Print Page - What You Leave Behind

Prologue: Prophecy

Note: For historical reference:

http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg629361#msg629361
http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg629408#msg629408

It had been a long night of searching, but he'd finally found all of the relevant chronicles. Data searches and electronic records were all well and good, but due to the ebb and flow of history as well as events like Kimar's Expulsion and the accompanying Purge of the Jedi Records of information related to the Mak'Tor there were many gaps in the electronic record, large and small. Fortunately, the Order had always maintained a written chronicle. It was still considered the primary source for anything predating the Expulsion, and while much of it had been digitized and translated out of the original runic script there were still thousands of hand-written chronicles that could only be accessed the old-fashioned way.

******

The catalogue was vast, over 2000 years of the Aethan Technocracies records left behind, hidden beneath Mt. Alixaea in the Dead Lands, far from the reach of the post Collapse Guardian Era society. Now reclaimed, they were slowly being sorted through. It was difficult to tell what was useful and what was not. Much of the research was out of date, papers and videos experimenting with 7th Gene Generation aetheric potential irrelevant when you had 30th Generation files on similar topics.

******

The scribe carefully stacked the last of the ancient books onto his cart and wheeled them into the viewing room. It was still early, a good two hours yet before sun-up, and the data request stated that Master Karmack wouldn't be in to begin his research until well after sun-up. He had plenty of time.

******

Her breath blew out in thin wisps of white in the cool of the bunker, deep beneath the mountains. Away from view they felt safe, deep underground where no one could see them. Her skin was lit oddly by the white blue lights in the joints between the walls and ceiling, and from her desk she could see rows upon rows of identical bar coded data discs, cold and impassive, waiting to be read.

******

The viewing room was one of many in the Archive. It was designed for comfort as well as study. The outside 'smart' wall was basically a giant polarized window overlooking the M'Skigon range. Across a wide, deep vale the majesty of the Temple on the slopes of the Spire could easily be seen. The scribe paused briefly to admire the view, the mountains softly lit by the moonlight while the lights of the Temple and its associated villages glittered like gems in the fresh snow. The sight was so inspiring the scribe fell into a short meditation, drinking in the beauty of the view and offering his impromptu thanks and praise to the Maker.

After the brief time of meditation the scribe donned his white gloves and carefully laid out the chronicles in the requested order. Each book went into its own rest, specially designed to hold the ancient book open at an easy reading height while protecting it from over-bend or spinal damage. Most of the books were from around the time of the expulsion, and there were several electronic entries and files that went with them, queued up in the room's computer file system. The oldest books, however, was from far earlier, from a time during the Jedi-Sith wars, when the Temple was under threat and the Mak'Tor, along with all the Jedi, had been called upon repeatedly to defend the Spire from attack. Those had been trying times for the Jedi, and the Mak'Tor with them.

******

She found occasional items of interest, especially around the Aethenaea Project … the poor woman Aethena, recorded all her life; she had watched her grow over three nights of archived vids, running on treadmills, climbing, lifting weights telekinetically … and as she got older more personal activities – there was nothing about her they didn’t want to record and analyse. How long she took to relieve herself, with attached videos, toenail growth rates, eyelash length - all to learn and perfect the next generation...

******

The scribe laid the book out and caefully opened it, letting it fall open naturally. Before he turned away, however, the runes on the exposed page caught his eye. Rather than the neat, tidy columns the chronicaller usually used for the entries there as an indented block of what appeared to be poetry embedded in the middle of the page. Well, that's interesting... Slowly the scribe read the words of the short poem, translating as he went.

The Oracle, spoken by Do'Rian, when the Unnamed was defeated, when the crystals touched:

In the shadow of the 100 Lights
The Children of Xandir shall meet face-to-face
The Servant of the Maker, undefeated
Shall yield to the One who Denies
And in yielding, will add victory and healing
To them both...

Reverently the scribe traced the runes with his fingertip. He was a marginal force user and could only barely hear the song, but this runic verse called out to him. Long buried in the archive, it was as if this page cried out to be seen. The scribe smoothed the page and left it open, moving the book to the head of the line. Xandir... He turned to the last book, the earliest of the chronicles, and checked the index card in the front cover. As he suspected, part of this chronicle had to do with Klu Xandir and the time of Exar Kun. The scribe mounted this book and opened it to the earliest Xandir reference as noted in the index. A quick scan of the runes revealed the names "Sunfire" and "Starfire", two crystals created by Klu... The Crystals that touched? He wasn't sure, but there must be a connection.

The scribe, now excited, finished his preparations by setting up a few extra database searches, cross-referencing the Xandir, the crystals by name, and references to "the 100" and "100 Lights". It would take a bit for even the Archive's computers to complete those searches and so he left it running while he gathered refreshments for himself and his guest. If ever there was a day that would need coffee and pastries, this was the day!

******

She flicked on the next disc, the familiar sight of Aethena undressed but this time in a blood red cavern rather than a cool white laboratory. Once again a video as explicit as possible, small numbers flicked noting heart rate, blood pressure, a thermal imaging inset box in the corner…she had seen this so often she wondered if Aethena ever got bored of it. She was about to switch it off for the next one when she heard her familiar moans turn to words…

“Ships…black…collapsing…collapsing…trapped…caverns…deep…set me free set me free…White and Red White OR Red…white…red…”

Collapse…trapped in the caverns…this wasn’t random…this was prophetic…she straightened in her chair and took out her note book, hand rapidly writing all she heard

“dead…a hundred dead…light to fill the darkness…one escapes who shall rule two by two…the Bane of the galaxy…”

Bane … Darth Bane? If so then the hundred lights meant the Ninth battle of Ruusan...

“hidden the Ghost trapped in time…the brothers gift never given…the brothers Xandin rent asunder, children…so many children…till together…the Singer of the false god, the slayer of the Masters…paths entwined, power makes one yield, but in yielding not defeated….uggghhh…”

Singer of the false God…that sounded familiar…her mind quickly sorted through long buried histories to find a name…Odjina…Odjina was long dead…but he never yielded so far as she recalled the story…still it was an oddity.

She jotted down the rest, Aethena had left behind something here…something the aether told her was important…she would have to show this to the others.

Chapter One: Data Mine
Part 1

Horror bloomed in Karmack's chest as energy tore through the Temple, wiping away the choir, the Chaplain, the gathered worshipers, and slammed upward, lifting the dome as well as washing down the nave and transverse. In a moment the Temple, the spiritual center of the Mak'Tor, was wiped away and he watched in helpless horror as Arnor, Ken, Chillum, the Council... everyone he held dear and central to the life and working of the Order were suddenly caught up in a flashing explosion, their bodies immolated and destroyed, their minds and souls ripped away and pulled into a howling vortex of silver and gold. The energy wave engulfed him as the Temple Dome collapsed, masonry and debris howling past him. His cry of horror was lost in the howling shriek of the raging air as Arnor simply disintegrated, her song ending abruptly as the flashing orb absorbed all around it. He had no time to rage or grieve, only enough time to catch a glimpse of the wave of energy flashing across the greater Temple, leveling buildings and spreading devastation. Then in a flash his own body was suddenly imploding, his mind rippling, wracked with pain and confusion as the world suddenly disappeared, replaced by confusion and horrible, unending, tormenting pain...

Karmack jerked awake with a start, the dream still vivid in his mind's eye. Again... he groaned, and hummed a calming motif to calm his body and restore his spiking adrenalin levels to normal. With a sigh he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The desk in the Archive viewing room was strewn with data chips and dense storage crystals scattered between ancient tomes in calligraphy and Mak'Tora runes. A quick glance at the chronometer on the wall confirmed the hours of sitting and reading that his body was complaining about. With a loud yawn he stood and stretched, freeing his muscles from their long captivity. He did a few quick stretches, limbering his body before flowing into an unarmed combat kata. The short work-out rejuvenated his mind as well as his body, a process he enhanced with a healing song that sent healing force energy flowing through him. He felt the crystal chorus with the Ancient One at its heart augmenting and strengthening the flow, a soothing and now familiar presence. That turned his mind back to the entities that inhabited the same crystal, especially the enigmatic Kage Dorian. Or more accurately Do'Rian'Xandir, as he'd discovered in the chronicles. "Not much of one for names, my Kage..."

No, he wasn't.

Karmack felt the slight force pressure he was beginning to recognize as an 'attention signal' as the soft feminine voice echoed in his mind. Eschewing the chair, Karmack assumed a comfortable stance looking out over the vale at the Temple on the opposite slope and let himself drop into a light meditation.

Instantly he found himself back in the gazebo that served as the interface to the entities that resided in the Ancient One. Seated on the bench opposite him was a woman who appeared to be in her mid-40's. She had auburn hair, pulled back in a very practical pony-tail, high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing Jedi-style robes, without the hallmarks the Gray Mak'Tor robes carried today to set them apart from their Jedi progenitors. Karmack bowed to the effigy. "Ha'Ona. Its good to see you again."

"Master Karmack." Ha'Ona replied, waving a hand to indicated he should be seated. "I understand you've been asking questions about Vyth."

Karmack sat and smiled. "Yes. Its part of a wider search for information, but I was very curious about what happened on Vyth, particularly about how the Mak'Tor there died - and how you survived."

For a moment the golden room seemed to tremble as a powerful song suddenly crashed through the room. The melody was dark, the harmony tragic, the rhythm thick with conflict, and yet under and through it all rang the clarion call of forgiveness and victory, almost like an after-image that lingered after the real song faded. The song was overwhelming, the volume on the edge of pain, but as suddenly as it came ... it left. Karmack noticed the tear that rolled down Ha'Ona's cheek, her own eyes clouded by vivid and painful memory. "How I survived? Only by the grace of the Maker, Master Karmack. The ... man ... who killed everyone certainly wasn't afraid of a child holding a saber she barely knew how to use. No, I think he sensed the song in me and decided to let me go ... as a living memorial. And a warning."

Karmack nodded. After his vision of Odjina he'd found the original reports from the Astromech droid Four-Ten. Unfortunately he couldn't interview the droid itself, it had been destroyed while on a mission with another Knight almost two hundred years ago. But he'd made a complete report, including a full down-load of bio-metric readings from everyone in the colony, including one set that were way outside the norm. While most of the entries were extensive, representing measurements over years, this outlier was simply labelled "Milaea" and only had a half-dozen entries taken over 2-3 weeks time. When he'd gone over the data he'd dismissed this one entry as corrupted data. But maybe... "Ha'Ona, do you know who he was? Four-Ten had a grainy image of him, but he just looks like an average human. Did he act alone?"

Ha'Ona shook her head emphatically. "No, he came with Millie. She seemed very nice and I really hoped she would stay and be my friend, but..." More tears appeared and she stopped, gathering her emotions and overlaying them with icy control. "No, he wasn't alone. There were two of them."

Two of them... Karmack couldn't suppress the slight shudder that pierced him. Two force-users, apparently Jedi-trained or at least knowledgeable in the Jedi arts, against sixteen trained Mak'Tor grays, including one of the most powerful singers the Mak'Tor had ever known. He spun his ring, which carried the black mourning band of Odjina. He'd had a brief discussion with Zearic after he and Arnor returned from Dantooine. His dark visions and nightmares were still increasing ... and now Karmack was beginning to have them as well. As was Ken, though his were more in reaction to the deep and intrusive delve conducted by "Black Armor". The one thing all of the visions had in common was the destruction of all that the viewer held dear, a destruction they were impotent to stop.

In Zearic's vision his wife and daughter were slaughtered while he lay dying. In his own vision... Karmack shook off the lingering memory even as he felt his heart rate spike again.

A cool hand on his arm drew him back to the gazebo. Karmack blinked and looked into cool, green eyes. "Ho'Li..."

She nodded to him and sat next to her daughter. Their images captured in adulthood, they looked more like sisters or even twins than mother and daughter. The only noticeable difference being the color of their eyes. Karmack recovered his breathing and nodded to the silent Ho'Li. He'd seen her a few times, but she had never spoken to him before. Now she leaned forward, her eyes intent. "Master Karmack, Odjina holds the key."

"Odjina. Why? What happened on Vyth Ho'Li?"

But Ho'Li returned to silence, only fixing him with her eyes as she laid a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder. Karmack blinked, opened his mouth to ask another question of Ha'Ona...

...and was suddenly looking again at the Temple and the vale between, shadowed by the setting sun and beginning to sparkle with lights from the villages and settlements scattered between the Temple and the Archive. Karmack shook his head in exasperation. With a normal holocron you might not get an answer but you could at least force contact! But the entities that were housed in the Ancient One were far more fickle and had more control over who they spoke with. "Cranky old women..."

Karmack turned back to the room's computer terminal and opened a search window. "Millie... Milaea..." On a hunch he typed in the name, then added Odjina, Valens and Vyth and hit [ENTER]. As the computer began searching the Archive's electronic records for anything that included all four names Karmack poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and and re-read the verses the Archivist had left visible in one of the ancient chronicles. "The Oracle, spoken by Dorian..."

The computer suddenly started beeping insistently. Karmack turned and instead of finding a list of documents and files a message flashed on the screen:

*** RECORDS SEALED *** REPORT TO THE OFFICE OF THE KAGE *** RECORDS SEALED *** REPORT TO THE OFFICE OF THE KAGE *** RECORDS SEALED...

The message scrolled and repeated. Karmack tried to interrupt it but the terminal was locked. "Well then, I guess I need to talk to Silman..."

<<<<<<<<<< >>>>>>>>>>>

The Kage was about to shut his computer down for the evening when an urgent security breach alert popped up. He opened it and frowned at the content. "Vyth? Who's trying to kick that hornet's nest open now?" He scanned down to find the user ID and his frown deepened. "Karmack... My friend, what are you doing?" Silman sighed and sat back, clearing the screen. He stared out at the Archive, its stone walls and graceful arches lit to a ruddy gold by the setting sun and he sighed again. He reached over and keyed his intercom. "Do'Nal, clear my appointments tomorrow morning and have the steward make sure the coffee tray is stocked and fresh."

The voice of Do'Nal, his personal assistant, showed none of the surprise he must feel at the last-minute direction. "Of course, my Kage. May as I ask why?"

"Maenowan Karmack will be by in the morning, bright and early. We ... have some things we need to discuss." Silman replied.

"Very good. I will make the arrangements." The comm link clicked off and Silman sighed one more time.

"Master Karmack ... what am I going to do with you...

Chapter One: Data mine
Part 2

"Sir, Maenowan Karmack." Do'Nal said, holding the door for Karmack to enter the office.

Silman Lo stood and smiled as Karmack entered the room. "Karm! Come in. Grab a cup of coffee and have a seat."

"Yessir." Karmack said, his smile tentative. He'd half expected a serious dressing-down from the Kage. He had no idea what kind of security lockout he'd triggered but it was total - his system access was completely frozen pending this meeting - and the Kage's friendly tone and demeanor had him puzzled. But the Kage always had good coffee, so he poured himself a cup, added a splash of half-and-half and took the seat indicated. "Thank you, sir."

Kage Lo waved dismissively. "You're welcome. Do'Nal is having your ID access restored even as we speak. I imagine the lock-out came as a bit of a shock."

Karmack leaned back and tried to relax. "Yes, actually, it did. As far as I know I'm just doing historical research ... not the kind of thing that usually requires one to drop everything and trot off to see the Kage. That's intimidating, even for someone of my own exalted rank." Karmack chuckled. "Its good to know that I'm not in any trouble." Karmack felt the ripple in the force and heard the tremor that appeared in Silman's song at that statement. "Um ... I'm not in any trouble, am I?"

Silman sighed. "Always direct and to the point..." He stood and walked over to the windows, unable to sit still. "No, you're not in trouble ... not yet ... but you have stumbled into a very delicate area." Silman sighed and turned back to Karmack. "Karm, what exactly are you looking for?"

Karmack leaned back in the seat, cradling his coffee mug as he gathered his thoughts. "There is a ... darkness ... gathering. Something nebulous but immensely powerful. Something with the potential to be either a very great enemy, or a powerful and helpful ally and friend. Something utterly alien ... and as familiar as family." Karmack shook his head and sighed. "I can't really pin it down, but its ominous and imminent, and somehow the key to avoiding catastrophe lies in figuring all of this out." Karmack tapped his saber gently.

"That explains the inquiries about Do'Rian'Xandir and Klu Xandir, but not Vyth." Silman replied, and while his face smiled his eyes were very level.

Karmack sipped his coffee. "You're right. That came from ... Zearic, actually." Karmack saw a flicker of recognition in the Kage's eyes. So you know something ... What are you hiding, Silman? "Almost nothing is known about what happened that day on Vyth. Oh, we venerate Kage Odjina, wear the ring, sing the epic songs, but in the end there's virtually nothing about Vyth or Odjina or the Seventeen in the databases." Karmack let his own eyes harden, his voice flatten. "I had to dig up the records of Four-Ten, Ha'Ona'Mack's droid and the only droid to survive the destruction of the colony to identify Zearic's saber crystal as one the colony called a "perma-frost" crystal. And I only made that connection because of the vision it caused."

Silman sighed and crossed his arms. "Visions again... Visions and droids will be the death of me..." the Kage shook his head as if shaking off a veil. "Karm, do you have anything concrete? Any proof that links these ... visions ... to either Vyth or any of the threats that Dorian or Klu Xandir faced?"

Karmack rose and started to pace. "No. Not yet. Nothing on a data padd or visual recording. Nothing in writing. Just the visions." He stopped and met Silman's eyes. "Or do we?"

Silman's eyes never wavered. "No. I'm not hiding any secret files or locked-down data. There are a few data search terms that, when used in combination with each other, trigger the security lock-out and notify this office. All I know about it is what Kage Li'I'Mack wrote in the file that came up with the flag. She basically said that nothing would come of the search and to discourage the searcher, lest the ones who did the damage be found - and disturbed." Silman crossed his arms. "So, Maenowan Master Karmack, I must ask you now to ... be circumspect in your search."

Karmack wheeled on the Kage. "Circumspect? On the word of a Kage who died six hundred years ago? Just stop looking for answers because she said so?!? Silman, I watched a thought bomb wipe out the core of the Mak'Tor, destroy the Temple, the Archive and the villages in between, and wash over the planet itself. That kind of weapon wouldn't just kill the force users, it would devestate the entire planet, probably render it uninhabitable. Millions would die! I need more than 'because Li'I'Mack said so'!"

Silman stood like a rock, his face like flint, his eyes unwavering. "The word of a Kage, two Kages in fact, one your own kinsman, is not good enough for you?"

Karmack snorted in exasperation. "No. If you're making it an order, my Kage, I will of course obey it. But there must be more! If there weren't you wouldn't be so ..."

"Stupid?" Silman supplied with a tentative smile.

"Stubborn was the word I was reaching for, actually." Karmack replied, letting his own voice soften and backing away from the passion he felt. "You wouldn't dig in like this unless there was a good reason. So ..."

Kage Lo blinked and sighed. "And he calls me stubborn... Oh,very well. The message from Li'I was short but to the point: The Jedi, specifically Grand Master Kimar, ordered the elimination of the Mak'Tor colony on Vyth. He's the one who sent the assassins there to kill everyone."

Karmack stood in stunned silence for long seconds. Finally he found his voice. "You're kidding."

"No." Silman strode to the desk and spun his monitor, displaying the memo. Karmack walked over and read the text, written in runes and using the ancient language of the Mak'Tor rather than galactic standard, which described how Master Kimar sent two Jedi to eliminate the colony on Vyth. When he was done Silman swiveled his monitor back around. "So, you see the problem. Even now, six hundred years later, this kind of revelation would severely damage the credibility of the Jedi..."

"...and with it the credibility of those they are associated with." Karmack finished the thought. "Skywalker would never be able to re-establish the Order with this hanging over his head. And without the Jedi, the New Republic would be finished before it ever started."

"Exactly." Silman sat on the front of his desk, arms crossed. "So, can I have your word? I'm not asking you to stop. Just be ... discrete. Circumspect."

Karmack again met Silman's eyes, holding them for long seconds. "One more question: Did Li'I'Mack mention any details about the assassins? Any indication of how they were able to overcome the entire Mak'Tor colony?"

Silman shook his head. "No, nothing. Just that they were Jedi sent by Kimar. Beyond that an d whatever records 4-10 made we know nothing." Silman's eyebrows rose in inquiry. "So?"

Karmack slowly and reluctantly nodded. "Yes, my Kage. I will be circumspect."

"Good." Silman turned back to the window. "Now, can I ask your help and advice on another matter? Maybe I can give you something else to keep you occupied?"

Karmack felt himself smiling and relaxing a bit as the tension in the room - and the song - eased. "Anything, my Kage."

"Good man." Silman turned back to Karmack. "What is your assessment of the Droid Combat Chassis?"

Karmack shifted gears smoothly. "They're highly effective units, but they have limitations. We've used them a few times with Two and Mutt and while they performed well they are far from invulnerable."

Silman barked a laugh. "True enough. Cliff has complained about how quickly you've gone through them." He turned back. "Cliff is convinced that the DCCs are to expensive to use as cannon fodder and not effective enough to be anything else, especially in the hands of droids not programmed for or experienced in land combat. So he's entertaining proposals to equip the Men-At-Arms with battle droids instead."

"Battle droids?" Karmack felt a wave of surprise roll through him. "Historically droids have proven to be ineffective as a ground force. Even acting only as a buffer..." Karmack trailed off. "Oh. OK, that makes sense. He wants them as a buffer, a cushion to absorb and blunt an attack while the Men-At-Arms and Knights gather and organize for defense in depth or a counter-strike."

Silman moved back to his desk and picked up his own coffee mug. "Exactly. And I don't have a real problem with it. I just hope that he's not doing it just to spite me. I'm afraid he's not very happy with me and some of my deployment policies."

"Or your Knights?" Karmack added, reading the Kage's mood in the force. "Cliff isn't an isolationist but he's certainly never been a fan of the way the Order has been emerging into the power vacuum in the Outer Rim. I'm sure he'd prefer if we kept our heads down and minded our own business. Unfortunately the movement hasn't exactly been voluntary. Nature abhors a vacuum and laying low and keeping out heads down now would only get us knocked off by whoever else did move in."

"Agreed." Silman sat. "Cliff has gone out on his own and has some good looking prospects. My 'spies' in the Men-At-Arms command center have gotten me some preliminary specs and he has a team coming to do a product demonstration. I'll send you the specs, please look them over and give me your preliminary evaluation, particularly as compared to the DCC project. I'll also confirm when the product sales team will be on-site, I'd like you there with me when we do the demonstration and evaluation."

Karmack nodded. "Of course."

Karmack turned toward the door and was drawn back by Silman's hand on his arm. "Karm, I meant what I said. Try to keep your activities under the radar, eh? There's a lot going on here and I'd rather not rock the boat any more than I need to. When you get something concrete, we can take it to the Council, but until then..."

"...I'm on my own. Understood." Karmack set the mug down and bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Kage, for the coffee."

<<<<<<<< >>>>>>>>

Hours later Karmack was back in his home office. Data chips and crystals were stacked neatly and the desk was mainly clear. An electronic inquiry hung on the screen before him, addressed to dozens of private organizations and educational institutions across the galaxy. He'd created a new, private account from which to send it, hosted by a content provider on Coruscant that specialized in anonymity. He'd told the Kage he'd be discrete, and he would - but he'd exhausted the data sources on M'Tzigon and this was the only way he had to expand his search.

The letter was a brief introduction and a description of what he was seeking - records of the Mak'Tor order, specifically original sources from the time spanning their involvement with the Jedi Order on Coruscant. The letter was like any other inquiry a historian or author might send out, with nothing to indicate it was being sent by a member of the Mak'Tor order itself. "Cast your bread upon the waters..." he said as he hit [send]

...for you will find it after many days...

Chapter 2: Man and Machine
Part 1

One look at a galactic map…just one look was enough to see why they needed to consolidate their forces in system. Three Imperial Remnant factions in Red Diamonds, fighting each other as much as the encroaching New Republic Green circles, Yellow triangles indicating recent Sons of Kessel attacks that seemed to creep ever closer to the edge of Hutt space…then there were the abundant purple dots showing known areas of pirate activity.

The holo of nearby systems showed a mess of confusion and instability…in response, Kage Silman, Minister of Defence, in his wisdom had decided to deploy Joker squad to realms unknown, sent Knights off on missions to the other side of the galaxy and determined the reason for these deployments was ‘need to know’ – and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs did not, apparently, need to know.

He had served under and beside a number of Kages over the years, but never one like Silman, a non-native who seemed to place the moral mission of the Mak’Tor above the military security of M’Tzigon itself.

General Elax Cliff flicked across the requisition orders, these were already signed by Silman, he received copies simply to keep him ‘informed’…

“hrmmph,” he couldn’t supress his own grunt, he was starting to wonder if there even WAS an overall strategy behind Silmans deployments…the quick decisions and seemingly random deployment patterns suggested not. The acquiescence to the Master of Songs seemingly insatiable desire to stick his lightsabre into every dangerous situation was of particular concern – how long before one of these ‘Darths’ or ‘Sith Sabres’ followed him home and put the 650 million citizens Cliff had sworn to protect at risk?.

He had seen where pandering to a Knights mystical musings lead…his father had seen…

Cliff shook it off for the moment, now was not the time for reverie, rising to his full height adjusting his uniform for the next meeting he came back to the present. It was unusual for him to be involved in tender processes, but this was a new investment. In the current climate they needed all the help they could get, and training more Men at Arms took time they might not have.

Out of the beige and steel office down the freshly scrubbed corridors past the odd saluting guard he marched forward - he wasn’t a fan of droids, risks of hacking, lack of situational creative thinking, that spark that matched innovation with boldness to turn a battle.

Yet droids were easy to deploy, could serve as cannon fodder or a speed bump to an attacking force while the Men at Arms positioned themselves, or better still shipped to far-flung Mak'Tor "Medical Missions" in job lots to stand guard, reducing logistical costs and keeping more trained troops at home where they belonged! And if a few units were destroyed when some fanatic showed up to harass the healers they'd be out a few credits, not years of training - not someone's sibling..parent…child.

Colonel Ta’Re was waiting outside the briefing room, giving him a curt nod as professional as her tight bun hair, she swiped her ident card to open the doors. The meeting room beyond was sparsely furnished, a holo projector embedded in an eight seat conference table, the tenderers already seated opposite had entered from the ‘civilian’ door on the other side of the room that opened out to a less secure area of the M’Tzigon Military Administration Centre.

“Good morning,” he said somewhat indifferently taking a seat at the head of the table, Ta’Re flicking him a short list of dot points on these particular tenderers.
•   Fresia based
•   Humanoid Droids
•   500,000 per unit, 480,000 for 500+ v. expensive
•   Start up firm
“Well let’s just get on with the show shall we,” he said briskly not wanting to be here any longer than needed,

He glanced up at the two figures opposite, one a handsome dark haired man who Cliff was sure he’d seen somewhere before, and the other a pretty young woman with cool alabaster skin, dark brown hair and icy blue grey eyes…she seemed out of place in such negotiations, darting eyes as if uncomfortable rather than a salesman’s cool.

“Gladly,” the man crooned,

“I don’t need to tell you General these are dangerous times, and I can see you’re a shrewd man to be investigating all options for defence,”

“At Aertemis Industries we have developed a new standard in battle droids,” The holo lit up with the Stylised Aurek symbol of the firm overlaid on a red three pointed star.

“As a small operation we focus on quality over quantity, none of the corner cutting stylings of CSF police droids or old B1’s and B2’s…no we understand what you want isn’t a million blobs of metal to toss at an enemy and get fried by EMP grenades…you want quality, heavy hitting, hard to kill Sentinels that can wipe out a platoon of Storm troopers, down an AT-AT then blast an interceptor out of the sky,”

What a sales pitch…Cliff mused

“And so I’m proud to present the Dark Trooper Mark IV.” The holo displayed what looked like a bulkier, taller Storm Trooper, deep gray with black edging and lines, the image slowly spun revealing a Hover Jet pack with missile launchers on the back, it carried a massive Assault cannon in its gargantuan hands effortlessly.

“Dark Trooper…that was an abandoned Imperial Program as I recall,” Ta’Re noted

“The Empires loss Colonel is our gain…we took their research and designs and improved upon it…Fully void capable, armour that is impervious to low and medium grade blaster fire, flight range of nearly 300 kilometres with a maximum speed of 100 kmph - which we do intend to improve upon - running speed of 80 kmph, standing at 2.8 metres and weighing 550kg…I assure you standard infantry will be running scared with just one of our Dark troopers charging towards them.”

“If I may that is extremely heavy even for that size….”

The male, his security day pass issued at reception showed ‘Cha’ smiled thinly, “The armour and skeleton uses a mineral called phirk, although we do use a beskar alloy, it is quite high density but we have experience with such minerals, an internal gravitational displacement field keeps the effective weight to approximately 150KG for storage purposes…all speeds and strength statistics you see listed are operating a zero dampening…that is even at the full weight it can run 80kmph.”

Cliff shuddered at the emotionless deathly visage just imagining the psychological impact of seeing something that size rushing at him faster than a hover cars normal speed….he quickly refocused on the purpose at hand,

“The software for these Troopers, is it based on the original Imperial model?” he inquired

“No it’s a custom build, we found the Imperial operating systems inadequate…we redesigned internal circuitry from the ground up using Chiss nanite-fibre and a few of our own designs,”

“Chiss?”

“It’s the best available…expensive, but the best by far…whilst we have vids of its operational performance in test environments, we have five units in our ship still in orbit should you wish for a demonstration at any time…with the appropriate approvals to bring such a weapons on planet of course”

“Your frim Mr. Cha…is rather new to the market…this is quite an offering…I have to wonder where you got the expertise to produce this kind of military equipment,”

“A good question General, yes we are new to selling but not to producing military technology…as you know Incom is based on Fresia, our organisation is the aggregation of a number of sub-contractors branching out on our own, we saw an opportunity, small independent systems like yours cannot afford and do not want to purchase 10,000 droids, 3000 fighters or two dozen corvettes at once, rather you want a small number of high quality customizable weapons platforms not the leavings of a production run…”

Cha leaned forward fingers pressed tip to tip

“We don’t want to be the biggest, we are certainly not the cheapest, we are passionate about co-innovation and developing long terms relationships with our customer – our profitability depends on it…and I guarantee you this,
Relaxing back as he finished his spiel he pointed toward the Dark Trooper image now showing its range of movement by simulating crouching, prone and leaping poses,

“We have the best quality by a parsec”

<<<<<< >>>>>>

The Lunar base hangar was largely empty, typically crowded with out of active service but carefully maintained training ARC-170s being put through their paces high above them against the small number of reprogrammed Vulture droids that Cliff had trained against when he was a recruit.

Ta’Re and a small group of officers were preparing to witness the demonstration of the DTIV, a small ‘arena’ had been marked out with old shipping crates, deliberate oil spills and other unused furniture…whilst they could’ve used a training facility on M’Tzigon Cliff preferred not to have these business people peering around an actual Men at Arms base - all they would see of the Lunar base was the hangar itself.

As he headed toward the demonstration area he was struck by the hulking forms of the DTIVs…looming over the officers with cold indifference.

“General!” Cha said warmly extending a firm hand,
“Welcome thank you for this opportunity to show our products,”
“Curious to see if they can live up to your hype,” he replied bluntly
“Ha…indeed I hope so, please have a look at the others,” there were three in all, two to look over and one for the test.

They dominated the space around them not just with their height and width…but their…weight…there was a pull to them, a micro gravity that drew you in never to escape - lifeless contemptuous face plates the product of psychological research into what visage would sow fear in the maximum number of humanoid cultures. Bulky soot grey armour plating rebutted any thought that a blaster such as the one on his hip right now could do any damage. Cliff pictured it standing at the back of a Medical Missions waiting room – no sane sentient would try to harass the staff, even the most zealous cultists would stare up and doubt themselves.

A bolder officer than Cliff tapped his pen on the lower torso yielding only a thin ‘tpp’.

“Feel free general to issue any movement commands you like…” Cha noted behind him “non-combat ones of course,”
He looked up to the face and was slightly take a back at its sudden movement, fiery red eyes gazing down upon him

“Crouch,” he ordered

Cliff almost toppled as the air displaced against the mechanically perfect and disturbingly silent movement of the DTIV from a towering colossus to a crouched ball of metal that still stood just under his eye level.

“Fast…and quiet…” he noted
“Absolutely…no reason for a droid to replicate human reflex speed when it can do much better…and yes quiet…we use a special over coat on the plates and joints that reduces friction and thereby noise.

“Stand,” just as swiftly it was back up again as if it had never been ordered to move at all.

“Well shall we begin the demonstration?”
<<<<<< >>>>>>

Chapter 2: Man and Machine
Part 2
In the hangar control room overlooking the makeshift training course Cliff noted the woman with Cha standing off to the side, she hadn’t spoken at all in the first meeting and seemed uncomfortable being there, her arms crossed across her white blouse that was accented with a neat dark blue vest above a black skirt. Thinking of his own daughter and not wanting her to feel left out he approached her with an easy gait and fatherly smile.
“Good to see you again miss…”
“Aeresdottir,” she said quietly avoiding eye contact,
Right this wasn’t going well,
“Do you work in the sales team or design,” he attempted
“Design…software development…”
She looked so young,
“Have you been working there long or…”
“Ah General we’re about to begin,” Cha stepped between them almost protective of the young woman he reached out to guide Cliffs shoulder and stance away from her
“Miss Aeresdottir is rather shy I’m afraid, exceptionally clever but very shy,”
“So it seems,”
“Not to worry…” he clapped Cliff on the back, “Once you get her started on the nuts and bolts she’ll become much more talkative,”

The DTIV stood at one end of the course designed by Ta’Re and a few drill instructors, these were not stealth units, so it was designed to simulate open warfare, its task to obtain a pressure sensitive object placed somewhere in the training area whilst under fire from a squad of Men at Arms and a number of training droids. Whilst the DTIV would be set to non-lethal parameters the Men at Arms were free to use any weapons they wished, Ta’Re had added in a few surprises to the course, EMP mines, stun nets and had a slicer nearby with a short range hacking device to try and override it.

As the signal to begin sounded Cliff kept his eye on the two sellers, making sure they didn’t pull a swift manual order on it, but their hands were out and unmoving.

Below a storm of red fire erupted from the Men at arms, none hit the target as the grey blur leapt and spun over the containers seeking out the target.

“It’s active radar and thermal imaging will soon find it…if it hasn’t already…” The girl suddenly said referring to the goal object

Leaping one container in a single bound the first hit was scored on its back, leaving no obvious dent nor slowing it, it went low into an open container that tunnelled from one section of the course to the next, Cliff waited for the EMP charge there to detonate…

It did not…the DTIV emerged indifferently rapidly lifting and replacing broken furniture and old forklifts seeking its target…finally one of the traps sprung, a blue flash poured energy over the hulking beast…it stood indifferently and continued on its way, effortlessly spinning out of the firing line of the Men at Arms who were struggling to keep pace with its movements.

“EMP field won’t work, the phirk insulates the internal circuitry, the nanites themselves are insulated against most such attacks…they take up the energy and covert it to power themselves…similar defence against ion weapons,” the girl noted half nervous half proud.

Hand reaching into an overturned wire spool it found the target device, its other hand deftly working to disable the pressure sensitive mine placed under the target device, most of the Men at Arms repositioned as it paused, a half dozen snap shot harmlessly bouncing off the armour, they were intent on catching it in a kill zone further on, Ta’Re gave a three finger signal on her near hand informing Cliff the slicer had begun.

It screeched forward, room shaking steps bringing its Assault Cannon up as soon as the training droids appeared, obliterating six in a quick firing arc before they had even opened fire.

“The cannon fires ten times faster than a normal blaster, few targets have time to dodge once it’s locked.” The girl noted coolly, her confidence growing with every success of her creation, Cliff wondered how a Knight would fare trying to deflect shots with such enhanced speed and kinetic energy.

Ta’Re’s face became concerned as she glanced at her datapad linked to the slicer, the Men at Arms lobbed ion grenades in its predicted path – predicted was not assured - it blasted a hole into a shipping container to avoid their trap charging through the white hot molten metal.

A last flurry of droids and stun nets were launched, it curled into a ball rolling through an EMP mine protecting its cargo as the stun nets hit but slipped off the pauldrons. A few shots hit the chest plate as it rose but the droids that delivered them were soon puffed into smoking ruins. Ducking and weaving through overlapping fields of fire it skidded across the finish line then remained stone still as the Men at arms fired a few more shots not realising it was over.

He glanced to Ta’Re who shook her head, the slicer too had failed

“Impressive” he said breaking the silence, “still good against remotes is one thing,”

“We’re happy to test against your special forces if you like,” Cha smoothly responded

“How easy is it to repair any damage” Ta’Re shifted the conversation

“We use a 3D printer repair station, for minor damage like this 5-10 minutes,” Aresdottir replied before bringing up her own datapad

“Slicing won’t work either…we use a quantum entanglement command system to a central hub rather than peer to peer communication, without knowing the exact subatomic frequencies you won’t be able to hack it…even then we use Chiss firewalls and transmission authentication protocols…if any is disrupted it reverts to internal programming.”

A walking fortress Cliff thought, physically and mentally, just as the Knights claimed to be.

<<<<<< >>>>>>

“What do you think?” Cliff asked

Ta-Re consulted her notes “It’s a capable machine no doubt, it took fifteen direct eight glancing hits with operational performance unaffected,”

“I meant more about the sellers,” Cliff redirected, but he agreed, with its size and ability to soak up fire it would draw the enemies attention away from the Men at Arms, potentially saving dozens of lives.

Ta’Re shrugged, “Intelligence says they check out, small firm former subcontractors formed ten years ago, purchased Imperial intellectual property, Cha has an Imperial background…but that’s neither uncommon nor suspicious nowadays,” he turned to the third person in the room who had observed proceedings from a distance, Koawan Da’Ne’Mas, Danny, who was on secondment with the general staff,

“Anything unusual about them”

Danny pursed his lips

“There is something funny about the girl…could be extreme nervousness…Cha talks up his product but he is honest…my main concern is the machines themselves…”

Cliff raised an eyebrow,

“What do you mean?”

