with the StarFire in proximity.  Without it..."

"So, if the crystal can't do it alone, how do we save Karmack and ourselves?" Do'Rian shot back.

Klu Xandir stood.  "We make a break-water.  We'll each siphon off some of the energy and neutralize it.  Hopefully it will be enough, slow the wave enough, to allow Karmack and the crystal itself to cope."

"But that will mean..." Do'Rian sat back.  "Damn.  I am not looking forward to that..."

Klu looked around the room, meeting eyes.  Some will have a harder time than others...  His gaze paused, his eyes met Ho'Li's.

She pursed her lips, sighed, and nodded.  ONe by one the others gave their ascent as well.

Klu gave them a grateful glance, then paused for a moment as the motifs required were activated.  "It is done.  Prepare yourselves..."

*****

The silver wave drove Karmack along, tossing him and battering him...  He could feel the Ancient One around him, knew he was trapped in a vision, travelling at break-neck speed through the channels of the crystal... If this is a vision, why does it hurt so much?  Before he could chuckle at his own gallows humor, he was slammed into something - hard.  White-hot pain erupted in his core as he rolled off and over, continuing to tumble along in the quicksilver tide, even as a portion of the energy was siphoned away....


Klu Xandir felt the hum of the saber in his hand ... a hand spotted with age.  He was old.  Ancient.  He should call the guard, or the Sentinels...   No.  There was no time....   The golden blade hummed to life, illuminating the thug standing over the young girl in the alley.  "Leave her alone." 

The thug turned, a look of fear momentarily lit his eyes, but then he noted the stooped form, the unsteady hand that held the weapon.  "Walk away old man.  This is no concern of yours."

Klu stood his ground.  "I said ... leave her alone."

"OK, have it your way." the thug turned away from the girl, who skittered into a corner.  The brute approached and Klu tried to summon enough energy push him back...

He failed.

The thug felt the weak passage of force energy, laughed.  "You're already dead, old man..."

Klu stepped back into a defensive stance as the brute drew a blaster.  He lunged, throwing all he had into augmenting his limbs, his core...  The lunge connected, the golden blade piercing the blaster, destroying it.  Klu felt a momentary surge of triumph...and then nothing but pain as the thug roared and smashed a hammer-blow into his exposed rib-cage.

Klu dropped his saber and fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air.  The thug stomped down on his right arm, snapping the bone, then gripped his head in the palm of his left hand, lifting Klu into the air.  Klu grunted in pain as the thug wordlessly squeezed his skull, slowly caving it in.  Blood trickled from Klu's ears, from his eyes...  A soundless scream hissed from his open mouth...

The golden blade erupted through the thugs hips and sliced upward as the child, holding Klu's dropped saber, screamed in raw fury...

When the Sentinels arrived from the Temple a few minutes later they found the girl, sobbing, holding Klu's crushed head in her lap...



Karmack's body shook uncontrollably as the vision left him. A wave of despair pierced him, but with it came grim determination. He clung to it, even as he felt how the energy from the bomb was burning through the protection of his song, burning his flesh...  His head hurt ... sympathetic pain?  Or the bomb?  He didn't know.  Another white-hot wave of pain washed through him as another vision gripped him, another fragment of energy siphoning off...


"Do'Rian"

Do'Rian'Xandir took a ragged breath.  "Master.  You've come..."

The ghost nodded, knelt before the ancient Mak'Tor Kage.  "I have come."

"It ... is good to see you again." Do'Rian replied.  "I have tried..."  A tear trickled down his cheek.

"I know, Do'Rian.  I know.  Rest now..."

Do'Rian let the tears fall and lowered his head, resting it on the shoulder of his father as he breathed his last.




Karmack's perception tumbled, the vision fading, leaving only a deep sense of shame and regret.  Kage Dorian?  But the last had been... He tried to regain orientation but was tossed again, and another wave of pain drove him back into vision...

 
Vi'Rys knew he was dying.  His leg was bleeding heavily, his left arm hung limp.  Only two left...  The half-dozen dark warriors had jumped him at the docking bay, after the cargo.  His apprentice was nearby, would be back with the others in moments.  He simply had to hold them a bit longer...

Saber blades hummed, energy flowed, and gold met red in clash after clash.  He'd given up on form, had been driven back to basics, was only trying to intercept the Sith's strikes, keep them from finding their marks...

An opening.  He lunged.  Struck.  The Ancient One slicing away an arm.  His opponent fell... 

That was a mistake...

Red fire erupted from his chest as the final sith warrior stabbed through his back.  "And now, Jedi, die..."

