Print Page - Untouchable

Man, it's been a while since I've been on these forums. Change of jobs and a new kid really take up the time, but now that I have a bit, I've decided to get back to my writing and play a bit with a story I cooked up a little while ago. Thanks go out to Karmack, Dutch, and Taegin Roan for their stories and the inspiration to tell my own.

For a bit of a background, this story takes place during the Clone Wars, not long before Order 66 was carried out. It follows a failed Jedi Padawan, who spurned the Order after being offered what he felt was an inferior assignment in the Jedi Service Corps. On his own, he does what he can to survive and live a life as removed as possible from everything to do with the Jedi and the War.

A standard bit of practice here, this story and characters are fictitious, mine, and not subject to use without my permission. It is also not finished, nor edited and subject to change as I still think of arcs and directions to take this new monstrosity. I also reserve the right to post my stories with ridiculous typos, misspellings, and non cannon Star Wars material because I am not an expert on any of it and do not claim to be. I will update the story with new chapters as often as I can, but please bear with me if long gaps develop.

And so, without any more ado, I present to the Saber Forums, Untouchable.

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Prologue

“This is your final warning,” Zyn told the three gangsters standing in front of him in a back alley on Coruscant. “Pay what you owe, or I will take it from your flesh.”

Laughs echoed off of the high walls as the three Falleen began to spread themselves out and reach for their belts. They were muttering to themselves in whatever guttural language was their mother tongue, one he didn’t even begin to understand. He felt his anger rising along with his heart rate. The thunder of each beat further fueling his rage and causing his hands to tremble.

“Look at him shake with fear,” the one named Turr chuckled in Basic.

“If you’re threatening us, you’ll find more trouble than you can handle,” the leader, Zuul, said defiantly.

The three of them squared up to him, palming the grips of the blasters hanging from their belts. Taking a calming breath, he closed his eyes to focus his thoughts on what he must do, something his former master had taught him. The rage was quelled for a moment, but quickly returned when Zuul spoke again.

“We’ll pay you nothing!” Several seconds of silence followed before Zyn opened his eyes to respond.

“So be it.”

In a flash, Zyn discarded his black cloak into a heap on the ground behind him while pulling his weapon from his belt. The deep orange blade screamed to life, leaving his targets stunned in awe. It was likely they had never seen a lightsaber before, but even the lowest of the low knew not just anyone carried such weapons.

“A Jedi!?” Jumni balked. “Since when do Jedi bet on the races?”

Zyn kept silent as he marched toward them, his saber held down at his side. The hum it gave off was a welcome sound to its owner, calming him yet doing nothing to quench his anger. Twenty thousand credits would be his before he left this alley. One way or another.

The fools on his flanks drew their weapons simultaneously. Jumni’s weapon was shaking with uncertainy while Turr’s was as steady as a rock and aimed directly at the human’s chest. A slight smirk emerged on Zyn’s face as the irony of his training hadn’t been lost on him. He disliked Soresu, despised it, in fact, for its utter lack of offensive capability. Despite his disdain, however, he had found it the easiest of his forms to master.

In the blink of an eye, a blaster bolt from Turr was parried and sent in to the chest of Jumni, dropping the weakest of the group to the ground. Spinning the blade effortlessly in front of him, Zyn used his momentum to slice through Turr’s weapon in one swipe and remove his head with another. As he turned to face Zuul, he noticed the leader of the troupe had his large green hands raised in surrender.

“Okay, okay!” Zuul cried in fear. “I will pay.”

Zuul slowly lowered his right hand to his belt, unsnapping a worn leather pouch and reaching inside. After rummaging around inside of it and not taking his eyes off the lightsaber pointed only inches from his face, his hand came up with four credit chips, offering them up slowly to his adversary.

“Twenty thousand, right?” Zuul asked. His voice was full of fear, which Zyn knew he could exploit for more.

“I want another ten for making me come down here to collect it.”

The Falleen’s mouth dropped open at the order. Who was this human to make such demand? Thirty thousand credits would set Zuul back months. If he could somehow get the lightsaber from the Jedi’s grasp, he knew he could easily crush this human’s puny skull, or perhaps remove it whole. It would make a fine trophy to display should anyone else should come looking to collect on him.

“Fine, fine,” Zuul said, the shimmering blade reflecting in his dark eyes. “Ten thousand more. Whatever you want, but only if you lower that thing.”

Squaring himself to his adversary, Zyn slowly lowered the orange stream of energy emanating from his weapon, but didn’t trust Zuul enough to completely extinguish it. The electric hum continued to echo up and down the alleyway, but he did not fear anyone hearing it. The Force was telling him no else was around.

“Here,” Zuul offered, shaking the original set of credit chips. “Take it and I’ll get you the rest.”

As Zyn reached for his prize, a nagging feeling in his head told him something wasn’t right. He did his best to reach out with the Force, but given his limited time in the Jedi Order, he wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what the feeling meant. It only served to distract him from the rush of the Falleen criminal in front of him.

Before he could react, a thick green fist collided with his jaw and sent him reeling. Dropping the lightsaber, the blade extinguished itself as both it and its master fell to the ground. Zyn’s head swam with daze as he did his best to bring himself back into the moment, but failing as Zuul’s thick fingers closed around his throat.

“You are no Jedi,” Zuul laughed as he pulled Zyn to his feet and pinned him against a wall. The silver glint of steel appeared in Zuul’s right hand, which Zyn recognized in his unsteady consciousness as a vibroblade.

Calming himself, Zyn reached out with the Force for his lightsaber. He’d never been one to master the telekinetic abilities of his peers. At most, he’d been able to dump over a cup he was attempting to lift, earning a smack on the head from his mentor. Instead, all of his Force techniques had been focused on combat, which he long ago learned was useless without a weapon in his hand.

In his mind, he pictured his lightsaber sailing from the pavement and into his hand. Remembering the lessons he’d failed to learn under his master caused his anger to rise once again. His wish became an order, a command of the Force to submit to his will and deliver his salvation. As the hum of the vibroblade closed in on his throat, Zyn felt the hatred coming to a boil in his chest just as the cold metal of his lightsaber hilt hit his palm.

In the blink of an eye, the blade materialized between their faces, and with a flick of the wrist, Zyn severed the arm holding him by the throat. A howl of pain escaped Zuul’s lips as they both fell to the ground, Zyn desperately clawing at the hand still grasping his neck. Getting back to his feet, he saw Zuul reaching for the blade he had dropped.

“Allow me,” Zyn said, shearing the vibroblade's hilt in half with a slash of his own weapon.

Dropping to a knee above his adversary, he positioned the saber’s blade over the Falleen’s throat. Immediately, Zuul froze in fear, a look of panic appearing in his eyes. Basking in the glory of his victory, an inadvertent smirk emerged on Zyn’s face as he contemplated finishing off the criminal.

“Wait!” Zuul pleaded, as if reading his mind. “I can get you more! Whatever you want, it’s yours!”

“Thank you,” Zyn replied, emptying Zuul’s credit pouch with his free hand and getting back to his feet. After extinguishing his blade, he tucked his new fortune into his own belt as Zuul laid there in silence, stunned at what had just happened.

Gathering his cloak from the ground, Zyn began to slowly walk himself back toward the street. Reflection was needed on how to improve his skills so that no enemy ever took advantage of him again. Anger still boiled away inside of him, but he did his best to control it, not only for his own sake, but that of Zuul as well. Before leaving the alley, the crippled gangster began to yell yet another insult.

“You are no Jedi,” Zuul repeated with a cough.

“You’re right, I am no Jedi” Zyn shrugged, donning his cloak and turning his back to the wounded Falleen. “And I never was.”

I'm going to attempt for a weekly release of chapters on this, but I'm not going to say for sure that's what's going to happen, as work and home life can take over at pretty much any time. This past weekend was a perfect example, but luckily, I had the majority of this chapter written already.

Thank you all for the feedback on the prologue. It always means the most to me when people are interested in my writings and want more. And now, here's chapter one.

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Sitting in his favorite booth at the local Off World Betting parlor, Zyn watched the numerous monitors displayed at the table in front of him. Each one held images of the racers pitted against each other on whatever nameless world they were racing on. He’d put down a significant sum of credits gained from his exploits concerning the Falleen on several different racers, a practice he often participated in to quite a large success. A cheer from inside the parlor erupted as one of the pods on Zyn’s screen erupted into a fireball after colliding with the mouth of a cave.

“I certainly hope you didn’t bet on that one,” a tall, ivory-skinned Twi’lek in brown robes said with a laugh as she slid herself into the seat across from him.

“A pleasure to see you, as always, Seela,” Zyn nodded in respect. “And I wouldn’t let you put your own money on that one.”

A warm smile greeted him from across the table. Seela Me’s smile had always been beautiful to him, lighting up even his darkest hours. Several potential suitors had crossed Zyn’s path over the years, but none struck his fancy quite as much as Seela had. If their lives weren’t such drastically different, he may have attempted to court her, but such things were not meant for him, it seemed.

“Always so protective,” she laughed, to which a guilty grin emerged on Zyn’s face. “One might think you still have feelings for me.”

“If only I could convince you to leave the Old Folks’ Home for something more suiting of your talents.” An uneasy laugh escaped her lips as she turned her deep orange eyes away from the table to avoid his piercing gaze. “So tell me, how are things with the war?”

“In truth, they could be going better,” she answered, her smile dying. “Our losses are beginning to mount and I’m not sure how much longer we can keep up the fight.”

“Then what are you doing back here? If losses are that bad, don’t they need all the fighters they can get?”

During his time at the academy, the only other student in his class who even came close to matching Zyn’s skill with a lightsaber was Seela. She spent nearly as much time training as he had and could match him blow-for-blow in an open exchange. Where she had the edge, however, was in her use of the Force, which partially explained why she was still a part of the Order and he was not.

“It’s not that simple,” she started, but trailed off as her gaze wandered away from the table again. Clearly, she wasn’t keen on sharing whatever her vagueness was hiding, leading him to the only answer that made sense.

“They haven’t made you a Knight yet,” Zyn finished for her, to which she slammed a closed fist down on the table in frustration.

“I hate it when you do that.” Her gaze narrowed at him, but rather than being intimidated, Zyn found his heart fluttering. “You make me feel like a child when you say things like that.”

“Forgive me,” Zyn withdrew. “I meant no offense. I was only completing the picture for myself.”

Zyn saw a sadness in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time. Seela wasn’t one to let her emotions control her, an essential quality in a Jedi. It something Zyn admired and often attempted to emulate. He knew better than to think himself on par with her when it came to self-control, however.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked, attempting to take her mind off the sore subject. “There has to be a reason a Padawan such as yourself is in a lowly place like this and not out there with your master.”

“Master Etain sent me to deliver an update to the Council regarding the events on Kashyyk,” Seela explained. “My transport doesn’t leave until morning, and as it happens, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Zyn’s interest was instantly piqued. Here was Seela, a Jedi Padawan poised to become a Knight any day now, asking a favor she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, ask to her own Order. Instead, she chose to ask an outsider, but not just any outsider. She was asking him, a failed Padawan, meaning this would be a delicate situation the Jedi could not be seen doing.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, giving her his full attention.

“An acquaintance of mine wanted me to ask the Order for personal protection on a trip off world,” she started, but Zyn interrupted with a laugh.

“The Jedi are peacekeepers,” he explained. “Not bodyguards.”

“Which is what I told him, but I offered him the next best thing.”

“A drop out?”

A frown appeared on her otherwise immaculate face. Zyn lived to see her smile, often going out of his way in past to make sure she did. These days, he found very little to smile about outside of his gambling winnings, and it caused his heart to ache seeing Seela as glum as himself.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Poor attempt at humor. What makes you think I’d agree to something like this?”

“For the same reason you still have your lightsaber.”

Smuggling his weapons out the Temple was no easy task, nor was covering his tracks. In fact, he had to enlist Seela herself for help. Zyn had no idea how she did it, but she was able to convince the armorer that a tube of metal and various scrap electronic components sloppily joined together was a working lightsaber. Zyn’s reputation of function over fashion may have helped in the plausibility of the story, but at the end of the day, his lightsaber was reported as destroyed while still in his possession.

“You’re a fighter,” she told him. “You have been all your life, and you secretly live for it.”

Zyn found truth in her words. He could lie all he wanted to others and even himself about wanting to avoid fights, but in his heart, he knew the truth. There was a joy to be had in violence, having tested one’s strength against another and coming out victorious. He’d felt it when he confronted the three Falleen just hours ago. Admittedly, losing a fight could mean losing his life, but to Zyn, where was the fun without danger?

“Being a bodyguard doesn’t mean I’ll see a fight,” he pointed out.

“True,” she admitted. “But if there isn’t one, you get paid for doing nothing, which I also know works for you.” He had to hand it to her: she knew him better than anyone else in the galaxy did.

“What’s the assignment?”

“A Muun banker is making a trip to Kuat to inspect an investment. Apparently, he thinks there will be trouble, but I don’t think it’s anything you can’t handle.”