“They feel…dead in the force,”

Cliff had been around Mak’tor long enough to have some understating of the force
“Isn’t that common for droids?”

“Yes…but…perhaps dead isn’t the right word…more like…empty…like it’s not even there at a basic level…if I couldn’t see it with my eyes I couldn’t sense it…”

“What could explain that?” Ta’Re leaned forward concerned

“It’s possible it’s the material…I’ve never heard of phrik before…and records on it are few and far between…”
Cliff had to smile a little, something the Mak’tor didn’t know about the force…wonders never cease…

“Perhaps given how much Silman is intent on chasing after dark siders and cultists, we could use some ‘invisible’ combat droids…we’re churning through those damn DCC’s…” Cliff added with a snide satisfaction.

“I think we should investigate more,” Danny added, “I need to discuss this with the Council of Balance…”

“What…” Cliffs face dropped all emotion to be a blank mask of annoyance

“Well such a divergence to how the force flows…”

“The force flows…this isn’t a meditation session or building a Church…this is purchasing high end military equipment, we’re interested in real combat capability not feelings here…”

“General will all due respect the feeling I get off…”

“Look boy,” he leaned onto his elbows annoyed to have to repeat himself
“This isn’t about feelings, this is rational military procurement, now if you have something to contribute about its performance, its stats, the price, heck if you want to try fighting one, fine, but I’m not taking feelings and mystical interpretations into account when making decisions about protecting M’Tzigon!.”

<<<<<< >>>>>>

The door whisked open to reveal the Zabrack Kage,
“Minister to what do I owe this pleasure,” Cliff said his eyes still scanning the DTIV post-test briefing rather than looking up.

“Danny tells me you’re looking at purchasing battle droids,” Silman kept his voice even, as conversational as he could

“We’re simply testing the market at this point, it’s always good to see what new developments are occurring,”

There was no easy way to say this Silman realised, and Cliff was no going to make it any simpler either, his presence was indignant and slightly bitter,

“I see, I expect the consultation paper was lost amongst my other paper work,”

Cliff shrugged still not looking up

“I expect it was, perhaps lost in the same file as the Strategic cost benefit analysis of the Scarida mission.”

That was a low blow, but Cliff didn't care. Yes the emergency withdrawal was sudden, but it was not part of a cohesive strategic military deployment and had risked Joker squad ending up between competing Imperial Remnant factions. Yes, the Mak'Tor had lost Koawan Il’lian’Cam on that mission and obtained valuable intel on a number of Imperial factions and Mellichae, but to Cliff the loss of the entire team would have been acceptable to safeguard the System.

The Kage did not agree. On balance Silman was convinced it was worthwhile, yet Cliff had been vociferous that they had risked M’Tzigons security by getting involved in a Remnant dispute. Silman could not disagree it was a risk, yet on the spot the decision was made to save their agents Talia, Julwynn and Balnard and he stood by that.

“Elax…I know there is a tension of late,” Silman chose to sooth and console rather than confront

“The strategic landscape is changing rapidly, we need to come together not be at odds in times like this…”

“And it changes even more rapidly in response to every deployment you order without consulting our Strategic Advisory board for a full assessment first,” Cliff struck back as though they were fencing.

Twice in one meeting Silman bit back a response, Cliff sometimes simply did not understand that the Mak’Tor’s role did not end at the systems boundaries - he was a good man, dedicated to protecting M’Tzigon and their way of life, but he was a proud man and tended to see the only good strategy as the one which kept M’Tzigon, and M’Tzigon alone safe. Silman could not ignore the shifting currents of the force Cliff was blind to, nor discount outlandish rumours of dark siders and worse that filtered across Tel’Owna’s desk.

“Perhaps I have been circumspect regarding some of my deployments,” the Zabrack cautiously replied
“There have been times recently where a quick decision was needed, I can only ask that you trust my judgement in these matters…” neither apology nor concession Cliff noted, words suited to a politician not a warrior.

“Investigating other military technologies is a wise step,” Cliff raised his gaze at the half-hearted concession while Silman decided not to raise Danny’s concerns just now,

“I am happy to sign off on any resources you need for further research, though I must admit,” he let a little levity enter his voice as he sensed Cliff’s tension drain slightly
“I was surprised to hear you were looking into droids,”

Cliff shifted, putting the report aside, at least he had the Kage’s attention, but it was contemptuous of his plans, Cliff knew when he was being patronized.

“With our forces out of system we need more bodies to hold the fort, recruitment is up but training takes time…” his words were cautiously chosen, implying Silmans deployments were a resourcing issue to be solved rather than a policy to be questioned.

“If you wish to assist…” Cliff drew his datapad, flicking a few screens, “We’re looking into performing some live fire trials with some droid samples…we need your signature to authorize the import of foreign military equipment and technical personnel to the planet’s surface…” he pushed the datapad forward, the e-signature lit in dull green as Cliff placed a stylus beside it.

Silman nodded, a small gesture like this could bridge the divergence that was growing, if droids would help Cliff feel the system was secure in lieu of recalling all missions then Silman was happy to support that. For now.

He took up the stylus and signed. “I look forward to seeing them in action,” Silman added, unable to keep just a hint of contempt out of his voice.

Cliff's eyes sharped as the tone registered. He considered for a moment, then let a friendly smile lighten his face. "Perhaps a test against one your Knights as well?" Cliff let the image of a one of Silman's Knights facing and struggling to cope with the large and very impressive droid spread the smile further on his face. "Might as well test them against the best.”

Silman sensed the spike of challenge in the General's emotions. "Agreed. Forward me the details when you've made the arrangements." Silman handed the datapad and stylus back to the General and left. And then we'll see just how worthless battle-droids are against a REAL opponent, General...

<<<<<< >>>>>>

Chapter 3 - Trial by Combat
-part one

Karmack walked respectfully one step behind and off the right shoulder of Kage Lo as they approached the Men-At-Arms proving grounds. The tests today were to be centered around close-quarters combat, and would be conducted on a closed course with force-shield protected balconies where observers could see what happened. The course itself was designed to mimic urban terrain. The Knights who trained here called it "The Devil's Playground", and the simulated village was simply named "Hades" by Knights and Men-At-Arms alike. "Planet Hell" was another popular nickname among the Militia and everything from individual combat training to company-sized combat maneuvers were conducted here.

As they approached the entrance the two Knights were met by General Cliff and his aide. "Minister, Master Mack. Welcome to our demonstration today." Cliff fell in on Kage Lo's left, his aid adopting a similar position with Cliff, and the four fell into a tight wedge formation as they entered the massive doors of the grounds and faced the village. "I trust you're ready for a show, gentlemen. We'll be pushing these DT-IVs to the limit, and probably beyond I think." He stopped and turned to Silman. "I thought we might begin with your Knight. No sense in wasting Master Karmack's time by making him wait through preliminary rounds, as it were."

Or letting us gather intel from watching it perform before we face it. Silman filled in. Still, hitting it cold would be the best possible test of both droid and Knight. "Understood, General, but Master Karmack won't be facing the droid: I will."

Cliff's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Minister?"

Silman grinned. "No fear, General. I won't let the droid kill me. Besides, after watching him train in the last few months I suspect that Master Karmack has greatly outstripped my own humble skills. I will be a far more equitable test for your droid, I assure you."

Cliff's eyes narrowed but after a moment he nodded. "As you say, sir. Colonel Ta'Re will escort you to the OpFor staging area. Master Karmack, if you will accompany me?" Cliff stepped back, indicating a side corridor that Karmack knew would lead them to the overhead viewing areas.

"One moment, General." Karmack replied. He stepped close to Silman and lowered his voice. "My Kage, this is not necessary. Let me fight the droid. For the Kage to risk public failure and disgrace..."

Silman clapped his hand on Karmack's shoulder. "No fear, Master Karmack. I may not be quite at your level, but I think I can handle one droid." The Kage turned to Colonel Ta'Re and nodded. "After you, Colonel."

Karmack watched his Kage follow the slim Militia Colonel into the warren of passages and sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

****

The walk through the support areas and into the control center's "Maker" room took longer than Karmack had anticipated. The proving ground arena was simply huge and the surrounding support structure was filled with its own maze of corridors. Cliff filled the time with small talk, inquiring about Karmack's family and congratulating him on the engagement of his son. For his part Karmack managed to reciprocate with his own questions, learning about the status of Cliff's two sons (one was in the Academy, the other now a flight leader with VF-01) and his daughter's recent honorarium from the Temple Choral Society for her original vocal composition.

After a quick tour of the control center, the "Maker" room with its myriad of recording stations and control systems from which the evaluators could both control the fight's environment as well as record the entire engagement for later detailed analysis, the General led Karmack out to the actual balcony overlook. “Master Mack,” Cliff redirected the conversation as they approached two figures, a man and woman, gazing over the balcony to the arena below, “Might I introduce the representative of Aertemis Industries, Mister…” The man, dressed in a red and black business jacket turned around.

“Cha…” Karm finished his hand instantly dropping to his saber in time with the surge in his heart rate.

Cha gave him an easy smile as Cliffs eyes darted between the two of them. No one could have failed to notice the subtle shift in Karmack’s stance, the tensing for battle; Cliff suppressed a smirk and decided to throw a little promethium on the fire. “You know each other...”

“Not formally general,” Cha replied with a smile. Seemingly indifferent to Karmack’s posture he extended a hand. “Nimmin Cha at your service Master Mack.”

“Well then, I’ll leave you to … get acquainted,” Cliff finished feeling very suddenly like a third anti-grav plate. Huh. Let the rogue knight stew...
Mute with shock and desperately trying to regain his center, Karmack forced his shoulders to relax, shifted his stance, and released his saber hilt to take Cha's hand.

****

Silman finished his limbering exercise and handed his outer robe to one of the Men-At-Arms manning the strong-point. This was the "safe zone". If he became overwhelmed or feared for his life he could retreat to this point and stop the exercise. The Droid would not attack this spot or anyone within its walls. Doing so could save his life if he were in trouble - but it would also be an admission of defeat.

Silman did not intend to be defeated. "Thank you, trooper."

"You're welcome, Kage." The young man replied. Then impulsively "Give 'em hell, sir." Silman turned back to the trooper, whose cheeks suddenly flamed red. "Um, er, what I meant sir was..."

Silman smiled brilliantly. "I hope, trooper that you meant what you said." He ignited his saber blades with a twin snap-hiss of ignition. "Because hell is exactly what I intend to visit upon this droid. After all, are we not in Hades?"

Eyes alight with his battle song Silman Lo, Kage of the Mak'Tor, slipped out of the bunker and into the maze of passages, his blue blades matching the blue fire of his eyes.

****

Karmack took Cha's hand and shook it with controlled, mechanical precision while he used the time to study the man. The face was unmistakably that of the man who had Arnor beaten and abused…yet…it wasn’t him. This face was younger, leaner, a confident and relaxed charm to the eyes. “I am ... pleased ... to meet you Mister Cha,”

Cha's grin only broadened slightly at the hesitation. “And I you Master Mack,”

Karmack broke eye contact, turning back toward the arena. Whoever he was there could be no doubt he was at least related to Namman Cha, a brother, possibly a twin based on the name and easy smile and the remarkably similar looks.

Cha matched his stance, standing easily next to him. “Not too disappointed your Kage pipped you for the glory I hope?”

Karmack shook his head slightly as a subtle black slick appeared at the edge of his awareness, Cha’s presence resolving itself more fully. Karmack kept his probes in the force soft and subtle, probing the dark edges carefully. He also started actively exploring his presence in the song. His melody was faint, as if muted, and ... unusual. Overly smooth, more like a commercial jingle than a true song. “Not at all. In fact I’m looking forward to seeing what your droid has to offer.” And how long it burns...

Cha chuckled as if reading Karmack's thoughts. “And I am fascinated to see what the fabled Mak’Tor knights have to meet them with.” he replied as the warning horns blared and the exercise commenced.

****

Chapter 3 - Trial by Combat
-part two

Silman stalked through the streets, his senses extended. Where are you? Come out come out wherever you are... He kept low and tight against the wall, confident that he would have plenty of warning from the massive droid's presence before it pressed home its attack...

He barely had time to duck and roll as the wall behind him exploded outward. Silman rolled up onto his knee and slammed out with a massive force push intended to crumple the thing in one move – the blast hit dead on driving the huge droid back and knocking it down and into a small building, which collapsed on it. All too easy... Silman grinned. Droids indeed! What was Cliff thin...

Blue bolts slammed into his guard before he could finish his thought. The stout blade managed to turn the attacks but each hit nearly jarred the weapon out of his hands despite his force-augmented grip. The blasts doubled down as the droid charged toward him, a grey blur with impossible speed, the rubble it had kicked out of not even settled before half the distance was closed.

His hands were already starting to blister from his tightened grip as the droid's fire stopped and its fists flew. It was only now he appreciated the size of the thing, and he was learning quickly to fear it. Silman dodged and weaved, barely able to avoid those massive fists as the droid used its height to hammer swift blows down on him. This was not going to be the quick fight he’d anticipated; in the back of his mind Silman began to worry. He was moving fast just to avoid its blows, faster than he could sustain long term – barely a minute into the fight and he felt the first evidences of force fatigue in his limbs and core. "A droid did not fatigue" ... the axiom came to him from nowhere ... the same nowhere a blinding lance laser stabbed out from aimed at his shoulder –pivoting out of the way he gathered a massive slug of force energy and hurled it with an inelegant cry at the droid, catching it square in the chest.

Even as the DT-IV droid folded at the waist, looking almost cartoonish as the energy slammed it across the training grounds and into another building, Silman knew something was wrong. Oh he hit it ... but he should’ve hit the droid harder than that. He had only bought a gap, a moment to take a quick breath and gather himself while the droid shrugging off a strike that would have pulverized a Durasteel door. The eddies of the force about it were dulled and as flaky as the grey rock-crete rubble from which it rose. His force blasts met their mark but they didn’t hit at 100%, as if the droid had some kind of internal force shielding...

Silman, no longer grinning but filled with grim determination, charged after it, his battle song wrapped around him like a cloak and his throat issuing an ear-splitting battle cry matched only by the dull thvump of the cannon fired in response.

****

Karm hummed a calming tune and settled himself, trying desperately not to allow his feeling for the happily deceased Namman Cha to carry over to Nimmin. At the same time he struggled to reconcile the size of the battle droid with the speed with which it moved…and the difficulty the Kage was having trying to outpace it…

Unbidden the dripping black ... sickness ... beside him interrupted his thoughts. The son shall not be punished for the sins of the father, he reminded himself, nor the brother for the sins of his brother…

“Have we met before Master Mack? You seem familiar...” Cha said casually as Silman re-engaged the droid, flowing through a series of attacks that looked as smooth as glass but which Karmack knew were on the ragged edge of the Kage's abilities and were taxing him to the very limits of his endurance and skill.

“I don’t believe so,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the fight and his senses probing as subtly as possible. Questions rolled through his mind. What did Cha know about his brother's death? What was his connection to Mendax? Was there a connection at all – and if so what was he really here for?

“Hmm…” Cha made a drama of recollection “Perhaps when I was with the Inquisition some six or more years ago?”

Karm couldn’t stop his eyes from widening and his body tensing at the admission ... yet as vile as the blackness around Cha was there was no sense of threat or malice in him. Karmack clung to the calming motif and pulled himself back toward center again. He managed to keep his tone light and conversational. “You were with the Inquisition?”

Cha nodded “I was. Like many people in those years I found employ with the Government of the day. I quickly came to regret it and left at the first opportunity,”

His honesty couldn’t be faulted ... yet why mention it at all except to unsettle? “Our Order kept out of politics in those days Mister Cha.”

“A wise course. I never heard of the Mak’Tor until researching M’Tzigon. You weathered the storm of Palpatine's reign well it seems, though not without cost I imagine...”

****

Silman rolled through a series of flowing attacks. Be like water... he whispered to himself in his mind. Water flowed. Took the path of least resistance. Deflected. Eroded bit-by-bit...

The force fatigue was building, a ball of burning bile in his stomach, no more than a nuisance for now but growing, always growing... Silman knew that his only hope was to pick the droid apart at close range, but if he was close enough to reach it, then it was close enough to reach him...

Well, he'd just have to deal with it.

Not desiring to be slammed into another building the Droid had taken to the skies on thin blue proton jump jets, pouring fire from its cannon. Silman scampered through building after building as they blew apart behind him, picking up cuts and scrapes from flying debris along the way. The roofs offered no protection from the overpowered cannon; he darted across an alley twisting to pinpoint and fire another force blast into it. The droid tried to swerve but was struck in the shoulder.

In its rage a bloom of yellow erupted on its back, brief hope he had damaged it was soon lost with the two story building before him that crumpled in, then blasted out with orange fire. It was trying to predict his movements and had overestimated his speed ... a few seconds more and he would have leaped to that building...

Time for Plan B... A quick about face followed by more telekinetic blasts as he sped to another two story building behind, blue bolts churning the ferro-crete behind his ankles. Racing up the stairs as the wall blew to pieces in his wake he pushed out his hand to blast the wall at the top out then leapt off the second story.

The air against his face spread away the sweat as he used the force to push himself around and keep himself lifted. The droids infrared sensors had him and it was already beginning to turn, but not in time. His forward blade bit deep into the droid’s jet pack but didn’t fully cut through, slowing in a chunk of phirk, stopping his fall and pulling them both down.

****

Karm winced as the Kage and the droid crashed together into the ground. Karmack could feel how much force energy Silman expended to stay on top and avoid getting crushed by that monster droid. Surely that will kill it...

But no. The droid, still moving with impossible speed, kicked up and threw the Kage off. Silman landed in a controlled roll and darted back into cover, avoiding the hail of heavy blaster fire that followed him. Well ... at least he disabled it's jet pack...

“Quite an impressive machine,” Karm noted, barely able to keep his voice impassive, seriously wondering if he should intervene.

“Thank You Master Mack, though credit must go to the designers first and foremost! Taking a block of phirk and ... perfecting it like this ... is no easy task! 'The clay of creation forged into new life' as it were.”

Karmack rolled his eyes in annoyance as Cha paraphrased from the Way. If Cha had researched the Mak’Tor as he said he would know that it was in poor taste to twist quotes from the Book of the Way like that. Which meant he'd no doubt done it on purpose.

Another gaff.

“Did you obtain the designs during your time with the Inquisition?” Karm probed.

“A little after. All part of forging a new life. They were dark times Master Mack, but now a new day has dawned. A chance to begin afresh; old pains healed,” Cha turned from the fight to offer a satisfied smile “...all sins forgiven and forgotten.”

Forgiven and forgotten ... Was that a reference to Namman? The verbal sparring was pointless and only adding to the stress of watching the Kage’s struggle. Dancing around the point wasn't going to help ... maybe it was time to move inside? “Actually Mister Cha I do recall you ... or rather a man who bore a striking resemblance to you, albeit somewhat older and involved with the Empire.”

“My brother no doubt, Namman, the less handsome wouldn’t you agree?”

Karmack met Cha's eyes briefly, noting that the humor of the remark didn't extend to his gaze. Karm returned his gaze to the fight. So this is Namman's brother. Does he know I killed Namman? Is he here for revenge? Based on the way the droid was pressing Silman he certainly had the tools to enact it! He needed more information, more time ... and he had neither. “Perhaps. It was some time ago,” Karm replied as nonchalantly as possible.

Cha's voice was still smooth as glass, and there was a playfulness now, an almost teasing tone. “Yes. I haven’t seen him in some years. I hope he’s come to his senses and left that rotting ruin of an Empire behind him.”

What if he really doesn't know? Should I tell him, clear the air... Karmack stirred uncomfortably, caught in the irons of indecision. Cha's statement suggested he didn't know Namman was dead ... but this was hardly the time and place to tell him, let alone confess to being his killer! And that tone ... it was almost as if Nimmin was playing with him... The uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades grew with the silence. Only with supreme effort did he manage not to flinch when Cha finally broke the it.

“Ah Master Mack…” he said, his voice still light and inexplicably playful, ”No one wants to be the Last Inquisitor to die for Palpatine…Nor the first for their own ambition.”

****

Chapter 3 - Trial by Combat
-part three

Running was not an option – the droid did not fatigue – nor was hiding – thermal sensors would give his heated body away in a second. So attack it was.

He vaulted up and over a line of low structures just behind the droid, which wheeled with blinding speed to turn a lance laser toward him. The speed was no longer a surprise but it was no less difficult to deal with and Silman dodged as the droid leapt up over three meters to gain distance - it had learned that Silman wanted a close-quarters battle and it was doing everything it could to avoid it.

Silman chased it, avoiding the fire, and the droid jumped up again, reversing. Dropping from the sky with cannon blazing, it tried to stomp on him, and Silman deflected blue lances of energy as he launched himself out from under its landing point. The Kage didn't clear the zone entirely, staggering slightly against the shockwave, and as the droid recovered he launched himself up inscribing a lightning-fast flower patter with his saber staff as he passed the massive droid while it began to raise its cannon. Sparks showered both combatants as one blade bisected the massive blaster, liberating the energy stored in its power pack in a massive explosion that fortunately vented away from the Kage. The second side of his flower pattern sliced into its lower back, the cut slowed more by the phirk than Silman had anticipated. The Kage pulled out earlier than he would’ve liked – more depth and strength was needed to bite into this stuff - and he landed lightly.

Hoping to follow up Silman moved like lightning, gracefully scribed a somersault to land behind the droid. For once he seemed to have the initiative, yet before he could turn to launch his attack a sliding side-kick caught the Kage in the back. Silman had just enough warning to roll with the attack, robbing it of its bone-breaking impact, but he found himself flying out-of-control back across the village, the droid in hot pursuit.

Silman gathered himself and curled up, ducking into a roll that prevented him from taking debilitating damage as the machine leapt after him, trying to pummel him into the pavement. Pain bloomed in his awareness from serious ligament damage in his left hip and knee. It only added to his collection of deep bruises, freely bleeding cuts and scrapes and sprained joints competing with his nauseating draw on the force for attention….. Silman did his best to ignore them all as he slipped in close to engage the droid point-blank.

Planet Hell indeed...

****

“Your Kage seems to be doing very well,” Cha noted as Silman finally appeared to be gaining the upper hand.

Karmack couldn’t agree with that assessment. Silman had been overconfident, and the droid had punished his hubris.

“I fear my droids will be considered quite unfit for your Militia's purpose given how easily it has been defeated...”

As a former inquisitor Cha must be able to sense how strongly Silman was pulling on the force to keep together. He would also be able to evaluate how capable a warrior Silman was ... and yet he had still almost been overwhelmed. And Cha must know that there were few if any more capable warriors within the Order...

“We will have to work on the programming. The data from this fight will certainly assist in perfecting close combat protocols.” Cha continued.
Karmack avoided any reply beyond a short affirmative ‘hrmmm’, still sorting through the veiled suggestions with which Nimmin Cha was littering the conversation...

****

Silman ducked under a fist that punched a hole through the wall behind him – he could not afford to get hit even once – any blow that thing landed would break bone. Its strength came at a cost of flexibility, however, and Silman used the force to throw himself through the droid's legs, his saber extended. It was a desperation move - the droid had him cornered, his lungs and limbs were on fire, and he was running out of options. So ... go for the knees...

The forward roll and lunge was executed with flawless precision for all its desperation. The droid's lightning reflexes saved its right knee, the leg rising so that the blade struck and rebounded from the phrik armor. But the left did not escape. The blade still didn't have enough power to sever the internal structure, but it did slice through power runs, actuators and hydraulic lines. The Mark IV staggered, the left leg buckling.

It was too much to hope that damage would topple it: rolling back up Silman came through in a round house kick pouring the force into his boot, slamming energy into the droid's back and toppling it at last. Silman didn't hesitate – he needed to kill it before it auto-repaired or something!

The Mark IV was already rising as Silman sprang forward. Ignoring the pain in his body, the fatigue, and the large collection of minor wounds he'd acquired he pulled deeply on the force, augmenting his battle song with a motif that flooded his body with energy and enhanced his strength and agility. He knew from experience that he couldn't keep this motif up for long, but he didn't need a lot of time. In fact, if this took more than a few seconds...

Sweeping in between its heavy fists, Silman launched himself onto the back of the droid and plunged his saber deep into the thorax. Rather than try to cut, he used his augmented strength and leverage to 'stir' the blade around.

The droid bucked under him, back arching, hips twisting... Silman managed to keep his place, barely, and his attack finally bore fruit - there was a flash and muffled <<crump>> from inside the Mark IV, followed by a billow of acrid black smoke from plasma melted components.

The droid made a final heave, flipping itself over. Silman was tossed off and slammed into a wall. He landed on his feet but fell to one knee, bracing himself up with his left hand, his saber still held in his right as the droid slowly sat up and on its three remaining limbs started to crawl toward him.

Heaving out a breath he spun around to the side and sliced into the pauldron weapons before they could lock onto him, metal and sparks flying into his face as he pounded at the droid with clumsy heavy strokes he would’ve upbraided any Knight for using.

With each exhalation another blow but still it kept turning, and he kept shifting as it tried to grasp his legs. The thick armor simply wouldn’t give, its auxiliary systems must be deep within its skeleton to keep this up. Finally the flaming red lights of the eyes, burning lava amidst Hades began to flicker and die as is power reserve collapsed, the scarred smoking body crashing to the ground.

Finally over…

Silman deactivated his blades and collapsed into a seated position, leaning on the remnants of the wall behind him. He stopped his battle song and sang a healing motif, letting healing force energy flood his system as he simply sat still, chest heaving.

Before he could react the right arm sprung back to life and gabbed at his knee. In furious reflex he pounded out a force blast that sent it skidding in a dusty divot through the ground. Back on his feet, his blade back in his hands his face scrunched in anger – what did it TAKE!

Brutally, sloppily, he pounded the thing into the ground with blow after blow of the force, crushing each of its limbs into the pavement, only stopping when the limbs were dissected, the massive fists crushed and splayed apart...

Silman flopped to his knees, drenched in grimy dusty sweat, switching off his blades, Utterly exhausted.

Next time, Karm, it’s all yours...

****

“Well what an impressive display!” Cha cheered as the droids red eyes died to black. “I must say I’m quite thankful the Mak’Tor stayed hidden during the Empires reign…a tragedy to think I might’ve been on the end of your Kages blade there ... or my brother on the end of yours.”

He knows... The realization rolled through him, and Karmack tensed, his hand again on his saber...

Silman below, wounded, heaving in exhaustion, Da'Ne and Colonel Ta'Re and a brace of healers with him. Defenseless...

Four more droids, immense killers marching through the dust toward them...

Cha was smiling now, a tusk-cat about to devour a Gungan. Karm gathered himself: Was a brother's vengeance about to begin? If so his fight would begin on the balcony, not below. Maker, into your hands...

Cha clapped him on the shoulder. "Happily, those days we might have been enemies are long past us." Karmack flinched at the touch despite himself.

“Come,” Cha turned to his companion whose presence Karmack hadn’t even acknowledged for being so caught up with Cha, “Let us congratulate the Kage on his win!” Below the two droids simply dragged the sparking wreck of their fallen fellow away.

*** Chapter End ***

Chapter 4 - What Was Left Behind
Part 1
Karmack sat comfortably, a cup of cafe steaming in a highly efficient mug on the table next to him. The Book of the Way lay open where he'd done his daily reading. Passages about trust in the Maker that he knew from years of study and meditation that he still found challenging. Wait on the Maker...but I hate waiting!

His thoughts turned to Silman, recovering after his fight with the droid. The monster machine had indeed been impressive, far more capable than any droid any of them had ever seen. It still didn't have the imagination or raw ability to improvise that a live soldier possessed, but it was fast, well-armed and very hard to kill. Silman had done well to defeat it. Without pride Karmack knew he would have done better, but only because of his unlocking of so many of the Ancient One's secrets.

But that wasn't the only battle fought yesterday. Karmack replayed his conversation with Cha over again. What was the point? It was like the entire thing was meant to keep me off-balance...

Karmack felt the first rays of the sun on his face and he smiled, leaning back and singing a song of praise and joy. As his mother had taught him, it was the only way to start the day. Karmack remembered sitting with his mother fter his father had died, listening to her sing with joy even while tears streamed down her cheeks. He hadn't really understood then. He wasn't entirely sure he understood now.

But he sang...

Later, the song finished, Karmack topped off his cafe and opened his computer to find a message in his personal queue. His request for primary sources and records regarding the Mak’Tor and their time on Coruscant had finally gotten a few replies, one from Obroa-Skai noting they had some copies of minutes from various Jedi Administrative boards under Grand Master Kimar, some touching on resources being taken away from – ‘Gray co-research’ programs, from Lorrd University Library indicating they had a partial copy of the Original Saga of Vyth, but most intriguing of all..

[To: KahReMack@ MTZ_MaA.Mstr.Holo
[FWD: FWD: Mak’Tor Histroical Manuscripts
Dear Master Mack,
Professor Sejan of Bart’Leth University Library has forwarded your request for information regarding historical Mak’Tor manuscripts, specifically the Tragedy of Odjina (also known as the Saga of Vyth), and the Fall of the Starfire.

Our organisation has supported historical research by the University through scholarships for a number of years, as such we are delighted to offer our expertise and assistance in your research of these matters.

We invite you to visit our office on Commenor to discuss our mutual passion for this fascinating part of galactic history. Details along with vouchers for business class transport and accommodation are attached for your convenience and may be redeemed any time over the next 12 months.

We look forward to hearing from you and furthering research into this important area together.

Ms. L. Andisdottir
Director
Aethena Society Commenor.]

It was overly generous, unfailingly polite…but what set the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up - was the name. Specifically, the spelling. "Aethena Society" ... "Aertemis Industries" ... the odd similarity could be coincidental, but after yesterday... "Cha..."

"Hmm?" arms snaked around him from behind and linked around his waist as Arnor pulled him tight in a good-morning hug. "What's that?"

Karm turned and returned the hug, kissing the top of Arnor's head. "I was thinking..." he handed her the pad as they parted.

Arnor read the message. "Karm, you know this is a trap."

Karm took a sip of his cafe. "Maybe. Maybe not. Cha is playing a long game and is probably mixed up in this somehow, but if he was strictly looking for revenge he would have done it yesterday. If he'd hit us with all five of those droids, unprepared..." Karmack left the thought unfinished.

Arnor's eyes were intense and Karmack could feel both her concern for him and her anger, rage and the residual terror of her attack bleeding through in the force as she spoke. "Karm, don't trust him. Whatever he's up to it is for his own good and your ill."

Karmack wrapped her up and kissed her again. "I know, my love. But I have to go. If nothing else I need to get a better grasp of just who and what we're up against. Cha..." He took a deep breath. "He was ... slippery. Oily. His conversation was filled with hints and pokes, like he knows all about you ... and can't help but tell you so, but only in the most circumspective way possible, so you're never entirely sure just what he knows ... if anything at all." Kamack broke the embrace and stepped back to the window, sighed and took another drink, staring off into the distance. "He knew all about what happened to his brother. He knows all about us. And I know nothing about him at all. Who he is, who his friends are... I need to know..."

Arnor laid her hand on his arm. "Leave him to me. You have more important things to do than track down a droid salesman."

"Are you sure? After..."

Arnor's eyes flickered with memory, but they were solid and resolute. "Namman Cha is dead. He has answered to the Maker for his crimes. His brother is just ... his brother. I will be fine. As for this invitation..." she sighed. "...you're going."

Karm smiled and nodded. "I have to. There's a chance, small I admit, but a chance that they're entirely legit. And legit or not they may have a clue that can lead me to the Starfire."

"So, when do you leave?" Arnor said, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Soon. I have a little more research I want to collect, but the Society very graciously booked me a first-class room on the next transport. It leaves in two days."

"A round-trip ticket I assume?" Arnor asked, eyebrows rising interrogatively.

Karm chuckled. "Yes. First thing I checked."

"Very well. Be safe my love. Just do me one favor." Arnor walked over and draped her arms around her husband's neck, pulling him close.

Karmack grinned and hugged Arnor tight to himself. "Anything my love."

Arnor kissed him, slowly and passionately. When their lips parted she stared into his eyes. "Don't get yourself killed."

Karmack grinned and nodded, his eye twinkling. "Yes, ma'am."

<<<<>>>>

Ken took a deep breath. Sing the song. Trust the Singer. Tell the truth… He turned and face the gathered members of the Sons. But from behind a pounding in his ear,

YOU – ARE – A – TRAITOR

He wasn’t he knew - yes he had deceived them…he was a spy…but not a traitor…He turned intent on telling Scrubber just that…but as his face moved a black metal hand gripped his skull

PHWuuuush

His head was plunged under water, into deep blackness, a piercing vice crushing his head at the temples…his memories…his mother, his father…his knighting, his training all leaching out of him by a painful osmosis into the black sea around him as the hand kept squeezing them out of his mind…

He was drowning…drowning in his own memories and a sea of black, he gazed up through the shimmering remnants of his very identity as they leached out, above the pool an uncaring figure in midnight armour held him down…impossibly strong, unimaginably powerful, and utterly Silent…a silence into which this Drinker of Souls now intended to send him…..

“ghuuuh…” Ken sat up a cold sweat covering his face…It wasn’t the first nightmare since the violation of his mind in the drumhead before the Sons of Kessel…nor would it be the last…

He slid silently out of the bed, Ry lay quietly dreaming as he moved to the ensuite refresher. After his proposal he had rented a small mid-tier apartment in Sierra, only a half-hour hovercar trip to the Mountain…a place for the two of them before the wedding and a more permanent home was found.

A splash of cool water felt soothing physically…but mentally the pain remained. What had been done to him could only be charitably called a force delve…it had left behind a trail of wreckage…it was as though before his memories had been a neatly arranged library, then a black mag-train had sped through it straight into the shelves scattering every last tome.

In addition to the nightmares he’d had strange memories come up, from his childhood or teen years, triggered seemingly at random and painfully detailed…cleaning a rifle had caused him to slip into a solipsistic dream of his mother nursing him as a toddler with a cold, checking his credit-balance a vivid recollection of a razor ball match when he was eleven…

He breathed deeply and began a calming song, a healing song…he had spoken to a number of singers and they had done what they could…but whatever technique had been used on him was beyond their experience to understand or correct…Their best hope was that over time it would recede of its own accord.

He glanced into the mirror, Ry lay still apart from her breasts rhythmic rise and fall…he needed to get over this…for her…for their future…yet…why had he allowed it…he should’ve resisted better…a Koawan shouldn’t be so easily delved…

A sharp pain in his palms told him he was unconsciously clenching his fists again. That creature…that Black Armoured monster…what had it taken from him…and what had it left behind.

<<<<>>>>

She felt him slide softly back into bed, this was the third time this week. No one knew if more nightmares were a good or bad thing…she hoped it was a sign it was working its way out…

She wanted to help him but just didn’t know how…it was…the whole thing with the Force, was just so…so beyond her ability to understand or empathize with – it worried her.

To be a Mak’Tor Knight, to use the Force, to feel it within was a huge part of Ken’s life, and always would be…yet it was something she could never share with him, never understand. It scared her, the Force had been with him since he was a child, she was an interloper in comparison.

They had never really talked about it, so far as Ken seemed concerned it wasn’t an issue…but he was the one with the Force, not one outside of the club looking in.
One day, before the wedding they needed to talk about it…one of the dozens.

Step by step…she turned to stroke his back softly as he settled down again, touch by touch, word by word they would work through it all.

<<<<>>>>

She bit her lip, an old habit she hadn’t indulged in years, but then the words on the comm-messager were from someone she hadn’t seen in years. A short, precise acceptance, along with a string of documents to complete to ensure that when they arrived they weren’t delayed for too long by the CEDF…they needed to provide details on the ship, time of arrival, exact cargo details…departure time…

Sighing she got to work, travelling to Csilla was a chore but it was something she needed to do. She didn’t except her family to approve…but she wanted to at least show them her future husband.

“That from Csilla,” Ken inquired taking up the seat opposite, the only other seat in point of fact in the small apartment, his quarters on Aestis Minor had been bigger she mused.

“Yeah…it’s all go…”

“You sound nervous,” Ken noted, doubtless reading her anxiety in the force

“It’s just…very different back home…” she had discussed with him why she had left the Ascendancy…frankly it was as cliché as it came, girl from a military family who doesn’t want to live under her illustrious forebears shadow ventures out into the galaxy to the disapproving stares of the Houses…winds up finding a cause she could believe in and using the talents a Chiss Academy provided best – flying fighters and killing variant aliens.

“We’ll probably get stopped and searched at least 50 times…”

“I know,” Ken leaned back and took a sip of his packet soup breakfast

“And a welcome as warm as the glaciers of the city,” an easy smile on his face,

In preparation he had been diligent in reading up on Chiss culture from guides she had provided, she appreciated it, but knew it would still be quite a shock from what he was used to…the rigidity, the formality…all the things she left behind.

“hey,” he leaned forward with an open hand

“It’ll be fine,” instinctively she reached out to take it, their finger mingling and engagement rings briefly rubbing,

“We’ve taken on Two Star Destroyers together, I think we can deal with a few Chiss border guards,”

She smiled warmly as a quiet chime beeped on Kens comm,
“Sorry…” he glanced down,

“Go ahead take it,” she said supportively as his face dropped

“Problem,”

“Not sure…the Kage wants to see me in an hour.”

<<<<>>>

A gaggle of people surrounded a Teidowan holding a mall portable holo projector in the hall way. Ken checked his chrono, he was early for the meeting with Silman, so slowly pressed into the gathering,

“What’s everyone watching?”

“Oh, haven’t you seen it,” an older Teidowan Ge’Re’Tal stepped aside to let him through,

“It’s from the other day, one of the Men at Arms recorded it,” Kens height allowed him to see the slightly jittery but unmistakeable form of Silman the height of Kens hand made up of blue pixels, ducking and weaving under a hail of fire, then.