Vi'Rys'Xandir, last of his line, fell.  He remained conscious just long enough to see his apprentice Ja'Lyn'Mack and Knight En'Zi Mack enter the hanger at a run...  [/i]I win...[/i]


Karmack felt the surge of victory roll through him.  I win... He started to laugh, then groaned as more pain and nausea overtook him.  The waves of pain were getting more severe, the silver energy eating away at his body and mind like an acid...  Karmack shrieked in agony as he hit another break, another tumble, another vision ... and more energy siphoned away....


"Hurry!  I can't ... hold it ... much longer..."

The crystal cave was ancient, had been visited by Jedi for generations...  Now the last visit was ending in tragedy as the roof collapsed on the precious deposit of Kyber.  Cil'Us'Mack had not intended to be here today, had intended to spend the day in meditation, but when one of the caretakers had asked for an extra hand to help keep the younglings corralled he'd agreed.

And now here he was, holding up the roof...

"Li'I, you must flee..." He said gently to the golden-haired girl still clinging to his leg.

"No!  Its not safe!  The rocks will hurt me..." she said, wrapping her arms tighter around his thigh.

"Li'I ... you must ... papa will ... keep it safe ..."

Blue eyes met gray.  "Promise?"

"I promise, little one.  Tell your momma I love her.  Now ... go!"

She ran.  And Cil'Us kept his promise, making the way safe for his granddaughter ... one last time...



Tears filled Karmack's eyes as the pain of personal loss ripped through him, augmenting the physical pain. Relentlessly another vision took him.  "No...   Maker, what more?"



Blaster bolts were converging on them from three sides now, the Mandalorian mercenaries closing on their position.  "Ja'Lyn!  Go!  Now!"

Ja'Lyn'Cil stood her ground stubbornly, her cyan blade flashing.  "Not without you, Master Mack."

Slo'Ma'Mack, newly appointed Master of Song of the Mak'Tor order within the greater Jedi order felt a moment of pride in his padawan.  Her form was flawless, her Sorensu an aqua shield.  For a moment he was tempted...  But no.  There were to many of them, the artifacts they'd recovered from the smugglers too precious to fail now!  "No, Ja'Lyn.  It is time.  Go.  Now.  And take this."  With his left hand he handed her a pouch, his ice-blue blade never slowing or pausing.

"But..." Ja'Lyn took it, eyes wide.  "What am I to do with this?"

"Put it in the cave.  It will seek a new master soon enough.  My time with it is over." He responded.  "Now, go!  Before they encircle us completely."

"Yes, master." Ja'Lyn turned.  Ran.

Slo'Ma'Mack was still fighting when the modified freighter lifted off, buying time for her to escape...



Karmack clung to conciousness with bloody nails, a sense of purpose suddenly flooding him. Realization dawned: the entities in the crystal were helping him, draining the energy of the thought bomb away in controlled doses ... and reliving their own deaths to do it.  Dying again ... to save us all...  He could feel himself weakening, the energy still washing over him, eating away at his mind, his body...  He could not last much longer, but the silver wave was still to great for the Ancient One to dissipate completely.  Another wave of pain washed over him and reality tumbled again, leaving him clinging to sanity and life with a desperate, weakening grip...


NO!  Milaea, no! Not again! Ho'Li had no time to warn Ly'Al, no chance to stop her as Milaea hammered her practice sword into the side of Ly'AL's head with an accompanying surge of force energy.  The sword crushed the girl's skull, blood and brain matter staining her white gi with crimson and gray...

Pain erupted in her neck.  A dagger!  She tried to snatch it out of her neck by reflex as the pain registered, but the handle was gone...  Milaea?!? NO!

Her voice was gone, she was half-choking on her own blood, but her saber was in her hand and the golden blade snapped to life.  It took her long seconds to regain her balance, her center, to overcome the blinding block of pain, to re-establish her battle song ... and in those seconds Milaea killed seven Teidowans, tearing at least one of them literally apart.

She had no words.  She could not speak, the shikkar had killed her voice.  Holly directed a healing flow at the wound, insuring that she would not bleed out, and attacked.

They trampled over bodies, gold and amethyst blades clashing and spinning.  Holly deflected blaster bolts Milaea fired at her, ignited and threw sabers and debris at her, slammed into her mind with every mental attack she could think of ... and Milaea absorbed it all, deflected and defeated her attacks with contemptuous ease even as her own energy drained away...

Holly wanted to speak, to ask why.  The blade...  She tried to remove it, could not.  And then ... it was just gone ...  The shock of the feeling, the sudden spike of pain, the rush of air into her throat from the side... Her guard wavered ... and a fist of force energy gripped her and yanked her forward.  Milaea's blade impaled her, paralyzing her diaphram, opening her aorta...

Ho'Li saw the confusion, the anger, the passion, the regret all bound Milaea's eyes as the girl suddenly leaned forward and kissed her...   Filled with despair, Ho'Li died with only one thought on her mind:   Ha'Ona...