“How much?”

“He’s offered five hundred thousand credits, with another five hundred thousand once he’s safely back here.”

An inadvertent laugh escaped his lips as he sat back in his seat to mull over what she was actually offering him. One million credits would certainly keep him satisfied for quite some time, but the offer itself didn’t seem believable. That amount to have a faceless nobody babysit some hotshot banker while he toured one of the most highly protected areas of the Republic made no sense at all. There was something deeper to this, but he wasn’t sure if Seela was in on whatever it was, as she wore a scowl until his laughter died down.

“I’m sorry,” he started, hunching forward over the table. “I wasn’t laughing at you, but at the offer. One million credits to watch someone’s back in secured space? What’s the catch?”

“None, so far as I know,” she answered. “Maybe he wants to lure you into some full time work?”

Slowly leaning back once more, Zyn considered his options. He could refuse and continue his life as he always had, on his own and scraping the bottom of the barrel to survive. Admittedly, he was used to it by now, but the thought of finally getting off of Coruscant for good seemed too good to pass on. He wasn’t sure he could accept working for someone full time anymore, but if he wanted to leave at the end of this job, no one could force him to stay.

“You owe me,” Seela blurted out after a long silence. “And not just for the lightsaber.”

As usual, she was right. Zyn owed his friend not only his livelihood, but almost his entire life itself. Those days after failing the Trial of Spirit were, without a doubt, the darkest of his life. What seemed to be a simple test of meditation had led to him emerging from his trance a broken man. The visions he saw had scarred him, and after being brought back from the brink of madness by Seela herself, he vowed to never again revisit those particular demons. His dreams, on the other hand, seemed to disagree.

“If that’s the case, then I have no choice,” Zyn finally said after a long stretch of silence between them. Seela’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“This will be good for you,” she smiled. “It will get you back to some semblance of normalcy.” Despite the urge to argue that point, Zyn stayed silent as Seela slipped herself from the booth and climbed to her feet.

“So where am I meeting my new client?” Zyn asked, getting to his feet as well.

“His ship is in Eastport, Docking Bay Thirty Seven Thirty Two. His name is Udo Horn and he’s been staying on his yacht, the Infinite.”

Of course, he would have a yacht, Zyn thought to himself. “It leaves at dawn, correct?”

“Would you expect anything different?” she beamed. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, as well,” he told her, offering out a hand to shake.

Grabbing a hold of his hand, she quickly pulled him in for an unexpected hug. Her grip on him was tight, but he returned the sentiment but squeezing her firmly himself. They stood in their embrace for several moments, pulling the eyes of several of the parlor’s patrons to them, but paying them all no mind.

“Take care of yourself,” she told him after they finally released each other. “I don’t want you getting into any more trouble than you can handle.”

“You know I can’t promise that.” He felt himself grinning foolishly. “But you be careful as well, and may the Force be with you.”

“I would say the same to you, but I know you have problems with that.”

Zyn found the remark a kick below the belt to his pride. Coming from her, he knew it was all in jest, but the subject was still a bit of a sore spot for him. He knew his connection to the Force would forever be a wound that hadn’t quite healed.

“Goodbye, Zyn,” she told him.

“Farewell, Seela,” he returned with a forced smile.

Without another word, she spun on her heel and headed for the exit. As she walked, Zyn couldn't help but notice her lekku had twice crossed over each other as they fell down her back in a nonverbal message to him. He fought the urge to call her on the gesture, however, knowing it would lead exactly nowhere. Instead, he slipped back into his booth to watch the end of the race and wonder exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

I know I said before that I was going to attempt to stick to a weekly delivery of "episodes", but seeing as I've gotten a lot farther than I planned in the past week, I'm posting a day early. Enjoy.

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The trip to Kuat was far from anything Zyn could have considered exciting. He’d located the ship without issues, and after a quick chat with Thorne, the banker’s head of security, he found himself wondering why his presence was even required. A team of twelve heavily armed men stood watch against any form of aggressor, and anyone thinking of sneaking on board for nefarious means would find themselves in worlds of trouble. What could a lowly Jedi dropout provide that these men couldn’t?

After the initial briefing in which he was paid his half million credits and learning he would not meet Udo Horn until they disembarked, he had retreated to his meager stateroom aboard the Infinite. A bed was provided, but that was the extent of the luxuries for the guests outside of basic food and water drink. Despite the incomprehensible wealth this representative of the InterGalactic Bank seemed to have, guests and employees were on their own, so to speak.

Instead of fraternizing with others, Zyn kept to his room, meditating on what was before him. A number inquisitive mercenaries had attempted to speak with him about exactly who he was and what he could do, but he chose to remain silent. In his mind, he owed these men nothing, and no good would come out of revealing who he really was. Without a doubt, the need to prove himself their better was there, but for the time being, he was able to quiet the beast enough to reflect on his own thoughts.

Which one of these mercenaries was Seela’s acquaintance was beyond him. Zyn couldn’t place her even on the same world as these men. She was strong, independent, and had no reason to be in contact with any of them them, unless they were on the receiving end of her lightsaber. It was something that continued to bother him even as the ship dropped out of hyperspace and began its approach to Kuat. Before long, a loud knock came at his door, interrupting his thoughts.

“We’ve landed,” the head of security, Thorne, barked at him through the door. “Be ready in ten.”

Climbing to his feet, Zyn slowly donned his cloak and headed for the door while pulling up his hood. His heart unexpectedly began to race as he opened the door and stepped into the lounge with a nagging sense of worry tugging at his thoughts. Something was going to happen, of that he was sure, but what exactly, he couldn’t say. All he could do was clear his thoughts and do what needed to be done when the situation presented itself.

Only three members of the mercenary team were present in the lounge while the others were likely in the cargo bay, which had been converted into an armory for this deployment. Two men were talking to one another while eyeing Zyn suspiciously. He was about to ask if there was a problem when the third finished lacing his boot and approached with a friendly smile.

“Hi,” the young man greeting him with an outstretched hand. “You’re the specialist, right?” Zyn took his hand and gave it a firm shake, noting the strength in the mercenary’s grip.

“You could say that,” Zyn replied, taking his hand back once it was released. “I am Zyn.”

The young man looked like a fresh recruit, as his wide jaw and angled features were completely free of any sort of scarring or even age. Zyn felt a bit of envy, given the numerous scars he’d collected over his life and the added stresses he’d been under since leaving the Order, it all had left him looking older than he really was.

“Hi, Zyn,” the recruit replied. “I’m…”

“Wex!” the head of security shouted from the doorway. “Why aren’t you in formation?” Turning his eyes back to the other two, Zyn noticed they’d stopped their conversation and were, instead, waiting for some entertainment value in their comrade’s scolding.

“Apologies, sir,” Wex responded, turning his back on Zyn and coming to attention in front of his superior.

“Fall in,” Thorne barked.

“Aye-aye, sir.” Without looking back, Wex ran off past his chief and through the door.

“You,” the chief started, pointing at Zyn. “I’ve got your orders.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“I don’t care. I’m responsible for Mr. Horn’s security, and you’re a part of that detail, therefore you will obey my orders or I will have you shot.”

Zyn found himself holding back a laugh. Sure, he was on a ship with a dozen well-armed men with enough training in their weapons to give him more trouble than he could handle, but the idea of accepting the challenge briefly crossed his mind. He’d been against similar odds before, but always with his master by his side.

“What are your orders?” Zyn huffed, remembering what Seela had told him and putting his thoughts of confrontation aside.

“When we step off this ship, you are to remain within five meters of Mr. Horn at all times,” Thorne barked. “I know who you are, so if you’re thinking of starting some kind of trouble, you will be sorely mistaken.”

The anger began rising in Zyn’s chest with every word spoken by Thorne. He talked as if Zyn were a fresh recruit in need of harsh discipline to be molded into a hardened soldier. While he was certainly green to any kind of mercenary work, his time with the Jedi had likely given him more experience in fighting most of Thorne’s men.

“If you know who I am, then you know what I can do” Zyn started, failing to control his temper. “I don’t need your condescension, or to be told how to march to your beat. I’m doing this as a favor to you and your boss, so if you don’t want me around, we can go our separate ways.”

Pulling open a pouch on his belt, Zyn retrieved roughly half of the credits he’d been paid and held them out to Thorne. The mercenary captain narrowed his gaze at him after looking at the credit chips. For a moment, it actually seemed if Thorne was considering the offer, but after several tense moments of silence, he finally spoke.

“Grab your gear,” Thorne said between his teeth before spinning on his heel and stomping toward the door. “It’s time to head out.”

Slipping the currency back into his belt pouch, Zyn pondered Thorne’s reaction. The mercenary captain obviously didn’t trust Zyn any more than Zyn trusted him. Zyn had even made it easy in offering some of the credits back, yet still the mercenary turned it down, which told him all he needed to know: Thorne needed him.

Walking silently to the ramp, he saw a line of mercenaries in black iconic Mandalorian helmets and armor disembarking with their weapons slung across their chests. Zyn wasn’t sure what the shipyard’s security would say about it, but left such matters to Thorne. Better for him worry about himself than a bunch of hired thugs. As the last of the line left, Zyn moved to fall in behind them, but unintentionally collided with a straggler.

“Sorry,” the young recruit named Wex said as the helmet tucked under his arm hit the floor.

“Apologies,” Zyn told him. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“Likewise.” Dropping one of the bags, Wex scooped up his helmet while picking up the bag he'd dropped with the same hand. “The captain is going to bust me for coming out last.”

“There are still more in the lounge,” Zyn pointed out. “You won’t be last.”

“He’ll still be on my case about it,” Wex lamented as they began to walk off the ship together. “I’m the new guy, and the new guy is always treated like shab, especially in Omega Company.”

“Omega Company?” Zyn asked with skepticism in his voice. “That’s the name of your outfit?”

“We’re a small force right now, but we’re getting bigger,” Wex explained. “This is only a quarter of what we have. Omega started out on Concordia, after the civil war. I was too young to fight, but it ended as I came of age. My parents were killed during the fighting and there was nothing left for me there. I wanted to fight, so I joined up with Omega.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Zyn told him as they stepped off the ramp.

“I’m not,” Wex said. “I’m a fighter, so that’s what I signed up to do.” Looking down at himself, Wex laughed at the irony of the situation of calling himself a fighter while carrying the company’s bags. “At least, I will when I move up the ranks.”

“Then I wish you luck in your endeavors,” Zyn nodded to him. “It’s not easy living this life.”

“I didn’t take you for a merc,” Wex told him, depositing the bags in a pile not far from the ramp. “More like a drifter. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I find myself wondering the same thing. I was hired to provide close security to the client.”
“Close support? Without a weapon?”

Without thinking, Zyn swept aside his cloak, showing off his lightsaber hilt to the young mercenary. Wex’s jaw fell open in amazement as Zyn allowed his cloak to fall back over the weapon. Turning his eyes to the rest of the group, he saw they were gathered around their captain several yards away.

“Perhaps you should join your comrades,” Zyn told him. “Before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

Closing his mouth, Wex gave him a wide grin before donning his helmet and running off to join the rest of them. In Zyn’s opinion, the young man didn’t belong here. He was too upbeat and friendly to be a mercenary, but certainly had the foolhardiness to run off headlong into an unknown battle just because someone told him to do so. Chuckling silently to himself, Zyn couldn’t help but see much of his younger self in Wex.

The two mercenaries from the lounge, now armored up, walked quickly past Zyn to join their group, snapping him out of his thoughts. Despite the thought of being anywhere near Thorne, he swallowed his pride and began walking toward the meeting. It wasn’t until he was within ear shot that another nagging feeling pulled his attention back to the ship.

Before he could even question what the feeling meant, he was hit with such a strong force, it sent him skittering across the floor. The blast carried Zyn several meters away from where he was standing, coming to a violent stop against a shipping crate on the other side of the docking bay. Dazed, he began to collect himself and get to his feet.

The Infinite was left a smoldering wreck with parts scattered all over the docking bay. The entirety of the mercenary troop was down with only a small handful of men picking themselves up or attempting to rouse the others. Several dock workers were also down while security was already running on site, shouting orders in an attempt to contain the resulting fire.

Taking a step forward, Zyn found himself on unsteady legs. His head swam from the impact, and the muffled sound of shouts told him his ears had taken a beating in the explosion. Another faulty step sent him careening into another nearby shipping container, and it was only his weakened grip keeping him from tumbling back to the floor. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to clear his thoughts and after opening his eyes, he noticed Thorne pointing directly at him, shouting something to his men.

“There’s the man responsible!” Thorne shouted as his words finally came into focus. “Arrest him, he did this!”

No one was reacting to Thorne’s orders, most too busy either picking themselves up or dealing with the fire now engulfing the remains of the ship. Zyn stood in shock as the captain continued to blame him for the explosion. Was this man really trying to pin this entire thing on him?

Before Zyn could even react to the charges, Thorne began to charge at him with a blaster drawn and pointed squarely at his head.

To celebrate cranking out a whole episode in one day, I'm releasing chapter 3 a little early as well. Happy Tuesday!