He froze…if there was any consolation it was that everyone in the small crowd was so fixated on the bootlegged holo-vid they didn’t notice his lapse, and couldn’t feel the trickle of fear up his spine…a massive humanoid figure that moved with horrific grace and speed pursuing the Kage…something about the figure…the way it moved, the curve of its armour…

“What…what is that…” his mouth was suddenly dry the memory of Black Armour dominating his thoughts…could he…no surely he wasn’t on M’Tzigon…Silman, Dad wouldn’t allow it…

“Some kind of battle droid,” a younger Tediowan said, “Nearly blasted the Kage’s head off,” He couldn’t watch anymore, he pulled out of the crowd making a show of checking his chrono to imply he was running late rather than running away.

<<<<>>>>

Silman was outside in the small reception before his office,

“Ah Ken, early as always, come…are you alright?” The Zabrack had a number of fluro blue bacta patches on his face and was favouring his right leg.

“Yes…just…saw the holo-vid of your fight Master…it was…”

Silman nodded gravely, “Yes…I’d be very interested to know how that vid was recorded and how it got out…” he spread his arm behind Ken to guide him in,

“…but that’s not what I wanted to discuss please come in.”

Inside Ken gratefully took one of the three seats in front of the desk, rather than sit behind it Silman sat beside him.

“I know you’re going to Csilla with you fiancé as part of your leave after your extended placement with the Sons,”

Ken nodded, Silman no doubt had signed off on the leave form himself,

“It’s a difficult thing, getting into and out of Csilla, and I hate to ask this of you on such a personal visit and after such a long time undercover…but if you can I need your help following up a lead there,”

That shocked Ken…the Chiss were as far from M’Tzigon and galactic politics as you could get short of Bakura.

“I’m going to be honest with you Ken, The Joint Chiefs are considering purchasing Battle Droids to bolster our ranks in the current climate, the one I fought was a demonstration model produced by a group called Aertemis Industries…it uses an Imperial design but with what we know are Chiss modifications…what I’d like you to do, is if you get a chance see what you can find out about this company or anyone the Chiss are selling technology to,”

Slightly stunned Ken simply half nodded half stared

“I don’t want you putting yourself at risk, the Chiss are frigid at the best of times…no offence…” Silman tried to inject some humour, Ken seemed oddly distant of late.

“But I also imagine they don’t often do business with ‘aliens’ as they call us…so if you see anything, hear anything while you are there regarding droids, nanite fibre or encryption tech sales…”

Ken nodded more confidently

“I’ll keep my eyes open Kage…”

Silman smiled

“I know I can count on you Ken, your performance with the Sons was exemplary, but I want to be clear, I’m not expecting anything and won’t be disappointed if you don’t get a chance, the Chiss are cagey and play close to their chest…play it safe, the last thing we need is the Chiss angry with us!”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 4 - What Was Left Behind
Part 2
“Coming down,” Bursa called as the empty pallet descended thought the roof as she sat on an old wooden chest as she watched Gurph, his fur covered in dust, fill a box with candlesticks that…hummed?...in the force.

Her connection to the force was marginal at best...enough to let her resist a mind probe, sense someone coming and occasionally, if she was really angry, make a rock move.

That small edge had allowed her to quickly rise in the ranks in a scouting crops, until while on assignment in the mid-rim putting down some rebellion or other an Inquisitor had noticed her…two weeks later she was on a ship with documents ‘requisitioning’ her for his use.

What had followed was two years with the sweaty psycho, having to ‘please’ him between hunting former Jedi, a quick suck was preferable to coping a beating if only just…she still woke some nights gagging from the nightmares of those days.

When he finally got his face blown off by a wrist mounted flame thrower belonging to another Inquisitor, she was re-assigned - five years of stalking old Jedi ruins for bits and bobs, occasionally being assigned as back up for one of the dozen or so trumped up dren lickers who called themselves Darth. The action was infrequent, most of the ruins were abandoned, the populations nearby wiped out or didn’t care.

As Gruph finished loading up another bunch of the junk she hopped off the chest and helped him lift it over onto the pallet. Iphrati Nyder had ferried dozens of weird and ancient things back to the various vaults the Empire had constructed. Why they collected them at all she wasn’t sure…nominally it was for the Emperors personal use, but there was so much dumped in the vaults he would never have time to go through it all.

Didn’t matter now, the crotchety old man she had only seen once from 200 metres away at a military parade on Carida was blown to bits now, and instead of piling stuff into the vaults, she was now piling stuff out of them.

Once the Death Star had blown…again…the credits had stopped coming, the Inquisitors had turned on each other and she was out of a job. Heading to Socorro because…why the frell not, she’d run into Bursa another scout for the old days who’d left on a mission with an Inquisitor years ago and never came back, and his lupine Shistavanen mate Gruph…and frell did they mate the sound going right through the ships walls…

They stole on a plan of making some quick cash raiding the Vaults before the Reb’s or the ‘True Believer’ Imps got to them, after the first success they’d picked up a fourth partner in Tendar Solax an Inquisition drop out with more scars on his face than kills to his name.

She glanced over what little was left to be collected, some old books, a hideous statue of an emaciated Mon Calamari, trying to decide if this dren was worth hauling to Canto Bite for sale at Nyssia-Cordaba Auction house…she could never tell how much this stuff would go for…some things she thought would be valuable, scrolls and weird looking books, garnered no interest, others like half a broken lightsabre sold for thousands of credits.

Might as well take it all just in case she finally decided. So far business had been good, but she knew it would slow fast…there were rumours of a bunch of Jedi wannabes called Templars who had the same idea as them, a few other ex-Imp crews she’d met on Socorro, and rumours of some outfit in black armour of some kind stalking around some of the places they’d tagged. There was a finite number of vaults, finite number of valuable kriff and finite amount of time before someone else got there.

“This one too,” Gruph growled at the hideous statue,

“Why the frell not,” she sneered giving the place a last look over…she should probably use her force sense, reach out with your anger the Inquisitors would say.

A slight glimmer in the back of her mind, she crouched down and looked between the empty utilitarian shelves of second hand durasteel. Just under one of them, squeezed at an angle to the wall was a small cube covered in dust. As she crawled over she felt the air vibrate slightly around it as her finger gingerly closed in.

“What’s that,” grunted Gruph as he lifted the statue,

“Our Retirement fund” Nyder smiled as the blue light peeked through the mote sprinkled air.
<<<<>>>>

Chapter 5: The Invitation
part 1

Located in the mid-levels of a high rise of Chasin City on Commenor the office was large, dark and lightly furnished, a chair behind the clear desk and two moderately priced chairs in front, but immaculately clean…there was a scent of plasteel and the acrid tinge electro-dampening paints in the air as if it had only been recently refurbished…

Karm suspected it had been prepared for this specific meeting…two points for suspicion.

Telow'na had little information on this Aethena Society…it was a private charity founded from bequests centuries ago that offered scholarships to numerous Core universities and sponsored various academic symposia and conferences, there seemed nothing unusual about it at all…indeed the small quotation beneath the blue lit sign at the entrance to the office even sounded like something from the Psalter.

“Get wisdom, get understanding: forget Her not. Forsake Her not, and She shall preserve thee: love Her, and She shall keep thee.”

Third and fourth points for suspicion.

After being directed in by a bored looking secretary he had stopped dead when he saw what was on the other side of the desk…he had to struggle to stop his hand from summoning his sabre. Beside the seated form of what looked like a twenty year old woman was a statue of deepest night – Black Armour... But no…this wasn’t the…thing…that Ken and Jorya had seen with the Sons of Kessel…this one was tall due to the armour certainly, but without it he guessed the person inside would only be of average human height.

It was no less terrifying, the underlying Song of life and existence seemed to cease around the creature. He briefly wondered if these oblivion monsters were some kind of rare and expensive Bodyguard…but surely Telow'na would’ve found out if they were simply for hire?

“Welcome Master ... Mack? Is that the title you prefer,” Came the sweet young woman’s voice

It will do well enough... Karmack thought. “Yes, thank you Miss…”

“Lyssia Andisdottir,” she replied gesturing to the seat.

Any thoughts he had that the deathly statue behind her was some kind of hired guard were soon obliterated as he realized the song was just as dead around her, the force itself nullified. He recalled there were techniques that could create a void in the force - but only the most powerful users could achieve it, and only then for a short period of time. She hadn’t said anything beyond her name yet he already distrusted her as the force seeped from him. He felt sick ... vulnerable ... exposed... Intellectually he knew that it was not uncommon for business people to have body guards and dampening devices for avoiding eavesdroppers, but this? His gut told him this was somewhere he should not be.

He would need to be cautious not to allow his emotions to affect his thinking or lead him to make incorrect assumptions…The galaxy was full of all manner of species and groups that used the force in different ways…this woman must simply be a member of such a group…he must not judge her for that.

“May we offer you some refreshments Master Mack?”

“No thank you,” he straightened himself in his chair, acutely aware even without the force that the bodyguard was burning holes into him behind that helmet. “I must say I have never heard of your organization before Ms. AndisDottir,”

She smiled softly…young and very beautiful, she had shoulder length dark hair done in a relatively standard short pony tail with wisps to the side of her forehead left loose touching just to the side of her blue-grey eyes… “We tend to keep a low profile especially in troubled times such as these.”

He nodded, that wasn’t overtly unusual, many NGO’s and Charities had lain low during the Empire’s reign. “I was intrigued to receive your invitation…and interested in how you came to know so much about Mak’Tor artefacts?”

“We thank you for accepting it, Master Mack. Well then, to business … we understand you are currently investigating the history of the Ancient One and the Starfire.”

That hit him hard, and Karmack struggled to hide his consternation and keep his face blank. He had told no one outside of the Council of Balance, Arnor and Chillum about his investigations. So either these people had some impressive surveillance ... or there was a spy deep within the Mak’Tor. He won his battle to keep his composure and took a deep breath: there was no sense lying now, and with a quick glance toward the looming abyss coloured sentinel decided he would not risk any kind of confrontation by exposing their eavesdropping. He could play along … for the moment.

“True, information about the Ancient One and Starfire are a part of my research aimed at recovering some of our history. Much has been lost over the years … I hope to fill some gaps,” he smoothed his purposes.

“Indeed…well we have an interest in those items specifically as part of our own research program…we asked you here because we believe we could assist each other,”

He kept his expression as neutral as possible.

“We have some information and…experience that could advance your research by months…possibly years…and we are willing to offer it to you in exchange for allowing us an opportunity to experiment with and test the crystals once you have obtained them with a view to duplicating their properties and understanding their construction process…” she paused for a moment. “And a complete compilation of the information they contain.”

The combination of being without the song and confronted with details about the crystals he had barely spoken about was making him perspire…the shadow guardians presence doing nothing to diminish his uneasiness…based on Ken and Jorya’s description of Black Armours…abilities…this was a being that could snap his neck before his eyes even registered it had moved. Karmack hummed a calming motif subliminally. Even cut off from the force, the familiar notes of the melody helped sooth him. “You are very well informed Miss Andisdottir…” he needed to be cautious…very cautious …with his words. “May I inquire as to what specifically you intend to do with this information once you obtain it,”

Her eyes squinted ever so slightly in annoyance. “The same thing you intend to do with Master Mack, to help fill gaps in the historical record.”

Karmack suppressed a sigh. Playing word games would get them nowhere. The question was simply who would be blunt first… "As you are no doubt also aware, Ms. Andisdottir, these crystals also possess a potent ... weaponized potential. Upon whom do you intend to use that?”

His attempt to throw her off her stride with his candor failed. “Again Master Mack, our intention is the same as yours: As a defense against … unknown future threats that we can sense and wish to be as prepared for as possible.”

There was too much truth in her statement to be denied…she was younger than Ken yet seemed wiser than Chillum. The Black Armoured Man continued to stare him down…the physical equivalent of her intellectual prowess. So if your intentions are so pure ... why all the muscle and intimidation?

“Let me pose a hypothetical…” she sifted out of the silence, “If you were aware of someone developing a weapon capable of say destroying an entire solar system…a hyperspace cannon that could annihilate a dozen worlds in a single blast from across the galaxy…what would you do?”

He paused for a moment, considering. Carefully... “In the interests of the right to life of all beings I would attempt to prevent that research going ahead. I would … try to convince them to stop.”

“That is unlikely to succeed,” she replied. "And when your negotiations failed?"

Karmack let his eyes narrow, sensing the trap... Honesty always... If he was to be damned, then be damned for who he really was! "Well then I would use ... other methods ... to prevent such a weapon from being deployed.”

She regarded him carefully for a moment. “Interesting…what makes you think you have the right to interfere at all?”

Karmack masked his surprise at the question. What did she mean? How could any moral person not interfere? But then it hit him, hard: he was assuming a common definition of morality... His face turned thoughtful as he considered it. Why did he assume he had the right to interfere? And how to explain it? "I suppose, Miss Andisdottir, it’s not so much that I feel I have a right to interfere as I would feel morally obligated to defend the millions or perhaps billions of innocent lives represented on the planets such a weapon might target.”

When her expression remained unmoved he pressed on. “There are times when the use of force, even deadly force, is unavoidable and even necessary. It is always regrettable. And the same moral standard that compels me to defend the innocent from such a weapon also compels me to do all that I can to employ deadly force only when it is absolutely necessary and only against specific, legitimate targets. The indiscriminate killing of innocents via a terror weapon is simply immoral, and on that ground I would oppose it." Karmack cocked his head to the side. “Tell me Miss Andisdottir: how would you respond”

“We…” He noted she always referred to ‘we’ never ‘I’ , “...would seek to benefit from the knowledge, perhaps even contribute to its development, allying with its maker…then obtaining the designs for ourselves to both replicate it and develop countering devices. We would never tell someone what to do or not to do with their own resources and intellect.”

“You don’t consider it immoral to assist in the production of a weapon of such ... indiscriminate mass destruction?” he replied.

It was only because he had been trained to read micro expressions when he lacked the force to detect a lie, as he did now, that he notice her suppress and eye roll. “We have no interest in a paternalistic discourse on morality - This is not a galaxy in which one has the luxury to make choices based on some moral code you wake and decide to follow one day.”

Karmack felt a bead of sweat trickle down the middle of his back. Somehow he was sure the Sentinel before him knew all about it... He set his fear aside and plunged ahead. "Our morality is not something we 'wake up and decide to follow one day' Miss Andisdottir. Whatever terms you use, you also operate on a moral code. The Way of the Maker has served us well for millennia. I will put my faith in it."

The eye-roll again... “Indeed it has…but was it not the case that one of your forebears went to sleep one night without this moral code and the next day decided to adopt it…you simply follow that individual’s path, a path you can choose to disregard at any time?”

Karmack smiled, and despite the tension in the room he relaxed slightly. This was ground he'd covered before, both internally and externally. "Miss Andisdottir, the Way was given to us by the Maker. He neither slumbers nor sleeps, and He blessed us with knowledge of His creation and the moral code he built into the very fabric of the Universe. Through both natural revelation and the special revelation he visited on the ancient Seers the Way was determined. It did not appear overnight, and it is not something we ... something I ... can deviate from or disregard.”

As ever her face was ice. “Setting this discourse aside for the moment, it is that kind of scenario for which we invited you here Master Mack,” Her eyes gazed straight into his and Karmack caught a flicker of blue lighting arcing in their depths. “The weaponized potential of the Ancient One and the Starfire combined is extreme, and we both know it. Your pursuit of the knowledge to make use them is the equivalent of designing a personal Death Star.”

His heart sank at the accusation, not because it was completely antithetical to his belief’s to use any weapon so indiscriminately, and hurtful to be implicitly compared to Palpatine…but because at a very base level it was a good analogy…the crystals could be considered a Mak’Tor super-weapon. What did his pursuit to obtain it to defeat and unknown enemy say about him?

“And we do not want to be on the receiving end of its fury…so instead we offer you our assistance in obtaining it with a view to vaccinating ourselves against it.”

Karmack looked at her eyes, deep perfect blue in perfect white skin, lightning dancing in the depths. The Armoured figure beside her was a physical manifestation of the null space which stood like a gaping hole in the force that screamed emptiness. Point five for suspicion. Game, set match...

This woman was at least as strong as the sentinel, even considering whatever strange properties his armor possessed. Perhaps with a full connection to the force, with his battle song in full voice, with his chorus to channel it...he might…no, not even then. Not alone.

And that was the final point. He was alone. Cut off from the force when he needed it most being pressed with what Du'an Chillum would have called the 'hard sell'... He needed time to think, to clear his head... "You make good points, Miss Andisdottir. Points I must meditate on and consider. Perhaps we could adjourn and meet again in a day or two?"

She didn’t immediately answer him, letting him sweat some more. Finally she replied, “We are offering you a quick and easy way to obtain what we both want, then we can go our separate ways…We have come to you, and been honest about our concerns…” Her face an unreadable mask of pure white skin that contrasted sickly with the light sucking darkness of her body guard. “Take your time…but consider very carefully the implications of refusing our offer,” she relented

The black scar in the force before his eyes meant he could do little else.

She rose slightly as the door hissed open behind him, and as he stood Karmack chanced on a last attempt to feel something…anything from either of them.

Karmack met her eyes again, looking past the youth, past the perfection, past the lightning that danced threateningly behind them. He looked into the windows of the soul ... and felt ... nothing. Like everything else in this room, her eyes were a null space. Unreachable. Unreadable.

He bowed. "You have given me much to consider. But consider it I must. Until tomorrow then."

Chapter 5: The Invitation
part 2

Whilst his hosts had offered to pay for his accommodation and food at a very exclusive hotel he chose to spend the night at an out-of-the way hostel near the spaceport. The room was small, clean, and easily defensible should the need arise. Not that it would make much difference. If they want me dead, I will be dead.

It had been a relief, far greater than he cared to admit, to feel the flood of connection to the force, to again hear the song, as he'd left the office and the very…intimidating…folk who occupied it.

Karmack sat in a comfortable position, his body still while his mind churned. The choice was before him: he must make it. That much was certain. But at what cost? To partner with these people seemed to be a partnership with evil. Not the focused, contrary evil of a Sith or Dark Singer, perhaps, but the ... the lack of morality. The absence of compassion, of love...

No. That wasn't right either. They had compassion. Morality. Love. But only for themselves. Only for their own. They were totally and completely focused inward. They wanted the Ancient One and the Starfire, or at least copies of them, for their own purposes. Purposes they were unwilling to share. They spoke of sharing the technology, of inoculating themselves against the weaponized potential of the crystals, asking him to believe their purpose was purely defensive while implying that his own was nefarious...

He returned to her analogy of the Death Star. It had stung ... it still stung ... to be compared to that monster Palpatine. But was if a fair comparison? Was he just after a Mak'Tor 'super-weapon'? In the moment he'd been unsure, the question itself throwing him off-balance...

That was the point, Karm. The realization rolled through him, and it made sense. She was trying to throw him off-balance. Both of her examples - a theoretical hyperspace cannon and the very real Death Star with its super-laser - were weapons of mass destruction. The crystals, while extremely powerful, were not. They were precision instruments, to be put into the hands of a Master, or perhaps a group of Masters, and even if they were used offensively would still fall far short of even a simple planetary bombardment by a Star Destroyer, let alone a true planet-killer, in overall effect.

So. A straw-man argument after all. But one backed up by extremely successful intimidation tactics. And he still had no idea who they were or what they really wanted with the Ancient One and Starfire. Whatever they said, it wasn't defense. The warrior in the room with Miss Andisdottir wouldn't have needed any help taking him down, and they obviously had some way of presenting and holding a force dampening field. Everything about the meeting was designed to intimidate and unsettle him - or any other strong force user.

But why? What were they afraid of...

The realization startled him into speaking out loud. "They're afraid of me..."

Karmack rolled the though over, examining it. No... Not me specifically. They're afraid of what I represent... Of extrinsic morality, of being held to a standard that might jeopardize who they were today, what they'd become. They were so focused on their goals and objectives, so absorbed inwardly on their path that they couldn't even consider the greater benefits of accepting the basic tenants of right and wrong that they had left behind, that the Maker Himself had built into the very fabric of the universe.

And without that common understanding of right and wrong, good and evil, they easily shifted to the "Us vs Them" mentality that made it moral to use and even kill others as necessary to further the only thing that mattered - their goals.

But what were those goals? What did they want? They wanted the crystals, obviously, but why? Was it really just for defense against the possibility of the Mak'Tor having and using them? Or did they have some other use in mind? And what if he didn't cooperate with them? What then? What were the possible outcomes? If he rejected their offer, the obvious result was conflict, perhaps even his own immediate death. The members of this Aethena Society only presented a binary solution set: Be my friend, or be my enemy.

They made their friendship look very attractive, and being their enemy utterly terrifying. But did it really work that way?

Relationships built on something as fickle as 'mutual interest' rarely lasted. In time, interests diverged. Yes, the combination of the Ancient One and the Starfire could be a ... potent weapon. But it had other capabilities as well.

His thoughts flickered to the guard behind him and to the abilities that Ken and Jorya had reported of Black Armor with the Sons of Kessel. These people are ... impressive. They know us, know our capabilities. In the name of defence they wish to duplicate those abilities. But what do we know of their people? Of their capabilities?

What were they offering of their unique technology for the Mak'Tor to duplicate, to maintain the balance?

The answer to all those questions was one word: nothing.

And yet... Despite it all this the offer may in fact be the best and quickest way...

Karmack stilled his mind. Maker, give me wisdom! he prayed, then dove into the song, listening and tracing its melodies and harmonies. Everything in perfect balance...

Balance. That was the key. The Universe operated in a state of dynamic balance. Not just physically but morally. Evil was inevitably the result of someone getting out of moral balance, out of harmony with the Maker.

And there was no balance here.

With a sigh Karmack realized he really had no choice: he must decline the offer.

He knew there was a very good chance he would die, that as soon as he refused Andisdottir’s offer her hulking guard would tear his head from his neck and pluck the Ancient One from his sabre. But he had to do this…he could not simply send a comm message…this might be the most wilfully suicidal thing he had ever done, more than fighting Mendax, more than delving into the depths of Coruscant to find the Spire and the Balance Stone, more than confronting Mellichae on Dantooine…and yet…

He had to stand before her and refuse her, to look into those empty eyes and state his case…to face it head on and not shy away from the consequences of resisting…this wasn’t an evil to be fought from a distance …this wasn’t evil as the absence of good…this was a primal, vicious mindset that didn’t even contemplate right and wrong to know itself twisted. He would hold his own morality before it, would challenge and confront it in the hopes that they would, eventually, see the Truth.

Even if it cost him his life.

---

Once again he rode the turbo lift up alone in silence, idly watching as the floor lights blinked and the ground receded through the transparisteel. The same bored secretary was at the desk idly painting her nails a pastel pink…but the quote beneath the sign had changed to read:

“Rebuke a wise woman and she will love you, give instruction to a woman and she will be wiser still”

Again it sounded like the Psalter…was this an attempt to mock him, to warn him? Or perhaps…perhaps the mere fact it had garnered a reaction from him was proof they had just scored a point against him…troubling he was already thinking of them as an enemy.

Again taken into the same room, Andisdottir was there, along with her guardian, it was almost as if they hadn’t moved for the whole time he had been gone…for all he knew that was the case.

“Master Mack, can we offer you any refreshments, we hope you had a pleasant evening,” She began offering him a seat.

“No thank you,” he remained standing to her annoyance. “I won’t take up much of your time,” Karmack looked at her, then at her guardian, and realized the intimidation was gone. He might die in the next minute, but the die was cast. “I considered your offer long and hard, Miss Andisdottir. It was very ... compelling." He met the guardian's basilisk gaze, the black armor sucking in the very air around it, and smiled. His eyes went back to her impassive, nearly unreadable face. "I would very much like to see our peoples become friends, or at least good neighbors, but I cannot agree to the terms you offer for this ... joint venture. I am afraid that I must decline."

As he finished he waited for the inevitable, for the cold press of the black guards hand around his throat, or the piercing pain of its sword through his heart…like so much in this room there was simply…nothing.

Andisdottir sighed, “We are disappointed Master Mack…but we respect your choice…should you reconsider you know where to find us,.”

And you know where to find me he thought.

As he neared the door he paused for a moment "I did have one more question if I may Miss Andisdottir."

She seemed indifferent, "Please."

"As you know much about Mak'Tor history, perhaps you can offer some guidance on another area of my research, specifically into the truth behind the Saga of Vyth..."

For the first time her face shifted, her countenance darkened and eyes narrowed, her guardian placed a heavy, but unnervingly silent foot forwards, he realized he may have just pushed too far. She quickly glanced toward her guardian and he stepped back...again silently as a tomb... "It is a myth Master Mack, nothing more...just like your Maker." Her caustic comment told him he had struck something very sensitive.

He smiled gently and bowed. "Good day Miss Andisdottir." As he left he felt the black guards eyes burn into his back.

---

He turned to her as she flicked through a holo-store that sold shoes on her datapad. “He’s left the planet,”

“mmmm…”

Her ‘receptionist’ was sitting on the desk eating the small sweetened cakes that Master Mack had not wanted one by one. “Well I suppose that’s that then…” she finally said over the chewing.

She reached out and slapped her sisters butt. “Stop stuffing your face and go call Friend Cha,”

“Whatever,” she said hopping off and heading out.

“Why didn’t he listen?” she wondered idly.

“Outsiders only understand one language,” he replied.

She shrugged indifferently and picked out which pair she would buy from the list, then with as much interest as she had just chosen shoes for the theatre, “Activate Mendax,”

Chapter 6 - Who We Left Behind
Part 1

Cliff sat down and opened an ornately panelled cabinet behind his desk, extracting two fat tumblers and an ornately faceted lead-crystal container half-full of a deep amber liquid. He set all three on the desk, opened the container and carefully poured two fingers of the liquid into each before handing one to his guest. "Here's to concluding the deal."

Cha, smiling, accepted the glass. "And to a long and profitable partnership." he replied. He swirled the glass, appreciating the aroma before taking a first sip. "That is an excellent whiskey. What do you call it?"

"Cold Stream Reserve." Cliff replied, savoring his own glass. "Smoky, bold and smooth. Everyone touts the crystal-clear, ice-cold mountain streams they draw the water from, but the real secret is in the mash."

"Oh?" Cha continued to swirl his glass, watching it glint in the light. "What's so special about it?"

"I can't say." Cliff replied, taking another sip. "Family secret."

"Ah. Well then, I will simply have to make sure that several cases find their way onto my ship before we depart." Cha's eyes twinkled as he downed his portion, exhaling explosively as it hit the back of his throat. "Ahhh... Yes, very good..."

Cliff grinned and refilled the glass. "It does burn a bit on the way down."

"But that makes it all the better." Cha replied, but he only held the glass this time. "So, you are satisfied with the terms?"

Cliff nodded. "Twenty units plus spares, computer support, CIC software for mission profiling and customization, IT support, training for three technicians and one supervisor and on-call staff for questions." Cliff leaned back and took another sip.

For a moment he was ... elswhere ...

A lander screamed down from orbit, the last vestigages of fire and smoke from re-entry streaming away as it powered through the atmosphere on emergency thrust. Inside were thirty Men-At-Arms, five crew, a 24-man squad of Rangers, and a Knight Liason. Only two men on the ship knew the mission - Koawan Co'Lin'Jhinn and Ranger Captain Do'Nald Cliff. In his mind's eye Cliff watched the lander descend, watched it twist and turn. Captain Cliff orders a high-speed pass to get a visual reference and determine a suitable LZ. Koawan Jhinn, face set, countermands and orders a direct approach for immediate extraction. The assets on the ground are in trouble...

"Ten Million credits is a lot of money but they're worth every penny if they help save the lives of our Men-At-Arms."

"They will do that." Cha retored. "Though I was serious about tweaking the close combat protocols. I believe the techs are already referring to it as the 'Kage killer' patch." Cha took another drink, using the glass to hide his smile as he read the spike of amusement that radiated off of Cliff. So ... you enjoyed watching your boss be humiliated and beat to a pulp as much as I did. Interesting... "Do you think Kage Lo will approve the requisition?"

"He'll sign it." Cliff replied, his voice grating. "He owes me. Owes us all..." Cliff blinked as the images playing in his mind continued...

On the ground combat swirled, lightsabers clashing at the heart of the conflict as the objective - and the urgency - became clear. Blue and gold trading blows with red and firey orange while dozens of white-clad troops closed all around. Cliff passing orders to his Rangers. Jhinn tensing, preparing to leap into the fight to aid the Knight and his Jedi charge. with a roar the landing craft swooped in and flared to land - and was blotted out of existance by a pair of shoulder-launched SAMs fired by the Storm Troopers, killing Koawan Jihnn, Captain Cliff, the 24-man extraction team and the lander's crew...

Cliff blinked the images away.

He'd been fifteen years old when his father had died, trying to extract Dy'Lan'Mack and a Jedi Sentinel from a trap laid by the Inquisitorious. When he's become a Ranger Captain himself he'd looked up the mission file, learned where and how his father had died, far from home trying to save the lives of a trapped Jedi and an errant Knight from the Empire. Oh yes, Silman. You and your order owe me...

Cha sipped his drink and let his own smile spread as he savored the flow of Cliff's emotions. There would be no delay, no denial of the purchase. The sale would be approved and the droids delivered and deployed. Cliff would see to it personally...

Mission accomplished.

<<<<>>>>

"Arnor! Come in!" Telow'na Jackson smiled brightly and waved Arnor into her office. "Have a seat. Caf? Cream only, right?"

"Yes." Arnor took the cup and sat, accepting a handless mug filled with the strong, dark-roast caf that Telow'na favored. Arnor sniffed it appreciatively, then added another splash of cream from the service to the amusement of her hostess, who was now holding her own caf with both hands and smiling. She drank the black brew and looked like she might re-ignite an old argument about the superiority of flavor and benefits of "pure" caf vs the corrupted version most people drank, but she just sighed and took a sip with a slight eye-roll.

Arnor grinned and took her own sip. "Perfect..."

"If you say so." Telow'na replied. She set the mug down and slid a data pad across Arnor. "The data you requested. As you can see, there's not much, but what we have checks out with what Cha told us. We had a couple of hits on him when he was in the Inquisitorious, but then he dropped off the radar for a while. He re-appeared a few years ago on Fresia as the owner of some start-up firms including Aertemis Industries."

Arnor flipped through the scant documentation on Cha, following Telow'na's briefing. There were a few reports of his time in the Inquisitorious noting his low rank and mediocre performance with some grainy pictures... And then a sudden change. Arnor swiped the page and her eyebrows rose as a much later picture popped up, Cha, bare-chested and wearing sunglasses with a stunning blond on his arm wearing ... not much at all. "What's this report in the "Tattler?"

Telow'na grinned. "That's a good question. The tabloid published the story shortly after Cha re-appears in the financial records on Fresia. Its titled 'Nemi's new man - Exclusive pics inside!'. Apparently a popparatzi got some pictures of Nemi Solsar, a famous holo-drama actress with a new 'mystery man', who looks remarkably like Cha. They were caught on Spira at a posh resort. The previous week the lead story had been about a very public and messy break-up between Solsar and her long-running companion Johnathan Swift. Not really out of the ordinary for this social strata, but the sudden break-up followed by her new relationship with Cha caught the tabloid reporters by surprise."

"Curious ... still," Arnor was thinking out loud, still swiping through the tabloid pictures of Cha and Nimi frolicking in the waves of Spira. "It’s not really strange for an ex-Imperial to use his connections to join security or military tech companies, using their experience and connections to their own benefit. Even acquiring himself a ... companion. If it weren't for his obvious connection to Namman Cha and the way he toyed with Karm..."

Telow'na nodded, tapping through data on her own terminal as well. "True. But the timing is ... odd. Coincidental. And I don't like coincidences..." Her eyes narrowed as she focused on her screen. "Hmm. This is interesting...." She clicked, sending the file to Arnor's padd. "He seems to frequent Canto Bite quite frequently, is a recognized regular at one of the casinos and ... Nyssia-Cordaba Auction House. Purchases include antiques and artefacts ..."

Arnor opened the new file, a list of travel dates between Fresia and Cano Bite, as well as records of accommodations and financial transactions. The last page included a list of known purchases at Nyssia-Cordaba, an apparently random collection of old scrolls, furniture, candlesticks. Arnor noted he was apparently interested in old lightsabers and crystals, having consistently spent more for those than anything else, but they tended to draw a very high price whenever they came up for sale... "Hmm. He likes Nyssia-Cordoba... When is the next major auction?"

Telow'na picked up her mug for another drink as she scanned. "A few days..." Telow'na gave her friend a once-over. "What are you thinking?"

Arnor smiled. "Just enough time to get a new wardrobe and take the Wayfarer out for a spin."

<<<<>>>>

Chillum approached the table with a grin. "Looks like I'll be going alone, lass."

Arnor jumped at the gravelly voice. "Dad... What are you doing here?" She looked over at Talia, who was sipping her own drink. Arnor had contacted her at Telow'na's suggestion. She was force-sensitive and trained in undercover work ... and had been in a bit of a tail-spin since Illian's death. Recently she'd seemed to finally start pulling out of it, and both Telow'na and Arnor thought it was time for her to take the next step by getting back into the saddle, as it were.

So Arnor was meeting with Talia at the local Caf shop, "Mountain Brew" to bring her up-to-speed and brainstorm some on an approach. What she hadn't expected was to run into her father.

"The Kage had a talk with Meanowan Jackson, and he asked me to go along with you to Canto Bite." Du'An replied, suppressing the urge to laugh as his daughter's eyes went wide. "May I sit?"

Arnor nodded desperately hammering her own emotions back into check. The anger she felt shocked her a bit. Do they think I'm still a little girl? "What... Did the Kage say why?"

"No, he didn't." Chillum grinned at his daughter. "I thought you'd welcome my help, lass! Was I wrong?"

Arnor leaned across the table, ignoring the discomfort radiating off of Talia as daughter squared off against father. "Help, I will gladly accept, but lets be clear: This. Is. My. Mission. I am in command, I will call the shots and if there is a command decision to be made I will make it."

Du'An leaned back and cocked his head to the side. "Why the anger, lass? All I want to do..."

Arnor cut him off. "I know you, Dad. You mean well. You love me, but to you I'll always be your little girl." Arnor crossed her arms, her face set like flint. "But I'm not your little girl anymore. I'm a Silver Koawan, a Knight of the Mak'Tor. I'm all grown up, and this is my mission. You can come along, you can help, but you're not in charge. I am. Clear?"

Chillum nodded. "As crystal ... ma'am."

Arnor nodded, drained her caf and stood. "Good. The Wayfarer is on Pad 4. We depart in two hours." She left, leaving Talia looking uncomfortably at Du'An.

After a moment Talia stood as well. "Well... I guess I'll see you at the ship."

Du'An watched her leave, following Arnor, and shook his head ruefully. "Well, this is going to be fun..."

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 6 - Who We Left Behind
Part 2

It had been…she didn’t know how long…three visits as she counted by the automated ship that came, attached to her free floating cell, deposited food, changed the air filters and emptied the refresher every so often. There was no sense of time here.

She was idly staring out the window at the constellations of the deep core when the voice returned…no a different one,

“Hello…are you…Yes I think I’ve got it,” She turned around,

“Cha! This can’t be possible!” she cried,

“I know…It’s hard to believe but yes, my brother was only the second most handsome man in the galaxy” Cha replied standing oddly on the refresher which seemed to be partially going through him…a force illusion. She immediately began trying to trace it back, to thread her song through it…to dominate his mind like she had Mellichae and Jenira…she was close…he wasn’t far away…but.

A black wall hit her back into her own mind,

“Ah, yes I wouldn’t try that if I were you Darth Mendax,” Nimmin Cha went on, she had known him from the Inquisitors…the layabout brother of Namman Cha, last she had heard he had absconded after failing a few too many missions some years ago.

“Where am I, I demand to know what is happening!” she screamed intemperate after so long isolated.

“Well my friends found you, fixed you up, brought you back here…it’s quite an honour actually, they don’t do that for many people.”

“What ‘friends’, the Inquisition, the Rebellion?”

“Ah yes well they are very shy, good friends, but very shy,”

“What do you want with me!” she was getting annoyed…not just at being locked up but at having lost all control over her situation.

“Straight to the point then my Dread Lady,” he said with a bow,

“My friends merely thought you might like some solitude during your convalescence… so brought you here somewhere away from possible infection… they want to help you and have tasked me with assisting you,”

“Who are They!” she raged

“I told you, they are my shy friends…”

“I’m not interested in dealing with lackeys, where are you,” she screamed scanning the room, “I know you’re watching, I will find you,” she used every trick she had trying to get a sense of them…there in the corner…a flicker…she pressed into…another black wall…

“Dread Lady I wouldn’t press them like that…as I have repeated they are very shy and don’t like being….”

She hammered against the wall…

A horrendous screech filled her ears,
Her eyes swam back into her head, vision speckled with lights
She flopped to the floor convulsing all control of her body lost
Spit foamed at her mouth…even her bowels moved of their own accord leaving her in a pool of her own excrement.

Then stillness…
Silence

How long it was before she gradually managed to sit back up and slouch on her bed she didn’t know, but she did notice how impassive Cha remained throughout,

“I would not suggest doing that again Dread Lady….they really don’t like to be disturbed…”

“What…what are…”

“Please don’t pursue that line of questioning, worry not about who they are, only what they offer…”

Shaking the last trace of the attack from her head she realised she had no control over the situation…

For now…she could only play along,

“Very well what do they offer?”

<<<<>>>>

Myrkr was a dark and jungled world, teeming with life…force sensitive life, predators, prey…in an endless cycle of competition for the scraps of resources…the strong would rise and survive, the weak perished.

This was as it should be.

She stood on a small escarpment overlooking a patch of jungle in a depression around a small lake, Nimmin Cha, richly attired with a deep red set of armour beside her.