Karmack reeled as the betrayal and disappointment slammed through him.  Ho'Li...  But Ha'Ona lived... A breath.  Two.  No time to think ... he felt his muscles spasm and contort as another vision engulfed him...


The sheets were light on her body, which was light on her spirit.  Its nearly time...  Ha'Ona smiled at the faces gathered around her.  She had married young and B'Lain had given her four sons and two daughters...  But it was one of her grandsons, Ka'Re, who drew her gaze.  "Karey..."

"Nan?" The boy carried the golden hair and blue eyes of her family.  He was already apprenticed to Jo'Lynn, the local healer, but Ha'Ona felt something deeper in him.  Something in his song...

"Karey.  You carry the song within you." Ha'Ona said.  "Fear the Maker, Karey, and serve the song within you..."

Ka'Re'Mack nodded, hugging the frail woman lightly.  "Yes, Nana..."

Ha'Ona smiled and patted his cheek.  She was still smiling as she exhaled - and faded into nothing.



Peace flooded over him, and Karmack smiled despite the nauseating, painful tumble through the silver fire.  Not everyone comes to a bad end... He knew from his studies that Ka'Re'Mack had become a renowned healer, and was one of his own ancestors.  But after Ha'Ona the crystal had not awoken again for nearly two hundred years when it was carried by... 

He gasped as white fire washed over him, driving the sense of peace and well-being away.  He could feel his strength failing, but ever more of the silver tide was diverted as another vision took him...


He was on his knees, his broken left arm dangling at his side.  The warehouse was filled with dead Black Sun fighters ... and no slaves.  "Where are they."

Maenowan Lan'Dir'Mack spit blood at the feet of his interrogator.  The backhand that served as his reward was swift and powerful, knocking him over and onto his broken left shoulder.  White fire erupted from the jagged bones grinding together, shredding muscle...

He gasped as the interrogator jerked him back up onto his knees.  "Where are they?"

Lan'Dir opened his mouth, as if to speak ... and with the force he reached into the man's neck and tore the arteries and veins open.  The interrogator gasped in pain as blood poured into his chest, choking him.  He fell, gasping...

Lan'Dir spat blood onto his face as blaster bolts slammed into his body...



Karmack supressed the urge to scream as the silver-white acid washed over him like liquid fire.  There was damage now...  Blood flowed from deep wounds as raw, exposed tissues and nerves filled him with ever-increasing agony. He clung Lan'Dir's defiance and made it his own, the stubborn refusal to yeild held to his chest with the grip of a drowning man.  Even in his pain he could feel the tumble slowing at last, the deadly energy bleeding away.  Almost there...  He only had to last a little bit longer ... but his body was broken ... his skin shredded ... his nerves on fire...



Shiv'Dir'Mack sped down the pathway, panicked children and acolytes streaming back up the path toward the safety of the Temple.  It had been an unusually snowy winter, and the slopes above the scattered school buildings and training grounds, normally free of snow by late spring, were still heavy with layered ice and snow... layers which were now rumbling free, turning the green pastoral slope into a killing ground.

She stopped at the center of the slope, looking back to where a pair of monks tried in vain to get a flock of students and acolytes to safety.  The sound of the avalanche filled the air, wind whipped her white hair back, made her cloak stand out from her shoulders.  She stood her ground, gathering the force to herself, singing the songs she'd discovered in her studies to engage the Ancient One and amplify her age-weakened abilities.  She could feel the burn of force-fatigue almost immediately, but she pressed on, gathering more and more power, using every second to build the strength of the massive force-push until...

The white wall of snow was only 80 meters away from them when she released the pulse of energy.  It impacted the face of the avalanche like a hammer, shattering its force.  The flow of snow divided, going left and right around them before continuting down the slope and into the valley below, where it dissipated before reaching the villages nestled along the river.

Shiv'Dir stood for long seconds, trembling, a look of gratitude and triumph in her eye, before collapsing on the pathway, her body unable to survive the massive energy release.  By the time the monks reached her, even that was gone, faded into the force, leaving only her robes and her saber behind as testimony to her sacrifice.


Karmack shared her triumph as he felt the silver tide fade at last, the energy levels finally low enough for the Ancient One to channel them away safely into the force.  There was a final pulse of force energy as the last remnants of the thought bomb flashed out of the Ancient One, leaving Karmack curled in a ball on the floor of the chamber, the rock partially collapsed over him, his body torn and bleeding, every fiber of his being on fire from the assault ... but alive.

Barely.

With the desperate energy of a dying man Karmack reached out to the Ancient One and opened a healing channel.  Relief flooded through him as healing energy flowed into his body.  It was only a trickle, but it was enough to keep him alive and begin healing him.  Unable to manage more, Karmack heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, surrendering to the inky blackness of unconsciousness...