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Still dazed from the explosion, Zyn could only watch in bewilderment as Thorne came at him with his blaster at the ready. What his intentions were, Zyn couldn't be sure, but before he could even move for his own weapon, the mercenary captain was on him. Grabbing a hold of Zyn’s cloak with his off hand, Thorne pressed the barrel of the blaster into his cheek.

"I told you it would be a mistake to cause any trouble," Thorne growled at him as a crowd of both mercenaries and security personnel began to gather around. "You're working for the Separatists, aren't you?"

"I didn’t do this," Zyn argued. "What reason could I possibly have for killing a banker?"

"That's for the Banking Clan to figure out," Thorne shouted back. "Right before they execute you."

"Stand down, captain," one of the security guards ordered Thorne. "He set off a bomb on company property. It will be the Drive Yards that issue the punishment."

"Over my dead body," Thorne yelled, letting go of Zyn turning his weapon to the newcomer.

A standoff ensued between the mercenaries and the shipyard security team, all of them pointing their weapons at each other instead of Zyn. The focus was no longer on him, yet he knew if he made a move at all, both sides would be drawn back. Several tense moments passed until motion in the distance caught his attention. A number of dock workers, previously fighting one of the numerous fires caused by the explosion, were now running away as fast as they could.

Without warning, another explosion ripped through the bay, causing nearly everyone to double over reflexively as the heat washed over them all. Pulling his hood close around his head, Zyn turned away to protect himself, and in doing so, noticed an open door only a few meters from him. He knew there would not be another chance.

Zyn pushed his unsteady legs with all of his might to make it to the door. Any second, both the security guards and Omega Company would open up on him with their blasters, and he thought it best to be through the door before that happened. Two dozen men had an excellent chance of getting a killing or crippling shot on him in an open dock, but if he could make it through the door, he at least had a shot of fighting back, if not getting away completely.

He was two steps from the opening when the first shot sailed over his shoulder. He wasn't sure who took the shot, but he didn't dare turn to look as the sound of more fire coming his way filled his ears. Grabbing the edge of the door to slingshot himself around the corner, he was just about to disappear from sight as a lucky blaster bolt caught him on his right side.

The blow sent him sprawling, but as he went down, he used his momentum to roll out of the fall and back to his feet. Pain coursed through his oblique as he continued to run for his life down a wide corridor filled with all manner of people and equipment moving about. If he could get far enough away, he knew, blending in would be easy. If he could get away…

Shouts erupted from behind him, and he knew the chase was on. Pain continued to sear his side, and only seemed to intensify the further he ran. The adrenaline, already pouring into his veins, did little to keep the agony of the injury at bay and from slowing him to a trot. With his eyes darting about for a place to hide, he was drawn toward a small utility corridor to his right, barely wide enough for him to slip through.

The corridor itself housed what appeared to be power conduits and gas lines running to the different docks in the area. It was cramped, to be sure, but dark enough to allow him cover for long enough to catch his breath and plan his next move. Pulling his cloak tightly around himself, he warily slipped himself between the pipes and into the shadows.

Crouched in the darkness behind a large section of conduit, Zyn did his best to check his wound without inflicting too much pain. The last thing he needed was to cry out as his pursuers ran by, but he needed to get an idea of the damage done by the blaster shot. He gently ran his fingertips along his side, causing the pain to increase as he found the wound and traced its outline carefully.

A glancing blow was all it was, and while it would eventually need treatment, he figured it was not life threatening. Closing his eyes, he focused his will on blocking the pain, but found his anger rising instead. He wished he could've gotten a look at who had shot him. Secretly, he hoped it was Thorne, as the thought of repaying him with a lightsaber did more to quell his discomfort than his brief meditation did.

"Central, put out an all-points bulletin on a fugitive inside the yards," a security guard's voice said into a comlink near the mouth of the corridor. "Suspect is wearing a hooded black cloak, considered armed and extremely dangerous."

"He couldn’t have gotten too far on his own," Thorne's voice said. "I got a piece of him as he went through the door."

As carefully as he could, Zyn pulled his lightsaber hilt from his belt and held it at the ready. Fighting against a mercenary company and countless security in the middle of a busy area while injured did not sound like a viable option to him, but at some point, he knew he might have to make a last stand. Footsteps began to approach the mouth of the corridor, causing Zyn's heart to thump in his chest while his thumb hovered over his weapon's activation switch.

"Would he have gone in here?" Thorne's voice asked.

"That's utility," the guard's voice answered. "Nothing but a dead end back that way. Smart money says he's still on the run."

"Or hiding and waiting for us to pass."

Zyn knew this was it, his chance to take down Thorne. Springing from cover while swinging his weapon sounded more and more like a good idea. Perhaps he could even take down a guard or two before more showed up. If they did, he was certain he’d wind up dead, but if they didn't, a getaway still might be possible. Quietly drawing in a deep breath, Zyn focused his anger for the mercenary captain and was about to leap out of the shadows when the guard's comlink crackled.

"Suspect spotted and headed toward Sector Seven."

"That's the other direction," the guard told Thorne. "And a high security area."

"Smart fish," Thorne muttered. "The one place we wouldn't look for him. Let's go."

The sound of their footsteps began to fade, meaning they were headed back in the direction they had originally come. Sighing audibly, Zyn pulled back his hood before sitting back on his haunches and reflecting on what he'd almost just done. Blowing his cover and taking down Thorne for what? A slim chance at escaping? Once again, his anger had gotten the better of him, and even though he often found it useful, he promised himself to at least attempt to keep it in check unless faced with an active threat.

Several minutes passed before he got up the nerve to poke his head out into the corridor. Workers still bustled about with their business, paying him no mind at all as the rushed tide of people continued on in both directions as far as the eye could see. Assuming no one was watching him now, he had a chance at a clean escape.

Pulling up his hood once more, he carefully stepped back into the corridor. Several people had to work their way around him as he continued to scan every face in his vicinity. None looked familiar, nor were they wearing the uniforms of Omega Company or Drive Yard Security. He was in the clear for now, and with that, he continued on in the opposite direction of Sector Seven.

Because of his injury, his walk was a slow one. Zyn found himself walking with a limp, and while he did his best to suppress it, he still found it drew more eyes to him that he cared for. His next objective had to be finding a ship capable of carrying him away, either down to the planet's surface or, ideally, to another world entirely. The only question left to him was whether it was better to pay for a fare or commandeer one for himself. Coming to the only docking bay he saw with the door open, he quickly slipped inside to see what was there.

The bay itself looked bare except for eight identical ships, the likes of which Zyn had never seen before. Each one looked to be laying horizontally with the cockpit window facing straight up. Two short wings stuck out from the sides of the main body in a T formation while sitting on what he could only describe as half-a-dome shape where he guessed the engines were located.
Taking a closer look, he noticed none of the ships were complete. Two were down to just a frame while several panels were missing from the others, exposing the internal workings to whoever might still be working on them. There seemed to be no weapons on any of these ships either, making Zyn reconsider whether these were even worth taking.

"Can I help you?" a voice called out from behind him.

Turning to see who was calling him, Zyn saw it was an older man dressed in a technician's gray jumpsuit. His white hair and beard stood in stark contrast to the dull, drab grays of their surroundings. He walked slowly, hunched over as if years of working on starships had permanently left him in the stooped position. He eyed Zyn with both suspicion and curiosity as he approached.

"What kind of ship is this?" Zyn asked, pushing the pain of his injury out of his mind.

"It's designated as a Firespray-31," the old man answered. "Patrol and attack craft originally designed for correctional use."

"It seems as if they've been here a while," Zyn remarked, turning his eyes back to the nearest one, which appeared more complete than the others, but still missing several panels.

"They have been. KSE mothballed the project after some idiot destroyed the original prototypes. These would've been the first complete models to be delivered had that not happened."

"I'm not sure any these qualify as complete," Zyn remarked, earning a loud, throaty laugh from the technician.

"They were at one point," he said. "I've been slowly deconstructing them as materials are needed."

"Will this one fly?" Zyn pointed to the one nearest him which looked mostly complete.

"It will, but I wouldn't fly it at any great speed in atmosphere. All these missing panels would give you some serious drag." Zyn felt the tech's eyes turn to him with curiosity. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a representative for a very wealthy individual who collects rare and unique starships," Zyn lied. He had no idea if his lie was believable, but he decided to run with it anyway. "I'm willing to offer you two hundred and fifty thousand credits for this one right here."

"I'd need to clear it with management. KSE still owns these scrap heaps."

"Discretion is an absolute must for my client," Zyn continued as he reached into his credit pouch. "And I'm willing to give you two hundred and fifty thousand, right now, if you ensure this went missing from the books."

Holding up the credits, he saw the tech's eyes go wide. It was possible this amount was more than this man had ever made in his lifetime. Zyn was hoping that was this case, as that fact would make this an easy sell, and he could be on his way without any more trouble.

"You've got a deal," the man finally said. "Let me give you the rundown."

Handing over the credits, Zyn couldn't believe the ease with which he was about to get a ship. Since he'd left the Order, he'd dreamed of owning his own ship and getting far away for Coruscant, the Jedi, and the war. What was planned for after leaving was still up in the air, however, as getting off that rock had seemed to be nothing but a pipe dream, at least until recently.

The technician walked him through all the controls of the ship, talking several times faster than he seemed to move. Slated to ship with ion cannons, torpedo launchers, and rotating blasters, the only thing Zyn heard that could possibly help him was the sensor jammer array concealed beneath the hull above the cockpit. With the briefing finished, he walked the technician back outside to ask for one last favor.

"Is there any way some of these missing panels can be replaced?" Zyn asked. "My client prefers his starships to be as complete as possible."

"It may take me a few hours," the tech said, scratching his head. "But I think I could do it."

"I would appreciate some haste, if you don't mind." Reaching back into his credit pouch, Zyn handed the man another hundred thousand credits.
"You got it, mister..."

"Zyn," he answered. "My name is Zyn."

"You got it, Mr. Zyn," the tech began to jabber once again. "I'll get this fixed up for you, ricky tick."

As the technician went to get his tools and the proper materials, Zyn went back to marveling at the ship he'd just purchased. Sure, it looked like a tub of junk, but if what the technician said was true, he'd be on his way to... where exactly? He hadn't the faintest idea where he would go, but for the time being, contacting Seela to see what she knew about the Omega Company would be a start.

"Hold it right there," a voice synthetic said behind him.

Turning slowly, he was met with a figure wearing the black armor of Omega Company, complete with the iconic T-shaped visor and blaster rifle aimed his way.

Since jumping on the preorder bandwagon (Emerald Butcher), I've been writing like crazy the past few days, so :o here's the second episode for the week. Enjoy:

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Zyn was surprised to see the Omega mercenary holding him at gunpoint. Their leader, along with Drive Yard Security, were headed in the opposite direction due to a misunderstanding with someone else dressed in a black cloak. How was it that this one was able to track him down while the others couldn’t? As he subtly reached for his weapon, the mercenary lowered his blaster before reaching up and removing his helmet.

“You look surprised to see me,” Wex said with a chuckle.

“I must admit that I am,” Zyn replied, not sure if he should be relieved. “You tracked me down while your allies weren’t able to.”

“Omega isn’t known for its scholars.”

An inadvertent laugh escaped Zyn’s lips as he ran through his options in his mind. Wex’s marksmanship had yet to be established, but if Thorne entrusted him with a blaster, at the very least, he knew how to use it. Maybe Zyn could even talk his way out of this jam, or perhaps let his lightsaber do the talking for him. As he reached for his weapon once again, however, Wex didn’t raise his blaster.

“I’d like to know,” Zyn continued to press the issue. “How did you know where I was when it was called in that I was headed to Sector Seven?”

“Who do you think called it in?” Wex asked, freezing Zyn.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“After the second explosion, two of my colleagues were muttering to themselves about the setup,” Wex explained while walking toward him. “They were also wondering whether they’d gotten me with the blast.”

“Why would they want to kill you?” he asked.

“Some of the guys in Omega fought against the pacifist government in the Mandalorian Civil War. My parents died defending the Duchess.”

Zyn had heard stories about the long, bloody civil war among the Mandalorians. In fact, during his time at the Academy, he’d heard stories about a skilled Jedi and his Padawan travelling to Mandalore to help with the insurgency. He never heard the outcome of the mission, however, so he had always assumed whoever had been sent there had failed.

"Why would you ever join up with the group of people responsible for your parents' deaths?" Zyn probed.

"Not everyone in Omega was part of the insurgency," Wex answered. "A lot of them are just like me with no homes to return to. We'd rather make money with our natural skills than do who knows what back on Mandalore."

Zyn understood completely, but where Wex had the courage to venture away from everything he'd ever known, Zyn couldn't bring himself to do it. Coruscant was home, whether he liked it or not. He often told himself it was out a misguided sense of longing to be back with the Jedi, but he knew better than to see that as anything other than a lie to himself.