He had taken her from her cell on his Raider II class Imperial Corvette. Sequestered in the small brig, she had seen no obvious crew, only Cha himself…but the force…there were sickly dead patches, two that stayed in place, two more that moved about the ship occasionally in hyperspace, she didn’t care to guess at what they were or probe further after the…indignity of her first attempt.

“You know of course what a Thought Bomb is…” Cha began over the gentle patter of rain on the leave.

“Of course,” she snapped as the clouds rumbled, rain petered down seeping into her one piece suit, the cold annoying her, she would endure.

“And you know its technique has long since been lost to the Jedi…and the Sith that have attempted it…”

“Yes I know, the last idiot to try it amongst the Inquisitors blew his own head apart,” she hated being so out of control of her surroundings…for a brief moment she recalled the Gray she had betrayed, was this how they had felt as she’d tortured them, imprisoned them…Sympathy was a weakness she did not need…no doubt Cha took no small delight in keeping her in suspense.

“Indeed…they didn’t know the correct…method….but my friend here does…” he gestured beside her…A figure in deep black armour was standing there…she hadn’t even seen him or sensed him until now…another illusion…she looked up and traced a drop of rain down to the featureless helmet as it hit and slid unusually quickly off…no this one was real.

The black figure stepped forward and pointed to the small lake, she could sense the small schools of tiny fish that suppressed the force to hide from the two or so dozen larger ones that used it to find them, then freeze them with a force grasp before eating them.

“Put this on,” Cha gave her what looked less like a necklace than some form of black metal collar of the same make as the armoured figure, her caustic look told him she did not like the idea of being ‘collared’

“A thought bomb as you know annihilates all force sensitive individuals nearby…this will protect you…just…”

She looked around whilst gingerly placing the heavy collar around her neck, searching for others…a thought bomb required dozens of powerful dark side practitioners to create…where were the others?

“ha…” Cha giggled “You’re thinking of the imperfect methods used by the Sith on Ruusan…no…it can be controlled, done on a smaller scale…if you have the will to make it so…now…Watch and learn,”

Energy built up in the lake…a power that was bright yet draining…the rain nearby became cold and sharp as it hit her, the temperature reducing and creating thin lines of nascent ice on the lake…then…

Water shot out from the lakes surface, coming back down not as liquid but as stone of hail mingled with the sleet of rain…the life that had once been there…was gone…a silvery slick appeared on the surface…the trapped life forces of the force sensitive fish…but insubstantial as they were it soon dissolved.

“How…” Mendax couldn’t comprehend it…but then it struck her “You wish to teach me how to do this?” it made no sense why teach her such a power…surely they knew she would turn it on her captors…

Cha laughed, “Indeed, a parting gift, a little education…” he fingered the collar about her neck, as his finger scraped along it began to fragment and crack like flakes of ash.

“Of course…without such a shield I wouldn’t suggest you use it…”

“Why…what is the point of this!” she was confused, angry at not being in control

He turned to face her directly, the smile of a tusk cat looking up its prey, the armoured warriors a sinister silent shadow behind him.

“We simply wish to see you achieve whatever your heart most richly desires….and give you the tools to do so”

The lesson was long and quiet, she was thoroughly soaked by the end, and a small area of the jungle depopulated, it would soon grow back, the only evidence they had been there the ash like remnants of the black collars that protected them by means she could not comprehend, methods they would never share.

After the lesson they had taken her to a clearing where a brand new Raider 2 Class Corvette sat, a grey and blue dagger cutting across the dark green treescape.
“A parting gift from my friends,” Cha said gesturing to the ship.

“What is the catch Cha,” she replied impatiently,

“No catch, they just wish to give you a leg up, they are a very generous people when you get to know them,”

“Dren they are,” She was tempted to wring his obsequious neck with her own hands, but the shadow warrior that followed him…no she WAS Fear, she did not feel Fear. Fear was an improper reaction to the unknown, soon…soon she would know everything about these ‘friends’ of his.

He shrugged, “Well it’s up to you…we have played they Good Sullustan as the Mak’Tor would say,”

She didn’t bother to suppress a sneer at his very deliberate, almost provocative mention of the Mak’Tor.

“You’ll find credits, access codes and clothes on the table just inside the ship…this is where we leave you…you are healed, provided for and…renewed…free to choose your path…” without any further ado he turned away followed by his living Shadow,

“What you…” she cut off her sentence, her foot hovering in the air to step toward him… as the Shadow Warrior…not turned…somehow…flipped unnaturally, like a coin spinning too fast for the eye to see…and stared at her.

She was a sith lord she would not fear

A Sith Lord did not fear…a Sith Lord was fear

There was no obvious feature on that helmet to show any emotion…only arms crossed across a chest that she could pummel with a grav hammer for a year and not dent.

Once again she chose to play their game…for now…always just for now…

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 7 - Cold Welcome

The white gloss walls reflected his anger back at him. In their thin reflections he had nowhere to hide…this was a true prison, no dark corners to slip a shiv or lock pick…everything bright and visible…the walls…yourself…

Ken was not angry he was being held in a Chiss brig. He was not angry this was the THIRD time.

He was not angry that he had been strip searched twice, had to repeat his story, his reason for being here, explain the precise nature of his relationship to ten different officers.

“Have you engaged in sexual congress of any kind in the last two weeks?” the stiff Chiss captain whose face seemed to be chiselled from ice had asked on the first ship that had intercepted them…intercepted on a course THEY had provided two weeks ago.

“How is that relevant” he had snapped back

“Refusal to answer any question will result in immediate refusal of entry into Chiss space” the monotone voice had replied.

Nor was he angry that the ship was being searched again, or his arm was dotted with wounds from taking blood for their genetic identification tests.

He was not even angry at the vile aura’s the Chiss exuded around him for being an alien, filth, and intruder – of course their expressions were always polished and neutral, their black uniforms crisp and precise…but the disdain for aliens bubbled like tar from a thin crack in said visage.

No…all this whilst annoying, he could press on even understand. There was a civil war raging between the Empire and Alliance, there were many who would take advantage, and the Chiss were isolationist at the best of times - he could accept their excess of security.

He could even accept their xenophobia, he could learn from it, Jorya had once taken him to task while they were with the Sons, he couldn’t understand what it was like being a wealthy human, and all the privilege that entailed in the Empire and galaxy at large – here he felt exactly what it was to be disempowered, under constant surveillance, his mere existence seen as an admission of guilt to whatever crime might be allocated to him. This was a lesson he would make sure to remember to better empathize with others.

No what made him angry, almost apoplectic, was the way they looked at…and what they thought about her…He was despised as an alien he was not worth their contempt, but Ry…Ry had left the Ascendancy, she had turned her back on the Chiss – she was a traitor, a spy, an object of hated and scorned all the more for having once been part of the ‘in group’.

While she kept her head held high, her stance straight, Ken could tell each side glance, each repeated question in sneering tones was grinding her down, like the sea washing away a mountain, she was strong and firm, but the tide was relentless….

He checked his chrono…nearly an hour…an hour helpless in this brig while she was questioned…perhaps that was why he was truly angry…here he was powerless…trapped…any sense of autonomy left behind…just like he had been before Black Armour…The white of the cell was taunting him as the opposite of the Oblivion creature…

The door whooshed open, as Ken looked up to the officer he sensed trepidation…he couldn’t understand why…then Ken felt the pain in his palms from his over clenched fists.

<<<<>>>>

She slid her trousers back up under the watchful gaze of two female officers. While they had only strip searched Ken twice, they had searched her every stop so far.

There was no reason for it, nothing would be found their body scan devices couldn’t already pick up, it was simply a psychological tactic to demean and diminish anyone trying to get into Chiss space, ‘This is our territory’ the message came clearly, ‘and everything in it, even your own body is open to our gaze’.

The Captain entered without a word, only the brief salute of the two officers.

“Yar'lyakomm'tla…” she said never taking her eyes from the datapad, in the other he offered a small object

“This memory disc contains authority codes and routes sufficient to get you to Csilla. They will remain active for one week. In that time you must present yourself in person to the listed outposts to obtain permission to travel further within our boundaries. If you do not obtain that permission any trespass will be regarded as an act of aggression upon which you will be expelled or destroyed, whichever occurs first. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly Captain,”

“Good, we are releasing you and your companion, your ship has been checked over, this lists the items we have seized as contraband. They will not be returned,” The Captain passed the datapad across, and waited for Ry to thank her for the privilege of being released from custody for simply trying to visit her own home world.

“You know I wasn’t aware that the Expeditionary defence force had annexed this system formally?” Ry tried to add something to the conversation, a vain hope there might be a person inside the uniform.

She didn’t reply, typical Chiss, unwilling to confirm or deny the particular status of…anything…

Ry had expected a hard welcome, but not this…not…she glanced at the list of seized items…power cells, spare wiring, basic tools…she knew what would happen if she protested, they would say they had removed items that could potentially be weaponized and refuse them further progress.

She bit her lip and nodded...this dren was why she had left…

“Thank you Captain,”

<<<<>>>>

“Right…that should be the last stop and search before we get to Csilla,” she tried to be upbeat…but after three stops she could see the tension on Kens face.

He didn’t reply just stared out of the Gryphons viewport while R6-E3 quietly tweeted away, the near brand new droid lacked the personality of Two and Mutt, that built up over time in such droids, instead it was constantly asking questions asking for its calculations to be double checked…but since the Chiss restraining bolt ‘Ricky’ as they termed it had been quiet.

“Hey you alright,”

“I’m fine…just…”

“Just…?”

“Wish they weren’t such…condescending, uptight…”

“Yeah I know…” she said with a sigh knowing it was unlikely to be better on Csilla,

“Hey once we hit hyperspace why don’t I give you a shoulder massage…” she harked back to their first few weeks together on Aestis Minor

“No…” he snapped,

“Sorry…I’m fine…just need to meditate a bit…”

She felt hurt at that…he was clearly angry…and with good reason…with every delay and search she felt more and more like this had been a bad idea…she wished he didn’t push her away like that…

“Ok…I’ll...I’ll take us out…you go…do your thing…” she said trying not to sound wounded.

<<<<>>>>

He felt the jolt into the pseudo motion of hyperspace as he sat in the small cabin…feeling trapped in his own ship…as trapped as he had in the cell…as trapped as he had in his last dream…as trapped as he had beneath the Midnight gaze of the monster that had torn into his mind.

He wanted this to be over…not the trip…this feeling…this anger this…pain that had been left behind.

He didn’t want to push her away…but he needed to…to…

He wanted this to work for Ry…he had to show her family he was worthy of her…for himself as much as anyone…and the Chiss…he had just seen what the Chiss respected.

As he coiled into a lotus he tried to calm his mind…but it was just going through the motions…what use were such quaint mystical traditions against the pragmatism of the Chiss…

Did he meditate…did HE try and reconnect with the force…sing a calming tune, or hum a balancing motif…He stared into the wall imaging Black Armour sitting in the same pose as him…No…a killer like that wouldn’t waste time on such things…didn’t care…

Just didn’t care.

<<<<>>>>

“Ken we’re coming out,” she called over the comm as the tunnel of hyperspace reverted to streaked lines of blue, yellow and white stretching back into pinpricks interposed with the red and purple nebulae of the Unknown Regions…well unknown to some.

She glanced back as he came out from the main hold and small cabin, the YT-2660 wasn’t huge to start off with, and some extra Mak’Tor modifications made it smaller still, but it was nicely suited to the two of them she thought. This was to be the first run of the ship which was an early wedding gift of sorts from Karmack and Arnor, though to avoid issues they’d delayed installing the heavy laser emplacement, it saved them having the Chiss uninstalling them before they reached Csilla and another mountain of paper work – any one would think the Chiss didn’t want visitors…

The strained look on Kens face said he wasn’t enjoying the first flight of the Gryphon.

“You alright, do what you needed to,”

He offered a curt nod.

“Mind if I take it in?” he asked, he needed to show he wasn’t intimate, not afraid…in control

“Sure,” she perked up…he must be feeling better she figured unable to sense a single emotion in her force blindness.

<<<<>>>>

Harsh white reflected sunlight bounced from snow covered plains of Csilla as they descended over the equator, across dozens of glaciers and vast ice shelves, so barren it made Hoth look habitable. Yet over the horizon a city began to appear, rising upon a glacial flow like a water skimmer upon a glaciers geological flow,

Ken would not get to visit that particular city and investigate how it operated and dealt with the constant movement beneath it - it was not on their flight path, the brisk instruction upon reaching orbit had been told

“If you deviate from your assigned descent vector in any way it will be considered an act of aggression and you will be fired upon.” Ken had zero intention of deviating a single millimetre.
He cruised gently round the western edge of what would’ve been a continent, overlaid with vast icesheets that cut and fractured rock some 2km beneath according to passive geological scans. The Gryphon handled nicely in atmosphere and normal space…better than the Wayfarer though the hyperdrive was only a transport standard model.

Melt channels and refreezing fissures had created a fiendishly complicated set of caverns and tunnels through the ice, and it was into this web that the Chiss had built the city of Ac’siel

This was a harsh looking world only the hardiest organisms would survive in the blinding rays of the sun and the cold of the glaciers…A perfect reflection of the Chiss stridency he mused.

Above the ice all that was visible was three space ports linked in a rough triangle connected by rows of blocky towers crowned communications dishes and what looked to Ken to be weapons platforms of a make he couldn’t quite recognize, but bore more than a passing resemblance to the charric weapon barrels he had seen the Sons of Kessel use.

Everything here was cold, stern and militarized, this was what Ry’s family would expected, what they would respect…if he had to out-Chiss the Chiss he would.

<<<<>>>>

He glided gently into a large docking bay, through a force field that kept the doubtless icy winds at bay, the ferrocrete platform he could see as he landed was impeccably clean, unlike every other platform he had seen in his life which was covered in scuffs, metal shavings and oil stains.

A single figure in black and burgundy stood waiting for them. He felt nothing as Ry came up and rubbed his shoulders.

“You ready for this,”

“Dead set,”

<<<<>>>>

As the ramp descended he was hit by air outside was surprisingly warm and still.

He kept behind Ry as they walked toward the lone figure…The uniform was just like those he had seen on two dozen officers over the last week, ushering him in and out of cells, on and off his own ship. Yet the insignia seemed more detailed on this Chiss woman, a face stern with military toughness.

“Yar'lyakomm'tla” the woman said in a voice as harsh as the glaciers about them…if this was another stop and search…another bloody cell…Ken felt the bile rising…the anger…he couldn’t…wouldn’t be put away again…

“Mother!” Ry lit up and rushed forward, her full hug met by one much more circumspect and controlled.

“”You arrived on time…no issues I trust,”

“Nothing we didn’t expect,” she replied evenly “A little tight…due to the war no doubt?”

Yim’Lyakenn’tla didn’t reply to that speculation…Ry didn’t expected her to, she was an Admiral after all, to talk about CEDF matters was simply not on the cards…unfortunately that was all he mother likely had to talk about of interest.

“Mother this is Ken’A’Nia Mack” she stepped aside to put them face to face

“Ken, this is my mother Vice Admiral Tla of the CEDF,”

Ken nodded, arms tight to his side, recalling Ry’s advice on proper greeting

“Indeed…this way,” she heel spun to lead them out, almost as an afterthought “Welcome to Csilla,”

<<<<>>>>

The turbo lift opened onto a corridor that of icy blue - the wall, the roof and ceiling were pure ice…yet it felt , warm and dry not wet and cold. Every few metres silver metal frames defined the corridors, each with a green light that winked on as the approached and off as they departed…

“Field generators” Ry whispered, “They keep the cool air trapped against the ice, and switch off when not needed – a lot cheaper than sealing and heating every metre of tunnel down here.” She finished with a smile at Chiss frugality.

He felt he should say something…break the tension…but kept silent as they paced the dimly lit glacial corridors. Finally they entered a large opening, a natural cavern in the rock. This was the city…huge building built into the dark grey, plunging depths into meltwater rivers of deepest black that flowed between islands of rock dotted with large building connected by a tubular transit system.

The streets were clean and orderly, pedestrians did not wander, they walked swiftly along designated lanes for each direction a good third in uniform. He glanced at the cold blue faces and red eyes, the force either indifferent or slightly hostile…then an oddity a small group of humans in uniform…perhaps this was his chance to make an impression, show he was observant, interested in their society.

“If I may are those human in uniform

“Yes”

“I didn’t realise you allowed other species could join the Ascendancy

“We accept any applicant to our academies, if they are exceptionally talented and trustworthy then they can succeed” the Admiral replied indifferently

Doubtless to be ‘exceptionally talented’ required meeting Chiss standards in a Chiss classroom designed for Chiss culture.

“Do you get many applicants?”

She didn’t break her rapid stride

“I am not at liberty to discuss any operational matters,”

<<<<>>>>

The rest of the walk and short ride in a six seater automated tube car was silent, arriving at what Ken guessed was a relatively well to do house cut halfway up the nearly kilometre high cliff face above the melt waters that seemed to beckon him to stare into their abyssal darkness.

Like everything else the house was clean, austere, grey and slightly blue in lighting.

The Admiral, as Ry has informed Ken he should call her mother, showed them each to their separate rooms where a small selection of clothes were laid for them, after taking a short drink and moment in the refresher they went to the main room, the key feature of which was the small array of military profile picts on the wall…The Admiral herself, an older Chiss male he recognized as Ry’s grandfather, and half a dozen other ancestors…there was a slot that was conspicuous by its vacancy.

“I trust you have everything you require,” the admiral said as if dealing with a Diplomatic mission from Nal Hutta she didn’t want to look upon.

“Everythings fine mom…” Ry said slightly despairingly, she fixed her stare and jutted her head forward prompting her, the Admiral sighed but relented

“Mack…Ry tells me you are an able pilot…what ships have you flown and what are their relative merits” she said taking a seat on a lounge as hard as the rock the house was hewn from….if this passed for Chiss small talk

“A variety Ma’am…Incom Arc-170’s are my preference as I trained with the M’Tzigon militia in them most, we have a modified version one seater…but I quite liked flying TIE defenders…if your familiar with either of those,”

He instantly regretted the implicit insult of ignorance in his last words of clarification…

“I am…Isolation has advantages but we keep aware of development in Imperial military technology,” she replied evenly

“So what kind of fighters do you fly?”

“As I said…I cannot discuss operational matters,” the reply was as instant as it was irritating…why ask about fighters and not be willing to reciprocate

“Have you been in the militia long Mack,” she went on under Ry’s increasingly annoyed gaze

“Nearly five years now,”

“Including your time with the abolitionist terrorists?”

Was she deliberately trying to provoke him!

“Yes including OUR time with the Sons” he glanced to Ry,

“Have you been in the CEDF long,”

“As I said…” she repeated “I cannot…”

“Discuss operational matter I heard you the first time…” he snapped

“Ken!” Ry darted,

“What, is there anything that is not an operational matter in this place…do I need another blood test before I use the refresher?”

“Ken calm down!” this was not going well at all, but neither of them in Ry’s opinion was helping the matter, Ken should be more restrained, but her mother was being provocative

“It’s fine Ry, I expected as much from a being from such an….undisciplined alien culture”

That was it! Ken bit back his tongue and headed to his room, leaving the two Chiss to discuss operational matter without an ‘alien spy’ in their midst.

“You are a spy” he heard Scrubbers voice in the back of his mind and felt Black Armour Light Sucking breath on his neck.
<<<<>>>>

Chapter 8: Allies
- Part 1 -

Crimson glare from the Red giant leached through the auto-tinting windows casting a vermillion hue to her renewed flesh. The view was dotted with black specs of space traffic, heavy but stilted heading mainly to rather than from Socorro.

As the war between the Republic and Empire entered its death throes smugglers that had formerly plied a good trade during the war were losing contracts on all sides. The New Republic could now contract materiel suppliers on occupied worlds without fear, and the retreating Imperial fleet meant there was no reason to smuggle goods in the every fewer nominally Imperial worlds – companies could just ship directly and avoid the smugglers middleman fees. So they had retreated back to dives like Socorro waiting for new work, the Smugglers Paradise to some, the hind side of the galaxy to others.

She glided the Raider II Class corvette through the traffic. Any concern she might have had that an Imperial ship would be blasted by the low life’s here was soon allayed by the fact see could spy at least two dozen other former Imperial ships in orbit.

As the Empire collapsed, crews mutinied, and sold or repurposed their ships for a second life, there were three on a high orbit dock being repainted with garish Pirate tags to her right. If ‘her’ ship – if she could be said to own it, not doubt Cha’s friends were tracking it somehow - which she dubbed Zearic’s Bane, had any unique feature it was that it was in a better state of repair than the others here.

The ship was full of provisions stamped in Basic and another script she couldn’t recognise, a full flight of four TIE Interceptors, 30 Sets of standard Stormtrooper armour and weapons, and a crate full of credit chits totalling 5 million. Everything was clean and new…as if it had just pulled out of Kuat Drive Yards the day before…yet small things seemed off, the columns were a lighter shade of grey, the control lights a pale green, floor tiles made of a matte steel…as though whilst they could produce ships exactly like the Empire, they sourced their materials from different mines and factories.

Her hand instinctually fell to her side…gently stroking her new sabre. She had found a small selection of pieces – Song Steel she had realized after inspecting them…Cha…or more likely his ‘friends’ had a morbid sense of humor - on a work bench near the well-stocked hold…along with a crystal, deep red.

Her studies of the Rur and Kyber told her this was a Quixoni… formed when a planet of the Qixoni system was consumed as its star went supernova, millennia ago fusing metals and minerals in the planet to crystals blasted into the Qixoni Nebula. But that was all academic, for her purposes it was the perfect crystal for a new sabre in the absence of a Rur…it leached the dark-side of its own accord, with a few uses and practice she would break it to her will…even now she kept a part of her mind pressing its natural rhythms into her own.

She pulled up toward an orbital docking station run by some crime gang or other, dealt swiftly with the indignant droid attendant to pay a docking fee and took one of the Interceptors down to Vakeyya.

******

The air was almost unbearably humid, the stench of unwashed bodies filled her head.

Travelling by ticketed transport was not an enjoyable experience, especially when ones fellow passengers were only a cut above destitute, seeking a new life on Dantooine. Perhaps the worst of it was she was in the same ship, literally. Her hand drifted to her side, beneath the dark green second hand travelling cloak were the roughly healed pink scars clashing with Illiv Orfa’s natural blue.

A new life was what she sought…a new life and new purpose…she had heard rumours of a group of darksiders on Dantooine near the old Jedi enclave, but more importantly that it was near a fabled crystal cavern where the legendary Meetra Surik had found a soul-bound crystal millennia ago. Whatever she found there it was better than where she had come from, broken and left for dead on Mustafar by a travelling spacer after she stole a Serpent Crystal from a fool who had no idea of its power anyway.

The droll sounds of the Captain over the intercom, three hours from exiting hyperspace. Three hours, then she could start to rebuild.

***********

The flight down was uneventful, like the Corvette the Interceptor was similar but not quite the same to Imperial models she had flown, noticeably a shield on the back of the pod, more sensitive controls and curiously an actual leather seat.

Cruising over the Doaba Badlands to Vakeyya the capital she had to pay upfront the extortionate landing fees given the Interceptors unique docking requirements, as if no other smuggler used a former imperial fighter. That made Mendax contemplate just who these friends of Cha were to be able to just give her 5 million credits and a ship and just let her loose…they must be controlling her somehow…some method of manipulation even she couldn’t sense…something so subtle she still thought she was free…or else they were playing some kind of bizarre mind game with her.

No one could just give away that level of resources. There was still much to do before she began to try and resolve that mystery though…for now…she needed to rebuild.

******

“RrrckHaww”

“Rorkhaw…” Nyder attempted to meet Gruph’s toast.

They were celebrating, the last haul had netted them 1.5 million upfront from Nyssia-Cordaba Auction house – she had to choose 1.5 upfront or 60% of the sales price after auction. Credits now or credits tomorrow – there was no need to deliberate in Nyders mind – take the cash leave the risk.

“Here’s to us, best damn vault robbers ever!” Bursa added to his lupin mates cheer.

Solax offered a thin smile and raised his glass to join them, “Retired undefeated, couldn’t ask for more”, it was always a partnership of convenience, and with 375 K each…well they could make their own way now.

With 375,00 credits she could get to a nice neutral system, maybe Hapes or the Corporate sector, away from the empire, away from the nasty dark side artefacts… somewhere she could rebuild.

*****

Misrum wiped the blood off the shiv, spitting out a sharpened tooth as Hydan flopped dead before him. Hydan was a better duellist, it was true he had disarmed him, but the fool had taken his time, making a display of finishing Misrum for the other Sith Sabres to assert his authority – an authority that lasted only as long as it took for Hydan to get that bit too close and Misrum to knife him in the throat.

The crowd around murmured as he stood, his scale scored, his eyes bloody, but victorious nonetheless. “Our Master is dead!” he spat out a glob of dark blood, “The mighty Mellichae, slain by the so called Golden Knight, his great works left unfinished in ruins,” His words were slightly slurred, he worked his jaw a bit, he always had an accent as most Nikto did, but still for his first speech as leader he needed to make sure he was heard clearly,
“Our comrades, cut down by his bitches and cowardly droids…but I Misrum now lead,” he summoned both his and Hydan’s sabre igniting both to add a red luminosity to the thin white of the caves flood lights. “Any who wish to challenge step forward!”

He locked gaze with every one of the Sith Sabres, the last remnants of what had been a proud force under Mendax, bases on half a dozen worlds, training with Rur crystals, well equipped with Imperial Auxiallires…then…oh then any one of them would’ve met his eyes and challenged, now…dispirited after being beaten down by the Mak’Tor again and again…all demurred to his dominance.

“Very well…now…now we rebuild.”

**********

She had never been to Vakeyya but knew the place, after the Inqusitorius had imploded following Palpatine’s death the now unemployed Inquisitors had followed one of two paths, tried to carve out their own power base as she had from the wreckage, or retreated to slums like this to sell off what military secrets they had and find work as bounty hunters or mercenaries making use of the only skills they possessed. She had been able to recruit some of her first thralls from places like this where the washed up looked for new seas to sail.

She strode into The Golden Gorg Cantina head held high against the vile smells and garish lights, taking in the denizens with a quick glance around. There was little of interest apart from a group of figures huddled in a booth at the back…there she could taste a little power…

She needed to build from the top down, first the lieutenants, then the cannon fodder.

Stepping through the crowds she loomed over the four seated figures, the less inebriated, there were four, three humans and one Shistavanen. The furred beast was cradling the head of one of the males affectionately, they all had the look of grizzled veterans, worn but still trudging on…the female of the group had a familiar look about her in particular.

She no longer had the Rur, could no longer use its sonorous rhythms to entrench her control…but to be a Sith was to excel in every situation no matter the tools at your disposal.

The thin man gave her an odd look as the woman turned around, “Help you,” she asked

“What are you celebrating” Mendax asked as she slowly began the silent process of control, first by crushing the Qixonis resistance.

“Just pulled off a decent job,” the man with his head on the lupine beasts furry chest explained, “Here,” he proffered on of half a dozen unopened bottles, “Have a drink on us friend”

The Qixoni broke, its power yielded to her will. She pushed on to the thin man as she ignored the others offer.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the thin man’s eyes narrowed, “You ever work with the Empire?”

“Good eye” she acknowledged “But that was another life time,”

“Huh…true that…” the woman laughed, relaxing, “If you’re looking for work there’s a bit to be had so long as you can shoot and fly, we’re not looking to hire if that’s what you were going to ask,”

“Oh no…I don’t want to be hired by you…I want to hire you…” she pressed harder at the edges of their minds, like cliffs they stood, but her tides were deep black and unstoppable.

“Hire? We…we…”

The thin man suddenly realized what was happening, as quick as he sprung up Mendax hand clamped his shoulder and pushed him into the chair, the Shistavanen growled and was about to stand when she pinned him telekinetically.

“You will serve me” her voice clear in Nyders head despite the hubbub of the cantina about them.

“You will die for me,” Nyder knew this feeling…the bile in her stomach rising; her body fought as her mind succumbed….

“You will call me…,” the last of Nyder’s resistance was shattering, her paltry force abilities no match for the rising black flood waters that dulled her senses and individuality.

Iphrati Nyder finished for her – “Mistress”

******

Chapter 8: Allies
- Part 2 -

- Karmack -

Karmack sat still in the quiet of his apartment, the inky blackness of the vale broken by pinpoints of light looking very much like a starscape. His breathing was regular, his body unmoving, but his mind was busy...

The book lay where he'd left it hours ago. Well, "paper" might be a better term. Brother Jo'Nas had alerted him to it, a loose stack of flimsy on a long-forgotten and dusty shelf in one of the Temple chapel archives. The title sounded like a scientific paper - "Manipulating force channelization and song-activated power conduits in crsytal medium", written by then-Maenowan Odjina, Master of Song. After brother Jo'Nas had delivered it to him Karmack had done a computer search of the Archive and found no mention of the paper. He could only conclude that it had been written while the Mak'Tor were part of the Jedi order, and the record had been lost along with so many other Mak'Tor records during the purge.

He hadn't had a chance to read it before leaving for his meeting with the Aetheana Society, but when he'd returned he decided to give it a go. So, with no distractions he'd started his morning with a cup of caf and the paper and waded in. As expected, it was scientific, a discussion by the future Kage on the power channels in various crystals and how they interacted with the force. But more interestingly, he went on to discuss how those same channels could be tuned, manipulated, enhanced and linked using healing song motifs.

Karmack was fascinated.

"Most crystals have one or two power channels." Odjina had written. "But certain types of crystal, most notably Kyber and Adegan crystals, have multiple channels. These channels can be shaped, opened and closed, even linked between crystals..." Karmack had read the paper, complete with citation to earlier works by Kage Dorian and Klu Xandir, both of whom had apparently left large bodies of work on the subject which Odjina had accessed within the Jedi archives.

All that knowledge ... gone ... Karmack was puzzled by the loss. Why had the Jedi purged the records so thoroughly? All Mak'Tor were taught about the Purge, how Grand Master Kimar had expelled the Gray orders, exiling the Mak'Tor and cutting off contact with the Vhal'Dan and other independent orders. Some had disappeared completely without Jedi support. Others had simply vanished. It was always assumed that they'd done so of 'natural causes', but now? Karmack shuddered slightly as the realization of just how aggressively Kimar had been in stamping out what he saw as heresy. He'd sent Valens and Millaea to Vyth to 'deal with' the the Gray.

Had Kimar not fallen, he no doubt would have unleashed them on M'Tzigon itself eventually. But that paranoia, that fear, probably explained why the documents had been so thoroughly purged from the Jedi Archive. "Maker ... forgive them..."

But this paper, preserved in hard-copy in an archive that had been physically moved from the Spire during the Purge, had left him a rare opportunity. In it Odjina dscribed everything - how to find the channels, how to visualize them, how they resonated in the force, how different motifs affected them, even how to create them. And he had the Ancient One, a Kyber crystal created by Klu Xandir, with supporting Rur crystals built to Dorian's pattern. With Odjina's descriptions and tools...

Can I make it work? Only one way to find out...

After a light meal Karmack had begun his meditations, slowly focusing on the Ancient One and the Rur crystals supporting it. It had taken hours, following the flow of the force, tracing it in and out and through the crystals, before he'd finally started to see the delicate network of flow channels within them. Slowly he learned to discern them, like a musician learning to hear a new form of chord structure or a master technician learning a new computer language. The Ancient One had always burned in the force with a blaze of power: now it was more, a lattice of interconnected channels and streams, more complex than anything he'd ever imagined - and far more powerful. The sheer power bound up in the crystal frightened him. He was in WAY over his head here, and only had a basic idea of what he was doing. But he pressed on. His visions of destruction demanded a response. He had to learn about his power, how to harness it.

There as a system here, a network. And in that network a very clear reinforcing pattern...

Slowly Karmack rolled the crystal in his vision, watching the pattern. Studying it. There are at least three separate systems here... One was familiar to him - the main power channel. It blazed with power like a beacon. One of the secondary pathways was also alight with activity, but with less intensity. When he touched it in the force he heard the echos of healing motifs. This one seemed to be carrying the power that he had learned to tap to keep himself whole as the strength of the primary channel poured through him in battle. But the rest? He had no idea...

What is your function? He let his point of view swoop in on the lattice, studying the complex set of connections, and he slowly realized that the whole system was hideously complex, very much like a computer network or complex power grid ... or both. The nets were all cross-linked to each other, with three primary input and output channels feeding through the Rur crystals. And one ... after closer examination he realized it was a power amplification loop. Interesting...

Another slow pass, and another anomaly became apparent: the connection points were slightly off. The triparate Rur crystal that cradled the Ancient One had several connections as well, but he could see the flare of power being bled off and lost at the interface points. Odjina said the connection motif could be used to align the channels... With more than a little trepidation Karmack hummed the motif, reaching out in the force to nudge the channels into proper alignment.

The channel twitched and moved slightly, giving him hope. Karmack narrowed his focus. Sweat poured off of him as he exerted himself, pouring a massive effort into slipping the channel into perfect alignment. As it clicked home, sealing together with a bright flash, the secondary networks in the Ancient One suddenly blazed brighter and Karmack felt the sweet refreshing rush of healing energy wash away the fatigue of his long meditation, replaced by a feeling of well-being and refreshed vigor. Karmack pulled back slightly, examining the new connection. It was now nearly perfect, with almost no energy loss. It works...

With a little more confidence Karmack turned his attention to the next interface and repeated the process, watching the network flair again as the second connection reached alignment and clicked into place. Finally he aligned the final interface, noting the surge of force energy that washed through him as the last channel clicked home and the interface entered near-perfect alignment.

I wonder... Karmack let his focus slide along the saber, paying close attention to the power couplings. There are lattice lines here, too... Karmack applied the same motif, trying to move the lattice lines in the power couplings as he had the crystal lattice, but while he made some small improvements the effort was massive and even with force augmentation he was soon exhausted. There has to be a better way. Maybe a different motif... He tried other healing motifs designed to re-align bones, nerves, blood vessels ... none of them did more than make minute improvements for a huge effort.

Karmack gave up, pouring healing energy into himself as he again examined the saber. The crystal connections were holding in alignment, and even the small improvements he'd made to the power coupling and storage system looked to have made the saber more efficient and slightly stronger. But more than anything else the exhausting effort drove home the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing. He knew these tools existed, could see how they worked in a very basic, very simple way, but in order to make effective use of them he had to see them in action...

He thought back to Kage Odjina, to the vision of his fight he'd seen recorded in Zearic's permafrost crystal. I have to see this in action. See how it was used by a true Master. And the only record left behind that still exists is in that cavern on Vyth. His mind flowed back to the interview with Lyssia Andisdottir. The confrontation - he could think of it as nothing else - had been brutal in its own way. But something Ms. Andisdottir had said in parting, as he left... "Don't put your faith in the Myth of Odjina, Master Karmack. You may regret it." she'd said, that odd blue lightning flashing in her eyes. The "Myth" of Odjina. Not the "Saga" or the "Tragedy". The Myth.

Like everything else, it was a calculated strike meant to intimidate and throw him off-center. But was that all it was? Or was it also intended to keep him away from Vyth? And if so ... why? Ho'Li had said Odjina was the key. He'd certainly known more about crystals than anyone had realized, and far more than anyone alive today did! The power he felt flowing even now from the Ancient One, the way he could see these ... lines ... everywhere... He needed to learn what they were, how to use and manipulate them, and he had no other guide. His only hope was in the echo left behind by a dead man.

The key was Odjina, and the only way to learn from from him was to go to Vyth and trace the echo. By observing, following the fight, he could learn the techniques. Improve his own ability to harness and focus the power through this amazing crystal. Maybe even learn to augment his own body the same way...

For a momement the darkness overwhelmed him again and he again saw the fall of the temple, the loss of life, the death of Arnor and the Mak'Tor... He pulled himself back, gasping. What had Ms. Andissdotir said? "A Mak'Tor deathstar..." Karmack blinked the vision away. Yes, he was trying to build a super-weapon. Become that weapon.

What must that look like to others? Not just strangers like Andisdottir, but other Mak'Tor - would they see it as a noble pursuit, developing the necessary tools and knowledge to protect the Order, M'Tzigon, and the galaxy at large? Or would they see a selfish pursuit of personal power and prowess? Karmack knew there were already whispers in some circles of the 'great Karmack' being a glory hound, a loose cannon... He didn't allow such things to effect him, but he could not deny this course of action would only lead to more and louder voices joining the chorus of doubers and detractors.

For if he succeeded - truly succeeded in becoming as strong as Odjina - there would be fear from all sides. Some would understand and stay close, but most would simply distance themselves, afraid of what he'd learned...afraid of what he had become. What he was.

But against this weighed his vision of coming destruction. What choice did he have? Darkness was rising: the light needed to meet it. To wield the Ancient One was not a privilege, but a burden. He bore the heavy responsibility to carry forward a tradition of defending the Light against the darkness, both without and within.

The Vision...a crystal lattice of unimaginable power...the Temple aflame...the power of the Ancient One...the darkness within...what if - he hesitated to even think it yet it came unbidden...what if he was the one who caused the destruction? What if he obtained the 'super weapon' and couldn't control it, or worse fell into the welcoming embrace of sheer Power without restraint and used it to remove any obstacle in his path?

"Arnor. Zearic. Silman. Maker help me, even Cliff..." Karmack said the names out loud, talismans against the darkness. The Way of the Maker was his guide, the Song his pathway. Only in the grace and guidance of the Maker could he do this, and only with the help of his wife and friends. "Maker, help me! The path I must walk is clear..."

"Vyth." Karmack emerged from his meditation, standing slowly and painfully. He stood, stretching as he watched the horizon flare with the first light of morning. "I have no choice: I have to go to Vyth."

******

Chapter 8: Allies
- part 3 -

- Orfa / Mendax -

There was nothing at the Jedi Enclave apart from wreckage and blood stains, not even any salvage. The damage was recent, and the dark side still fresh…but there was something else, a lingering…rhythm?...in the force Orfa couldn’t understand.

Disappointed she hopped onto the cheap hired speeder, maybe it was a mistake to come here…so far no other dark siders, no crystals…just…grass land and dead buildings. The wind picked off as she headed back toward Aurilia, carrying with it motes and pollen that helped filter the stink out of her robe from the transport.

She was just coming through a small canyon cut through a hill when she sensed the danger ahead…she had heard rumors of bandits in the area…she leapt from the speeder into a controlled roll along the road side as the blue flash of an EMP lit up ahead of her. Casting off the traveling cloak her red blade lit the dusk with crimson fury as she knocked back two stun bolts. She could feel some on either ridge above her, more in front and behind…Overconfident, they had seen a Twi’lek female and assumed…they would not get a chance to do so again if Orfa could help it.

Dodging a stun net she charged forward into the mouth of the trap, that might unbalance them. Three figures ahead, one fired stun bolts, one with a vibro blade the other…a red sabre lit up…the Sith Sabres, it had to…

“Ughfff..” she was winded by a telekinetic blast to the chest from the centre figure, obviously the leader…yet…sensing emotions was one of her few specialties…there was an uncertainty in the others at odds with his intensity…he was pushing his will on the others still…a new leader…this was her chance.

Recovering she adopted a low stance and screamed for all her worth,
“Big man to face one woman with all your dren lickers, can’t do it yourself can you,”

Misrum was in a quandary, a force user was more trouble than worth as a hostage, or even a sex slave. She had called him out, his best option was to order live fire and shoot her to pieces, but doing so at this early moment in his leadership might show weakness rather than wisdom. Frell it,

“Pull back, this one is mine!” he yelled,

Orfa smiled as he bounded ahead, two leaps away she unleashed a torrent of lighting, he caught it on his blade and directed it into the ground, she pivoted as he tried to shoulder her into the ground. She played to her speed and flexibility while the Nikto used his superior strength and telekinetic abilities to keep the match even.

The Sith Sabres watched on as their new leader faced his first test, there was no room for failure, the Sith respected the strong only, both knew there was no second prize, only a forgotten death.

Orfa made sure to keep away from the canyon walls, noted the Nikto preferred high to low sweeps where he could leverage his strength, Misrum tried to force her into one of the crannies on the rock to keep her contained as red clashed with red in bloody sparks as the stars began to appear high above.

Misrum needed to end this fast, he could lose his position even if he won the fight if it took him too long…he went for the kill, hard heavy blows rained down…but in his flurry he left one too many gaps for Orfa to dart out of, strafing around another downward slash she cut behind his knee, he twisted away and fired a force blast wrong footing her momentarily…but only momentarily. Out manoeuvring him swiftly she sliced into his shoulder then booted him in the chest as his guard dropped.

The feel of the others was expectant…yet also concerned, for all their backstabbing still some comradery existed between Sith Sabres. A flourish sent his blade from his hand and she knocked him to the dirt, using the force to enhance her voice across the canyon to the growing crowd of Sith sabres.

“You will call me…” a glint of light in the starlight, she swiftly pulled back and sprung her hand like a sewer-diagona tentacle after a lost rebel - catching his shiv wielding hand

“Mistress,”
<<<<>>>>
It was a strange feeling she’d hoped never to experience again. Knowing that this other being was controlling you, yet unable to do anything about it. If there was one consolation it was that so far her new Ferroan Mistress had not demanded any sexual favors as the other Inquisitor’s had.

She sat on the Bridge of Zearic's Bane, a brand new Raider II corvette, watching the tunnel of hyperspace as they headed to a destination she couldn’t quite recall despite having plotted it for her Mistress mere hours before. Such was the dislocation of being indentured with the force.

They had sold their own ship at a loss, handed over all the credits they had earned from the Nyssia-Cordaba Auction house…her future sold from under her by an Inquisitor for the second time.

“How long,” the Mistress voice resounded in her ears and behind her eyes

“2 hours,”

Mendax grumbled beneath her breath, she needed to find Mellichae, his Sith sabres were little better than cannon-fodder – but some cannon fodder was always preferable to none. Her current class of thralls were able but few…she headed back to her quarters to the dull stares of the others. The binding had not been precise, it had been quick, she had no patience for chattel whose ultimate purpose were merely as ingredients in a thought bomb after all.

As the door slid closed she regarded the three black collars she had found in the ships main bed room…three collars meant she could survive three bombs if Cha was to be believed.

Her fingers…her real fingers once more…trailing along each one in turn
“Karmack,”
“Zearic,”
“D’Alyanna”

<<<<>>>>

Dantooine…of course Mellichae would come back here…where else was there for him to go…and yet…he was not here…Mendax could sense the lingering trace of his death on the breeze as they approached one of the various bolt holes dug into the grass covered hills in the Enclave surrounds.

Her Shistavanen had easily traced them with his animal senses, not that it was necessary, she could feel them half a planet away, a dark stain on the green world.

She didn’t try and hide her approach, she wanted them to know she had come back for them…her enthrallment would still linger in their minds…pushing her presence out she felt the first of the lookouts detect her…fell on their face and then wordlessly fell in behind her, three followed by the time she reached the cave entrance where a blue skinned Twi’lek was waiting…uttering a series of curses under her breath.

Orfa had barely staked her claim and now some bitch was moving in on her…worse they seemed to have a strange affection for this one.

“Submit and serve,” The Ferroan called out – it was not a question nor an offer - Orfa sneered at her presumption, true she had a gaggle of half enthralled followers…even still they both knew this could only end one way….There can only be One Mistress.

“This is your failed former Mistress…the one who claims the title Darth in lieu of any real power…pathetic!” Orfa spat to Mendax thin smile, Misrum knew how this would end…Orfa was no match for Mendax…nor was he…the question was simply which he could learn enough from before over throwing them.

“I am returned,” Mendax ignored her taunts, “Renewed by the Dark Side to destroy the False Singer, the Hapan Whore and Zearic the fat fool!” Her hand balled into a commanding fist sparking with lighting as she pushed her will forward

“You’re a failure and a fraud!” The twi’lek screamed, her desperation showing as she weighed herself against Mendax finding she was painfully wanting.

“I am Sith, you are nothing” the Ferroan dismissed, Orfa had one trick up her sleeve, just one…now it was time to play it,

Barely 5 meters apart she unclasped her sabre with her mind ready to…

“GHHAACKK” pain flooded from her back across he body as the knife dug in

“Lady Mendax, the Dread, our savior,” Misrum called holding Orfa upright

“I offer this pretenders blood!”

A thin smile at the ‘loyalty’ of her former thralls creased the pristine blue of her face,

“Well Done…release her,” Orfa’s mouth filled with grass as she crashed forward.

Breathing and warmth as a body loomed over her. Mendax knew she had few enough followers as is, she wouldn’t waste this one…plus a lieutenant who wanted her dead was useful, this was why the sith developed the rule of two, an apprentice who wished to overthrow the master forced the master to stay alert, capable and not rely on her underlings.

“You will serve me as I rebuild,” the Ferroan whispered in her ear,
“And you will call me…”
“Mistress…” Orfa finished, her pride dripping out with her blood.

Chapter 9: How Far Will You Go?
- part 1 -

Nar Shadda was a rotten looking dump, towering skyscrapers illuminated by gaudy neon, beaten down slaves wandering the dangerous streets. Socorro haphazard - outdated infrastructure serviced a society kept in a sweet spot between anarchy and gang oligarchy. They didn’t pretend to be anything other than the hives of scum and villainy they were – Arnor could respect that.

Bright lights, crisp clean carpets, frequently swept cobbled streets and irritatingly polite serving droids threw a horrendous visual contradiction to the oozing greed and heartless selfishness of the denizens of Canto Bite. Behind finely made clothes, rejuvenate-treated faces and quartz nanite dresses were souls that would sell a billion lives to afford the latest Corusci speeder lest the Jo’Nes outstrip them.

The trip to the desert planet Cantonica had been spent rehearsing their cover and getting up to date on not just the Auction house and Casino, but also on current topics of interest for conversation with the wealthy who frequented it while the civil war remained a distant opportunity for arbitrage…

The basic story had Arnor as Talias’s mother, Ylara and Yria Teft respectively, wealthy heiresses, Chillum was Be’Ne’Kor, an antique appraiser, with Talia focused on practicing conversations on topics such as the competition between Aryugna sushi chefs on Spira, the rumours around the next season of the Daring and the Devious, the best Fathier to bet on at the race track. They booked into to mid-priced room, two bedrooms one she would share with Talia where everything was extraordinarily expensive…when 50,000 credits was put on a single dice roll a 20 credit glass of water was irrelevant.

The Casino was huge, a melange of emotions - the elation of winners, despair of losers in the never ceasing gaming rooms, the apathy of the workers, false enthusiasm of the prostitutes…a mix that made her feel unclean for being near it.

Strolling through the wide busy corridors Arnor was struck by the variety of races and species…there was no racism – you were judged on your credits and nothing else – pure meritocracy she mused.

More than once she noted the discreet undercover security eyeing her, a coin in a slot machine or ordering a drink soon diminished their interested and they returned to quietly removing attempted cheats who plied wrist skifters and the like…it astounded her they thought they could succeed.

Pausing by a small internal fountain rimmed with red crystal blossoms she watched the emerald fish within expanding her senses tentatively…there were a few brighter lights in the force…naturally gifted but below functional ability one expected in any crowd…one stronger one, an old Whiphid off in the corner making a small profit off a roulette wheel…a thin line of the force connecting him to the bouncing ball. Smart, Arnor smiled, doing just enough to get by without getting noticed.

Finally at the edge of her senses something different…a dark splotchy, unashamed tar upon the background emotions.

Moving to one of the infinite number of small bars she took up a stool with a good view of the hall between gaming rooms as the nexus of black strolled past. She knew that face too well…or an older version…in a sharp dark suit Nimmin Cha breezed over to one of the discreetly placed cashiers and withdrew two stacks of golden chips, four women without outlandish hair pieces trailing behind him.

Moving to the roulette wheel with the Whiphid, Cha whispered something causing the tusked creature to chuckle at. After losing two gold chips on each of his spins, the Whiphid headed off. Arnor kept a cautious distance as Cha and his entourage went from table to table playing the various chance games indifferent to the loss of half of his gold chips each worth 5000 credits.

He didn’t seem to be obviously interacting with anyone apart from gratuitously molesting the women he was with…yet they seemed – excited – by his every touch and attention…Arnor recognised the sluggish tar of force suppression that clouded their minds, she had sensed the same off Mellichae’s pawns. It disgusted her, if nothing else she would be justified in taking him down for that alone.

In the sabacc room Arnor saw her chance, moving through the crowd she took up the last spare seat at the table before the dealing began, using up one of her few gold chips.

“Two Card deal one centre,” the somewhat indifferent dealer explained, dealing two face down cards each, and one face up, the Mistress of Coins worth +13. The aim was to get as close to +23 or -23 as possible using two of your cards, but you had to use the central card as well. Arnors Ace of Flasks and Balance at best let her get to 17.

The turn passed around the five participants, most opting to pass, Cha and one other locking in a value, Arnor locked the Ace of flasks, giving her +28.

The second round began with the shifting phase, unlocked cards changed values, Master of staves didn’t help, but whatever had changed for the other players wasn’t helpful either she sensed.

“What do you think, lock or pass,” Cha held his card to one of his girls with blue hair and bright orange straps that could only be called a dress by the most bold of designers.

“Lock,” she said

He swiped it below the interference field to lock it, an unusual move so early in the game to lock both cards.

“Fold”, “Fold” came the next two assuming the smug Cha must have a pure Sabacc.

“Raise” The Bothan at the other end of the table tossed in a silver chip. The Bothan had no locked cards, a bold move. She now had to match, raise or fold…
“Match,”
“Raise,” from Cha, he was trying to push the Bothan out by forcing him to gamble too much on Cha bluffing.
“Match” the Bothan
“Match,”
Cha fidgeted with his card for a moment, “Match”
The next round began and her card changed value again…Endurance giving her 20…it was as good as she could get so she locked it,
“Pass,”
Cha – “Pass”,
The Bothan locked both his cards, “Pass,” Everyone passed and locked they would show down. Arnor showed first, 20 was a reasonable score,
Then Cha, The Commander of Flaks +12 and the Queen of Air and darkness -2 - Pure Sabacc with the +13 common card.
“Shouldn’t have doubted you…” The Bothan said ruefully tossing his Moderation and Star away.
It was good advice, for the next few rounds if Cha didn’t win it was because he folded on the first hand. He wasn’t cheating in any way Arnor could tell, but clearly knew how things were going to go.

She kept her senses open slowly picking up a thread as the rounds progressed…at the start of each round the force spiked in a strange way…a piercing push that receded back - a type of danger sense, or precognition. He was looking into the short term future seeking out emotions of elation and despair in his fellows, working out if they would win or lose then letting their futures determine his.

Subtle, parasitic, yet effective…it gave her an idea. The next round she focused not on the cards, but on Ken, her sense of pride when he had been knighted, the achievement, the satisfaction…she let herself feel that joy once more…as soon as Cha’s turn came he folded. She couldn’t alter the others emotions, but knowing how Cha worked she didn’t need to, she alternated between thinking of Ken, Karm…positive uplifting emotions to make him fold…then her injuries over the years, the abuse Namman Cha had inflicted on her to twist the other Chas bet. Soon enough it ceased being a game of five, and became a game of two.

She got good at it…planning out her next rounds emotions she started to pre-empt him, Cha leaning forward and paying no attention to his female decorations as Arnor won two rounds with pure Sabacc – he could read the players future emotions but not the cards themselves.

“Seems I made a mistake,” Cha said across the table to her jovially as the next round was dealt

“Oh,” Arnor said in her best flirting voice

“I went for a Quantity of Lucky Ladies instead of Quality,” he smiled referring to his mind slaved concubines.

The dealer sent out the central card – the Idiot. The small crowd overlooking their game ooh’d and ahh’s…with a value of Zero it made pure Sabacc form two cards difficult…but offered the chance for an Idiots array if anyone could get a 2 and 3 of the same suit in their hand, making 0 -2 -3.

Arnor glanced at her hand recalling Kens first steps, excitement, achievement…weapons against her rival. A 9 of Flasks and Endurance were not helpful with a total of -1, she would bank on her emotional manipulation instead, “Pass,”

Before the dealer could even turn to regard Cha his hand darted a card under the interference field, “Raise,” he pushed five gold chips from the pile he had built over two hours to the centre. He must have a 2 or 3. He gestured to one of the women, “Get me a Vitiates Victory, we’re about to celebrate a major coup,”

“Confident,” Arnor noted.

“Halfway to the finish line my Lady,”

“When you’re halfway up,” she said tossing in 5 chips to match “You’re always halfway down.”

The cards shifted again, she held the Endurance and a 3 of Coins…The logical thing would be to lock the 3, yet if she could get The Evil One worth -15 she could get -23 with the Endurance -8…odds were worse for that outcome…

“True…true,” Cha noted…”Ah Hyldn hold a minute,” the girl he had tasked stopped. “Can I get you a drink Miss…?”

“Teft,” Arnor replied noting he was stalling, but the more time he talked the more she learnt, “An Alderaanian Alpine Tea thank you,” she requested.

“Miss Teft, you’re quite the Sabacc prodigy…certainly know how to play the highs and ride the lows…” he said with a knowing smile, “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here before?”

“My first time on Cantonica,”

“Well I hope you’re enjoying the aura,” Aura…not atmosphere as most sentients would say… “Are you here for a holiday or business?”

“I can mix both,” she replied unmeaning fully, “Yourself Mister?”

“Cha…Nimmin Cha, ah our drinks…the service here is exceptional, anything you want at the snap of your fingers…Your move I believe…”

She pushed one of her cards under the scrambler to lock it in.

“Raise,” She tossed in ten coins, “So,” she sipped the citrus and pine tea, “you were saying why you were here Mr. Cha,”

“Was I,” He stared at his card as if by force of will he could change it, then took a drink of his cocktail, “Raise…” he left his card unfixed but pushed in twenty gold coins – 100,000 credits “Match…you were saying?”

“I’m a collector, here for the auctions, so many unique treasures, rare items hidden away for so long brought to light, so much to be uncovered. Are in you in the antiques business?”

“Oh no…nothing so exciting…a salesman…”

Arnor glanced at her new card, she left it unfixed “Raise...” 30 pieces, half her coins were in the pot, “Something beyond a used hovercar salesman I imagine….”

“Ha indeed, Droids mostly…good solid work droids. And You Miss Teft?”

“Mrs Teft.”

“Ah my condolences,” he said rapidly with a wry grin

“Condolences,”

“Men my dear Mrs Teft marry because they are bored…Women because they are curious…” he quoted from a novel Arnor couldn’t quite recall before taking a sip. “Both are disappointed,”

“Ha…I’m sure my husband would enjoy that little saying,” she indulged him as he locked his last card.

“I’m sure he would…quite a man no doubt to have earned a woman like you…or perhaps quite a bank balance…Raise,” he locked his card then pushed forward 40 gold coins.

“Any particular objects of interest at the auctions, my daughter and I are looking for some feature pieces for our new apartment, something classy with a touch of history would be perfect,”

“One or two…some statuettes and brassware…if you’re interested in music there are some objects that have a certain…resonance to them, some candle sticks in particular…said to get in tune with mindfulness mediations..”

Just as Karm had said, conversational topics just on the edge of indicating he knew all about you…but not quite explicit enough for Arnor to be sure. “Match…” she said pushing all but eight of her coins to the centre, the pot was over a million now, the crowd around them seemed to grow in step with the stakes. “Candlesticks…how romantic…” she added

“You’re almost all in Mrs. Teft…an interesting conundrum…do you put it all on the line, or back away and break even…its moments like this that show a person’s trues character they say. Are you a gain chaser or loss avoider…” he leaned forward. “I’m fascinated to know just how far you’re willing to go,”

The cards switched again she glanced at her new one…she had little option…pushing her last coins in the centre she swiped her card to lock it, “All in,”

Cha smiled and pushed forward his last coins into the pot. “Ladies first…”

She flipped her cards…Endurance and Demise, -8 and -13 for -22. Now she just hoped he had been bluffing when he locked his very first card, trying to use his credits to bludgeon her out of the game as he couldn’t read her emotions.

“An idiot array…” Cha said holding his cards to his eyes as the crowd gasped…

“No…” he added tossing his cards to the table, “Just an idiot who forgot a woman’s face is her best work of fiction,” his cards the Queen of Air and Darkness and the two of staves, a total of zero with the common Idiot. “Well done Mrs. Teft, a shame your husband wasn’t here to see such a victory,” he raised his glass, “To Mrs. Teft, my vanquisher, who plays her tells…and her opponents…like a Song.”

Chapter 9: How Far Will You Go?
- part 2 -

There was a natural hush to places like this…libraries, art galleries museums, the layout inspired quiet contemplation of the objects behind triple layer transparisteel. Chillum slowly wandered from podium to podium across the rich red carpet, the golden lights above casting a slightly yellow tinge to white plas-steel armour of the numerous guards. This peacefulness was at odds with whatever had made the broken metal sword in the case before him so valuable…a strange disconnect between the function of these objects and their place now as articles of curiosity.

The pre-auction viewing was full of collectors and curious on lookers cycling in and out, some fops with interior designers after a show piece, professional dealer with small datapads professional dealers, and finally well, but modestly dressed buyers agents for off world collectors.

Few of the objects Chillum saw had much value beyond their antiquity…a few had a hum of the force about them, some scrolls with secrets and histories no longer of any import…one detailing the thread between Revan and Meetra Surik being one Jedi Master Kreia, another suggesting the Sith had survived the great hyperspace war and a code on how to find them…things that contemporary history already knew all too well. At the end of the room were objects of greater value, a statue of an emaciated Mon Calamari titled ‘Representation of Xni Plague Victim” if it was odd it was because it was made of a strange carbon …there was little wood on Dac, the small holo-details suggested a rumour that this was actually a plague victim drained of bodily fluid to leave it coal like.

And beside that…a rich Jade surrounding a soft blue cube …’The Holocron of Master Soryu’ the title read. He closed his eyes to reach out toward it…try and see if it was genuine…a gentle force sense should be…

SLAM

Walls of black slammed around his senses, he stiffened trying to see where it had come from. Beside him a young woman, dark red-auburn hair done up in elaborate loops, ivory skin and a shimmering blue dress…the beauty at the centre of the death of the force.

A slight sag crept into his posture as the force was taken from him…was this intentional or merely incidental…there were some non-sentients that possessed such repulsive fields, Ysalimiri and the like…but for a sentient…

“An impressive piece lass,” he turned a warming smile toward her, she looked familiar…although many members of the Old Houses and Corporate upper class did due to arranged legitimate offspring...

“Lass…” she raised an eyebrow very deliberately keeping her eyes fixed on the holocron. “What a curiously antiquated patriarchal term…” a smooth and feminie tone belied the invective of the words. “Do you start every conversation with a woman you don’t know by speaking to her as if she were a child?”

He lowered his head in an apologetic nod, “My apologies Miss, no offence was intended,”

“None taken little boy…” a snide little balancing shot…he ignored it.

“Do you have an interest antiques,” he probed.

“Is that a pick up line?” she asked, a cheap shot at his age…yet he couldn’t quite suppress a slight chuckle it was a quick and clever come back.

“No, not at all…I simply enjoy discussing legends and mythologies related to such antiques, do you know much about these?”

“Enough,” she peered closely at the holocron, its light dimming as her null field pushed toward it… “This one needs new batteries,” she said to herself loud enough for Chillum to hear before moving along to the statue, the blue glow returning as she departed. He trusted his gut and stepped to follow…

She rounded quickly on him. “I have no interest in speaking to you, now leave me alone or I will call security,”

He could only nod and back away respecting her wishes…yet took careful note of which displays she lingered at…the dead patch she carried was easy to follow…yet strange - surely a force user would know that such a contained null field was just as obvious as a strong force presence…either it was innate to her or…ah of course…she wanted him and whoever else knew the force to know she could nullify the force at her pleasure…it was a statement of prowess, posturing.

She paused at a few items that Chillum hadn’t paid much attention too. He was unsure if she was genuinely interested or trying to throw anyone who might noting her movements off...

His list already complete he waited five minutes after she was ‘out of range’ before returning to the holocron. A gentle probe caressing its surface…he didn’t want to activate it fully but needed to be sure…the extension of his mind suddenly met a welcoming, curious tug from a calm, gentle presence. Chillum pulled back, this wasn’t the time…but now that he knew for certain about this mystery he could investigate the next.

He didn’t need to be in the same room - just close enough to pick up the edge of her null sphere as she wound through balconies that overlooked the Fathier race tracks, stopping at a bookmakers as the next race lined up. Chillum noted the bubble suddenly vanish…the Force flowing back into the void as she glanced down at the animals preparing to race…out of the dark a bright, almost painfully strong tendril reached out to analyse the animals.

Turning back she placed a bet with a swipe of a credit chit, the void returning just as fast as it had vanished causing turbulent waves of raw force energy to churn about the dead sphere from the push and pull…

He had never seen such…blatant indifference to the flow of the force and how it could affect others, it seemed no more than a light switch, to be flicked on and off as she saw fit – if it left others blinded by the light or lost to the darkness she couldn’t care less.

The Race began and the pounding juddered a group of spectator’s crystal glasses…all eyes were on the race but she glanced at a chrono on the wall bored…the shrill finish line alert sounded as she turned to the bookkeeper who filled a small elegant box with Diamond Chips congratulating her on her win.

As she wandered off Chillum moved in on the Givin bookkeeper. "She had quite a win?”

“Yes sir…” it responded indifferently

“May I inquire what she bet on?” he pressed with the force just enough to get his mouth moving

“She placed 10,000 credits on correctly placing all twelve racers, odd were 126.4 to one.”

She had just used the force to win a million credits…yet how…sensing the physical abilities of each racer Chillum himself could probably get a better than 50:50 chance of choosing a winner…but all twelve of them in exact order?

Continuing along the trail, she seemed to be killing time, occasionally stopping at a gaming machine or table, opening back up to the force tossing in a few of her diamond chips, and winning a pile more, her first box was followed by three more, each chip worth 10,000 credits ... in 10 minutes she made nearly three million credits.

Chillum had used the force to smooth his way out of situations a million times, circumvent bureaucracy and get a little advantage over someone in a negotiation…yet this…the boredom in the brief glimpses he got of her emotions, her utter lack of concern for the turbulent mess of energies left behind. It wasn’t dark or greedy, she seemed to disdain carrying the chips, it was…Nothing.

Pausing at a dice table a lanky Phindian rolled a two and thirteen for fifteen on the two twenty sided dice, the winner a Sullustan laughed as the table keeper slid the majority of chips across to him, keeping the one diamond chip ante for the Casino from each pile. She slipped into an opening and placed a small stack of chips on two, once again the force reopened and a clear irrefutable message suffused it – “ALL IN”

The other gamblers slapped every chip they had on various numbers…the result was as inevitable as it was galling for the mugs who had just lost…two ones to make two…once again the bored attendant took one chip from each pile –the casinos cut, then moved the vast pile - at least 6 million credits worth - over to her.

As the defeated wilted and new players arrived, he stepped in placing the small stack of gold chips he had on 6, as she placed hers on 9. She didn’t seem to notice him among the 8 other players, before the dice rolled she demanded ‘ALL IN’.

Chillum was testing himself, he wanted to know how strong she was… Looking down to his hand unconsciously piling in the rest of his chips he got his answer.

As the dice rolled he recovered enough to feel the telekinetic pressure, he didn’t’ need to do much…as the first score 5 the second teetered on a point, she pushed left, he gave a gentle flick right then felt eyes burning into him – the dice didn’t so much fall as…appear with a 4 facing up. She won and sauntered off walking past him, a cool breath behind his ear, “Second warning, there will not be a third.”

“Perhaps I can help pretty Lady carry all her winnings?” A leathery faced delphidian said sauntering up to her in what he must’ve considered his most photogenic smile.

“Get lost,” she sneered collecting her winnings into her now overburdened hand bag

“Pretty Lady, this one simply wishes to assist the woman whose luck is only exceeded by the beauty of her eyes.”

Chillum turned sensing the build-up in the force

“Come so much victory must make one…hungry…” he purred “Join me at the Penthouse for dinner…and des…”

His voice stopped dead as she paused

“I’ve told you twice now…go away…you won’t be warned a third time,” she was letting him make his own choice…or rather dig his own grave.

“Come now Lady, no need to play hard to get…” he stepped in front partially blocking her path…then with a gentle hand committed suicide by touching her shoulder.

“Go kill yourself,” she said coolly with a hammer blow in the force, the shockwaves pushing into Chillums own mind.

As she pushed past he started slowly heading toward the window…Chillum rushed up and grabbed him, beginning a recovery tune…trying to push through the dark cloud…He neither resisted nor complied…simply continued trying to get to the window.

“Hold up…” he gritted out

He pushed into his head…trying to grasp the immaterial intention dominating his mind. As people began to stare he went deeper…such a thin insubstantial thing…he pressed against it…Calm…Calm…Calm….slowly the Delphidian came to a gentle stop, eyes confused and milky.

Across the room, as she credited her winnings to her account, she simply smiled at the silly old human male – so that was how far he was willing to go for another Outsider.

Chapter 9: How Far Will You Go?
- part 3 -

*** WARNING - THIS SEGMENT CONTAINS CONTENT THAT SOME MIGHT FIND DISTURBING. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ***

She threw herself into the tumult, into the glitter and silks, weaving and bobbing through conversation, thrust and parry of flirts, felling a Chagrian, a Duros, two humans and a Falleen in her fury of charm. She used her glass as a barricade, waiters as moving cover to get closer to her target who sat laughing and joking on a luxurious white leather longue behind a booth table littered with empty cocktail glasses and half eaten aperitifs…

Arnor had made an in, but gotten little detail, not because Arnor had said she was married, rather Cha obviously found intelligence in women a reason to be on guard. So now it was Talia’s turn.

Nimmin Cha was regaling the women about him with some tale he found as entertaining as they found his money appealing as Talia took up a glass from a waiters tray and sauntered over, her hair done in small curls that were the fashion of the day, dress an ivory white with thin black diagonals that spiralled up from the hem to embrace her cleavage.

She was primed and ready to strike, noting his every motion, how he looked to each of the girls faces after he finished a sentence checking they laughed, one hand on his glass, the other firmly on one of the women’s rear, accent naturally aristocratic but slightly forced to keep clipped tones currently in fashion.

“…for its clearly the case that the entire message has been sanitized and gentrified, oh yes everyone agrees with his legacy against fascism and racism, but no one wants to engage with the heart of his crusade against poverty in all its forms.” Cha blathered on into faces who didn’t care for a word.

“I’m happy to treat anyone equally, but…ah thank you…” he gulped another cocktail whole, “but I refuse to give up my privileges to actually be equal with you HAHAHA!” the girls giggled in turn almost following his gaze - switched on like a sensor light.

“Sorry need the ‘fresher” one of them parted from the standing circle, this was her chance, slide in, with an anecdote to amuse him…something that would paint her as just above the other bimbo’s but still below his radar.

Slight sway in her hips, shoulders back to press out her chest she stepped across the rich red carpets, pushing out her presence just enough to catch his eye, make her seem ‘magnetic’

He gave her a brief glance as she approached.

“If aliens really want to be equal,” she said laughing despite herself “They should start by getting a job,”

The women looked at her venomously, Cha’s eyes lit up "Haha…how true how true, the slackers, why don’t you join us,” he shifted the women aside to let her in. “ah yes what a joke he was…all those speeches an peaceful protests…arrests and suffering.”

“He believed that by showing people the pain inflicted on the poor and marginalised the wealthy would feel guilty, their conscience would make them rectify the situation,” she replied defending the Sentients Rights defender, feeling slightly sick for having besmirched him moments ago.

Cha looked at her expectantly…waiting for the punch line

“Of course…” she thought on her feet “everyone knows a conscience is the first thing you sell to become wealthy!”

“hm…hm…ahahaha…very good indeed,” he leaned forward “If only they sold their conscience for the useless baggage it is rather than wrestling with it they might have time to do something profitable…but tell my what is your name?”

“Yria,”

“Wonderful…a drink” he snapped his fingers and waiters appeared as if from nowhere.

“Blossom Wine,”

“Which vintage Madam,”

“What a stupid question,” Cha interceded, “Pre-Clone Wars of course, early Veruna era,”

“Thank you mister?”

“Nimmin call me Nimmin…ah yes the great crusader for rights, what a Zealot he was or claimed to be…”

“Probably frelling all those followers he mobilized” she added gaining his confidence by sharing disdain for another. “A shame he died a martyr to the cause,” she went on caustically, “better he had lived and ended up scandalised or irrelevant and forgotten…”

“Yes a martyr! How glorious to die for the workers and the poor! Fool, these Maker worshippers are a cancer…so prudish…” he squeezed on the cheek he was holding, “No sense of fun…don’t you think,” he turned to the girl he was grabbing.

“Yeah, none at all,” her vacuous response only made ‘Yria’s’ engaging tone more appealing – Yria not Talia – she needed to slip completely into the role.

It was disturbingly easy after that. With each laugh and witty riposte she pushed in closer to him, stroking his ego with agreement, getting in to a web of art criticism, personal insult and excess that only a man so wealthy no one could touch him could indulge in freely.

Soon she had jostled aside the other women, her laugh more genuine, replies more meaningful hooked him, his eyes sized her figure up with increasing frequency as the night wore on. It started with a laugh as he put her hand on his shoulder, his danced on her back, then waist. A delicate finger trailing his jaw, fingers tiptoeing just above her rear, eyes wide and fluttery with make-up gazed into his sneer of a smile.

Yria was willing to go all the way, Talia was all but forgotten as they rose in the turbo lift to the very top of the Casino hotel, he had the second largest Penthouse all to himself. The subconscious memory motif observed his door code, and the features of the room, only then did she begin to come back to herself – Yria had gotten in, now it was time for Talia to take over again.

His shirt dropped to the ground, she had to admit he was not unattractive, very muscular – almost unnaturally so, even Illian young and well trained was a waif compared to him. Illian...Just How Far was she willing to go with this, there was a datapad on the table, a few papers on a desk, and in the corner a box that seemed to…not be there.

Firecly strong hands caressed her arms as she glanced away coyly. “A moment,” she nodded toward the refresher. With a curt nod and sinister smile he released her.

Talia stared at Yria in the mirror, was she really going to do this, was this what the mission required, he was a sharp man, he would notice any attempt to ply him off. She needed to wait till he was asleep to get to the data points littered across the room. From her hand bag she sent a quick burst transmission to Arnor, where she was and the door code. Brushing her hair she adjusted her dress and reapplied some lip gloss. If this was what it took….

He lay on the bed completely undressed eyes twinkling beneath a self-satisfied grin. Was this how far she had to go - she remembered having this discussion with Illian, how his cheeks had flamed in embarrassment, how vehement he'd been that there was a line they would NOT cross even for the sake of the mission…she’d never been this close before, the line was inches away and coming up fast.

Locking eyes with Cha her stomach sank a little more, damned eyes twinkling as though he was reading her mind Illian is gone, my mission is now, and I'm a big girl...I can do this...

A dazzling smile convincing her face it was real. "I hope you're going to enjoy this as much as I will..."

She stepped forward and with a slight tug the ridiculously sheer, dangerously revealing dress slid away, pooling around her ankles. Kicking off her heels she stepped out of the circle of fabric and the remnant of modesty.

Shorn of inhibitions she was left with a sense of guiltless betrayal that churned her stomach in confused circles, trying to push down the gag reflex at the light of desire she saw awake on his face...

As he pulled her down she felt him, truly felt him in the force, something that had been hidden until now: sick, rotten, animated by a nefarious power that made her want to vomit – Talia couldn’t go this far – Yria had no more choice.

With each kiss to her shoulder, each twirl of her hair he got closer and closer, the line was no longer the theoretical Illian had agonized over, it was a black gaping maw about to consumer her, taste her and spit her out a ruin when the flavor was gone...

The door bursting open startled both of them. "Yria TEFT! You tramp! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?"

She flopped around covering herself in shock that was more real than act, Cha simply remained lounging with the same damned satisfied grin and brightened eyes.

“You good for nothing little Tralk!” Anror pushed in grabbing up the dress and shoving it into Talia’s chest,

“Oh please talk dirty I like it,” Cha grinned, “Mother and daughter, what a treat this will be…you don’t have a sister hiding in the closet do you?”

“Muuther It’s my life, my Body!” Yria protested

“Oh yes…fight, pull her hair!” Cha laughed delighted

“And it’s my money you’ll be sucking if you get knocked up to a…” she looked quickly around the room taking in each detail she could before glancing down on the still naked Cha

“droid salesman…Mr. Cha…seems I don’t need to introduce you to my daughter, but I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your evening short I need to discipline this little whore,”

“Really,” He sat up, “Are you going to spank her...I’d love to see that,”

Arnor’s jaw twisted in disgust, he made no attempt to cover himself at all, as off putting as that was, she knew each moment in his room was a chance to glean more information…on the bedside table there was a comm device that was strangely curved and dark, in the corner a large grey Lock-box that felt utterly dead in the force, peaking beneath a pillow a metal object, likely a blaster.

“My apologies for the interruption…if there is some way I can compensate you,”

“Well this is twice you’ve spoiled my fun in one day Mrs. Teft….almost an occupation,” the smile Arnor noticed did not reach his eyes

“Twice you’ve defeated me,” he theatrically clasped his chest and fell back on the bed, “O I am slain first my wallet now my heart…Mrs Teft there shall be nothing left of me! A Femme Fatal extraordinaire!”

As Talia shuffled back into what little of her dress there was to begin with, Arnor palmed a slicer to her gesturing over to the datapad on a small caf table while Cha lay staring at the ceiling,

“Can I purchase you some alternative entertainment,” the word almost stuck in Arnors throat,

“Oh how could I ever do with anything less than that your beautiful daughter…well apart from the source of such beauty in yourself…”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to get over us,”

“Ah but will you get over the guilt of having so wounded me!” he was milking this Bantha for all it was worth, but the longer he talked…Talia slipped the sliver into the datapads Universal port.

“But very well,” he sat up slipped off and headed to the bar on the far side of the room,

“Perhaps I can drown my sorrows away” every second he spent pouring was another 5% the slicer could decrypt and copy.

He spun around two drinks in his hand, 25%

“Join me for one drink and my aching ego shall be soothed,” Arnor offered a half smile and took the glass careful to stand been him and Talia, - 35%

“To the Ladies Teft, beauty and cruelty, sweetness and deception,” he raised his glass

“To Mr. Cha so gallant in defeat,” - 45%

He sat on the edge of the bed and flicked on the room service console.

“Such convenience, able to order up a girl at any time…” the blue of the screen lit his face in odd shadows - 55%

“You know I was on a business trip to MEeeCheegon, Meeseegon…some dump of a world, puritans all of them…Maker lovers…not a brothel in sight…disgusting frumpy women anyway…but still…” - 65% - her grip on the fluted glass tightening with each insult

“Ah now here’s a looker…now where did I put that datapad…it has my Charge Id on it, can never remember the damn thing!” he swung round, Talia looked down nervously - 75% -

“Please,” Arnor intervened, “Charge it to our room, 14-35 Charge Id 4452,”

“Oh no I couldn’t do that…what will your husband say when he see ‘Erotic Pleasure Services’ on your hotel bill!” – 85%

“Oh Yria, there it is,” He slid across and reached out,

Talia tentatively reached across, one hand holding up her dress – she let it fall,

Cha’s eyes went straight on target

“Exhibitionist Tralk,” Arnor chided

“Get Frelled Mother, might make you less bitchy!”

“Happy to oblige anytime Mrs. Teft,” -100%

Talia lifted the datapad, with a swift motion turned it end over end as she stepped forward palming the slicer and handing the pad off to Cha.

“Ah there it is Charge Id 1234…can never remember it….”

It was a trial for both of them to keep any expression from their face

“Let’s go whore,” Arnor gripped Talia’s shoulder

A flash lit up the room, Cha held is datapad upright the Camera flash on the back blinking,

“A little something to remember the Ladies Teft!”