"So what's your plan?" Wex asked, eyeing Zyn's new ship. "Take this hunk of junk back to the capital?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Zyn admitted.

"That'll be the first place they look when they can't find you here. And they'll come more heavily armed than they are now."

"Let them come," Zyn scoffed, annoyance bleeding through in his words. "I need the practice."

His earlier confrontation with Thorne was fresh in his mind. An armed enemy was able to walk up to Zyn and almost take him prisoner. Admittedly, taking on a platoon of armed mercenaries by himself was a losing battle, even letting it get that far was his own fault.

"Well," Wex started, drawing Zyn's eyes back to him. "It looks like you're going to get all the practice you want a little sooner than expected."

Following the mercenary's gaze, he noticed the technician, now on the far side of the bay, crouched behind one of the other ships with a comlink held up to his mouth. Wex's appearance had given away Zyn’s lie, and now it looked as if the technician was calling security. Anger exploded inside of him, causing him to march over to the old man with his lightsaber hilt in hand.

"I'm going to need you to return those credits," Zyn told the man, who was now holding his hands up in surrender. When he didn't do anything for a few seconds, Zyn activated his lightsaber and slammed the blade into the hull of the ship, slicing it cleanly and giving the tech a preview of what awaited him if he didn't comply. "Now!"

With fumbling hands, the old man retrieved the credit chips from his coverall pockets. Zyn snatched them up as quick as he could before turning back to the ship he was intent on taking. Wex was nowhere to be found, but as Zyn extinguished the blade and began his walk back toward his ship, Wex came running back from the direction of the door, donning his helmet once again.

"We need to go," he yelled.

Striding up the ramp, Zyn calmly made his way to the cockpit with Wex right behind him. As he strapped himself into the pilot's seat, he strained to remember everything the tech had told him about firing up the engines and taking off. A number of switches in front of him looked familiar, and so he began flipping them all on.

Several lights and displays came to life in front of Zyn's eyes. Multiple warnings flashed showing which pieces of the hull were missing, but the computer told him the ship could still fly. With a few more switches flipped, the ship itself began to vibrate as the engines warmed up.

"You better get this thing moving," Wex warned from his left. "It looks like the entire security force is heading this way."

"Strap yourself in," Zyn responded, grabbing the stick with his right hand while placing his left hand on what appeared to be a throttle.

The first blaster shot caused him to reflexively push forward on the throttle. The ship lurched upward from the floor, tossing Wex from the cockpit and back down into the cargo bay. Another warning flashed showing the boarding ramp was still open. Guessing wildly, Zyn flipped another switch, which had to be the right one as the warning quickly disappeared from the screen.

Hoovering above the floor, Zyn slowly pushed forward on the stick, righting the ship and allowing him to see several dozen security guards scattered about and aiming their blasters up at him.
He badly wished this ship had weapons, as clearly a show of force was needed. Putting such things out of his mind, he turned his eyes to see the hangar doors still closed.

"Think the ship will hold up if I ram the door?" Zyn asked Wex over his shoulder.

"I think it would have problems getting through the door if it were whole," Wex answered. "Doesn't this thing have any weapons?"

Frustration was setting in, and with it, his anger began to build once again. Silently, he cursed himself for getting into this situation. If he was stronger with the Force, perhaps he could use it to activate the console controlling the doors, or maybe even pry them open forcefully. Short of getting out of the ship, those seemed to be his only options.

With his anger swelling, he reached out with the Force and commanded it to obey. Initially, he felt a rejection of his command, only fueling his animosity further. Again, he reached out, this time pouring his hate for his weakness into his efforts and bending the Force to his will. This time, it responded.

A sickening groan emanated from the heavy metal doors, as if a monstrous beast were pushing on them from the outside. Through the windscreen in front of him, Zyn noticed the supports for the doors themselves had begun to buckle as if under some incredible strain. Holding up a hand as he often witnessed other Force users do, he further concentrated his anger using the memories of his failed Trial. He felt the power of the Force increase tenfold, and before long, the doors began to part.

Putting his hand back on the throttle, Zyn punched it toward the opening, praying it was wide enough for the ship to fit through. As the ship closed on the doors, he'd noticed they had stopped opening, and were being held open by the Force itself. Saying a silent thank you, Zyn piloted the ship through the opening and out into space before the doors slammed shut behind them.

"I knew it!" Wex exclaimed, joining Zyn in the cockpit once again. "You are a Jedi!"

"No, I'm not," Zyn responded as another warning began to flash in his display.

Three interceptors were closing quickly on the ship as Zyn did his best to stay as close as possible to the Drive Yards structure. Rumors abound about how well defended they were from an all out attack. Turbo laser batteries, ion cannons, and torpedo launchers all worked great against an enemy fleet at a distance, but at point blank range, Zyn knew they would be useless. The interceptors, however, posed a much different threat.

"A-6 interceptors," Wex remarked after studying the hologram of the three ships displayed to Zyn's left. "Fast, agile, and armed with a triple laser cannon."

"You know you ships," Zyn acknowledged. "Any idea what we can use on this one?"

"No," Wex answered. "If you don't have any guns, I would recommend running. Does this scrap heap have a hyperdrive?"

"Not sure."

Scanning the control panel, a small display screen to his right seemed to be the ticket. Bolts from the interceptors snapped past the ship as he thought of a place to go. They'd find him on Coruscant, of that he had no doubt. However, Seela was no longer there, meaning he had no real reason to return anyway.

Zyn pressed the throttle forward as far as it would go while pulling the stick in random directions. The ship pitched violently, throwing Wex around the cabin like a rag doll while Zyn did his best to outmaneuver his pursuers and think of somewhere to go. With his mind still on Seela, she had, once again, provided an answer for him.

"Kashyyyk it is," he mumbled to himself before setting his destination in the computer.

Several seconds later, a prompt to bank left appeared on the ship's heads up display. Zyn obliged, and once he had the right heading, a button on the throttle began to glow. Taking a deep breath, he depressed the button, causing the ship to accelerate violently into hyperspace.

Alone in the cockpit, Zyn sat in quiet reflection on what had happened at Kuat. The entire thing was a setup, but why? What possible gain could be had from setting up a failure of a Jedi for an egregious crime? Thorne was obviously in on it, but Zyn doubted he had the smarts to think it up on his own. Knowing what he did about Wex, the young man likely had no answers, but he decided to try anyway. Unbuckling himself, he climbed down into the cargo hold to find his new companion with his helmet off, tending to his wounds.

“That’s some flying you did there,” Wex grinned as blood dribbled from his nose. A dark bruise was already developing around his left eye and a pair of gashes were open on his lip and eyebrow.

“I got us out of there, didn’t I?” Zyn asked. A laugh erupted from Wex as he tipped his head back to stem the flow.

“Where are we going?”

“Kashyyyk, after a supply stop.”

“You do know that place is under siege right now, right?” Wex pointed out. “The CIS have invaded and set up a blockade. Last I’d heard, Republic forces were headed that way.”

“There’s someone there who needs to answer some questions,” Zyn explained.

“Look, boss, trudging into a war zone to play twenty questions isn’t the best move. Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of battles, and it’s nothing but chaos. Assuming whoever it is you’re looking for is still alive, it would be like looking for one specific needle in a stack of ten thousand.”

Wex had a point, but if there was one person Zyn knew was capable of surviving in a war zone, it was Seela. Getting down to the planet’s surface would be a challenge all its own, especially in this ship, as neither the Republic nor the Separatists were likely to let him land. That challenge aside, he also knew he couldn’t take Wex to such a place.

“Is there someplace you’d like me to take you?” Zyn asked, to which Wex shook his head.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he answered.

“Seems like we’ve got something on common, then,” Zyn chuckled, earning another laugh from the mercenary. Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed until Wex finally spoke up.

“You said earlier you weren’t a Jedi,” he started, causing Zyn to look up at his companion. “But if you’re not, how were you able to open those doors and why do you have a lightsaber?”

“I’m not sure how I opened the doors,” Zyn answered honestly, not wanting to delve into his history with a perfect stranger. “And the lightsaber is a long story.”

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for a while,” Wex smiled.

“Tell me what you know about what Omega was doing at the Drive Yards,” Zyn said, changing the subject.

“I just heard we were going to babysit some high roller for the IGB with a specialist coming along at the guy’s request.”

“But you heard it would be a setup, yes?”

“After the initial explosion.”

“Why would anyone want to set me up?” Zyn asked, more to himself than to Wex. “I’m not anyone of importance.”

“You said you weren’t a Jedi, right?” Wex asked, to which Zyn nodded. “Did Thorne know that?”

Thinking on Wex’s question, Zyn couldn’t say for sure whether the mercenary leader knew he wasn’t a Jedi. Likely it was him who had contacted Seela, but did she divulge that information? Either way, he needed to get into contact with his old friend if he wanted any kind of answers.

“Maybe they were trying to make the Jedi look bad,” Wex offered, interrupting Zyn’s thoughts. “You know, sow distrust to turn the Republic against them.”

“As I said, I’m not a Jedi,” Zyn pointed out.

“All that technician saw was a man with a lightsaber.”

Without any other explanation, Zyn had to agree. A lightsaber was the universal sign of the Jedi, and certainly no one knew or cared about their dropouts. If he had to guess, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of failed Jedi over the years, none of whom were known in the least. But who would benefit from running the Jedi name through the mud? Only one group came to mind.

“The Separatists,” Zyn finally said. “They had to be behind this.”

“Makes sense,” Wex nodded. “What do we do?”

“Make a pit stop on Commenor first to gather supplies,” Zyn started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Bad idea,” Wex said while shaking his head. “Speaking as a former member of Omega, I can tell you exactly what they're going to do. First, they'll send a large force to Coruscant to look for you, but smaller detachments will also be sent to the nearby planets.”

“It’ll be easy for us to blend in Commenor,” Zyn explained. “We can be in and out fast.” By the look on his face, Zyn suspected Wex had an argument, but to his surprise, he let it go.

“It’s your ship,” the mercenary resigned. “I’m just along for the ride.” An alert sounding from the cockpit drew Zyn’s attention upward.

Climbing gingerly back into the pilot’s seat while his wound still ached, Zyn checked the alert to see they were coming up on the trading post of Commenor. He agreed with his companion and disliked the idea of stopping so close to Kuat after their escape, but Zyn knew if they would need supplies if they were going to survive. Wex joined him as he brought the ship out of hyperspace, and was immediately hailed on the ship’s comlink.

“Unidentified ship,” a voice crackled. “You are on approach to Commenore. Identify yourself and state your business.” As Zyn reached for the comlink, Wex beat him to it and answered before Zyn could.

“This is Heap I,” Wex told the official while suppressing a laugh. “We've come under attack by pirates near Mawan and wish to land for repairs and to gather supplies.”

Several moments of silence followed while Wex continued to grin foolishly at Zyn. He had to hand it to the young man, he was a quick thinker if nothing else, but given his time in Omega, misleading others likely wasn’t his only skill. Perhaps, Zyn thought, it would be worth it to keep him around a while longer.

“Heap I, you are cleared to land in Chasin City,” the official explained. “Docking bay sixty eight.”

"Copy," Wex responded. "Bay sixty eight. Heap I out."

"Well done," Zyn commended his companion. "It seems like you've done this before." Already starting his climb down, Wex stopped and grinned once more.

"Once or twice." For the first time in a while, Zyn found himself smiling.

Without another word, Wex disappeared below deck to strap himself in as Zyn turned his eyes back through the windscreen. Countless ships were already in orbit around the brown planet, with even more shuttles ferrying people and goods down to its surface. Remembering what the technician from Kuat had told him, he slowed the ship as it began to enter the atmosphere.

"Hope you're buckled in down there," Zyn warned. "This could get a little rough." No answer came back, but Zyn trusted Wex was already secured.

Turning his eyes back to where he was going, the ship began to shake violently. Once again, Zyn pulled back on the throttle, slowing the ship more, but it did nothing to stop the constant buffeting in the rough air current. Several metallic groans sounded, making him wonder about the structural integrity of the ship.

A warning flashed on the display showing another hull panel had come loose. In all likelihood, it was no longer attached to the ship and was probably burning up as it fell from the sky. Zyn could only hope the ship would escape the same fate and safely deliver them to the ground. A loud bang was followed by yet another warning, and once he extinguished the alarm, he was able to hear Wex down below.

"Hey, boss!" the mercenary yelled. "We've got a serious problem down here!" Looking over his shoulder, Zyn saw immediately what Wex was referring to.

A large chunk of the hull was missing, allowing friction flames to enter the cargo hold. More groans sounded as the ship shook harder and Zyn turned back to the instruments. It seemed the entire hologram of the ship was flashing along with multiple warnings and alerts. It was as he feared: they were breaking up. Grabbing the comlink, Zyn quickly sent out a distress signal.

"Mayday, mayday," he started. "This is Heap I, on approach to Chasin City. We've received heavy damage and are coming apart." Silence followed, making him wonder if the ship's communication system had been damaged.

"Heap I, this is Chasin Control, we have a visual," a voice replied. "There is a bounce pad on the edge of the city to the west. Try to hit that if you can."