----

Barely into the corridor Talia was trembling in Arnor's arms. ”Are you alright, did her hurt you, did he...”

Talia shook her head as Yria faded form her mind. “I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed as the turbo lift closed. “But I couldn’t stop…”

Arnor pressed Talia’s head against her own. “It’s alright, you don’t have to, we have what we need…”

Chapter 9: How Far Will You Go?
- part 4 -

Historical Reference: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg621995#msg621995

Vyth was cold, its orbit on the outer edge of the liquid water zone created by its distant blue star. Blue seemed to dominate - blue-white light bathing blue-tinted foilage growing in rich soil overlaying dark blue-gray rock... There was a chill in the air and snow on the mountain tops in the distance. A light-blue glacier face dominated the far end of the rocky valley, a chilly, rushing river racing along the base of the implacable cliff face while the land rose gently away on the far side, a wide valley scraped out by the now retreating glacier.

The entrance had been easy to find, the entry trigger familiar, again very similar to hidden places in the temple complex on M'Tzigon as well as some of the Mak'Tor ruins on Coruscant. With his saber in-hand he pressed the button, senses extended as the door swung open, still operational after six centuries...

From within he sensed only the echos of the past: betrayal ... anger ... sorrow ... pain ...

Death.

Lighting a small hand lamp, Karmack squared his shoulders and entered the silent corridors of blue stone...

******

The main chamber was just as the recovery mission had left it. The walls and stone columns left in-place during the original excavation work were of the same dark blue stone evident from outside. The center of the room was still dominated by the low circle of gray stone, the destroyed holo-projector decaying in the center. Black burn patterns could still be seen where force energy from the fight had rippled across the chamber, burning out the perma-frost crystals Kage Odjina had used to amplify his own force abilities. Nearly all of them were gone, either burned out or removed after-the-fact.

Fortunately "nearly all" was not the same as "all".

There were shards, fragments. Not enough to channel the force, but more than enough to hold an echo. A reflection of what was.

A ghost...

Karmack stopped and listened, opening himself to the song, eyes closed in concentration. He could feel the song shifting, flaring, the intensity of this place pushing and pulling on the melody and harmony of the force... For a moement he slipped back into the vision from Zearic's crystal... Darkness ... the song filled with pain ... betrayal ... defeat ... death ...

Karmack felt his body respond to the conflict, adrenaline racing through his veins, his heart rate and resperation rising. "Calmly, calmly..." he whispered, humming a pastoral motif in the song as he pushed his vitals back to normal...

"Who are you?"

Karmack's eyes snapped open, his saber in his hand and ignited almost of it's own volition. The spectre before him was also in a combat stance, his own ghostly saber lit. Karmack recognized the Twi'Lek instantly from both historical records as well as his own vision. "Kage Odjina..."

The Kage's eyes swept the room, his stance never wavering. "You know me. Who are you? Where are my people? What happened to Valens? What is going on here? He was right here..." Odjina's eyes clouded as his own memory replayed the battle he had fought and lost here. "I don't understand..."

His force ghost must be tied to the crystals here... Karmack relaxed his own stance, de-activating his blade and lowering his defenses. He started humming the calming motif again, infusing the chamber itself with the song this time, calming himself ... the rocks ...

Odjina's ghost.

The song had the desired effect, as did Karmack's change in posture. The ancient Kage stood down as well, then cocked his head slightly as the song registered. "Calming motif..." He looked at Karmack again, and he felt the brush of the force as Odjina examined him closely. "You are Mak'Tor... Of the Clan Mack... You carry the Ancient One..."

Karmack felt his eyes widen slightly as he nodded. The Kage was still struggling, still confused, but he was no longer primed for battle. "I am Ka'A'Mack, Meanowan and Master of Song of the Mak'Tor Order, my Kage. I apologize for my intrusion: of need I have awoken you from your long slumber."

Odjina fixed Karmack with an intense stare. "Long slumber? What do you mean? He was just here, in front of me. Milaea had fallen here, and ..." He turned, looked at the crushed dias, then back at a spot near where Karmack stood, then back at the dias again. "...and I died here..."

Karmack felt anguish and grief suddenly erupt in the force as the realization of his own death rolled through Odjina. The ghost fell to his knees, fingers touching the depression where his blood had been found, where Valens had broken him. "Soryu ... Kimar ... Kimar is playing with fire, Master Mack. We must ... you must get a message to him. Go to him in person, and warn him: Kimar is playing with fire, and if nothing is done the entire Order may burn."

Karmack felt the intensity of his emotions in the force. This is a ghost? He shifted to a more intense calming motif, flooding himself and Odjina with peace and calm. "Sir ... who is Soryu?"

Odjina turned back to Karmack. "Master Soryu of the Jedi Order? You don't know him? He is on the Council with Kimar, Yoda... He is one of the last friends the Mak'Tor have in the Order and he is a man of honor. He deserves to be warned. Whatever Kimar is up to..."

Karmack nodded, and for a moment wonder filled him. Soryu was real? All those theories about composite characters and combining events.... If Master Soryu was a real person, a real Jedi... "I understand, Kage, but..." Karmack paused. How do I tell him? With a deep breath he decided that the only way was straight-up. "Kage Odjina, Kimar is dead. Yoda is dead. I would have to say If Soryu was real he is long dead..." Karmack kept his tone soft and gentle. "You've been ... asleep ... for six hundred years, my Kage."

Odjina blinked as that sank in. "Six hundred years? Six hundred..." he rose, leaned on the ruined dais. "Soryu ... Yoda ... Kimar ... all dead?"

Karmack nodded. "Yes. Yoda only recently, we believe, but Kimar and Soryu have been gone for centuries."

Odjina nodded, slowly coming to grips with the news. "You're Mak'Tor. The order survives?"

Karmack smiled. "We've had our challenges, but by the grace of the Maker we are alive and well."

"And M'Tzigon? Li'I?"

"M'Tzigon thrives. Li'I'Mack became Kage after..." Karmack paused. "Well, after..."

"After my death." Odjina replied, his own emotions starting to settle at last. He looked around the room. "Did anyone here...?"

"Only one. Ha'Ona'Mack was spared by the assassin..."

"Valens." Odjina replied. "He was brutal. Amazingly strong. A meta-human with amazing abilities..." Odjina fixed Karmack in his gaze, his head cocked to the side. "Ho'Li's daughter survived. That explains your song. She's one of your ancestors, Master Mack."

Again Karmack's found himself blinking in surprise. "Well, yes, actually... How did you know?"

Odjina shook his head. "Master of Song, and you don't know your own song's origin?" He smiled. "Listen..."

Karmack concentrated, listening first to the perception motif Odjina sang but then his attention turned to his own song. He caressed Arnor's interwoven fugue, but then moved past it to his own melody, the very core of his own song in the greater Song that flowed through the force. Slowly he isolated it, identifying the pieces and parts until... "Incredible..."

"Your song is clearly descended from Ha'Ona, Master Mack." Odjina said. "All of the core elements are there." He squinted a moment. "Though I have to admit some of them are quite a bit stronger..." Odjina gave Karmack a look of appreciation. "Quite a bit. But I suspect you didn't come here to chat about your lineage or catch me up with current events."

"I am afraid not, Kage." Karmack replied. "There is a disturbance in the force, a rising power that is coming into conflict with the Mak'Tor. Its nature is ... nebulous. Elusive. Its not like the great enemies of the past. Through our history, darkness has risen and the light has risen with it. But this..." Karmack threw his hands up in frustration. "I cannot tell. I see horrible images of death and destruction. A thought bomb tearing the very heart out of the Order, destroying M'Tzigon... But even as I see the horror I know that it is avoidable. That the power to destroy could become a power to preserve instead. A sense that the enemy could be a friend. Even ... a brother." Karmack shook his head. "I can't explain it. I don't understand it. But the only time I've felt the same conflict was in your battle, here."

"My battle?" Odjina sat again, this time in a lotus. "How so?"

"Your opponents." Karmack replied, crossing and sitting in front of the ghostly master. "They were immensely powerful. I've seen some of Four-Ten's data on the younger one, the one Ha'Ona called Milaea. She was off the charts..."

"Milaea..." Odjina nodded. "Yes. She was ... conflicted. She possessed immense power, and she was utterly afraid of it. She released it accidentally while training with our own people, badly injured her sparring partner. She had no wish to harm anyone, the poor girl, but she was apprenticed to Valens, and he was under orders from Kimar."

"Valens ... the assassin?" Karmack leaned in. "Was he also one of these 'meta-humans'?"

Odjina nodded. "There is no other explanation. He was a black hole most of the time, hidden almost completely in the force. His ability to mask his presence was fascinating, but I was so intent on breaking that mask that I ignored one far more important." Odjina leaned forward. "Valens ... was following orders. Kimar's orders, I believe, but there was some kind of by-play between him and his apprentice as well. She actually launched the attack. Valens didn't strike until we sensed the conflict begin between Milaea and the knights she was with. And he fought, but we were able to hold him off until..."

Odjina paused, the memory again overwhelming him. A tear trickled down his cheek as he continued. "Such a sweet girl. Her decision no doubt tortured her for the rest of her life..."

"Her decision?" Karmack leaned back, confusion on his face. "You believe she actually made the decision to attack?"

Odjina nodded. "Yes, I believe so. In that, Valens was following her lead. But when she reached the battle here, she was still conflicted. I could feel the conflict within her. She fought with her head, not her heart, and in the end she lost because she wasn't willing to throw herself into the conflict. She didn't believe in it."

"You killed her?"

"No. I knocked her out. She was fighting Kimar's battle, not her own. In the end I could not hold that against her. Nor did I want to harm Valens. If we could have disabled them, reasoned with them... Stopping Milaea without killing her gave me hope. A hope that turned out to be false." Odjina bowed his head, his eyes wet with tears now. Sorrow flooded the room as Odjina's grief surfaced again. "Instead of saving them and us, I only drove Valens to greater efforts. He killed..."

"He killed everyone." Karmack replied. "Everyone except Ha'Ona."

"Yes." Odjina raised his head. "He spared Ha'Ona. And he spared the song of this place, sent it back to M'Tzigon. To the Mak'Tor. To you."

Karmack nodded. "To me. And not just the song. The Ancient One as well. I believe it is the key." Karmack laid his saber in his palm, holding it between him. "I need to unlock its secrets. Learn to use it fully. Will you help me?"

Odjina looked at the saber, his ghostly hand touching the smooth surface, then looked up at Karmack. "You understand ... this power, it comes with a price? Are you willing to take this journey?"

Karmack nodded. "Yes. The price must be paid, or the darkness will fall."

"Very well." Odjina sat back. "So, to start, show me what you know. Sing for me..."

Chapter 10: Preparing the Field
(Part one)

- Mendax -

Ruug had a good thing going. His Gravity Well projecting Clone Wars Era Separatists Cruiser sucked refugee ships out of space, the Frigates offered a good threat, and the fighters menaced in tight dry attack runs as the asylum seekers transferred him credits or dropped their valuables into a pods before he let them go on their way to the Corporate sector, away from all the fighting between the so called New Republic and Empire.

Ruug ‘HAD’ a good thing going…now he was kneeling before a Twi’lek bitch with a glowing blade and a few too many face tattoos, the bunch of traitors who were once his crew either happy at his fate or too busy patching up their wounds to care.

“Will you submit to Her Excellence the Dark Lady Mendax and I Illiv Orfa” She never forgot to include her own name during these recruiting missions.
“That depends…how tight is your….” The fist slammed out three more teeth before he finished his sentence
“Ok…arghhh,,,Phhut” he spat out two of three teeth, “I get it I’m the sub you’re the dom…I have to say…I’ve been a very bad boy…the Dark Lady needs to punish me a lot…”

His innuendo was desperate and sickly as his sweat…but he was not an idiot, his trap had almost caught her, had the Interceptors arrived any later they would’ve had her trapped on the dingy old freighter she had captured a week ago.

“Last chance,” she got nose to nose, the salty tang of fear in his matted hair
“Alright…I’m on board…”
“On board?”
“Mistress….”

******

More comings and goings Nyder noted, over a fortnight Mendax…her ‘Mistress’ had tripled her forces, Orfa had recruited three Pirate bands – pretty low quality ones it had to be said but a ship is a ship, Misrum the Nikto cult leader from Dantooine had brought in some more fanatics fleeing from Scardia after the breakup of some ‘Church of the Dark side’.

Nyder had seen this before, typical Inquisitor technique, recruit two or three auxiliary commanders, give them each a small force of good for nothings to keep them occupied. Ofra and Misrum now had to spend most of their time keeping their fair weather goons loyal, the rest spent eyeing each other off, looking for a chance to undermine each other. Meanwhile Mendax could sit back in overall control and play them against each other, building her forces without having to mind control too many herself.

Were Nyder not a part of the mind controlled cohort she might admire the strategy.

Zearics Bane as Mendax called the ship was now full of Sith Sabres in ill-fitting Storm Trooper armour found in the hold of the Raider 2 Class Corvette, pirates in clanking plates and robed zealots. Exactly where this ship and its supplies had come from Nyder didn’t know, nor was Mendax talkative on this or any subject with other people….but increasingly she was chattering to herself and her sabre.

Gruph broke her thoughts and returned her attention to the tactical console where she was meant to be working out how Rugg’s Raiders would fit into the ramshackle flotilla. A fleet and army built on mutual hate and violent ambition…where had she seen this before…

******

“To You Mistress…” the blade sliced across the woman’s palm, droplets of rich red-brown hit the grey-blue deck
“We pledge our fealty, True Prophet of Darkness, Mistress of Night,”

Misrum standing behind the six robed fanatics rolled his eyes, he had followed Mendax and Mellichae not out of superstitious devotion, but respect for their power and the chance to learn from and eventually better them.

“Your fealty is accepted,” The Ferroan smoothly replied, Mirsum sensing the energy flow from Mendax, to the Qixoni crystal embedded in the black and silver hilt, to the minds of the former Acolytes of the Apocalypse or some weird cult like that…they were marginal force users, to them the touch of Mendax was ‘blessing’ or ‘communion’, Misrum had seen enough indoctrination of Mak’tor tralks by Mellichae to know deep mental manipulation when he saw it.

Her new thralls dismissed her gaze turned to Misrum,
“You’ve done well…”
A bow, “I live to serve you Mistress…”
“But will you die to serve me?”
“If you command it Mistress…” he said cautiously his deepest fantasy twisting his knife in her heart as he used her body for his pleasure
“I will not hesitate,”

******

“Traitors…all of them…” She said as they travelled to the next target she had in mind, a small system where the Acolytes had said a number of other former members of the Church of the Dark side had fled after Scardia was destroyed.

Still…as she flicked her sabre in her hand feeling the Qixoni pulsing within…they had their uses…cannon fodder…and sacrifices for the thought bomb…the three collars that would protect her from the devastation now arranged on the wall of her cabin.

And they kept her on edge, afraid of being assassinated by her own followers, her guard always high, her skills must be at their peak without pause – that kept her powerful.

Then there were the other uses…Ruug was a ruffian, a bulky muscled fiend…but he scrubbed up well enough to satisfy her…Mendax had never care much for such carnal distractions before…but something in the way she had been remade had changed her…a discrete blood test had shown her endocrine system was primed and taught for killing and mating…and didn’t seem to have an off switch -whoever Cha’s twisted oblivion friends were they didn’t just heal, they modified.

“And I thought I was the nasty one…” Ruug sat up, dabbing the bite marks with the sheet, in three places she had drawn blood.

“Shut up and get out,” once her thirst was satiated, her patience for his foolishness was gone.

With a snide grin he obeyed.

After a few moments her blood settled back down to the new normal, hitting the internal comm,

“How long till we arrive,”

“54 minutes Mistress,” Nyder replied.

Mendax leapt up her legs aching to run…her fists to fly…at someone anyone…but that would not do here…the three collars stared at her…

“Karmack…D’Alyanna…Zearic…dead all dead…”

“Well if that is what you …”

SssTVVUUM

Blood red sabre alight she spun through slicing through Cha’s neck…had he actually been there it would’ve severed his obnoxious head.
“Well…seems you’re fighting fit Dark Lady…”
“What do you want Cha,” Her anger rising with each second she looked on his smug face

“Just checking in, post operation care you know…seems you’re enjoying the new body…” he gestured to the bed and chair that she had broken on Ruugs back before…how long had the pervert been watching – she had no doubt the ship was littered with surveillance devices, she had found twelve so far, left three in place for dis-information, but if Cha could project through hyperspace…or could he…

She sized him up more carefully…his image was slightly backward…his arms cut out oddly…Cha wasn’t doing this himself…someone else was powering his communication.

“Get to the point….”
“oohh feisty, I like it…but really you should cool down a bit…may I recommend a nice little glacial world called Vyth?”
Mendax patience was spent, her blade was still in the middle of his illusionary throat…the sooner she got her own ship the better…but so far none of the clunkers she had acquired compared.

“So ungrateful…really you should visit Vyth…give yourself a new perspective on things…”
“And what exactly will I find there…” she sneered
His image drifted to the collars, his one visible hand caressed the top one…
“An opportunity…” he replied before vanishing
“Karmack….”

- Ken & Rylack -

There was no tourism in Ac’siel…or if there was he was not allowed to partake in it. So far he had spent nearly a week pottering around in uncomfortable half conversations with Vice Admiral Tla – as he was instructed to call Ry’s mother.

She was as warm as the ice tunnels he occasionally wandered through with them both to visit a restaurant which had less atmosphere than a mess hall after a gruelling training session, a short tour of the underground gardens and hydroponics, and very brief constrained view of the glacial channels. Allowing him to have his eyes open during any of this seemed to be a painful concession to their secrecy.

Ry slept down the hall and was as icy as water that came from over clean taps – “public displays of affection are frowned upon…”
“But this is your room”
“But it’s not my house…”

She had warned him but he hadn’t believed it - their entire society was run like a Dreadnought on red alert waiting to exit hyperspace into imminent battle – waiting –tense, on edge, time to worry about every single little irregularity to maintain a sense of control before the storm. He could appreciate why Ry had left even more now.

There were no distractions to take up his time, R6 was restricted to the ship, the holo news was all in Cheunh with no basic subtitles, he watched hours but didn’t pick up anything of the language – what he did see was the reason they were waiting – Ry’s grandfather the full Admiral Tla who was returning from a campaign, against whom and for what reason were more ‘operational matters’ that could not be discussed.

“What am I doing here….” He said outload to fill the silence with – Something. Ry and her mother were out…somewhere and he was under house arrest, restricted to the main living areas, his room and a refresher, every other room locked.

Nothing…just nothing…

******

“Please…just try a little harder, I know its difficult for both of you….” She took her mother’s hand in her own, their booth sufficiently private to avoid anyone seeing

“But I feel trapped in the middle here, I wanted so much for you to get to know him better, and he’s trying but…” Ry could only sigh “please just try a bit more,”

Her mother looked indifferent
“If he’s coming into our house he should…”
“I know obey our rules…but that’s just - it’s not helping anyone,”
She pulled her hand away and look askance
“It’s hardly easy for me either, I hardly see you, hear from you…now you bring this al…” she caught herself before saying ‘alien’
“Person with you saying you’re marrying it, honestly the thought of that pink white eyed thing touching you disgusts me Ry’lak, it disgusts me,”
“So is that it!” the reply was swift as it was indignant “Because he’s not Chiss!”
“If he was he wouldn’t be so uncouth,”

“Uncouth like me maybe, not wandering around in uniform, not keep my nails clean and trim every single day, maybe that what I like about him, ever consider that, do you ever think maybe not everyone wants to be as uptight as the Ascendancy wants,”

“This is not the time or place to discuss….”
“When then, where? We’re not the Bridge Mom, were in a café, you can’t order me around here, I’m not a junior officer anymore.” She rose up hands on her hips leaning across the table
“I wanted to include you in this, reconnect with you, share the start of my new life, but obviously it’s too disgusting for you to even contemplate,” pushing off she stalked off intent of leaving for M’tzigon as soon as possible, if they had to stay in the ship until their scheduled departure date it was better than staying where they weren’t wanted at all.

“Ry’Lak stop,” The voice called out to her, over the thin hubbub for the cafe,
Ry chanced a quick smile, she’d finally gotten through to her.

******

Admiral Tla, head of the Household was a little taller than Ry and her mother, but still shorter than Ken,
“Ken’In’Nah Mack,” he bowed slightly arms firmly at his side, his eyes rose to see a hand offered, Ken had almost forgotten what hat meat…he tentatively reached out.
The Admirals grip was firm and efficient like his features, Chiss to the bone.
“Pleased to meet you Mack,” his voice sounding only slightly sincere,
“How are you finding Csilla,”
“Cold,” he half snapped, almost elated to be asked a normal question
“It can be…”

After introduction the Admiral had gone off to his room returning out of uniform in a crisp neat casual suit, that alone showed he was more at ease than his daughter, he finally began to see Ry’s leaving the Chiss might have been to someone’s positive influence rather than simply rebellion at restriction.

“My’Lak get some tea will you,” he relaxed into the couch as he bossed the Vice Admiral around

“You must forgive my daughter Ken Mack, she is not used to dealing with aliens as I am,” The fact he said aliens openly showed he was no expert either, but it was an improvement,
“I hear you’ve flown TIE Advanced and Defenders, do you find the tri-wings on the defender make it more difficult to stabilise?”
That was…random…but Ken took it,
“Not really, the inertial dampeners are better so largely compensate, but if they were damaged I imagine would be harder to level off than an Advanced with similar damage,”
The Admiral simply nodded, “hmmm…” it was almost approving
Ry in the corners face lit up,
“I’ll go help mom get some biscuits, leave you boys to talk shop,” ironic Ken thought given Ry knew more about ships than he did, but he understood.
“Our own designers are very interested in adapting the TIE pattern,” he went on no doubt breaking the ‘operational matters’ rule
“They’re good fighters in the right hands,” Ken noted
“Indeed…” When the ladies returned the conversation was almost amicable, even My’lak got involved to a degree, whilst the Admiral could not be considered ‘warm’ he wasn’t consciously frosty – for the first time Ken felt almost welcome, if only being welcomed in front of a firing squad with open smiles.
“…I must say I’d never heard of M’Tzigon before Ry told us she was living there,” the admiral noted as they finished a simple dinner of mushrooms and small vegetables that grew in the warmer climes of Csilla.
“It’s a bit out the way, we keep a low profile,” Ken offered
“A wise course in troubled times,” My’Lak added
“Dangerous times…” The Admiral finished.

******

Sitting on his bed flicking across the incompressible channel on the view screen the door slid open,
“Evening probie,” Ry sauntered in
“Ry…do you have permission to be out of quarters?” his mood was up, she knew her Grandfather would make him feel more welcome, she just hoped it could make up for a week of waiting
“Got my papers and everything,” she hopped beside him
“I’m so proud of you… “ her lips brushed his cheek “I know it’s been hard, but…just a little longer and they’ll come around,”
“The Admirals, I think they’re humouring me,”
“Maybe,” she had to admit, “But…a little time and they’ll be more…normal – they just need to trust you more first”
“Yeah…” he blew out, “Trust…hard to earn it when they won’t let me out without a cavity check,”
She couldn’t blame him for being annoyed, but things were just getting good, she didn’t want anything to ruin it,
“I know,” she nuzzled into his neck, “Just…keep things light for now,” reaching over she turned her head to his and touched their lips, a slightly chaste kiss, Ken reached around to pull her in deeper – finally Something was happening in this damn room.
But as soon as he pressed forward she pulled back,
“Another time…” she smiled, he didn’t reciprocate
“Seriously…” shaking his head, “do you need permission for that as well, a Disease check,”
“Ken,”
“No, I’m sick of this,” he snapped

“I don’t understand why you let them tell you what to do, it’s not –“ he considered how to phrase it as his disappointment built

“It’s not that I mind not being together for a few weeks– it’s that you’re making someone else choose that for you,” she was always so upfront, determined and strong, here he felt like she was being marshalled back into a Chiss mould, he feared the longer she was here the more infected she would become.

“I mean…Maker, you’ve barely spoken to me about anything meaningful this whole time, constantly telling me to rein it in…I thought you wanted your family to get to know me, not a sanitized Chiss friendly version.”

Her lip curled indignant as she fired a broadside back,
“What, you think I haven’t been trying, I pushed my mother to try harder, I’ve been pushing ever since I got here for them to give you a break!”
She threw her hands up between them,
“You know what I don’t need this right now, I wanted to thank you and you’re just…uggghhh,”
She pushed off to the door,
“Thank me, for being a good little prisoner, bonus rations, here’s your kiss now shut up and be polite for another week!” it all came now, the constriction, the tiptoeing around, he hated it.

“Enough Ken, I’m not doing this right now, get some sleep Grandfather has invited us to a special presentation tomorrow, you wanted to get out more, well there you go,”
She swept out a quickly as the door could open.

Chapter 10: Preparing the Field
(part 2)

- Karmack -

Karmack, deep in meditation, floated in the tangle of channels and networks, watching the energy flow. Odjina floated next to him, his eyes twinkling at Karmack's intense concentration. "Now ... the motif..."

Karmack nodded, still watching the flows, and started to humm the motif. It was a simple enhancement motif, one he'd been taught by his own father before his death to help him enhance memory recall ... but with a slight alteration. Where it should cadence the new motif did a false cadence and repeated with a minor chord variation, forming a new, longer motif. And instead of helping with memory recall the power network around him suddenly flared to life. "Whoa..."

Odjina chuckled. "You see? Its more than a memory aid ... with the right tweaks."

Karmack watched the power flow with growing amazement. He could feel it, feel energy beginning to pour into his own body now, channelled by the crystal and targetted. Fatigue poisons were scrubbed away. Damage repaired. Depleted energy stores replaced. "Its still enhancing, but not just memory. Its ... repairing ... but also increasing efficiency, speeding up both mental and physical systems..."

"Yes. This, combined with the advanced healing techniques you've learned will be vital. But to really make it work you need the StarFire."

"Klu's 'other' crystal." I grimaced. "Do'Rian was the last person to have both of them together, and I can't get him to tell me what happened to it after he had it. I am beginning to suspect he just doesn't know."

"That is possible. You may have to go deeper into the Ancient One, see if you can't get Klu to come out of hiding." Odjina rose and stretched, triggering the same action from Karmack. The force ghost didn't really need to do so, but he'd quickly realized that Karmack did need to move periodically and had taken to initiating those movements when he sensed Karmack needed a break. "All I know about them is that the StarFire links to the Ancient One and serves as an amplifier of sorts. The two crystals are immensely powerful on their own, but together? Well ... ask Do'Rian. In the mean time, have you tracked down that last motif I gave you?"

Karmack recovered from his stretch and shook his head. "Not yet. I kinda crashed after my meal last night..."

Odjina smiled. "Understandable. You've been pressing yourself hard. The only reason you're still standing is through the use of the healing motifs, and while its good practice for using them during battle in the end you still need natural, normal sleep as well. But since you're here now..." Odjina resumed his lotis.

"Yes, Master Odjina. With your permission, I'll stay standing?"

Odjina simply nodded and began humming a tune Karmack had yet to be able to decipher. It was very similar to the diagnoistic tunes healers used to "watch" a patient while they moved or described a symptom, but like so many of Odjina's motifs it had a flare to it that took that use to a whole new level. Karmack could feel Odjina's attention in his mind now as he hummed the tune and began meditation on it. It feels ... familiar ...

Karmack realized the motif was a fragment of the song echoing in the chamber itself, a small section of the Song of Vyth. He focused on the song, sorting throught he conflict, the pain, the death ... and underneath it all he found the melody, a motif of life and power. It was the same song he'd heard with Ha'Ona and Ho'Li in the crystal. He realized he'd also heard it during his vision of the battle between Odjina and Valens, the vision he'd had in the training salle on M'Tzigon. It was here, all around him. Echoing. Life and Death, Victory and Defeat locked together in a deep fugue...

Its in MY song! Karmack realized with amazement. The motif, with slight modifications, was also buried deep in his own personal melody. Deeper even than the "family" song Odjina had shown him, the one he shared with all of the Mack tribesmen who claimed descent from Ha'Ona'Mack. It was another layer entirely. A layer of bedrock...
My song... Karmack traced the thread of melody that wove its way through the great Song of the universe. Who else would it touch? It was like listening to the echos of the past Masters in Great Hall of Clan Mack high in the M'Skigon range. Each melody different and unique but connected, very much like the way our DNA was unique but connected. You could trace generations through the song by comparing the melodies, see how bits were handed down from parent to child...

Karmack reached the destination, the source of the song fragment, and froze. This was no Mak'Tor! It traced back to ... Valens!?!

The shock of recognition drove Karmack out of his meditation. He wheeled on Odjina. "What? How?!?"

"I do not know." Odjina stood and uncharacteristically began to pace, gesturing as he moved around the room. "But I knew, when I heard that melody here, in this cave, that one would come who would unlock the truth of it. At first I thougth it would be Ho'Li. The matching, underlying motif was strongest in her song, but she was never able to trace it out or make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried. Then, later, Valens came with Milaea, and I thought that perhaps they were the key, as the motif was strong in them as well. As you know, that hope was dashed as well." Odjina stopped, standing in the doorway, and he smiled. "And then, you came, and awoke me from my long slumber. And now, at last, I can rest."

Karmack frowned. "Rest? But ... I don't know any more about this motif than they did!"

"You will, in time." Odjina's look softened, becoming almost fatherly. Karmack felt a sense of completion suddenly infuse the force, a new, subtle motif in Odjina's song. "I have finished the course, and passed on what I learned. There is again a Master Singer of the Mak'Tor, a guardian to keep the melody, harmony and rhythm of the Song in balance. Ka'A'Mack - Trust the Singer! Walk the pathways he has set! Follow the song as He gives you strength! And when the time comes, pass on what you have learned..."

Karmack's shoulders shifted involuntarily, as if the burden of responsibility were physically settling on his shoulders. Odjina's praise and trust elated him but it came with the realization of the heavy burden he now bore. Sensing the balance within him, Odjina ghost gave him one last look, the solid look and thin smile of one Master to another ... and faded away.

Karmack felt the loss as his ghost departed. He would be missed. There was no time for grief or reflection, however, as another dark form stepped into the space Odjina had just occupied. "Aw, gone so soon? We didn't even get a chance to say hello."

The dark energy of the intruder ripped the calm and serenity from the room, replacing it with the driving beat of a Sith battle song. Karmack dropped into a combat stance, his saber screaming to life in his hand. His senses reached out even as his battle song awoke and wrapped around him. He felt the sick blackness of evil radiating from the intruder, augmented and focused by her own dark melodies. He braced himself and stood his ground. "Whoever you are, leave this place. There is nothing for you here but death."

The dark figure advanced another step, moving fully into the chamber. "Master Karmack, I am offended. How can you fail to recognize an old friend?" She was a Ferroan female, lithe and beautiful, her white hair a striking contrast to her all-black outfit. Her face displayed a smile that didn't extend to her hate-filled golden eyes. "Oh, wait, that's right! We were never properly introduced. But maybe this will help..." She held a saber in her right hand, which she ignited, revealing a blood-orange blade, while her left held up a mask. "Do you recognize me now, Gray?"

Karmack felt his eyes go wide with involuntary shock as recognition hammered through his mind. "Mendax...but ... you're dead."

"Do I look dead?" She laughed and cast the mask aside. "Actually, I wanted to thank you. While I admit, having a small mountain of stone collapse on my head was ... unpleasant ... I can't really argue with the final result." Mendax stalked slowly into the room, closing on Karmack. "Maybe today I can ... return the favor."

Karmack felt the force shift as Mendax reached for the rock above his head. He countered, slamming her telekinetic energy back. He saw her eyes flare slightly at his counter, and he gathered himself as two of Mendax' followers appeared at her side. Time to see what we've learned... Karmack said, adjusting the motifs of his battle song. "Its not to late, Mendax. Leave now."

She snarled in reply. "Oh, I will be leaving soon ... but you will not!"

Karmack whilred into motion as the Sith attacked, drawing the force and the song into his defense...

*End of Chapter 10*

Chapter 11: Nothing Left Behind
(part 1)

- Canto Bight -

Nyssia-Cordaba Auctions were held in one of two dozen a grand casino ballrooms, plush velvet seats, widely spaced in golds and reds attended by dozens of waiters carrying innumerable drinks to and from the bars along the inner wall. Opposite was a large transparisteel feature looking out onto the beaches, water lit cool blue by the moon.

She flicked her eyes to the door as another small group trundled in to join the growing crowd, Cha hadn’t arrived yet. After the incident with Talia she wondered if she might’ve scared him off, made him suspicious, but given he reappeared at the sabacc tables right on time the day after it seemed he was not so easily put off.

The place was filling up fast, auctioneers cracking jokes as they stood behind the main podium, Talia beside her was still a little shaken – the question of how much further would she have gone haunted them both. Arnor began to wonder if this was worth it, they were after Cha because, in essence, he gave off a gross aura and had a connection to a long dead enemy - he had done nothing illegal, made no open threats…was such a tentative cause for suspicion really worth Talia sacrificing her body?

Arnors thoughts were cut off as Cha finally entered, in a white suit fringed with crimson highlights and dark high boots, he seemed to have reduced his harem to two – yet…

Arnor was taken aback by their sheer beauty, startling features beyond fine, skin perfect as their clear eyes and flowing hair. They walked just behind yet blotted out his presence in their radiance, both in similar dresses, one was mostly white with black diagonal lines, the other black with mirror white diagonal lines.

These two were way beyond Cha’s league…like Holo-Movies stars, intimidating by their sheer presence, Pole Stars about which the planets revolved.

They were perfect, too perfect, the product less of nature and nurture than a design, as though every beautiful human woman in every magazine across the galaxy had been compiled, distilled and voted on to create them - a beauty at once overwhelming and deeply distributing for it told everyone who truly looked that beauty was a mathematical puzzle they had solved.

And once you understood the spell was broken, Arnor turned herself away as they gracefully glided across the rich red carpet long enough to see how many others were gazing at them, the force slowly filling with lust – perhaps they did not see how this beauty was mere display – perhaps they did not care.

The Force spiked with fear and Talia tensed up as she saw them, anxiety mingled with excitement, turning to fear as the one in White turned the trio straight for them, “Talia! It is you! How wonderful to see you,” the goddess in white leaned in for a welcoming hug of the slightly trembling young woman beside Arnor.

- Csilla -

He didn’t need to look hard for his ceremonial robes, the Chiss patrols had ransacked their ship so many times he hadn’t bothered to repack his things. Ricky quizzically tweeted at him “No I have no idea what they’ll think of them…” the poor droid had been bored locked up in the Gryphon for the last few days, unable to detect anything outside the spacious – one might uncharitably call it cavernous – hangar.

The new droid began beeping the comings and goings within the hangar, no doubt hoping Ken would find it useful to know that the security patrol came through at 6:04, 18:03, 6:03, 18:05, 6:01, 18:04 and most excitingly 6:17! “It’s not that it’s boring Ricky just not really helpful,” The droid responded with a low droning whoop…Ken could sympathize with feeling impotent, trapped, bored…

“Maybe…see if you can find anything on non-Chiss members of the Academies across the public broadcasts,” Ricky’s eye bulb lit up yellow. "Compile me a list of all mentions as far back as you can go, anything related to sales or military actions,”

The droids excited booping made it rock on its legs. Ken laid his hand on the droid's dome to settle it. "I Wish I had your enthusiasm.”

- Canto Bight -

“What are you doing here? Are you staying in the hotel, how exciting!” she giggled taking Talia’s hand. Behind her the woman in black also smiled warmly. Cha behind them though – his smile threatened to tear his face in two.

“You know Sophi of course,” Vesi gestured to her sister, “This is Nimmin Cha, he works for us,” she slid to the side to allow Cha to extend a hand to Talia.

“A pleasure to meet you!” he beamed with barely suppressed laughter.

Talia’s throat was dry, she didn’t want to touch him … but what choice did she have but to proffer a limp wristed hand?

The woman in white locked eyes with Arnor. It was painful to look into the blue-grey ocean of her eyes. Arnor suspected that was intentional ... but to what end?

“I’m Vesi, this is my sister Sophi, and Nimmin Cha. Nice to meet you Arnor. Talia told us about you and your husband when we visited M’Tzigon a while ago.”

Arnor swallowed hard and leaned into her welcoming hug, any illusion of a cover identity was now shattered beyond repair - if it were ever intact to begin with. “Pleased to meet you Vesi,” she said, recovered enough by the time Sophi moved forward to notice how she felt: smooth, soft, yet with a titanium strength that hovered just beneath her open hug.

Cha, still grinning, offered his hand, “Arnor, what a beautiful name, you don’t happen to have a sister staying here too do you?”

“No … this is my father, Du’an Chilllum,”

Chillum had been distracted by Sophi, the woman he had followed the day before, who dominated minds to win at gambling and make people commit suicide. Even though the force now flowed normally he could sense nothing from her, Cha’s sticky darkness covered them both ... yet Chillum knew that Cha was the underling here. As Vesi guided them to front seats Chillum's jaw clenched knowing that either of these girls could kill every Sentient in this room in less than a minute at the slightest offence.

- Csilla -

No one said anything on the short ride to the function centre, the Admiral only noting the Ceremonial robe was ‘adequate’ for the event. Even Ry kept her distance despite sitting next to him on the small tube car.

Inside the centre, past a small reception hall was a large room arranged in three stepped tiers dotted with half a dozen small tables. The reception was not due to start for another half hour but the space was already virtually full with members of House Tla. Everyone genuflected as the Admiral and his daughter entered in their crisp uniforms, too polite to make note of Ry and her filthy alien.

As Admiral and Vice Admiral they were the stars of the House; Ry as the errant daughter the embarrassment. He could feel the judgement, thedisgust below the surface yet the more he learned about the Chiss the more he realised it was not so much that he was an alien but rather that he and Ry were not part of the Ascendancy. Had they been members there might still be revulsion, but it would not be so caustic - so long as they both benefited the Ascendancy.