Checking his instruments, Zyn had no idea which way was west or what a bounce pad even was. He imagined a long stretch of some kind of soft material designed to catch crashing star ships. Knowing his luck probably wasn't that good, he pulled back on the throttle once more, bringing the engines to idle as the ship continued to fall.

"Control, that's not going to happen," Zyn responded. "I'm coming down right on top of bay sixty eight." Another loud bang sounded, but before he could register what it was, the ship began to spin uncontrollably.

"There goes a wing," Wex shouted from below. "Say a prayer to whatever gods you have, boss. We're coming in way too hot."

Shoring up his grip on the stick, Zyn did his best to combat the natural spin of the ship as it fell. Nothing was responding, except the gravity of the planet, pulling them toward what was likely certain death. Closing his eyes, Zyn reached out with the Force once more.

The ship was far beyond anything he had attempted to control before, but he knew he at least had to make an attempt. As he concentrated, he felt the life of the planet below and the fear coming from his companion. Becoming one with the Force was nothing to be afraid of, but the thought of leading Wex to his death after receiving help from him did not sit well in Zyn’s mind.

As the ground grew closer, the Force failed to respond to his commands at all. Frustration rose once again, fueling his anger and leading to another attempt to bend the Force to his will. Rage swelled within him, and before long, he felt a small, nearly insignificant response. Before he could close his concentration around it, however, the ship slammed into the landing pad.

The sound of metal being ripped apart filled Zyn's ears. The impact jarred every bone in his body, but the safety belts of the seat held firm. He was tumbling, his arms and legs fluttering about uncontrollably. As he reached out with the Force once more, he was suddenly stopped as if his seat had snagged on something. The belts dug deep into his flesh as his momentum slowed, only releasing him when he'd stopped completely.

Every bone and muscle in his body was in pain, but from what he could tell, nothing was broken. He carefully unbuckled himself from the seat, and as he slowly got to his feet, he took stock of his surroundings. The ship was reduced to nothing more than a scattered pile of scrap with few pieces even recognizable from their original state. The frame of the ship was there, bent into a twisted mass of metal and wires while no longer supporting any other structure. One key piece of the ship was also missing.

"Wex?" Zyn called out, doubting he would hear a reply.

"Here," a synthetic voice croaked from Zyn's left.

Hurrying over to where he thought the voice came from, he came upon a large piece of the ship's hull. Nothing that looked like his companion was around it, but after another groan sounded, Zyn quickly figured it out. Bending down with pain searing from the blaster injury, he grabbed a hold of the metal and used every ounce of his strength to turn it over.

Wex was on his back, still clad in his black armor, including his helmet, which now had a long, deep scratch across the face. Had he not been wearing it, Zyn feared what little of his friend’s face would remain. Pushing such thoughts out of his head, he let go of the debris, which responded with a loud clatter of its own.

"Nice job," Wex groaned as Zyn helped him to his feet.

"I’m not a pilot," Zyn told him, earning a laugh.

"You’re not a Jedi, you’re not a pilot," Wex teased as they both gingerly walked away from the debris. “What are you then?”

“I wish I knew.”

Walking slowly to the edge of the wreck, Zyn helped lower his friend to the ground before joining him. Together, they surveyed the damage and laughed about how they’d survived against the odds. Before long, rescue crews began to show up and assess the situation, likely looking to Zyn for an explanation of what happened.

Well, it's Thursday, and you know what that means: another Untouchable chapter.

_____________________________________________________________________

Several hours were spent with both the rescue crews and security officers of Commenore’s Chasin City. Zyn and Wex were interviewed together, separate, and every other way the investigators could think of trying to uncover any inconsistencies in their stories, but for the time being, it seemed Wex’s version aligned with his own. The news from Kuat hadn’t reached Commenore yet, but he knew they had to find a way off of this world before it all changed.

“You’re both free to go,” one investigator told Zyn as another walked Wex back from his own interview with his helmet tucked under his arm. “As the saying goes, don’t leave town.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but that’s our ship,” Wex told the authority, pointing to the pile of metal now being gathered for scrap by a fleet of droids. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere.”

Zyn did his best to hide his smirk as he learned they had more and more in common with each passing minute. The investigator obviously didn’t appreciate Wex’s comments, and moved to get in his face. Zyn, however, cut him off by raising an arm to keep them separated.

“You’ll have to excuse my companion,” Zyn told the irate man. “He still has much work to do regarding his manners.”

“Then I suggest, as his master, you see to it he gets the proper discipline he needs,” the investigator barked. “Before it gets you both into trouble.” Spinning on his heel, the investigator stomped off with his partner to find someone else to shout at while Zyn was left with the young mercenary.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Wex grinned, evoking a silent chuckle from Zyn. “And since when are you my master?”

“I’m not,” Zyn replied as he turned away from what was left of their ship and began to walk.

The idea of him being the young man’s master was foolish, at best. His limited time at as a Padawan ensured Zyn could only teach the bare minimum of skills to Wex, just enough to make him a danger to himself and others. Of course, there was no telling if he was even Force-sensitive to begin with. He was absolutely too old, as the masters of the Jedi would have certainly said, but something about the mercenary wouldn’t let Zyn put the subject to rest.

“So,” Wex started as he ran to catch up. “What’s our next move?”

“You’re still sticking with me?” Zyn asked, slightly amused. “After I almost got you killed several times?”

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Wex was wearing another foolish grin with his arms out at his sides.

“And if you’d like to keep it that way, I suggest you find your own transport off world.”

“I told you,” Wex argued. “I’ve got nowhere else to go, so sticking with you is as good as it gets.”

A sigh emerged from Zyn as he did his best to quell the frustration rising within him. Wex was only doing what was best for himself, and Zyn had to do his best to remember the mercenary was acting just as a mercenary would. He was ensuring his own survival.

“So be it,” Zyn murmured to himself before turning back to Wex. “First, we gather supplies. We’re not going to last long without food. Then, we catch the next transport off this rock.”

“And if we’re stopped by security?” Wex asked. Zyn shrugged.

“They couldn’t stop me on Kuat. What makes you think they’ll stop me here?”

The argument was put to bed as they walked out into the city in search of supplies. Countless people of all races were walking about in Chasin City, tending to their own business while street vendors attempted to interrupt their journeys to peddle whatever it was they were selling. Traders continued to negotiate their goods and prices as the two companions slipped nearly unseen between them in search of their goal.

“There,” Wex pointed to a large sign at the end of the street they were walking. “We’ll get everything we need at Plenty’s.”

Plenty’s looked to be a large food store, and judging from their storefront, it had to be the best there was. What looked to be a warehouse was now converted into one of the largest single stores Zyn had ever seen. As they walked in, they were greeted by all manner of food, along with countless people wandering the isles in search of their own meals. Coming back to his senses, Zyn pulled Wex close.

“Find something easy for travel,” he ordered the mercenary as he pulled a pair of credit chips from his belt pouch. Taking the credits in his hand, Wex gave him a nod.

“Meet you at the entrance. Be quick.”

Without another word, Wex set off to the right while Zyn went left. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was looking for, as he wasn’t sure what kind of ship they would find to carry them away. Food pellets would be ideal, he knew, but he wasn’t sure if such things could be found outside of the Jedi’s commissary.

Turning down one of the more busy aisles, Zyn found countless forms of food spread out in displays in front of him. What appeared to be trays of flash frozen meat were along the left while some kind of plant-based food were aligned along the right. All manner of creatures shuffled about, picking out their chosen products and placing them into baskets they carried around whatever type of limbs they had. Most seemed to be stocking up as Zyn looked to do, as if they all were planning on extended trips across the galaxy.

As he bent over one of the displays and was reaching for what looked to be a bag of smoked meat, the feeling began gnawing at his mind again. He remembered it from before, the alley on Coruscant and the ship on Kuat, but neither of those were as strong as this feeling. Danger was coming, of that he was sure, and it was close, imminent, in fact. He had to find Wex.

Slipping between the people in the aisle as quickly as he could, Zyn made his way toward the rear of Plenty’s. As he came out of the aisle, he noticed there were even more people shuffling through even more displays of food. None of them were his companion, but as he continued his search, the black-armored Wex came out from another aisle, this time wearing his helmet. The T-visor was being swept from side to side, searching every face in the area. As Zyn was about to call out to his friend, the feeling became even stronger.

Zyn froze, unsure of what exactly this feeling meant. The mercenary’s vision continued to scan every face in his area, and as he drew closer, the feeling of wrongness grew more. The Force was speaking to him, telling him something about his friend, now only a few meters away and closing. Finally turning in his direction, Zyn noticed the helmet was missing the deep scratches it had gained in the crash. This mercenary was not Wex.

Before he could react, a hand grabbed a hold of his cloak from behind and Zyn was pulled into a back room of the store. Another set of black armor entered his vision. With a swift flick of his wrist, he pulled his lightsaber hilt from his belt and, while aiming the emitter at his new foe’s head, pressed the activation switch with his thumb.

The orange blade emerged in an instant, banishing the shadows of the storeroom and bathing everything in its amber glow. The body of whoever had grabbed him hit the floor, likely with a smoking hole where their face had once been, but that was the least of Zyn’s problems. Omega had already found him.

Extinguishing his blade, he moved back toward the door he was pulled through while still keeping the hilt at the ready. There was no telling how many mercenaries were in the store, or how many innocents there were. Starting a fight was far from a good idea, but it was better than being captured. He was about to step back into the store when he sensed motion behind him. Spinning on his heel, he reactivated his lightsaber and pointed it back at the downed mercenary’s head.

“Whoa!” the familiar synthetic voice said through the helmet. “It’s me!”

The mercenary scrambled to remove the scratched helmet as Zyn continued to hold the blade inches from his face. It made no sense that this man was still alive. Even the fastest reflexes in the galaxy could’ve escaped that blow. As the visor slipped off the head, a stunned Wex looked up at him.

“Is that how you say ‘thanks’ where you’re from?” Wex asked, eyeing the blade. Zyn quickly extinguished it before replacing it on his belt and moving to help his friend to his feet.

“How did I miss you?” Zyn asked.

“I had a hunch you’d try something,” Wex answered, readying his blaster and moving to the door. “A feeling in my gut told me you’d try to take my head off, but can we talk about this later? Omega Company is here.”

“I saw one,” Zyn told him. “Looking for me in the aisles. How did they find us so quickly?”

“I told you one of the first things they’d do is send a small force here.”

“How many is small?”

“Six, if I had to guess,” Wex said before sticking his head out of the storeroom.

If his companion was right, six could easily be handled, but at what cost? Any disruption would bring the security forces of yet another planet down on them, and that was the last thing they needed. An escape was the best option, first from the store, and then from Commenore.

“There’s three here clearing the store,” Wex whispered, ducking back into the storeroom. “What do you want to do?”

“We need to leave,” Zyn answered. “Quietly.”

“I don’t see us getting out of here without a fight,” Wex said.

Of course the hammer would see every problem as a nail, but try as it might, it still can’t pound the bolt into the frame. A more delicate touch was needed, as was the case here. ‘Brains before blasters’ his master had once told him, but after Zyn pointed out the Jedi don’t use blasters, all it had earned him was a smack on the head and a lecture about not taking every lesson so seriously. But he had learned the lesson, no matter how much his master had doubted him.

“I have an idea,” Wex finally said, snapping Zyn out of his own head. “We’re going to hand you over to them.”

“What!?” Zyn balked with a raised voice.

“Think about it,” Wex started. “I will take you to them, we’ll both go on their ship, at which point we can overpower them and take it for ourselves.”

“What makes you think they won’t execute me the minute I’m in custody?”

“They’re mercenaries. They won’t do anything except deliver you to whoever will pay the most.”

Taking a step back, Wex had had a point. The only way Omega would harm him is if he fought back. Thorne wanted to take him back to the Banking Clan for trial, at which point he’d be paid a rather large sum. Putting himself a risk didn’t sound like a good idea to Zyn, but as he studied Wex, another idea came into his own head.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Zyn said, slipping off his cloak. “Give me your armor.”

Happy Thursday!

_____________________________________________________________________

“My armor!?” Wex balked. “Why do you need it?”

“Whoever has me in custody will have my weapon,” Zyn explained. “I’m assuming you don’t know how to use one.”

“Not at all,” Wex replied. “But no one wears my armor but me.”

“And no one besides me handles my lightsaber,” Zyn argued. “It seems we’ve hit an impasse.”

Wex opened his mouth to speak, but quickly thought better of it. Zyn knew his logic was solid, and was confident his companion would come to see it, as well. Several tense moments followed, but ultimately, Wex let out a long sigh before speaking.

“You’re right,” he conceded as he began to strip off his armor. “There’s less moving parts if I’m you and you’re me.”

As Wex’s armor came off, Zyn began to fasten it on himself. They were about the same height, meaning it wouldn’t be hard to pass as one another at first glance, but where they differed was in sheer muscle mass. Wex, being a mercenary, was more muscular than the slender Zyn, meaning the latter’s cloak would fit less than ideally while Zyn hoped his companion’s armor wouldn’t dangle off of his frame.