They wandered around the room and were introduced to various House members; an uncle who served under the Agriculture Ministry, a second cousin who had just graduated from the academy and was quite star struck – in a very stiff Chiss way – by the two Admirals. Each congratulated the Admiral on his campaign and the honour he had brought to the house with the same canned sentence: “Your Success brings honour upon our House, it is my privilege to congratulate you and stand amongst your clan.” With each repetition Ken could feel sadness flick off Ry, the appellations she would never receive still had bite.

Ken kept his words thin, his bows and nods deep until the Admiral left to see to his special guests. It was not a party like any Ken had ever seen, more a procession, a carefully choreographed dance of alternating partners, everyone being sure to acknowledge everyone else and note a particularly glorious action or quality of the Admiral and how that was a reflection of their Houses qualities.

“…his clear thinking through the obfuscation in the skirmish is much like our ancestors in the battle of…”

“…he has the qualities of our great grandfather, at last he has achieved the rank our Houses efforts have earned over the generations…”

It was as boring as it was nauseating. There seemed to be no emotion, no joy at a warrior returning home, just stilted and strained formality – hopefully these "special guests" would liven things up...

- Canto Bight -

“You must be here for the auctions, looking for Mak’tor Treasure no doubt,” Vesi patted Talia’s arm warmly. “You just let me know what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

“That…” Arnor interrupted, “...is very generous ... but we are fine.”

“Are you sure? Well any way, you must at least let us pay for your room while you’re here!”

“That really isn’t…”

“No arguments,” Vesi laughed “What is the point of owning this place if we can’t share it with our friends?!”

“You own the Casino?” Chillum said far more calmly than Arnor would have. She was increasingly thankful he was here.

“Been in the family for years, Hostile takeover, Ha!” Vesi summoned a slew of waiters, one each, “Order whatever you like.”

As they placed small orders so as not to offend her hospitality Chillum probed further. “I thought Talia said you were based on Fresia?”

“We are, but we own Banks, Casinos ... all kinds of things all over the place. Our family has been in business a long time, Mum always says what we don’t own we don’t want!” Vesi laughed.

“Or blow up…” Sophi added very deliberately.

They settled into a row near the front of the auction hall, The chairs all widely spaced to allow the various species room to move and waiters space to get to them easily. Cha took up a seat at the end of the row, beside Sophi. Then came Vesi next to Talia, then Arnor and finally Chillum. “Looking for anything in particular Lady Mack? Ancient Crystals? Wind Chimes, perhaps?” Cha inquired across the three girls

“Just here to soak up the Aura,” she replied to his smug grin.

Next to her Talia gradually recovered from her shock, Vesi chattering away about all manner of things she wanted to show her before he left: spa’s, racing speeders, cabaret... “You can stay as long as you like it’s all free from now on. In fact we’ll reimburse you.” Vesi’s face seemed genuinely happy to see Talia, and sincerely intent on being hospitable, yet in the force she was a complete blank, not just a null, as though she was simply not there at all.

It was a situation even Chillum found hard to comprehend. He had seen a lot in his years – a lot – but this? Two force-dead girls with cheery dispositions and a virtual nexus of darkness beside them offering free accommodation and food. What was this all about? What was their game? He sat, baffled, trying desperately to make sense of it all...

The gavel tapped and the machine gun gossip of Vesi ceased as the auction started.

- Csilla -

She was still angry and annoyed with Ken, but at least he was doing alright here in the heart of Chiss society. This had been far harder than she’d imagined. She could see the side glances she was getting – normally she would double down, show them she was above their judgement by holding Kens hand, but being angry at him denied her that satisfaction – and the comfort of his strength.

Her third cousins were glaring, as soon as she shifted her head they turned back to their glasses of bubbling light blue wine. Frell it – she wouldn’t get another opportunity to show all of her House at once she was proud to be with him, no matter their transitory arguments.

Slipping in behind him as he nodded along to a conversation he wasn’t really a part of, her hand glided into his. Ken felt a warmth between them return, even if only temporarily – he squeezed back, appreciating the gesture after feeling so alone amongst the sea of blue skin and disdainful red eyes.

Everything seemed to be right with the galaxy in that instant, they could move past their issues once away from this glacial pressure cooker of social stigma.

But then…

The conversation drowned in to the beating of blood in his ears as his peripheral vision caught the arrival of the special guests…behind the Jet black suited battle hardened face of the Admiral were two dense shadows that moved without a sound across the granite floor.

The fear…the terror left behind from Black Armours Delve overtook his senses...

“Proooobeeeee” Ry’s time distorted voice whispered as his mind pulled together the disparate threads.

- Canto Bight -

“Lot 3-52 Sold” Called the smooth voiced Auctioneer as a thin Twi’lek girl planted a kiss on her flabby Crolute sugar daddy for buying a Kuati brooch. “We will now take a brief recess before lot 4 commences,”

So far Cha had bid on eight items, the most notable an ancient candelabra made of pure ruby, documents in a script of unknown origin and a battered Pius Dea era medical kit.

Only the ruby candelabra cost more than 10,000 credits, the auction was half party now, most chatted, ate and drank as they waited for a particular item to come up. A few professional dealers were on headsets with off world clients doing deals, some museums were picking up the more aesthetically pleasing items, bidding against interior decorators who wanted show pieces for their clients.

While Talia strained to come up with excuses why she couldn’t join Vesi at a party that night, Arnor kept her eyes on Cha, Chillum on Sophi. Apart from the introduction the girls didn’t acknowledge Cha’s presence at all.

“Why don’t you join me at the bar Mrs. Mack, before the premier items come out,”

She relented for want of an excuse not to, and the need to stand up after sitting for so long.

“Well Mrs. Teft, you play an intricate game! Is "Mrs. Mack" merely another bluff?” Cha’s voice was as smooth and slick as his presence. “Perhaps you’ll convince me you’re Mrs. Cha next?” the thought made her bile rise as she chugged the iced tea down.

******

The reflection in the night darkened window did not do Sophi justice Chillum thought. “Any more luck on the race track?” he inquired standing behind her at a larger than normal distance

“Any more luck trying to stalk me?” she replied never turning her gaze from the milk splay of stars filling to a rough ball with the odd yellows of the core by the horizon.

Chillum knew then he wasn’t getting anything out of her, and for all the chatting Vesi did with Talia he knew she never said anything truly informative.

“'A perfect guest knows just when to go.' I’m sure you’ve heard that before in you years of ... experience,” she sneered, an ugly tone from such a melodious voice that made Chillum feel suddenly cold.

“Ay, I’ve heard many things over my many years. 'A kind word turns away wrath' is another I’ve learned.”

“And 'a harsh word stirs up anger' ... how much more so a harsh action? Like stalking a young woman, entering her parents business under a false name, or using a woman’s body as she still grieves over her husband’s death to get into a man’s room and hack into his datapad.”

His face dropped for an instant…in a very real way they were the ones doing wrong, deceiving, using Talia to get information on Cha. Sophi knew this and would not let him forget it.

He could see where she wanted to lead, force him to question the means against the ends, the necessities of intelligence gathering against the morals of the Mak’tor. It was a conflict each Knight came to terms with in their own way: he had many years ago found peace with such things, but even among the Mak’tor some objected to such espionage methods on principal and their choice was respected – it was a conflict whose resolution was so personal and tied to one’s faith it could not be argued to another person convincingly – and Chillum knew she knew that, too.

With a nod he backed away as the gavel fell for Lot 4, knowing he was no match for her, physically or mentally.

- Chiss -

Charric Weapons, the Admiral, Black Armour, Chiss, Ry
A spectre of nightmare stripped his memories back layer-by-layer.
Charric Weapons, Black Armour, Chiss Ry
YOUR ARE A TRAITOR
Black armour, Chiss, Ry
I AM a spy…
Black Armour, Ry
Scrubber laughed. “Can you not defend yourself, Gray?”
Ry….

Everything but his eyes stood as frozen as the ice of the Csilla as he tracked them through the crowd, courteous small bows and raised glasses as they approached ever closer.

By the time they reached him Ry had to give Ken a jab as he was still facing the door rather than the Admiral and his special guests. “What’s wrong,” she whispered as he slowly turned,

“Daughter…” the Admiral stated as though it were a rank to My’Lak

“Admiral,” Ry’s mother replied with equal formality “My congratulations on your successful campaign,” she looked toward the smaller of the two oblivion monsters

“It is my Houses great honour to extend our hospitality to the most worthy and dedicated of our allies,” the Vice admiral continued, the shadowed helmet gave a slight nod of appreciation,

<We are in turn honoured to be invited to celebrate this milestone with our great friends, your hospitality is most appreciated> the distorted voice returned

“Granddaughter,” the Admiral nodded to Ry,

She stepped forward and kissed his cheek with parade ground precision, “Grandfather, my congratulations on your successful campaign,” she added with a short nod to the figures as Kens heart churned and body froze.

Chapter 11: Nothing Left Behind
(part 2)

“Lot 4-12 Representation of Xni Plague Victim, unknown artist,” the statue was hideous Arnor thought, an emaciated brown mon-calamari with horribly exaggerated features. “A rare find indeed, the Xni plague occurred on Mon Calamari some 5000 years before the Great Hyperspace war, this dates from some 100 years after, allegedly the statue is in fact a plague victim, desiccated to their carbon core ... shall we start at 300,000?”

To Arnor’s amazement someone bid, pressing the button on their small paddle. The holo screen beside the podium showed bidder 452 had placed it. Arnor followed the auctioneers gaze to a Mon calamari... Must be after it for historical reasons... Certainly not aesthetic!

“To you sir, do I hear 310, 310, 20…20…30 sir? We have 30…40…” The Mon Cal glanced across the room too ... she should’ve sensed it ... Cha. Seemingly troubled the Mon Ca bid up again.

“350 I am bid, 360, 70…380 sir, 380 it is,” eager to get to the main event Cha hit the button three times.

“410, any further on 410,,” the Mon Cal shook his bulbous head. “Once…Twice…sold to Messer Cha.”

“Now ladies and gentlemen ... now ...” behind him three guards wheeled out a display case. “Something terribly special, I present to you,” with a flourish a Devoronian in a skimpy blue outfit pulled the rich velvet from the display, “The Holocron of Master Soryu…confirmed authentic by Tgu Hool,” he gestured to the Whiphid Arnor had seen Cha talking with two or three times in the front row.

“…Nyssia-Cordaba’s resident expert on Jedi antiquities, this Holocron was prized from the dread Palpatines personal collection to be brought to you tonight. A marvellous centre piece for any collection, Master Soryu was an early Jedi Master, a compatriot of the former Grand Master Yoda, eulogised for his wisdom and strength of character for many generations. Reputedly the greatest swordsman of his time not because of intense training or natural gift, but the humility with which he fought, a dedication to learning and a will not of adamantium but of generosity to defend those who could not defend themselves,”

Chillum swallowed, suppressing a flash of sadness. He had first heard of this man in the Song of Vyth, and while most stories of him were obviously fictional Soryu was always portrayed as a man of universal acclaim – every myth had some grain of truth after all - and if even a quarter of his legends were true to possess his thoughts and teachings would be a boon to the Mak’tor - possibly even greater than Karmacks unlocking of the Ancient One.

“This is truly the prize we are all here for…” the auctioneer continued, “Now let us begin at 3 million credits!” Instantly the display holo lit up with shifting bids. Over the next three minutes the price rose to 10 million in the melee before Anror for the first time fingered her paddle which showed a close up image of the dark cube with a blue glow.

Cha seemed too cool to care, ordering up another drink as the bidding slowed to five main contestants at the 12 million mark. Now the true bidders came out. As those five faded two more emerged, a professional buyer with an implanted AJ-6 cyborg construct and a Pau’an; the two exchanged a pair of bids, and then Cha struck.

“13.4 for Messer Cha, 13.5? We have 13.5, no 6...”

Talia took a chance and caught Vesi's attention. “That’s a lot of money, what does your family want it for?” she leaned in close to hear Vesi’s answer. Chillum just as interested, leaned back slightly and hummed a sense expansion tune to pick up her tone amidst the auctioneers calls.

“Oh well it goes with the wall paper hahaha! No, Dad wants it, Cha says it’s really rare and impressive or something.”

“Holocrons?” the shock of seeing Vesi with Cha had largely subsidised but she still couldn’t quite figure it out. Vesi and her sisters had never shown any proficiency in the force. Even now they were just like as she sensed them on M’Tzigon, only thin presences below human average – Talia assumed it was because they were meta humans of some kind. Was Cha manipulating Vesi and her family to buy Jedi relics?

“14 million! ladies, gentleman, ix-gender, monogens ... 14 million I am bid ... 14.1 here...”

“Yeah Holo crowns ... that’s them, bunch of them old books and stuff too, I guess Cha knows his stuff though.”

Talia blinked. It was the only thing that made sense! Cha was using Vesi - Just as Cha had wanted to use her – the girls were probably the only ones who could sign off on spending so much money – the sick bastard. Talia could feel her anger rising as the self-satisfied grin and twinkle of Cha’s eyes grew, just as it had when she undressed before him. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction...

Arnor jumped in her seat as Talia snatched the bidding panel and slapped the button. “Talia!” she grated in a whisper.

“We can’t let him get it!” Talia seethed. It was a side Arnor had never seen of her.

“She’s right lass,” Chillum added from the other side and for very different reasons. “This is too valuable for the likes of him to get a hold of.”

She briefly closed her eyes. Silman and Karm will go through the atmosphere when they see the cost of this... But she’d overheard enough of Karms stories and read enough history herself to know if this truly was the holocron of Soryu few prices were too high to keep it from a man like Cha.

“Fifteen Million” her voice was loud and strong.

- Csilla -

In furious spite of the cool of the room sweat was inching down the small of his back as he watched the Admiral and the shorter of the pair speaking with one of the Houses Ministers, Ry and My’Lak forgotten as his opening and closing fingers hungered for his sabre to satiate his need to feel safe.

The larger of the phantoms stood silent as the void by the exit – staring – straight – at – Ken.

“Probie ... Ken ... Ken! What is wrong with you?” Ry whispered breaking him out of the staring contest.

“Can’t you see,” he hissed, “They’re ... you’re not even surprised about it ... you’re ...” That damn thing was still staring at him!

“Ken!” her protest barely above a whisper as he pushed past her. He strode across the floor aiming straight for it. As he got within arm’s reach of the monster he started to feel dizzy as though he were standing atop the M'Skigon range, his stomach sinking, but he pushed it aside with a choppy calming rhythm.

“What are you…” Ken seethed through gritted teeth.

It continued to stare ... he was sure whatever sick features lay beneath that helmet were smiling at him.

“You’re a coward, take that mask off and show me your face,” his whispers turned deadly, he didn’t care he was unarmed at a party, this creature shouldn’t be here ... this creature shouldn’t BE.

He barely stopped himself for attacking the person who grabbed his arm from behind,

“Ken let’s go ... you’re making a scene...”

The red glow of eyes were fixed upon him. Not directly, the Chiss were too circumspect for that, but once every three blinks their glances turned his way. He could all but hear their thoughts...

…uncouth alien…

…barbarian…

…the girl brings shame upon shame on the Admiral…

- Canto Bight -

Vesi looked shocked, Sophi indifferent, Cha amused – the auctioneer salivating as the price rose.

“16.7 - 16.8 - -16.9,”

At 17 million the Cybernetic bidder dropped out. Arnor pushed hard, but the higher it went the more Cha smiled…that sick grin…she couldn’t help think of the other Cha…so willing to have his goons hurt her – she never got a chance to take vengeance upon him, she thought she had convinced herself she didn’t want it…but this man…the way he treated women, his harem, his reputed lover Nemi Solsar, his willingness to use Talia as a toy, how he teased and unsettled her, Karm ... oh she could say it was all about the mission, but this was about getting back at the sleemo and his brother.

“17.5 I am bid now,” the Pau’an was in the lead,

“You’re a good Sabacc player Mrs. Teft,” Cha whispered across the girls using her cover identity as a stab “but even you can’t have won that many credits – 17.6 million.”

“18 million,” she replied, hammering her thumb on the paddle. The crowd uttered a simultaneous half gasp.

“18 million ... 18 million I am bid ...” The Pau’an seemingly afraid of getting lost pipped up.

"18.5 million." Cha's voice was as smooth as butter.

“19 million!”

“Nineteen…nine….” For a moment Arnor was sure the auctioneer was about to faint.

“19.5!” Cha added sweetly like a viper.

Oh not you don’t! She was about to yell out when a hand grasped her arm. “Right reason love…” Chillum stared deep into her eyes, “The right reason matters.”

The Pau’an looked deflated, his over-tall form sagging back into his seat. All eyes were on her, a trickle of sweat on her back ... the right reason mattered - how many times had she warned Karm about the exact same thing when they were hunting Mellichae?

Mellicahe ... Mendax ... Namman Cha, not Nimmin, they were true enemies. Nimmin Cha and his fine suits and clever lines was a stuck up pfassk not worthy of her anger.

“19.6” her voice was calm and cool, her demeanour now controlled, gaining her Sophi’s attention.

“19.7,” Cha replied sensing her confidence return.

She had gone all in and beat him at Sabacc, she could do it again...

“19.8,” she glanced to Cha who ... was older ... slightly scarred, fierce look in his eyes, the gray bulkhead behind him, a ship, Storm Troopers...

Her vision flicked back to reality ... but she hadn’t heard his counter offer...

“...going twice...”

What? What was that...? How long had she been out...? “Nineteen point…point,” she shook her head to look at the display having lost track
“…point nine five...”

“19.95 I am bid! Do I hear 20?”

Confident in his victory Cha simply pressed the button, the display flicked to 20,000,000 with the name Cha emblazoned beneath as lead bidder.

Reality swirled around Arnor. She was ... stripped, bleeding bruised…for a moment she was there again on the Destroyer…where were Karm and Ken…they should’ve rescued her by now…couldn’t…

Talia was in her face, calling to her – no she hadn’t been there, what was she doing here?

“Arnor, Arnor!” Talia called as Chillum stared at Sophi, bitter at his impotence to protect his daughter from ... something he didn’t understand ... not an attack - a loosening of present and past.

“I... Twenty One!” she called out.

“No its…”

“Twenty One!”

“Arnor…it’s over…” Arnor realised she was sitting down, there was a middle aged man in a white cloak beside her.

“What…what happened...?”

“You blanked out, just stood there. The auction is over...” Talia gestured to the man. “The doctor is here to look you over. Vesi sent her.”

Arnor settled back down, defeat bitter in her mouth. She didn’t need to ask who won the holocron.

- Vyth -

Gold and orange clashed with a screach as Karmack locked blades with Mendax for a moment. He could feel her song pulsing around him, hammering on his bubble of protection... Keep moving! Karmack broke the lock and back-flipped away, the space he'd been in bisected by the blood-red blades of Mendax' thralls.

Karmack landed lightly and examined the song Mendax was singing. Its power would have dismayed him before. Now... He held it bay easily, his own force shield and battle song augmented by the power channels he's learned to find and open in the Ancient One. His blade pulsed with the rhythm of his singing, a quiet, steady beat in stark contrast to the racing drumline of the Sith surrounding him. "You've gained strength Mendax. Who healed you? They upgraded more than your face."

The Ferroan snarled. "Fool! You have no idea!" She pressed forward, attacking in coordination with her minions, blades slicing through energetic Ataru attacks even as they hit him in the force with a three-pronged psycic assault. Karmack gave ground, his Sorensu forming a golden shield that was almost physical around him while he effortlessly turned their force attacks. He continued to analyse, studying their song, the force techniques they were employing, cataloging them mentally even as he gave ground, absorbing their attacks and letting the expend energy. They pushed him back, more than half-way across the room before they broke apart again. Mendax was still composed, but the first trickles of worry trickled from her. Her minions, however... They were winded, chests heaving, as their mistress threw a demand on them greater than they were prepared for. "Tired already? Maybe you should rest a while, we can pick this up in the morning if you'd like..."

******

Mendax snarled and led her thralls back into the attack, coordinating their movements through her song, screaming in fury and rage. She projected that rage emphatically, both to energize her thralls - and to blind the Mak'Tor singer to her deeper intentions. The volume of his song rose with each passing second, with each clash of red on yellow that colored the glacial caverns orange the tempo increased, the force turning from a trickle to a river to a tidal wave as it flowed from the Mak'Tor through and from his Sabre crystal. MORE! she thought arms straining against the weight of his blows... Sing Karmack, Sing your own Requiem!!!

******

The Channels of the force were open, the Living energy of the Universe flowed through him, from him, around him, he felt the resonance of the permafrost deep within the rocky walls, a last gift from Odjina...

Karmack had never felt strength like this, rising and never falling...the last time he had faced Mendax he had overextended, walked a tight rope vertically...this time he strode the wavelengths of his Song confidently to new heights.

The force was his ally, the Song his very self. Whatever wretched necromancy had empowered and strengthened Mendax was leagues below the energy he could now bring to bear.

Her thralls were gone, she was starting to stagger the speed and strength that flowed from his Song overwhelming her with each kiss of their blades. Her rage an unquenchable fire, it saddened him to know she would not surrender, he did not wish to kill, but had no choice but to severely disable.

******

Mendax gathered her strength, tapping the new power she'd been given, focusing it through the Qixoni crystal in her saber. Her thralls were both down, disabled by the flashing golden blade. Your sacrifice will not be in vain! She spun in again, hammering away at the impenetrable golden shield. Her song clashing with Karmack's rising tide, only to be washed away over and over again. She tasted blood from the effort, sensed the Mak'Tor gathering the force to himself for a final blow. Do it! Gather the force to yourself! Let its life become your death! She felt the fire of vengeance in her heart and sent a final instruction to her remaining thralls, already in deep meditation nearby. Prepare to detonate...

******

Time to end this... Karmack took the offensive. He drew a hammer of force energy to himself and channeled it through the Ancient One. As he released it, he sang a counter-melody against Mendax' song, a series of notes that were exactly opposed to the harmonics of her own battle song's foundational motif. When the two songs interacted, they cancelled each other out, stripping Mendax's song of its power and cohesion.

The effect on Mendax was catastrophic. She staggered as the force energy augmenting her limbs disappeared along with her song and force shield. Before she could start singing again the edge of Karmack's force hammer arrived. Mendax hurled back like a rag doll, slamming into the rock walls with the sickening crunch of breaking bone.

******

Karmack closed on Mendax warily. Her men were unconscious and out of the battle: he could still feel them pulsing faintly in the force but neither would regain consciousness anytime soon. Mendax was made of sterner stuff. She was already recovering, struggling to stand despite the pain of contusions and more than one broken bone. Her saber shreaked back to life as she stood on wobbly legs. Karmack sighed as he dropped back into his guard. "Yield, Mendax. I have no further quarrel with you. End this now."

Mendax embraced her pain, letting it cut her off from the force. That was not important now, would even be detrimental. She drew herself up defiantly before him, her fury fueling her even now. Come, Karmack! Time to die... She spat blood and snarled defiantly. "Yield? And what? You'll let me live?"

Karmack frowned sadly. "I have no wish to kill you, Mendax."

Mendax leaned on the rock wall, her eyes alight with fury ... and a look of triumph? "I, however, do wish to kill you" She spat. Her left hand reached up and pulled her collar down slightly, revealing a black metal collar made of...

Karmack tensed as he recognized the material Oblivion! Where did she... Before he could finish the thought Mendax touched the collar, activating it. Karmack felt her disappear in the force ... a null field ... If she had a device capable of generating a null field in the force, why wait until now to use it...? Karmack reached out with his senses, expanding his sensitivity, reaching outward...

Mendax suppressed a smile. Even shrouded in the null field she could see Karmack reaching out, opening himself up, increasing his sensitivity to the force, flooding himself with it's energy, drawing on it more and more in an effort to detect her trap, utterly oblivious to the fact that the deeper he went, the more power he tapped, the more effective - and painful - the snare would become.

Then Karmack found them. There! In one of the side caverns, a small group ... dark, ritualistic chanting ... energy building so slowly, so patiently that it had been lost under the power of his own battle-song, masked in the fury of his fight with Mendax ... And now ... Maker! No!

"Goodbye, Ka'A'Mack of the Mak'Tor." Mendax snarled.

Karmack recognized the energy, the power of the thought bomb, recognized it for what it was ... and then the ritual was complete and that power erupted from the meditating circle. A shock-wave in the force preceded the blast, its effects manifest and visible in the physical universe as rock columns distorted and the very air buckled in churned space-time with its passage. Karmack's song was lost, his force-shield battered aside ... and then the main blast arrived.

Silver-white energy flooded the chamber, a tsunami that ate the unconscious thralls but broke around the rough circle of the null field like water around a rock. Karmack had a split second to see Mendax standing, laughing in triumph - and then the mercury flow eveloped his every sense and crushed him in agony against the cold, glacial walls...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…To finding purpose…

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

<<<<< >>>>>

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

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

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

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

<<<<< >>>>>

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

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

…You will kill them, all of them…

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

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

…They left without you for a reason…

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

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

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

…They left without you for a reason…

<<<<< >>>>>

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

…You will kill them, all of them…

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

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

This was Mamzer Station.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            <<<<< >>>>>

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

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

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

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

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

            <<<<< >>>>>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…They left without you for a reason…

“Let’s go.”

            <<<<< >>>>>

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

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<<<<< >>>>>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, someone shouted.

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

And then the shooting began.

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

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

The armored shadow…moved.

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

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

<<<<< >>>>>

Chapter 13: …What Lurks From Below, Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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

The armored giant spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The black hand lifted his cybernetic arm. “This…weak flesh incapable of repairing itself…yet…something remained through all those generations…something Kazic was drawn to however unknowingly…”

Zearic's eyes widened as he realized…the woman was his ancestor…far removed but still…

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 14: The Tide of Death

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

They were ALL in danger...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

He failed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do'Rian"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a mistake...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue eyes met gray. "Promise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, master." Ja'Lyn turned. Ran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barely.

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

Chapter 15-What Rises Anew, Part I

“Tis way, ay’ts da deepn’est wun!” the bedraggled creature lead them on down the spiral tunnel ever deeper.

“This had better be worth it Bidis!” Misrum snapped at the Churchman.

“It will Master it will, the Lady of Darkness will be most pleased.”

Misrum’s scales itched at the thought of Mendax, the desire to finally take her mantle, but not before she took the brunt of building up their forces. He had been patient with Mellichae, followed him to Scarida and beyond; Karmack robbed him of his chance and nearly ruined it all but he had learned much and would not make the same mistakes.

The pudgy priest before him, enthralled by Mendax’s Qixoni crystal, had contacted his former Church of the Dark Side brethren who had received a warm welcome on Prakith. Misrum had promised to return to Mendax with at least two dozen more followers; instead he had gained a hundred including two dozen flagellant berserkers, priests, and Red Police who found Moff Brill’s isolationist policies at odds with their desire to spread the Dark Truths in a “Black Crusade.”

“The Dark Lady even now is on Crusade to end the Singers False Light!” Bidis had screeched with zealous glee to the gathering, the few minor Force sensitives able to sense his honesty. Bidis might be a flatulent idiot but he was good at missionary work and administering “confessions,” notably discovering the Church’s excavations on the Mining World he was currently delving into.

“Tittle Far-ta, Tittle Far-ta,” the scruffy vagabond called, while the Church of the Dark Side relied on Brill’s goons to excavate, Misrum knew the value of local knowledge and sought out the least sane itinerant miners he could find. It hadn’t taken long to find one who claimed truthfully to know a secret route through the mines.

“Dees here…des war built by dem Imps near on five-ten yar back, den up and left,” he babbled on in his vile dialect. “We came ere took some bits dey left a’fore Moff Brill came…but da Star…ya nay should go past the Star of da Three!”

They had been wandering for the better part of two hours, the tunnel cut by a plasma borer in what looked like a hurry, the entrance deliberately concealed on a mountain side—Misrum suspected it was an emergency exit—as they came ‘round a corner to what seemed like a dead end, the orange pall of the glow stick confirmed his suspicions.

Misrum had spent enough time poking over ruins to know Imperial prefab: this was a service turbo lift door. But carved into the durasteel was a three-pointed star.

The Miner paused at a jagged line in the rocky floor. “Tis ere…” he spun and thrust his hands out, “Me fee Kind ‘Sar?”

Misrum nodded and Bidis tossed him a pouch of credits and the black ore they so valued.

“Fanking you…but I warn ye, da Star…you should nay trifle with ‘tings with da star…but be it on yer own head…”

He had barely finished when red was added to oranges and in a crimson sweep Misrum took his head off before he could go on about ‘ghosts’ or ‘shadow men’ again.

“Be it on your head,” Misrum sneered as the white faced Bidis gestured his small crew forward. Misrum didn’t really believe there was an “Orb of Annihilation” but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide this place; he just hoped there was still something of value hidden away.
“Get this turbolift working.”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Left behind…that was how Jaim felt.

Smashed out of the vault door back into a tunnel full of violence when Zearic seemed to need him the most.

A crowd of priests and Red Police were locked in combat with a group of miners who had appeared from nowhere, Jaim had to give up his attempts to re-open to door to dodge the electro-whips and stun staffs as the Red Police mistook him for an insurgent. It was just their luck to turn up right when an uprising was taking place.

Yet as he watched the power picks cracking open skulls wielded by arms that day-in and day-out cracked dense rock he knew it was no coincidence—a Vhal’Dan Gray Master could not believe in coincidence—a core group of miners moved with unusual proficiency, cutting down the priests and Red Police, grabbing their fallen weapons and passing them on but also bringing their own out from under ragged cloaks.

There was a confluence, the uprising, the door opening, Zearic pushing him out, indeed them even being here—all was connected—Jaim needed to understand why and how if he was to find Zearic.

The last few Priests met their end upon crowbars and effortlessly swung power hammers as a squad of grotty-white armored bodies rounded the corner. Jaim couldn’t stay out of the fight any longer, he gripped his sabre in his deep sleeve.

“Wilberforce!” A figure obscured by the Storm Troopers called out.

“Mirabella!” replied one of the miners in clipped upper-class tones that were very out of place.

Through the Troopers a scarred Togruta with a severed lekku emerged dressed in knock-about-but-functional looking plate carrying two pistols that gave off an eerie glacial blue glow.

“Captain Tanth! My pleasure to finally meet you,” he took the miners hand warmly. Tanth nodded throwing back his hood, he had an officer’s bearing. “In good spirits I see,” the Togruta gestured his disguised troops forward as they dumped a large crate full of weapons.

“Our forces are ready General Scrubber.” Tanth indicated.

…That’s it… Jaim knew he recognized the Togruta from somewhere: Jorya Vih’Torrs After Action Report on the Sons of Kessel.

“Hah General! There’s something I don’t get called every day! Arm up, set the charges, we have a lot to do…” Scrubber involuntarily pulled on his remaining lekku as he continued to give orders.

The miners pulled out a series of Thermal Charges affixing them to the…

“Wait!” Jaim called out as the two leaders spoke. “My friend is in there…” As one, their eyes turned and he sensed their suspicion; he wasn’t talking like a regular deep core ruffian. Opening his cloak Jaim showed his sabre. “I am Jaim Monoceros of the Vhal’Dan, here with Zearic Vih’Torr investigating this…vault; he entered shortly before the fighting started.”

Scrubber looked at him intensely, then briefly closed his eyes…Jaim sensed something then in the Force…not Scrubber using it but…something being sent to him…a communication subtle, anyone less adept at telepathic Force arts wouldn’t even have noticed. Yet as soon as he realized it…it vanished—as if the frequency had been changed in response to his mere awareness that it was being used—another hidden agenda was at play beyond even an uprising.

“Vih’Torr…Jorya’s folk…” Scrubber replied as the false Storm Troopers and miners gathered their weapons. “I’m sorry Sire but we have clear instructions, that entrance needs to be collapsed no matter the cost. If your friend went in there, no one can help him now.”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Light slowly filled his closed eyes, the ruddy pink of his eyelids became apparent. Eyelids…that seemed wrong. His legs hurt, the dank air seemed painful on his bare skin. Skin that seemed wrong. Slowly adjusting, he reopened his eyes rubbing the sweat and oil of prolonged sleep from his face…his hands were warm…hands that seemed wrong.

With a start Zearic sat bolt upright, memories of his last waking moments slowly trickling into his conscious thoughts. He was not where he had been before. The room was lit with a white light, around him were heavy but empty shelves, safes built into the wall with doors hanging ajar cleared of their contents.

“This is the vault,” he said to himself, voice echoing in the small room that felt heavy with depth. His legs tingled as he looked upon them.

Pink, white splotched skin met his gaze, like the skin of a newborn furrowed with odd wrinkles his eyes remained fixed on the thick limbs as he absently felt an intravenous drip on his chest with a hand he shouldn’t have. As he pulled the needles out he noted the large hand was similar, sensitive new skin protesting as everything it came into contact with.

The medi-plas bag was drained of whatever fluid had flowed into him. …What was happening…was it a lie…was this a trap…some psychological game to elicit information…? That had to be it; people didn’t simply regrow limbs and hands…

“And eyes…” he reminded himself verbally, his voice sounding strange as it echoed within the confines of the room.

He was alone, left behind by everyone, too weak, broken, and now…buried.

            <<<<< >>>>>

The opening fighting had been contained to the Vault entrance; the real operation was now underway.

Moving gallery to gallery, level by level, Jaim followed Tanth’s force of former Imperial Officers and soldiers releasing the indentured laborers.

In between sealing off exits and knocking out overseers, Jaim learned that not all was well in the Constitutional Protectorate of Prakith: a number of officers and Imperial Personnel had objected to Brill’s going warlord and isolating the deep core protectorate. Some had wished to join up with larger Imperial remnant factions other the Alliance, all Brill had rounded up and sent them to the mines to “reconsider” their opposition to the new order. Tanth had reconsidered his allegiance very carefully and decided his best chance lay with the “Abolitionist Terrorists” who had a cell in the mines already.

The takeover was swift and unnervingly professional in execution but not without gritty violence in the dank tunnels. Jaim had seen a lot in his years…but seeing three filthy miners open up an overseer and carefully inspect his entrails—and more disturbing actually finding a small plas-covered pouch of blackstone the overseer had planned on smuggling out—would stay with him for a long time.

He easily kept pace with the ever growing force of “Fwee M’n” as they progressed up rocky annexes roughly cut with fist sized divots every few dozen meters where a chunk of the precious ore had been prized out.

Tanth seemed to prefer to take Imperial personnel alive and quietly; in this Jaim was able to assist with a number of “suggestions” to surrender. But for the Red Police and Priests they came across there was a primitive fury amongst some of the prisoners, leading to orgies of hacking with industrial equipment, the runoff channels filling with arterial blood.

Tanth paused at an intersection by the main service elevator. “Still undetected, the auxiliary security systems up ahead…Briss, Col take the two to the left; you Jedi watch our back, the rest of you with me.”

“Hold off,” Jaim interrupted, “I’ll take care of this.” He pushed past from behind the trolley of oxygen tanks before Tanth could protest, sauntering up to the trooper faking a limp.

“Why aren’t you at your work station?” An indifferent voice-distorted accusation flew at Jaim.

“Sor Massa, we be haffun porb’em, a sluice gate been a drippin, da water risin and smell lik’ me grand vater foots!” The tall man inflected.

The two guard shared a glance then banged on the blocky door of the prefab office. “Raif got another leak.”

“I’m coming…I’m com…” As soon as the door opened Jaim closed the distance between them, with surprise and the Force he struck each one in turn with his saber’s pommel them rammed through the open door and into the office, arm pressed into Raif’s neck until he passed out.

“Good job Jedi,” Tanth noted coming in behind, “Col get on the terminal, make sure everything is—”

-CLUNK-

The white lights died replaced by dire amber emergency lights.

“Shavit…”

            <<<<< >>>>>

“I assure you Bishop we are taking every step necessary to re-secure the Mines, these insurgents are a pest and lack conviction, they’ll soon surrender. We’ve cut the power, ventilation and C02 scrubbers; within an hour they’ll be sucking in more Hydrogen Sulfide than Oxygen. They’ll surrender.” Commander Ysan soothed the crotchety old Dark Side Clergyman.

“An Hour! Unacceptable!” for such a willowy man seemingly weighed by voluminous robes he had a massive voice. “The Orb must not fall into the hands of heretics and unbelievers!”

Ysan had little time for these mad men and their queer proclivities but their efforts to find this magic orb had tripled mine output over the last few months, allowing him to gain a promotion. And as long as the Credits flowed…

“I assure you we—” his attempt to soothe was interrupted by a blinking red light on his desk. Priority transmission. He looked at the Bishop but he showed no signs of moving. With a shake of his head he pressed the receiver. “This is Ysan.”

“Commander, we have received word the Insurgents have launched an attack; we are sending the Shield of Prakith to assist.” The firm voice of the Admiral echoed from the comm.

“Admiral…an ISD is not necessary at all, this is a minor—” But Ysan was unceremoniously cut off.

“Governor Brill does not consider the disruption to his most valuable mine and the work of the Church of the Darkside ‘minor,’ the ISD is enroute and will arrive in an hour and a half. Until then you will seal off the mine entrances. The Death Troopers aboard the Shield will then re-secure it.”

Ysan stiffened indignant; they did not trust him to deal with what was likely little more than a strike. “As ordered Admiral, for Prakith.”

“For Prakith.” The Admiral intoned and severed the connection. Ysan looked poleaxed.

Meanwhile, the Priest had come to another conclusion altogether. …They were stalling… the Bishop was sure of it. Brill was not a true believer—he knew it—he would need to send his own men to get the Orb out, the petty tyrant probably wanted to sell the priceless relics. “You should wait on the ISD,” the Bishop demanded of the Commander; he didn’t need his fool troopers interfering in church business.

“I will follow my orders,” Ysan said coolly intending to do no such thing. This was a new era, the Protectorate was new and he would not let some Admiral steal his glory while he had a full garrison to shut this uprising down…he just wished he could remember what that Admiral’s name was…

            <<<<< >>>>>

“…confirmed,” the Bimm with the huge comms pack turned to Scrubber. “All the exits have been sealed up. Sulphide levels rising, maybe an hour before it hits toxic levels.”