“At least the armor fits,” Wex remarked, throwing Zyn’s cloak around his shoulders and pulling it close to his body. “This cloak, on the other hand, might not work.”

Zyn stifled a laugh as he watched Wex struggle to move while wearing the black fabric. The muscles of his arms were barely contained by it, and it looked more of a cape than a cloak. With the hood raised, however, Wex could easily pass for a Jedi dropout posing as a wanderer. Still laughing to himself, Zyn slipped the Mandalorian helmet over his head.

The inside of the helm reeked of sweat that likely hadn’t been cleaned in ages. He found his breathing hampered nearly as much as his vision, and silently wondered to himself why anyone would choose to wear this ridiculous armor. Fastening his lightsaber back to his own belt, he looked back at the disguised mercenary.

“Ready?” he asked. The synthetic version of his own voice surprised him.

“Here,” Wex answered, tossing Zyn his blaster rifle. “You’ll need to hold this on me to complete the picture. Just don’t let me get killed.”

“Don’t do something foolish, and you’ll be fine.”

“We need to take down one of the guys who came here, or they’re going to be one heavy on the ship,” Wex pointed out. “Fire a couple of shots into the floor over there. That should get the attention of the one still in the store.”

Nodding, Zyn turned the blaster away from the door and placed his finger on the trigger. Unlike some of his former brethren, he didn’t mind using blasters when he had to. There was a time and place for such things, but given the choice, he’d prefer his blade to a blaster. Taking another breath, he quickly squeezed the trigger.

The shot of the blaster was much louder than Zyn anticipated. Likely it had gotten the attention of everyone in the store, but the sound of panicking shoppers was notably absent. He fired off two more shots, followed by a fourth before screams began pouring through closed doorway.

“Shots fired inside Plenty’s,” a voice shouted from outside the storeroom. “Sounds like one of ours.”

Turning his weapon toward the door, Zyn waited in ambush. To his surprise, Wex was approaching him quickly. Before Zyn could ask what he was doing, Wex spun himself around and dropped to his knees while placing his hands on his head. The door slowly swung open as another member of Omega Company pushed through the door with his blaster raised, but lowered it when he saw the fugitive had been captured.

“Nice work,” the newcomer told Zyn. “Boss will give you a nice cut of wherever we get for him.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Zyn replied before turning his attention back to Wex. “On your feet.”

Slowly and carefully, Wex got back to his feet. The other mercenary had already raised his blaster, understandably wary of the person in front of him. As he approached, he turned his attention back to Zyn.

“Did you check him for weapons?”

“He dropped this,” Zyn answered, holding up the lightsaber hilt. “I haven’t checked him for anything else.”

“Do it,” the merc ordered.

“Do it yourself,” Zyn shot back. “I’ve got him covered from here.” A sigh came from the mercenary as he stopped directly in front of Wex.

“Move a muscle and we’ll be collecting the bounty on your corpse,” he told Wex.

Letting his blaster hang from a shoulder strap, the mercenary began to pat down his former comrade. He started with the waistline before moving to the chest and then each sleeve. It wasn't until he crouched down and started running his hands along Wex's legs did Zyn's companion finally make a move.

In a flash, Wex threw his knee forward, connecting with the mercenary's face and sending him onto his back. Before he could even react, Zyn was standing over top of him with the blaster pointed at his head. He badly wanted to pull the trigger for being setup by this group, but Wex's outstretched hand grabbed the top of the blaster, preventing him from taking the shot.

"Don't," he warned. "They'll hear the shot."

"So what do we do?" Zyn asked, standing down.

"This."

Winding up with his leg, Wex delivered a brutal kick to the downed merc's head. A sickening crunch was heard as the helmet cracked and the force of the blow sent its owners head in an unnatural direction. After settling, the mercenary moved no more.

"Let's go," Wex nodded before staring for the door.

The two companions exited the storeroom to see the doorway surrounded by Omega Company mercenaries, all with their weapons trained their way. Zyn fought the urge to raise his hands in surrender until he noticed Wex already had his hands over his head. Putting a hand of his own on his captive’s back, Zyn shoved him forward.

"Got him," Zyn told the troop of no more than eight. This would be a challenge, for sure, but nothing he couldn't handle, assuming all went according to plan.

"Good work," the lieutenant said, approaching with his blaster still leveled at Wex. "Captain Thorne will be pleased."

"I'll be expecting a better cut than usual," Zyn said, earning a laugh from the lieutenant.

"You’ll get it," he chuckled. "He do that to your face?"

“Uh, yeah,” Zyn lied, forgetting all about the damage caused from the crash. “Got in a lucky swipe but I was able to disarm him after that.”

“Bet that made your exhaust port pucker,” the lieutenant laughed, earning snickers from the other men in his troop. “Let’s get him back to the ship.”

The walk back to the docking bay was a slow, arduous one. Every one of the other mercenaries kept their weapon on Wex, who walked slowly and deliberately to keep from being shot. Zyn couldn't blame him and would have done exactly the same thing had he been the prisoner.

Moving into the assigned bay, the troop was approaching a yet another ship Zyn had never seen before. Mostly light gray with blue accents, the wings pointed straight up while the ship was landed, and also appeared to rotate around the main hull while in flight. Twin laser cannons stuck out from the front while another pair were attached to the rear. Everything about this ship screamed Mandalorian, at least to Zyn.

"Kom'rk-class," Wex muttered. "Fast for its size."

"And it needs a four-man crew," the lieutenant interrupted. "So don't even think about hijacking it. Now shut up and walk."

Throwing an elbow into Wex's back, he staggered forward uneasily, almost falling over. Again, Zyn fought an urge that would've blown his cover. Instead, he stooped forward, grabbed a handful of his own cloak, and pulled Wex back upright. Leaning into his shoulder, Zyn whispered his plan.

"Get up the ramp and onto the ship," he started. "Then, we strike."

There was no reaction from Wex, making Zyn question whether he'd even heard what was said. Rather than risk blowing their cover, he pressed on with a hand on Wex's shoulder. As they each set a foot on the ramp, someone running toward them and yelling incomprehensible words grabbed everyone's attention.

"Hey!" a young girl shouted.

Turning to face the mercenaries, Zyn noticed them all looking around at each other in confusion. The lieutenant approached the girl, holding up a hand while keeping his blaster pointed toward the sky. A few words were exchanged, after which the lieutenant turned back to the group and approached slowly.

"She says there's another one of our brother back at Plenty's," he explained as he turned his eyes to Zyn. "Was there someone with you in that room, Gert?"

"She must be mistaken," Zyn answered. "We're all here."

One of the other mercenaries squared up to him while leaning in close, as if attempting to see through the visor of his helmet. The nagging feeling in Zyn's head had returned, this time stronger than ever. This was it, the time to strike.

Pushing the blaster in his hand behind him, he didn't wait for Wex to catch it before drawing his lightsaber and igniting the blade. Those closest to him jumped back as the glow reflected in each of their visors. None dared move, except for one fool to Zyn's right who was already raising his own weapon.

The bolt was easily deflected into the floor by a shift of Zyn's body. As he closed to finish off the shooter, his attention was turned to the other mercenaries backing away. Every one of them had their blasters pointed at him.

Rethinking his plan of attack, he squared the blade up to the nearest enemy. A blaster bolt screamed from his left, but rather than strike him, the bolt punched a hole straight through the lieutenant's visor, dropping him to the ground before he realized what had happened. Half of the remaining mercenaries tuned to face the new threat while the remaining ones still focused on Zyn.

Striking faster than any of them could react, he took down one after the other as blaster bolts flew wildly in every direction. Bodies littered the floor as he stepped between them, intent on finishing the remaining mercenaries. Turning his gaze back to Wex, he saw his companion firing from the top of the ship's boarding ramp.

Zyn set his eyes on the nearest remaining Omega. His target was distracted by Wex, giving him the perfect opportunity to attack. He wanted to kill them all, his hate for them swelling and fueling his stamina like nothing else could. These men had been involved in the setup of an innocent. Zyn had no idea which ones were present on Kuat, or if any of them even knew about it, but as far as he was concerned, they were all guilty.

A scream of rage erupted from his lips as he cut every one of the mercenaries down, one by one. Every weapon that was raised in defense or hand in surrender became a victim to Zyn’s fury. Down they fell until none were left. None, except the one he considered his companion, now standing at the top of the ship’s loading ramp in stunned silence. Or was it fear? Zyn’s chest heaved with every breath he took as the hum of his lightsaber was the only sound in the bay.

Extinguishing the blade, he closed his eyes to focus on calming himself. As he stood there motionless, he felt the Force calling to him, whispering its unknowable language in his ear. An unexplainable sense of cold had enveloped him. It was different from the rare swaths of warmth he’d felt during his training at the Academy. It was harder, with edges and teeth, but he could not say it was unpleasant. It was acceptance, something he’d never felt from the Force before, and it left him with a high he felt nothing else could deliver.

“I need more,” he muttered to himself as he opened his eyes and moved to join Wex on the ship.

My apologies for not posting last week, but I was traveling for work. Have a catch-up episode on the house.

______________________________________________________________________________

The cold feeling from the Force had already begun to fade as Zyn walked past his companion and onto the Omega Company ship. Looking back on what he’d done, it frightened him, but not nearly as much as the post-slaughter chill that had overtaken him. As he slid himself into an empty seat, Wex moved to the cockpit door and opened it before barking an order.

“Take off.”

After a few moments, the ship lifted off from the docking bay and began to climb. Zyn had thought to ask who was flying, but his thoughts about what he’d done still weighed heavily on mind. He knew exactly what had happened. The dark side had embraced him, taken over, in fact, and while the thought of it certainly concerned him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to deny the power it gave him.

“Do you want to explain what happened down there?” Wex asked.

“What do you mean?” Zyn asked, feigning ignorance.

“It seemed like you went a little berserk. I’ve heard of guys doing it on the battlefield, bloodlust I think it’s called, but never in a small skirmish like that.”

“I did what needed to be done.” The calmness with which he said the words seemed to surprise Wex. Knowing exactly where he was going with this conversation, he quickly changed the subject. “How is this ship flying? The lieutenant said it needed four to fly.”

“Easy,” Wex grinned. Taking a step toward the cockpit door, he slid it open to reveal two droids.

One was easily identifiable as FA-4 pilot droid. With its ball-like head, slender frame, and extensive use on Coruscant, Zyn would know the model anywhere. The other, however, was a CIS battle droid, but with the difference of blue markings on its shoulders and lower torso. He was surprised to see one by itself, and couldn’t help but wonder of Omega Company was working for the Separatists.

“Is that…” he moved to ask, but Wex cut him off.

“A Confederate pilot droid? Yes. Omega commandeered a shipment of these from the Separatists and reprogramed them to work for us.” The droid must’ve heard them talking about it, as it turned its head to listen in.

“Identify yourself,” Zyn ordered the machines.

“RB-322,” the CIS droid answered, while the FA-4 answered in its typical gibberish of beeps and buzzes.

“Does this ship have provisions?” Zyn asked.

“Yes, sir,” RB-322 said. “Enough for twelve men to last several weeks.”

“Sounds like we’re set for a while,” Wex added. “Let’s get out of here before security shows up. Set a course for Kashyyyk.”

“What about the rest of the squad?” the droid protested.

“This man right here,” Wex started, pointing to Zyn with an open hand. “Just dismantled the Omega Company squad single handedly. Would you like to be next on his list, Arby?”

The pilot droid didn’t move at all, as if it were actually contemplating the decision. Likely it had no idea what had transpired outside the ship just minutes ago, as if it did, it would’ve known what Wex had said wasn’t the whole truth. As the moments passed, Zyn’s frustration got the better of him, causing him to pull the lightsaber hilt from his belt.

“Roger, roger,” the droid responded after seeing the weapon in Zyn’s hand.

Zyn and Wex strapped themselves into a seat as the ship left Commenore’s atmosphere without trouble. Security was either too late or hadn’t been informed of the skirmish that had just taken place. Just as well, as Zyn felt he’d had enough run-ins with planetary security for the time being.

Instead, he returned to his thoughts about his actions. They were wrong, of that there was no doubt. At least two mercenaries had attempted to surrender, but Zyn had cut them down as if they were still in the fight. Replaying the events in his mind brought forth another memory, that of his failed Trial. That was the last time he saw the darkness within himself.

"So about what happened," Wex stated lightly, but still ended up testing Zyn's patience.

"I know it was wrong," Zyn snapped. "The last two had thrown down their weapons and were trying to surrender but I cut them down anyway."

Breathing heavily with impatience, Zyn returned his head to his hands and his eyes to the floor. If he could have, he would've left Wex behind on Commenore. His place in the galaxy wasn't with a fugitive Jedi dropout walking the path to the dark side. He'd be much better suited someplace else.

"That's not what I was going to ask," Wex said, interrupting Zyn's thoughts.

"Then just ask," Zyn responded without picking up his head.

"Can you teach me to do that?"

The young man's question came as a surprise to Zyn, so much so that he snapped his head up to get a look at Wex's face and gauge whether or not it was a serious question. He couldn't possibly have heard that correctly. Was he really asking to be trained in lightsaber combat?

"Come again?" Zyn asked.

"A dozen men armed with blasters couldn't take you down," Wex clarified. "If you're not a Jedi, I need an explanation, and if you’re up for it, I’d like you to train me in your ways."

Zyn let out a long sigh as he sat back in his seat. No one outside of the Jedi Order knew exactly what he was or why he was no longer with them. He vowed never to reveal himself to anyone, but given what he'd put Wex through, he felt he at least owed his companion that much. It wasn't until Wex huffed and got back to his feet, clearly not expecting an answer, that Zyn began his explanation.

"I was training to become a Jedi," Zyn started, stopping Wex in his tracks. "I had been since I was very young, until a year ago."

"I knew it!" Wex blurted excitedly as he slipped back into his seat. "That's how you can do those things."

"I was never really skilled with the Force, and failed one of my most critical trials. Nearly everyone who fails this Trial is left mentally broken, and I was no exception. The friend we’re attempting to locate pulled me back from the madness. Saved my life, in fact. But rather than join the Service Corp, I chose to strike out on my own."

"What happened in the Trial?" Wex probed. Zyn noticed the mercenary was perched on the edge of his seat, as if the story held some kind of excitement.

"I saw things."

It was the only thing he could bring himself to say about it. Talking about the visions would mean reliving them, and he was afraid of what kind of state he'd be left in if he were to revisit those demons. If Seela were here, perhaps an attempt could be made, but he dare not tread down that path again with her by his side.

"Fair enough," Wex nodded. "Where would you land on training me?"

"I know enough about the Force to be dangerous," Zyn explained. "Both to others and to myself. A perfect example is what I did to your former comrades."

"I admit, you did go a bit berzerk," Wex said, giving Zyn a sinking feeling. "But even the most tried and tested battle commanders can still fall victim to it. That's one reason why they train up good lieutenants. Having subordinates around tends to keep you in check."

With a statement like that, Zyn knew Wex had been on his way to becoming a commander, despite his relatively short time with Omega Company. He could have had a long, if not illustrious, military career, perhaps even worthy of a mention in the history books someday. Instead, he chose Zyn, and had the gall to ask for training he was far too old to receive in the first place.

"I will think on it," Zyn finally answered after several moments of silence. "A certain set of skills is needed, and if you don’t have them, I’m afraid training will be of little use to you."

"Understood," Wex nodded, getting back to his feet. "I'm going to go check our ETA to Kashyyyk.”

Leaving Zyn to his thoughts once again, Wex closed the door to the cockpit behind him. Was he too old? Certainly age was an issue when being considered for the Jedi Academy, but as far as he was concerned, it was better to instill the Jedi dogma into the head of a child than an adolescent, as religious zealots had done for millennia. However, as he’d pointed out countless times over the past few days, Zyn was no Jedi, and therefore had no reason to follow their doctrines to the letter.

Unbuckling himself and climbing to his feet, Zyn walked the short distance to the cockpit. He opened the door as the ship came out of hyperspace a fair distance from the blue gem among the blackness of space that was Kashyyyk. The Wookie home world was said to be beautiful on the surface, covered with sprawling jungles and forests. He’d long wanted to set foot on it, to see such flora in their natural state, and the possibility of making it a reality left his heart fluttering with excitement.

“The planet is under heavy siege,” Arby announced as they made their approach. “Multiple Republic and Confederate ships are in orbit and engaged in combat, as well as significant fighting on the surface.”

“Meaning we won’t be able to get close without becoming a target,” Wex added with humor in his voice before turning to Zyn. “Any ideas?”

“We’re already on their scopes,” Zyn answered. “Slow to half speed and approach the Republic fleet. It won’t be long before we’re hailed.”

“I’m not sure approaching during a battle is a good idea,” Wex commented, but Zyn chose to ignore it as the ships drew closer.

“Unidentified vessel,” the ship’s comlink said. “You are approaching a Republic battle formation. Turn away or you will be fired upon.”

“I am a representative of the Jedi Council on an urgent request to locate Jedi Padawan Seela Me,” Zyn answered, drawing looks from both Wex and Arby. “Requesting permission to land on the planet’s surface.”

“Standby on approach,” the voice said before the comlink went silent.

Several minutes passed as the mercenary ship continued to draw closer to one of the Republic cruisers. Zyn stood in awe of the massive piece of machinery in front of them, hanging back from the rest of the fleet to protect its flanks. In the distance, several cruisers were engaging Confederate ships while countless fighters were dogfighting with each other with flashes of green and red lasers flying in every direction.

“I don’t like this,” Wex murmured, his eyes glued to the battle.

Zyn wasn’t sure what Wex had to be unsure about. The ship they’d been hailed from was following the textbook when it came to unidentified ships within a combat zone. Closing his eyes and reaching out with the Force, he didn’t sense anything unusual as they continued their approach. The FA-4 droid interrupted the silence with its indecipherable chirping.

“Sir,” Arby said. “We’ve received a signal originating from Coruscant.”

It was then Zyn felt the feeling return, ten-fold more distracting than it had been before. Something was extremely wrong, but as per usual, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. After hearing the planet’s name, he felt a strong urge was compelling him to return to the capital. Or was it just telling him to flee Kashyyyk?

“Interceptors inbound!” Wex shouted, pulling Zyn back into the moment.

“Locking on,” Arby warned.

“Get us out of here,” Wex barked at the droids. “Go to Coruscant.”

“It will take a few minutes to make the calculations to get to hyperspace,” Arby rebutted.

“We’ll buy you the time. Just don’t get us killed.” Grabbing Zyn by the arm, Wex pushed him through the door of the cockpit before letting it close behind them. “I hope you can shoot better than you fly.”

As Wex pulled Zyn toward the forward battery of the ship, his thoughts turned to what exactly was happening. Republic interceptors were on approach to attack a ship carrying a representative to the Jedi Council. The only way any of it made sense to him is that they had saw through his lie and assumed he was part of the Confederacy.

“I don’t think firing on Republic ships is going to help our cause,” Zyn explained as they stopped in front of the gunner’s seat.

“We’re defending ourselves,” Wex responded. “Don’t fire unless fired upon. It will at least give us some argument for innocence should we get out of this.” Before he could argue his companion’s point, Wex turned on his heel and ran toward the rearward turret.

Sighing audibly to no one, Zyn slipped himself into the seat. A small headset was hanging from the bulkhead to his right, which he slipped on before taking the controls of the ship’s guns. A small screen came to life in front of him, which he guessed was a targeting system. Pulling the controls to his left, the seat swiveled within the battery, keeping the gunner’s sight in line with the twin barrels at all times.

In front of him, Kashyyyk itself was disappearing as Arby adjusted the ship’s course. Only two of the Republic cruisers were still in view, but they too were soon going to be out of sight. From the looks of it, Zyn would only get a shot at the interceptors if they flew by or came at them head on.

“Fighters closing,” Arby chirped in Zyn’s ear.

“I see them,” Wex answered. “Angle the deflector shield and let’s get out of here.”

Zyn was pushed back into his seat as the ship accelerated as quickly as the ship he’d taken from Kuat, but nowhere near as violent in its delivery. It was night and day difference, and it made him feel glad they’d upgraded their transportation. Having no frame of reference, he had no idea how fast the ship was actually moving, but if he had to guess, they were leaving the interceptors behind.

“Here they come,” Wex said through the intercom. “Four bandits total. One at three, one at nine, and two more at six.”

Remembering his lessons on space combat, Zyn noted Wex was calling out where the interceptors were coming from. It was a classic pincer formation: two came right at the target while the other two flanked from opposite directions. It was designed for one purpose: overwhelm and destroy.

“Arby,” Zyn called to the pilot droid. “Turn toward a single fighter and angle the deflector shield against the two. Wex, you take the rear one, I’ll take the lead.”

“Roger, roger,” Arby responded before banking the ship right.

“Don’t fire!” Wex reminded Zyn.

“Just lock on to them,” Zyn replied. “Maybe we can spook them out of their attack and break up the formation.”

Up ahead, one of the fighters was coming straight at them, growing larger and showing no signs of veering. Taking the controls, Zyn dialed in the targeting computer and gained a quick lock on the ship. His fingers hoovered over the fire controls as the dull, cold feeling began filling him once more.

For unknown reasons, he found himself angry at the pilots. They were only doing what they were ordered to do, but the way with which they did it left Zyn hating them. He wanted to fire on them. Every fiber of his being told him to squeeze the trigger and snuff them out without mercy as he had done to the mercenaries. He could feel the muscles in his hands tightening as his target drew closer, sharpening the edge of the cold within him. The Force was speaking to him, calling out and wanting him to engage the Republic ships.

It wasn’t until the ship in Zyn’s sights finally banked back toward the fleet that he regained control of himself. Interestingly, the chill remained, and he found part of him wishing Arby would pursue the fleeing fighter. He even gave a thought to ordering a pursuit, but Wex’s voice over the intercom beat him to it.

“It worked!” he shouted. “They’re disengaging.”

The ship shook violently as Wex finished his words, meaning something had just impacted the deflector shield. The biting cold enveloped Zyn again as his rage swelled. The interceptor he had been targeting was still in sight and continuing its course of evasion. Without telling them to, Zyn’s arms swung the turret’s controls to his right, aligning the small ship in his targeting computer’s display. It was a difficult shot with the ship at such a range, but Zyn could feel the Force guiding him.

Before he could fire, however, his ship veered sharply to the left. The icy coolness in his veins instantly disappeared, leaving him with an explicable sense of disappointment and rejection. The Force wanted him to destroy that ship, of that he was certain, but this was the first time he’d ever felt the Force directing his actions. The fact that it was the dark side that had held that control concerned him, but in his mind, if that was the only way he could use the Force, then so be it.

Several more blaster bolts sailed past the ship as it continued its bank to the left. More hatred swelled within him, and as the pair of interceptors passed into his view, he aligned the guns once more. This time, he felt nothing. No warmth, no cold, absolutely nothing from the Force. He was on his own.

Depressing the triggers, the first fighter was quickly destroyed before Zyn turned his sights to the second. The cold rush returned, taking control of his muscles once more to instantly align the other interceptor in his sights and blast it into oblivion. His blood had become ice, hardening his skin and filling him the unexpected feeling of invincibility.

“They’re bugging out,” Wex’s voice chirped in his ear. “Get us out of here, Arby, before they change their mind.”

“Roger, roger,” Arby’s voice said. “Coordinates set.”

In a matter of seconds, the stars in Zyn’s windscreen became a blur as the ship accelerated into hyperspace. His feelings of power endured, however, along with the envelope of cold around him. Recognizing exactly what it was, he felt it endure as a form of defiance. Or perhaps it was a temptation, an extended taste of what he’d craved since dispatching the mercenaries on Commenore.

Zyn shuddered at the thought as he unbuckled himself and got to his feet. The feelings disappeared in an instant, save for one. The wrongness he’d felt in the cockpit remained, and wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how much he tried to remove it. Remembering what Arby had mentioned about a signal from Coruscant, he quickly made his way back to press the droid on what it meant.

“We’re safely away,” Arby reported to the de facto captain of the ship. “No damage to the ship to report.”

“If there was, we’d be dead by now,” Zyn pointed out. The droid gave no indication that it understood what he’d said. “Before we were attacked, you mentioned something about a signal from Coruscant. What was it?”

“It claimed the war was over,” Arby explained. “And an order for all Jedi to return to the Temple.”

“Doesn’t look over to me,” Zyn remarked, turning away from the droid.

Without another word, he slowly retreated from the cockpit to think on what exactly was going on. He found his seat from before, sitting down and taking his head in his hands once more. The Jedi were in retreat while the Republic’s army fought on without them, leaderless and without their best warriors. Why would the Jedi be recalled to the Temple after being deployed to Kashyyyk in the first place?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled Zyn’s thoughts back to the present. Looking up, Wex was approaching with a concerned look on his face, but didn’t say a word as he took a seat next to him. Realizing he was still wearing the mercenary’s armor, Zyn began removing it and handing it back to his companion.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Wex muttered.

“We were defending ourselves,” Zyn pointed out, handing him the first piece of armor back. “They fired first.”

“I never said it was the wrong thing to do.”

Uncomfortable silence followed as Wex continued to replace every bit of armor Zyn handed over. He was being distant, Zyn could tell, like an animal near a predator that had just killed for its meal. Wex was sensing something from him, and while he may not have been able to put a finger on what it was, his reaction had Zyn sure there was something more to the young man than meets the eye.

“So, you wish to be trained in the ways of the Force,” Zyn said, removing the last piece of armor from his lower left leg.

“I do, but…” Wex trailed off.

“But you’re afraid of what may become of you after learning from a failure,” Zyn finished for him.

“You don’t seem like a failure to me. What I’ve seen you do, I can only hope to match. Opening hangar doors with your mind, taking down a platoon of trained mercenaries single-handedly.”

“You helped with that,” Zyn corrected.

“I only provided a distraction,” Wex argued. “Only one of my shots connected, while your lightsaber cut through them as if they were nothing. You may not have completed the training, but you have the skills. I’m only concerned as to how you’re using those skills and the feeling I’ve been getting from you since Commenore.”

There is was, Zyn thought. Wex mentioning something about a feeling he was getting about a particular situation. Force sensitivity was certainly a possibility, but more probing and perhaps some testing was needed before a proper determination could be made.

“Tell me more about these feelings you’re getting,” Zyn said.

“It’s tough to explain,” Wex answered. “I want to say it’s like a hunch, but much more powerful. Like right before those interceptors attacked, I had a feeling something bad was coming. And right now, there’s one telling me to you’re far more dangerous than you appear.”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it? I work very hard to conceal who I am, and you’ve seen what I am capable of.”

“That’s not what I mean. What I sense from you now is…”

“Darkness,” Zyn finished for him, to which Wex gave no response. “That’s what the coldness means. The Jedi were taught to fear the darkness within themselves. Fight it, deny it, or even destroy it, if necessary.”

“But you’ve seemed to embrace it when it suits you,” Wex said. “Haven’t you been instructed not to do that?”

“I do what I must to ensure my survival,” Zyn explained. “As do you.”

Another long pause developed between the two of them, leading Zyn to realize Wex had a point. The Jedi had instructed him to avoid the dark side at all cost. Of course, he was no longer recognized by the Order, and therefore had no reason to follow their guidelines or code. Between the feelings the young man was having as well as the foresight to get out of the way of his blade back in the storeroom, he was certainly showing the skills of a Force-sensitive, and if Zyn were going to throw out the code about using the dark side for himself, he felt there was no reason he should follow any of their other rules.

“I’ve decided,” Zyn started, causing Wex to look back at him with skepticism on his face. “I will take you on as an apprentice.”

10.

Wex spent the entirety of the trip back to Coruscant grilling Zyn on what exactly he’d be taught. Zyn did his best to vaguely answer, as he really had no idea where to begin in training the young man. Certainly combat training was a must, but so too were the dangers he would face by simply dabbling in the Force. Without a doubt, the dark side would tempt the mercenary to walk its path, just as it was doing to his master, however could Zyn really keep his companion from it while he himself continued to do so?

“The first thing you’ll need to acquire is a weapon,” Zyn finally told him after the onslaught of questions began to cease. “Jedi normally build their lightsabers after mining a kyber crystal.”

“Where am I going to find one of those?” Wex interrupted.

“Ilum’s mines house the source of the Jedi’s crystals, however the planet is highly guarded against outsiders.”

“Then I take it we won’t be going there,” Wex laughed, but Zyn chose to ignore his comment.

“We’ll get it sorted out and you’ll need more than that crystal to construct a lightsaber. In the meantime, I want you to stay on your guard and do your best to keep your emotions in check.”

Zyn knew it was ridiculous to expect of Wex what he himself could barely control. His entire life had been a testament to the trouble emotions lead to, yet he was powerless to change himself. Luckily, the mercenary didn’t call him on his hypocrisy, but the look on his face gave Zyn the sense of apprehension in his newfound apprentice.

“Approaching Coruscant,” Arby’s voice said over the ship’s intercom.

“What do you think we’ll find down there?” Wex asked, changing the subject for the better. Instead of answering, Zyn decided to test the trainee’s Force senses.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Zyn asked. “Reach out with your feelings and tell me what comes to you.”

To Zyn’s surprise, Wex let a small smile slip before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He sat extremely still, almost statue like as he attempted to reach out with the Force. As the seconds became minutes, Zyn wondered how long his companion would continue this attempt before calling it quits.

If credits were to be put on Wex’s success, Zyn would’ve bet everything he had on his apprentice coming up empty. Almost a year it had taken him before he felt the slightest inkling of an upcoming situation, much to his chagrin. Even as his training continued, Zyn felt his insight had never developed much more than that, but after his recent success with the Force, perhaps a different technique would leads to better results.

“I feel…” Wex started, but trailed off to further concentrate. Zyn’s impatience made a return, but before he could reach out himself, Wex continued. “There’s a lot of noise.”

“Focus your thoughts,” Zyn instructed. “Pinpoint the important, discard the useless.”

Focusing his own thoughts, Zyn reached out to get an answer for himself while leaving Wex to navigate the finer points of Force Sense himself. The first thing he noticed was Wex was speaking the truth. With countless people on the planet below, the cacophony of life made it difficult to pinpoint anything with accuracy. Focusing his own thoughts to the Jedi temple itself, he was hit by an overwhelming sense of despair.

“There!” Wex said, interrupting Zyn’s thought. “I feel it. Confusion, anger, and sorrow. Something terrible has happened.” Springing to his feet, Zyn hurried to the cockpit to see the ship was already entering the atmosphere.

“How long before we land?” he asked Arby after opening the door.

“Minutes,” the droid replied. “We’re on approach to Docking Bay Eighty Four.”

“Make it Centralia,” Zyn muttered to himself. “I don’t want to attract any attention.” The Centralia Memorial Spaceport was one of the oldest spaceports on Coruscant, and seldom used, except for the Jedi, which meant it was close to the Temple itself.

“Roger, roger.”

As the ship closed in on the docking bay, Zyn felt a nervousness arise within him. It had been over a year since he’d set foot in the Jedi Temple. In truth, he didn’t know what to expect. Would they even listen to what he had to say? Or would he be arrested for what had happened at Kuat? The only feeling he was getting from the Force was a somber tone, one of an insurmountable sadness lamenting an indescribable tragedy.

Making his way back to Wex, Zyn found his apprentice still seated, but no longer meditating. Instead, he wore a look of concern, almost mirroring the sadness he felt as the ship slowed to a stop. Not a word was spoken between them as they were jarred by the impact of the ship landing on the pad.

“I want you to wait here,” Zyn told Wex as he approached the loading ramp, now extending itself down from the ship.

“Why?” Wex asked, springing to his feet to join his master.

“Because I’m not sure what to expect. I sense trouble, and seeing as neither one of us is a member of the Order, it will be especially dangerous if they find out I’m giving my knowledge of the Force to an outsider.” Zyn turned his back to Wex and began to exit the ship.

“But how will they know?” Wex asked, jogging to catch up.

“The Masters of the Order are far more powerful than you realize,” Zyn explained, coming to a stop at the bottom of the ramp. “They can sense Force-sensitives from worlds away. I wouldn’t be surprised if they realize we’re here already.”

Drawing his hood up around his head, Zyn turned on his heel and began his walk toward the Temple. He tuned his ears to the environment, expecting to hear a set of footsteps running up behind him to keep up, but they never came. Wex, it seemed, was following orders better than Zyn ever did. Reaching the exit to the hangar, the doors parted, allowing him to exit into the busy Coruscant evening.

The sun had set long ago, bathing the city scape in darkness and reflecting his mood perfectly. As he walked, his thoughts swirled about what he should expect. If luck was on his side, he’d only be turned away and forced to continue his search for answers on his own. If they let him in, he’d finally be able to confront Seela about what exactly the mission she’d sent him on was all about.

The idea of seeing her again brought even more uncertain. Was she in on the setup? Given their history, the thought was absurd, laughable even. They’d been close friends for many years, and she’d even saved his life, so what sense was there in sending him into a setup? Once again, Wex’s thoughts of making the Jedi look bad in the eyes of public came to mind, but that explanation didn’t make sense either. As his thoughts swirled away, Zyn continued to walk, oblivious to all around him until he turned a corner and found himself on the edge of the Temple Plaza. What he saw froze him in place.

The plaza itself, normally buzzing with people walking in all directions no matter the time of day, was completely barren, save for a squad of clone troopers appearing to guard the Temple itself. Turning his eyes upward, several columns of smoke snaked their way skyward from various towers. Zyn found his jaw hanging open at the sight, and after putting it all together, he could only come to one conclusion: the Temple had been attacked. Rushing across the empty plaza and up the stairs, he was quickly hailed by the troopers, several of whom seemed to ready their weapons as he approached.

“Halt!” one of them said with an outstretched hand.

“What happened here?” Zyn asked as he came to a stop at the top of the stairs.

“There’s been a rebellion, but it’s under control,” the trooper explained. “Please return to your home.”

“I’m looking for Jedi Padawan Seela Me,” Zyn explained. “It’s extremely important that I find her.”

“You’ll not find her here,” the commander said with certainty in his voice. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“If I could speak to one of the Masters…” Zyn started, but all eight of the soldiers raised their weapons.

“This is your final warning. Leave now or you will be fired upon.”

The nagging sensation of wrongness returned, and with it, Zyn felt his frustration swelling. He was so close to getting an answer, only to be turned away under threat of death. Annoyance became anger, but rather than run at the guards head on, as he’d wanted to do, he instead raised his hands slowly.

“Fair enough,” Zyn remarked.

Slowly raising his hands, he noticed half of the guards relax their weapons while the others did not. This wasn’t a battle Zyn was likely to win, at least at face value. Deception would be needed, and a bit of luck as well, but seeing as the element of surprise was on his side, he figured his odds of succeeding were more than enough to take the chance. As he took a single step back down the stairs, the rest of the guards lowered their weapons, save for one.

In a flash, he produced his lightsaber, activating the blade and charging back at the troopers. One blaster bolt was deflected into the nearest target, sending him down as Zyn began striking at the rest of them. The first swipe managed to down two and wound a third as the others began firing wildly. Deflecting the bolts with a speed he didn’t know he had, he took every opportunity to close on the remaining troopers and attack when he could.

The ice in his veins quickly returned and had the same effect as before, giving him strength and filling him with the familiar sense of invincibility. Several times, he’d felt his blade move on its own, as if the weapon itself were in control instead of its master. Left, right, thrust, spin. He moved faster than he ever had before, the Force guiding his actions and allowing him to dispatch the elite soldiers with lightning speed as the amber blade danced in wide arcs around him.

When it was over, the plaza fell back into eerie silence. Downed troopers stared up at him through their expressionless helmets, bringing the memory of his Trial back into his mind. He remembered the countless eyes looking skyward, all of them killed by the orange-bladed saber in his hand. The bodies all lay next to one another, motionless and growing cold, mirroring the feeling he now had in his veins.

Shaking the memories from his mind and extinguishing the blade, he quickly broke into a run toward the Temple. No one else was in sight and the lights normally illuminating great statues had been extinguished, leaving them as monstrous, foreboding giants perched in the shadows of the main building. Pushing his way forward, he entered the Main Entrance Hall to find it also void of anyone.

Zyn slowed to a walk as he made his way into the Great Hall. Keeping the hilt in his hand, he reached out with the Force in an attempt to sense anyone still in the area, but came up empty. Was everyone dead or captured? The Jedi couldn’t all be gone, as the Temple was far too vast to sweep in the limited amount of time the troopers appeared to be here. Each of his footsteps echoed off the towering marble pillars as continued through.

“Hey,” a whisper to Zyn’s right called out, freezing him in his tracks. “Over here.”

Walking carefully toward one of the large pillars he believed the person to be hiding behind, Zyn was surprised to see a hooded head peering at him from around the smooth marble. Surprisingly, his face seemed to be older, with darker skin and hard eyes. He wore a hardened look and not frightened in the least, which left Zyn wondering who exactly this man was.

“Are you here to help us?” the man whispered as he stepped out from behind the pillar. He was dressed in Jedi robes with a hand concealed under them, as if he were ready to pull his lightsaber at a moment’s notice.

“I’m looking for someone,” Zyn answered. “Is Seela Me here?”

“Might be upstairs with the rest,” he answered, looking down at Zyn’s hand which was still holding the hilt. “Are you a Jedi?”

“No, but I am an ally.” Zyn noticed him visibly relax at his words.

“They’re all camped out in the Map Room, but be careful. There are troops everywhere, ordered to shoot on sight.”

“Thank you,” Zyn said, knowing exactly where the Map Room was and bowing his head in thanks.

Before he could straighten up, he was slammed in the abdomen by a sudden force. Zyn staggered backward, eventually losing his footing and crashing into the floor with his saber hilt skittering across the floor. Burning pain radiated outward, wrapping his body in agony and stealing his breath away. Wondering what he’d been hit with, he slowly looked up, only to be met with a blaster pointed at him by the hooded Jedi now standing over him.

“Jedi scum,” the man remarked.

This was the end, Zyn thought. The pain of his injury increased with each ragged, shallow breath he took, causing him to teeter on the edge of consciousness. He was about to become one with the Force, but instead of the calmness he expected, he found himself afraid. Afraid of his death, fearful of never seeing Seela again, and terrified about whatever awaited him on the other side.

The last thing Zyn saw in his fading vision was a yellow lightsaber blade sweeping down towards his shooter’s head from behind.

Saber Forum

General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: Zyn on August 02, 2018, 06:28:04 PM