The Togruta seemed abnormally calm for such a seemingly dire situation, Jaim thought, as he tried to puzzle out why the Sons were even here; this was a long way from Hutt space… True, former officers would be a boon to their growing army in terms of experience and training, but enough for Scrubber himself to come… And why did they need to collapse the vault tunnel? Surely looting the place would make more sense…

“Continue securing the mines,” the Togruta ordered absently tugging his one remaining lekku.

Jaim couldn’t read him…it was as if someone had surrounded Scrubber’s mind with mental…mirrors. Jaim’s eyes were drawn to blue sparks further down the nearby tunnel, plasma cutters disconnecting a mining drill from a rail platform. They were looting the mines equipment. But how did they intend to get that out if they couldn’t get themselves out…

“Master Monoceros…” Scrubber called him over. “I can’t help you with your friend but I think we both know our best chance is to work together.” Jaim could only nod. “My scouts tell me a force is mustering at North 43 entrance. We could use someone of your talents to act as a bouncer till our ride arrives.” Before Jaim could speak he felt the ground shake as the vast grav lifts hauling ore up restarted. “We have a plan, but we need to keep them out for it to work.”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Chapter 15-What Rises Anew, Part II

Was it true? Did it even matter? What difference did some ancient ancestor’s origin make to his life today?

But what else explained what they had done…if they had done…was this real?

It felt real to Zearic but he knew that there were virtual reality synaptic interfaces that aimed to achieve just that sensation in captives: make them believe they are talking to their contacts or commanders when in reality they are little more than a brain in a vat.

He stood on painfully soft skinned feet to turn from the table he had been lying on. The room wasn’t large but filled with shelves, behind him a wall with a small low box and upon that…

“An orb…” Just like the one Karmack had brought back from Dantooine and later Chillum had briefly found on M’Tzigon…but this was much larger, the size of his head. “The Orb of Annihilation!” he half laughed in his semi-delirious state. What did it even do…

Something flicked in his peripheral vision and he spun around. On the table he had just risen from was his gear, even the…

No, it wasn’t the Tenebris Pugione beside his sabers…it was…something else, longer and much thinner with a fuller running down the entire blade. This had to be a simulation of some kind; objects didn’t just appear. He had little choice, might as well play along.

Lifting the blade, the big man gave it a few practice flourishes, nodding appreciatively. He found it remarkably well balanced in his hand. The Tenebris Pugione had been perfect, but it was much heavier, designed for someone stronger than Zearic to wield. This was perfect for his…“imperfect” muscles to wield…the Nocte Pugione he idly named it as he dressed. Opposite the wall with the Orb was an elevator’s rickety rusted screen.

His new skin blistered even with the minor rub of clothing on his false legs and hand. As he went to pick up the Orb he placed the Nocte beside it. Then he noticed what must pass as a sick joke for his tormentors. Engraved on the quillon were the words:

“She left you behind for a reason”

            <<<<< >>>>>

Scrubber’s intel had been right: North 43 was breached, but not by the Imperials as Jaim expected. After the durasteel bulkhead was blasted open he wasn’t met with the familiar white of StormTroopers but rather the barely clothed forms of Flagellant Berserkers, Darkside fanatics who believed the more pain they endured and inflicted in this life the less they endured in the Dark After World of their religion.

Through the still searing hot door they loped down the slope to the Sons line where Jaim was there to meet them. The salvo of blaster fire took a few, but most became only more energized by the feeling of plasma eating into their flesh.

In less than five seconds they closed the distance, their tremor blades surgically grafted, often replacing arms swinging wildly as electro-shock plugs on their backs fed them with constant pain and acted as a deterrent for any who got too close. But in the cramped confines there was little choice.

Leaping over the makeshift barricade his sabre hissed to life and Jaim hit out with a telekinetic wave, the fallen flagellants smiling behind lipless mouths at the thought of slaying a beacon of light that was a Jedi, even a Gray one.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Ysan’s forces were lined up, the Mining drill prepped to breach in behind the insurgents prepared to intercept him at the main entrance. Just then the sky was cracked by the boom of deceleration, the gray dagger of a Star Destroyer cut into the sky.

“Damn it…” he turned to the Engineers. “Hurry up! They’re early; I want those insurgents dead in half an hour!”

This would be his victory!

            <<<<< >>>>>

His face was covered in small cuts, the Force alone had kept it from being flayed completely. Jaim was surrounded by the corpses of the flagellants, each one had cost another cut to his dingy robes, another painful twist. And still they poured forth.

He whirled in between their tremor- and vibro-blades, his saber shield and sword in one—no saber form could deal with these fanatics, they were beyond reason in the way they fought—this was guttural street fighting without grace or strategy.

Around him the Sons traded fire with the Red Police, Tanth’s reasoned orders competing with the mad religious injunctions the Bishop bellowed at the blasted entry. Two zealot armies—one fighting for freedom the other for religion—were hammering into each other, in their center Vhal’Dan training and pragmatism met insane viciousness with muscle-straining blows.

Dipping between the mutilated blade arms, Jaim bisected another of the flagellants edging forward just enough to get a view of the sky…the hideous triangle of an Imperial Star Destroyer above, disgorging fighters and transports from the underside.

Zearic’s quest had ended with no answers, now he would fall with none himself. Life and death, such was the dualism. He took another life with a pommel strike on a Force pinned head, and waited to be given death.

            <<<<< >>>>>

“One…Two…Three!” The bulky Fanatic’s shoulder barged the rusted door open revealing they were halfway down the long, wide oval cargo corridor, naked industrial steel rusted and greasy with age, a pile of bodies on the floor, blood slowly drying to crinkle once rich septsilk robes.

Misrum stopped dead, hand moving swiftly to block Bidis from going any further… “What’s wrong?” he asked.

At the other end of the corridor the cargo lift was approaching…an untamable tide of primal power rising with it.

Misrum stared wide-eyed at what he felt, confusion and disappointment etched across his features as the tide rose higher.

“There’s nowhere to run…”

            <<<<< >>>>>

The lift doors started to open.

Zearic ignited his permafrost arctic blue sabre in his right, the Nocte in his left hand as he appeared between the parting doors. At the other end of the corridor were Karmack, D’Alyanna, Jorya, Jaim…even Ken and…Ga’v…Kazic…

…You will kill them, all of them…

This was a trick…he was replaying his nightmare once more…the one where he killed them all. Zearic looked down onto the silver of his sabre hilt seeing his reflection and saw his doppelganger smiling with a wicked grin, mouthful of teeth, the wide face with familiar shaved jowls, brown goatee sporadically peppered with short white hair. And unlike the real Zearic on some interrogators table, the left eye was not a cybernetic replacement.

They thought to make him give up his secrets by showing him the people he cared about the most, giving him the opportunity to “un-live” his recurring nightmare.

Big mistake.

Zearic smiled wickedly, his hands tightening on his weapons.

Yes, he would kill all of them.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Misrum reeled back at the overflow of energy coming off this being…but had at least the sense to raise his defense before he closed the gap flailing with mad laughter into the priests and workers as the flagellant’s whirled up their vibro-blades.

There was something familiar about this man, the way he moved, his bulky appearance…someone he had seen on Geonosis…or was is Endor, Sullust perhaps?

It didn’t matter, in a pack on the floor of the lift Misrum caught a glimpse of something draining the light…The Orb…

            <<<<< >>>>>

D’Alyanna spiralled about him madly, he batted aside each strike with ease, crouched low and came in under to drive the Nocte into her sternum. Hissing with glee as his liar of a wife sagged, he kicked her off into the ersatz Jorya who stumbled back. Zearic added to their dislocation with a Force blast hammering them into the wall then tossing his sabre like a javelin through them, taking the fake Ken's blade on the Nocte.

He felt strong. Whole. Stronger even than he’d been before Gaetana had taken his limbs.

As was his anger, the rage that he’d thought he’d put behind him. It flared white-hot like a newborn star. Yes…yes he could use this…

As he summoned the saber back he spun out to gain space. Karmack was trying to get around him…just like him…let the others do the dirty work then come in and be the “Sage of the Song” and take all the glory while Zearic was left with the pain, the cybernetics, and ever further behind in the rankings of Jedi.

Zearic poured out his frustrations into rapid flurries that sliced Kens left arm off. …Heal that one Karmack…! The big man moved in the same motion to take Jaims head.

Ga’v was banging on the wall as if it hid some secret escape hatch… He ended there with the Nocte in the back of his skull. …Stay dead…! Turning, Zearic left the body hanging on the wall.

…Now for the Singer…

            <<<<< >>>>>

Misrum rummaged in the pack; it was not the Orb it was…a dagger… The dagger Zearic had killed Jennira with… …OH YES…! With this…with this he could destroy Mendax when the time came… Now he just had to…

He spun up the Tenebris Pugione just in time to meet the arctic blue saber coming down upon him. And he came face-to-face with what he could only describe as the largest, maddened human he’d ever seen. Could this be Zearic himself?

            <<<<< >>>>>

“DIE!” he screeched at his so-called “friend.” A friend didn’t leave you behind when chasing a madman like Mellichae, a wife and daughter didn’t leave their husband and father when going on a dangerous mission. His tears were hot and stung in the false eye as he beat down against the yellow blade.

He had to kill him, had to end him, prove he was good enough…if he beat Karmack they’d all see, they’d never leave him behind again…they’d all see… Suddenly, like being submerged in ice-cold water, he shuddered and looked…seeing…

It wasn’t Karmack…

A Nikto cowered beneath him, bloodied and beaten… Zearic stopped. …Why am I doing this…this is real…

Misrum didn’t know why he had stopped…didn’t care…as the big man paused, his arctic blue blade centimeters from his head… He ran with all the speed he could muster to the escape turbolift, the Tenebris Pugione gripped tightly in hand…

Zearic rocked slowly back and forth, finally feeling the blisters all over his legs and hand as new skin was rubbed raw. …IF this is real… All real, then…

He spun around…but the bodies he expected were not there…he hadn’t killed them… But he hadn’t saved them either…they were still in danger. Something dangerous was running away right now…

But something more pressing was assailing Jaim.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Jaim couldn’t keep it up, he’d had to fall back over the mounds of dead miners, the Red Police, and Flagellants had taken huge losses…but they had the high ground, firing down the angled shafts in pursuit.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse the side of a gallery wall burst open and red E-11 blasts hammered into the flank. Scrubber was taking cover a few meters back from the front…seemingly cool despite the losses…what kind of fool was he—

“TIE Defenders and transports inbound!” the Bimm comms officer shouted between snap shots of his SE-14C.

…This is it…it must… Jaim’s exhausted mind rationalized, hoping, fearing…

Something suddenly shifted…not in the battle, in the Force… He took a chance to look behind him…

“Zearic!”

            <<<<< >>>>>

He didn’t know what was happening, only that Jaim was in danger…and he would not leave him behind. Vaulting over the crates and boxes used for cover he deflected a dozen shots back to their senders, ignoring his pained feet as he ran to Jaim’s side while throwing the Nocte into a flagellant’s arm.

Jaim looked troubled—there was a lot to be troubled about Zearic had to admit—and more than a few unanswered questions, but that could wait.

Back to back they formed a wall of deflection in the center of the Sons line, the blasts slowly dying down…yet that couldn’t just be because of one additional Vhal’Dan.

To the flank the Stormtroopers pulled back then rushed forward, followed by tons of the rubble they had excavated to get in behind the Sons, the gray-brown chunky rock crashing into their already nicked white armor.

Shouts further up the corridor behind the Red Police…they paused, turned…the flagellants charged back up the tunnel they had been pouring down… Then they came back…

In pieces.

Angled upwards, they couldn’t see what was happening…an old man screamed some kind of invocation…then an old head flew back into the tunnel trailing a ribbon of blood in the air.

A figure that should’ve caused Zearic utter terror strode forward utterly indifferent to the pieces of bodies that rolled down beside him. Jorya had not lied; atop of his exhaustion, Jaim started to sag in its mere presence as the last few Red Police—liquefied was the best word to describe them—as it strode toward Scrubber’s side.

Black Armor.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Things moved quickly: the Miners poured onto the main pads taking control of over three dozen cargo haulers full of several billion credits worth of blackstone. Overhead TIE Defenders streaked across the sky in flights of six, massive droids that looked like overgrown gray Stormtroopers patrolled the landing pad as the miners and all the equipment and ore they could gather were ferried out.

The Sons reinforcements held off the few remaining Red Police. The Imperials simply fortified the Assayers Office in a state of utter confusion as they were given orders by a female Admiral they didn’t recognize from a Star Destroyer hovering above while the miners fled and their cargo ships left.

Amidst it all Scrubber oversaw the smooth operation with his disturbing body guard beside him once more.

The Sons plan hadn’t gone perfectly but it had done well enough. Struggling onto Dualism’s Soul Zearic and Jaim gladly accepted the offer to follow the Star Destroyer Unchained out of the system before the Imperials realized they’d been had.

Zearic’s mind was full to bursting with confusion, half answered questions, and speculation. He needed time to reflect on…much.

However, awaiting them on the Soul was an urgent communique, transmitted along one of the secure frequencies provided by Mak’Tor Intelligence.

And as he read the message from Karmack, Zearic realized he wouldn’t get that any time soon.

Chapter 16: Bearing Bad News
Part One

- Vyth -

Consciousness slowly returned, and Karmack opened his eyes to find himself wedged under rock fall from the partially collapsed ceiling of the main chamber. Fortunately some of the rocks had formed a void near the wall, and that had protected him from taking to much damage - or being crushed. Still, his robes were in tatters and covered with a lot of blood...

Karmack deepened the healing flow he had initiated from the Ancient One before passing out and took stock of his physical condition. His body was physically whole, though he could still see numerous bright pink splashes on his skin where that had not recently been true, and every fiber of his being ached, as if he'd been rolled down a mountain in a barrel. He was able to move, and with some effort he managed to wiggle out from under the rocks. Once free he sat, absorbing the healing energy of the force while he took stock of his surroundings.

The chamber had partially collapsed, with a generous pile of dark blue granite now sitting between himself and the place where Mendax had stood. He probed cautiously, looking for signs of Mendax or her followers in the force. There was nothing. No ripples, no song, nothing at all. Even the deep background dirge, the Song of Vyth which had radiated from the remaining crystal shards was gone, washed away by the quicksilver tide of the thought bomb.

Getting out was going to be a problem. The way he'd come was now blocked off. There were side tunnels and back routes, but they were a never-ending maze of passages and the maps of the site had long been lost. Karmack leaned back against the cool rock and tried not to groan again. How am I going to find my way out...

A low tweet from one of the side tunnels startled him. Karmack looked over just in time for an intense white light to stab into his eyes, blinding him and spiking his head with a massive jolt of pain as the background headache he'd barely been aware of rushed back to the fore. "Two?"

Two answered with a series of beeps and trills, a combination of excitement at finding him and chastisement for his lack of caution. "Yes, I'm glad to see you, too."

More tweets and beeps. "No, actually, I don't know how long you've been looking for me." Karmack answered, then nearly gasped when the droid answered. "You're joking..."

Two replied with an emphatic negative. Four days? I was out for FOUR DAYS?!?

Two rumbled over, using his lightsaber to slash boulders out of his way and form a workable pathway. "Rock machete. Nice..."

Two's response managed to override the language filters Karmack had installed. "Alright, alright, I take it back. And yes, I'm glad for the help." Karmack took the handle the droid extended and used the sturdy machine as a brace to hoist himself up off the ground. His head exploded with more pain and every muscle he moved burned with acidic fire, but he was upright and moving under his own power. "Now, I hope you remembered to keep track of the twists and turns on your way down here..."

Two's string of blue tweets in response were undermined by the droid's own happy rocking. Karmack could only chuckle with his friend.

"Language, Two... Language..."

- Canto Bite -

Chillum fretted about her, pushing all over her with the force. She barely remembered the auctions events, only the last eddies of the hurricane of emotions. Talia sat across from the bed looking as confused as Arnor felt.

Somewhere in the distance the door chimed, Talia hopped up to answer it followed by mubled voices before a tall woman with greying hair approached. “Mrs. Teft? I’m Doctor Ylesa of the Casino Medical Centre, Director Cha indicated you might require medical assistance, or at least a quick check?”

Sensing no threat Chillum stepped aside as Arnor relented. “hmm…” The light of an optical scanner hit her eyes as warm hands touched her throat checking her pulse. “A little over stimulated I think I would suggest simply rest, but I’ll leave some relaxation meds just in case you wish to avail yourself…” she swiftly packed her gear “oh yes Director Cha mentioned to tell you he apologizes for not checking on you himself, and by way of apology has comped your stay and expenses while on the planet in full.”

That grated enough to drag Arnor out of her stupor. “That…that…” she stopped before saying something she would’ve sent Ken to the "naughty corner" for.

As the doctor left Chillum sat beside her. “You all right darling? Why not lie down?”

“No…I’m fine…just…”

“Love…these people…” he shook his head…”I’ve never seen anything like that woman outside of ancient tales, the way she uses the force…”

“Sophi? Sophi can’t use the force!” Talia protested. “Cha is behind this…he’s manipulating the girls and their parents – using their money to get Force artifacts.”

Chillum shook his head. “I know they’re your friends lass, but these folk ... I’m not even sure their girls.”

Talia blushed a little recalling from her visit to the hotel how free Vesi and her family could be with clothing – they were definitely girls. “They are…this is all Cha trying to trick us. He’s a user, I know that type,” she said indignantly recalling how she had come to be with the Mak’Tor – Palpatine had used her as a mouth piece once before just as Cha was trying to use her friends now. “I have to tell them, they’ll listen to me and we can help them get rid of Cha...”

This time Arnor spoke up. “Talia, this is much more complex than that. I don’t think they attacked me directly, but they did something to the force ... they ...” as a she concentrated she realized more what had happened it wasn’t a direct assault so much as a ... loosening of the bonds of time and memory in the force. They didn’t need to plant images of Namman Cha assaulting her in her mind – it was already there - they just smoothed the path for her unconscious connection between the Cha brothers to come to the fore. It was a parasitic, twisted ... ingenious ... move. They didn’t need to attack, they let their opponents destroy themselves. “…They are dangerous. We need help with this. I need to talk to Telow'na, maybe even Kage Lo...”

Chillum nodded, “We need to tell them about the Holocron, a man like Cha shouldn’t be allowed to hold something with that much power.”

“Well…” Talia stood up, “I’m going to talk to Vesi.”

Arnor was about to protest, to assert her authority as the leader of the mission ... but perhaps this was something Talia needed to learn for herself - the hard way. So instead she nodded assent. “Alright. See if you can convince her.”

- Vyth -

It took several hours for them to re-trace Two's pathway through the labyrinth of tunnels. About half of that time was spent on Karmack's frequent stops as his battered body simply gave way and he had to rest. Finally they reached a small portal, open to the rocky valley and the half-hidded clearing where his runabout lay waiting.

The ship wasn't as big or as fast as the Wayfarer but it was big enough for one man and could be handled by Two alone when he was asleep. Nor was it entirely toothless, equipped with excellent shielding and a strong enough armament to beat of most pirates and privateers. Most importantly, however, it had a fully capable communications system ... and a well stocked medical bay.

For two more days Karmack did nothing but eat, sleep, and heal. Two kept watch during that time while Karmack simply let his body recover. Now, almost a week after his near-death in the thought bomb he sat before his communications console. His head still ached, a lingering side-effect of the bomb, but his attention was on the conversation he was about to have. How do I break this...

The communications console suddenly lit and an image appeared. "Office of the Secretary of Defense."

Karmack smiled. "Do'Nal, its Karmack. Is Silman available?" Karmack kept his tone light and informal. Its just a personal call... No reason to be alarmed...

Do'Nal echoed his smile but his eyes remained guarded. "Meanowan Mack... He was preparing to leave for the day but I believe he is still in. Hold on while I check..." A hold pattern appeared with the inevitable bumper music, something pleasant and utterly generic. Karmack leaned back and ignored it, his mind busy while he waited.

Do'Nal returned in less than a minute. "Master Mack? The Kage is available and will take your call. Please hold while I transfer you."

Karmack sat up a bit straighter as the image blinked and Kage Silman Lo appeared in the imager. "Karm! How is your research coming along?"

Karmack grinned back. "I've had some ... interesting developments. Are you secure?"

A wary look flickered over Kage Lo's face as he turned and depressed some keys. "Going secure..."

There was a flicker as the signal scrambled and Karmack's system took a moment to sync up. When the Kage re-appeared his face was all business. "OK, Karm. What's going on?"

Karmack sat back and sighed. "Its a mixed bag, Kage. I made contact with the force ghost of Kage Odjina in the main cavern and spent some time with him. His insights have been invaluable, and I have a far better understanding of the Ancient One now..."

Silman's face hardened. "I hear a 'but' coming."

Karmack nodded. "...but as my time with Odjina ended I ... had a visitor. Mendax."

"Mendax?" Silman's image sat up straighter in surprise. "I don't understand. Darth Mendax is dead. She was killed on Geonosis!"

"So we thought." Karmack replied. "I don't understand it either. Zearic and D'Aylanna both confirmed her death. There was no trace of her in force or song when we left. And beyond that..." Karmack paused, hesitant to continue. "Beyond that, she's been ... augmented."

"Augmented?" Silman asked. "How do you mean?"

"When we fought her on Geonosis she was maimed and scarred. Those wounds are gone. She's physically whole and she felt stronger in both force and song."

"So you fought her?" Silman asked. "You defeated her?"

"No." Karmack took a deep breath, plunging ahead. "I had her on the ropes ... until her followers detonated a thought bomb."

Silman sat perfectly still for nearly a minute before finally speaking. "A ... thought bomb?"

"Yes."

"And you survived?"

"Barely." Karmack was lost for a moment in the memory of silver acid washing over him. "She had me, Silman. I was deep in the force and the bomb..." Karmack shuddered involuntarily. "The ... entities ... in the Ancient One managed to funnel out some of the energy and dissipate it into the force. Their buffers diminished the energy enough that the crystal itself could handle the bulk of the rest. I still took a very heavy hit but in the end I was able to survive.

"And Mendax?" Silman asked next, his eyes boring out of the holograph. "Did she die in the blast?"

"No. She sacrificed a group of force-sensitive thralls to detonate the bomb but she had some kind of collar, a device that created a null field around her, immunizing her from the effects of the bomb. She walked away. Two has her out-bound track recorded, but the runabout's sensors lost her once she left atmosphere."

Silman slumped back in his chair. "What is it about Macks finding trouble? First Arnor, now you..."

Karmack sat up straighter. "What about Arnor?"

- End of Part One -

Chapter 16: Bearing Bad News
Part Two

- Canto Bite -

“Talia!” Vesi leapt out from the room and threw her arms around Talia’s neck. “So glad you came, Please come in!,” she half pulled Talia into the Penthouse. It was different from Cha’s ... indeed, from any other room she had seen in the Casino, with Hapan styles mingled with what looked like Imperial austerity of design. Then, utterly out of place, in the corner there was a small pile of stones sectioning off several overlaid shaggy orange-brown rugs beneath a hearth piece with three naked women carved above the fire place.

Vesi continued unabated as Talia tried to come to grips with the discontinuity of the room. “Is Arnor alright? I’m so sorry if we spoilt something ... were you calling yourself ‘Teft’ because of a special mission!?” she seemed genuinely apologetic as she led her to the white couch.

“She’s fine…” Talia turned to her intently, “I need to talk to you though about Cha. He’s…” How to say this? Be direct. Chillum would probably say. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “He’s a darksider…like a Sith…and I think he’s manipulating your parents to buy force artifacts.”

Vesi stared at her opened mouthed for a moment ... then burst out laughing. “Ha…ahahaha…Manipulate…oh…if you met my parents…Cha try to manipulate them…oh…sorry…sorry you’re being serious…hmmm…no Cha works for us like I said…he can buy his trinkets himself he has enough credits.”

“Vesi, you need to understand ... he’s dangerous. You might think he’s a friend, but that’s just him manipulating you...”

“Talia its fine really!” Vesi took her hands in her own. “Cha is a useful employee but he knows his place. Trust me he’s not even in the same league as my family in wheeling and dealing. If this is about Arnor losing the Auction ... I can talk to Cha, see if he’ll let you borrow the holocron. If it has significance to the Mak’tor I might be even able to get him to donate it to your Temple’s Museum – he’s a bit of a cad I’ll admit, but he’s alright once you get to know him.”

Talia wasn’t sure if Vesi was so mind controlled she was justifying Cha’s actions or if she was telling the truth. One last try...

“Vesi listen... you know how I showed you the ancient Mak’Tor Knights who use the force? Well they are still around and Arnor is one of them. She’s ... like a Jedi ... she can sense things about Cha you can’t... Please I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t trust and worry about you and your family.”

“Talia, you’re such a good friend! I understand but its alright. we know he was an Inquisitor. Its part of why we hired him! He knows his stuff on how to deal with – unusual people – and truly don’t worry about us, we know how to keep him in check! Now, is there anything else we can get you? Dinner, a better room, I know! Why don’t we all go to one of the Cabarets, or the outreach center! I know you Mak’Tor love charity! We distribute excess food to the poor every day!”

And just like that it was as if Talia hadn’t said anything ... and in a way she needn’t have. She could feel Vesi was telling the truth in the thin Aura she presented.

- Vyth -

Silman's face twitched. "Intelligence tracked Cha to Canto Bite. Telow'na sent Arnor after him with Talia and Master Chillum. They were tasked with basic surveillance and information gathering. They very nearly blew their cover but they managed to recover and keep it intact. However, while the girls were doing their jobs Du'An ran across a holocron that claims to be that of a Jedi Master Soryu."

"Soryu? Odjina mentioned a Master Soryu. He knew him personally, wanted me to warn him about Kimar." Karmack stroked his chin in thought. "Any chance they can acquire it?"

"They will be making an attempt soon. I gave her access to one of the larger black funds on Scipio, it should be more than enough, and Telow'na has dispatched some additional assets. I cringe to thing what General Cliff will say ..." he stopped. "No matter. They will succeed."

"Good. Silman, that holocron may be vitally important."

"Du'An said the same." the Zabrek frowned. "I was under the impression that Master Soryu was a ... a composite character? A collection of the thoughts and experiences of several people, not one individual."

Karmack nodded. "So did I. That's what we were all taught, but Odjina was very clear: Soryu was a real person, a member of the Jedi Council and one of his close, personal friends. His knowledge and insights of the time of the Schism and Purge would be invaluable for historical reasons alone, but the Legends also tell us that Soryu was a very powerful Jedi. He could teach us much. Please, tell Arnor they must do all they can to secure that holocron."

"I will pass that along at our next contact." Silman replied, then sighed. "So ... a thought bomb. In the hands of a Sith, Darth Mendax. This is very troubling in light of your vision."

"Indeed..." Karmack felt the throbbing in his head increase, and rubbed his temples. "That is why I called and didn't wait until I got back to tell you. Silman, Mendax left here six days ago. It took me that long to regain lucidity and drag myself back to the ship. You need to put the Order on alert, and probably the Men-At-Arms and planetary militia as well."

"Yes, and that's the rub." Silman gave Karmack a very level look. "Cliff is not very happy with me as it is, you know. And he likes you even less. It is bad enough that Arnor's operation is spending a mint to acquire another "trinket" for the Order: this news is going to make him go absolutely ballistic."

"Better ballistic than dead." Karmack replied. "Listen, I'll be headed back shortly. Do what you must. Throw me under the speeder if you need to. Just get those defenses online! Maybe those killer droids will be worth having after all."

"Yes..." Silman suppressed a shudder. "Get back here as quick as you can, Karm. I have a feeling we'll need you close before long. Silman out."

Karmack sat back with a long sigh as the connection died. "Two, make preparations to lift off."

Two twitted a query back a query. "M'Tzigon. We're going home, just as soon as I make another call..."

- Canto Bite -

“So it’s a go?” Chillum asked as Arnor re-entered the suite's common space.

“It’s a go. Julwynn and Balnard are on their way to provide back up. I have an idea on how to...” just then the door opened and Talia came back in. Arnor shifted gears smoothly, back on balance. “How’d it go?”

“Fine...” Talia sat down with a bounce, her voice and mood both far lighter than when she left. “I don’t think Cha is using them ... he’s just a slimy, womanizing salesman who cheats at cards and is childish enough to use the force to get the toys he wants at auction.” she paused, reflective. “He’s not a sith, just a scumbag. We can’t really go after him for that, can we?”

“A scumbag with a powerful holocron, infinite credits and an army of battle droids...” Arnor noted. “Whether he is using Vesi’s family or not, we need that holocron and we have orders from Kage Lo himself to obtain it.”

Talia perked up sensing Arnors intent. “What ... as in ... steal it?!”

“He’s not going to give up a 21 million credit holocron willingly lass.” Chillum noted walking over to place a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s not a nice thing to do to your friends Casino, but I'm sure you can understand the importance of this...”

“No I can’t” Talia exclaimed, brushing his hand off. “We could just ask him for it! Vesi even offered to help us, said he might even donate it to the temple if we'd just ask!”

“Talia you can’t trust what Vesi says,...”

“Why not? She’s not the one asking me to steal.” Talia said, her voice flat. Arnor felt a stab of guilt. Cha was clever indeed ... he lavished with generosity to lull you into a sense of obligation ... but was stealing it the right thing to do?

Arnor shook off her doubt, steeling her resolve. “This isn’t up for debate, this is a direct order, a sanctioned mission, and we need you to make it work. Understood?”

Slowly, arms folded and jaw set, Talia sighed and slowly nodded ascent.

- M'Tzigon -

“Golden boys done it again…” Cliff shook his head it utter disgust. The great and mighty Karmack has kicked over another rock and found the flea bitten Darth Mendax on a nowhere world called Vyth.

“You’ve got absolutely no control over him have you, absolutely none.” he jabbed his finger across the desk at Silman who had come to personally brief him on the discovery, “And we’re all in danger because he can’t keep his frelling lightsabre out of others peoples business!”

Silman said nothing ... to respond to the tirade could only inflame it. He waited for Cliffs anger to burn out instead. The tirade didn't bother him much. IN all honestly he was more discomforted by the 1:16 scale DT-IV miniature sitting on Cliffs desk.

Cliff continued, “What was he even doing on Vyth! Do you even know?”

Silman did, but somehow telling the General that his 'Golden Boy' was on Vyth to learn how to access a powerful crystal from a six-hundred year old force ghost didn't seem like a good idea. He would have responded he trusted Karmacks judgement – but again this would only inflame Cliff. So he stayed silent, the break against which the tides of Cliff's fury crashed.

Cliff rose now, leaning on his desk with both hands. “What benefit, what strategic benefit, tactical advantage was there, WHAT,”
his fist slammed onto the desk,
“WAS”
SLAM number 2
“THE”
“PLAN”
Slams 3 and 4 were as cluttered as his words.

Cliff hunched over on his elbows shaking his head. For a long moment his eyes fixed on the Dark Trooper Miniature Cha had gifted him. At least droids don’t wander off on mystical mystery tour... His anger finally subsiding to a cold burn he flopped back into his chair, pausing for a few long moments, “We survived the purge by staying low, keeping out of the Empires way, a few healing centers to pass information back… That strategy WORKED, and kept our planet safe and off the Empires radar…”

Cliff stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know whether to recall our forces or evacuate the damn planet! I know my history, I've read the Chronicle of the New Sith Wars. I know what a Thought Bomb can do to M’Tzigon if that bitch gets here...” He paused considering what he would need.

“We need to go to yellow alert,” his eyes flicked to the Zabrack for the first time since he had finished explaining what Karmack had seen. “You’ll need to sign off on access to emergency funding so we can pay the overtime, call up the reserves and cover the additional fuel and materiel costs until this tralk is dead."

"Of course, General." Silman didn’t appreciate the coarse language, but this was not the time nor place. He simply nodded and stood, leaving Cliff to cool down.

Ta’Re paused at the door as Silman exited, giving a curt salute. The news was already filtering down through the ranks: the ‘Master of Song’ had really done it this time. Smoothly entering the generals office she saw him leaning back in his chair, facing the wall rather than the entrance. she stood, hands clasped, feet shoulder width apart awaiting instructions.

Cliff's eyes were opaque and unseeing as he seethed inside. Sith and Singers…blasting each other…not just each other, every time this happened, every time Force users fought it was the regular people who suffered in the cross fire. ‘Kage killer…’ he recalled Cha’s software upgrade suggestion for the DTIVs…let’s see Mendax take on half a dozen of those things. To be truly honest he was sorely tempted to send the full twenty to blast that damn Master of Song into a thin paste.

Finally he noticed Ta Re at attention.

“Open access to our emergency funds, then get Cha on the line….”

- Canto Bite -

Cha had just finished a sani-steam when the comm chimed. “Ah General Cliff! Everything is going well I trust?”

The general looked a little flushed as Cha had no shirt on. “Ah ... did I catch you at a bad time Mr. Cha?”

“no no, not for a business partner as valued as you,” Cha grabbed a robe and threw it on. “Now how can I assist you, General?”

“I’ll get straight to the point.” the oddly hovering portrait said with the firm military tones of a drill sergeant. “I need more droids, as many and as quick as you can manage.”

Cha suppressed a smile. “Well, let me think... These are quite costly to produce, and they take time, but we have a batch of 40 available just off the line. They are sequestered for another buyer following finalisation of negotiations - we don’t keep a large stock to reduce overheads...” he paused for effect, letting the tension build. “We could ... lease you 20 of these for a few months, but it might be costly to cover the extra shipping and inconvenience...”

“Credits aren’t a problem. Send me the estimate – I trust all of them will have the new 'Kage Killer' Protocols loaded in?”

This time Cha let the smile crease his eyes. “Absolutely! It is part of the standard package now. I will draft a contract and have it through legal within, say ... two hours?”

Cliff nodded “That ... that would be excellent. Thank you Mr. Cha for helping us out so quickly.”

“My pleasure, General. As I told you when we first met we want partners not just customers.”

The General nodded once more before signing off.

Cha leaned back his arms taunt with muscles he reveled in the unnatural strength of. He idly wondered what it must be like for his employers. Did they marvel at their own prowess? Or was it so common in their ‘family’ that they didn’t know any different? How insignificant other beings must look to them – how benevolent not to impose their will directly – how ingenious to let “Outsiders be Outsiders”...

A shame Nemi was off filming ... and Mrs. And Ms. "Teft" were actually Mak’Tor spies – he laughed to himself. Their spies chasing him while their general kow-towed! This needed a celebratory tryst. Using his employee discount he ordered a few girls up...

- Zearic -

Dualism's Soul had only parted with the Unchained a few jumps before, and though the farewell and thanks for the assistance were warm, neither Jaim nor Zearic had been able to tease out the true nature of the Sons of Kessel operation there – the obvious reasons- freeing hundreds of political prisoners, dozens with years of military and administrative experiences, and taking billions worth of the Blackstone ore were plain to see, yet looking at Zearic – his freshly regrown limbs coated in a bacta salve to toughen the raw skin – he knew there was much more to it.

There was little time for any investigation though.

"Greetings my friend. I'm afraid I have some bad news: Mendax survived somehow. She's alive ... and on the loose." Karmack's 20cm tall form repeated for the fifth time – it had taken at least three viewings of the short encrypted holographic transmission for them to actually believe it.

“I still think we should return to Sekot…” Jaim said for the third time, “Get you looked over…” Whatever had happened in those mines Zearic was unwilling to discuss it – he only hoped his friend had found the answers he was looking for.

“She's alive ... and on the loose."

The words echoed in Zearic's head as he placed his new slowly callousing hand upon the Nocte which trembled slightly with the overflow of his violent intent – soaking in all the anger before it could seep out to be noticed by Jaim. “She Left You Behind for a Reason” the engraving read.

Zearic intended to show Mendax what that reason was.

- Vyth -

An indifferent thought lifted away the rubble the curiously armed droid hadn’t cut away. Beneath the chunks of rock lay the central dais, still more or less intact,the ferro-crete of it's construction made of sterner stuff than usual...

Lifting the top she removed the Recorder Orb hidden within. A brush with her mind showed the captured aetheric imprint was marred by static from the Thought Bomb – they would need to run a filter over it a few times, but should be able to reach 85-87% fidelity of whatever Karmack was doing beforehand, only 64-65% fidelity for the fight with Mendax - which was disappointing.

"It is what it is..." With a shrug she pocketed the orb and wandered back out to her waiting siblings.

- End of Chapter 16 -

Chapter 17: Parties Over

The ride back home was tense as it was silent. The Black Menace had just stood there as Ken was ushered away from it beneath the red glare of Chiss disapproval.

Forced into a small hallway the Admirals had made stringent apologies to their guest for his ‘uncouth behaviour’ he’s only a ‘homo-sapien after all’

“…Fortunately,” M’ylak continued the dressing down as though he were an ensign caught smuggling XXX rated vids on board a Carrier – he wasn’t a real criminal in her eyes just a petulant little child with no taste or grooming.

“They accepted our apology most gracefully, they know how to respect Chiss customs.”

Ry sat a world away beside him, as physically far as she could as though trying to distance herself from his shameful disease.

The Admiral himself seemed less perturbed by the incident

“I think that’s enough M’ylak, I’m sure Ry will broadside him once we get home…” he stared oddly at Ken as though he saw something familiar in his eyes.

“He insulted our guests! That took you months to arrange, the prestige our House could’ve lost is unthinkable!” she snapped back.

“Enough Yim’Lyakenn’tla, leave the boy alone.”

Ken didn’t hear the defensiveness in the Admirals tone…only the implication of ‘boy’

Boy…just a little boy…a toddler running about getting into trouble.

Kriff this.

As the rail car slowed along the mag line for a turn he slammed the door open.

“KEN!”

He leapt.

<<<<>>>>

“I told you he was uncouth…I told….” Her mother stopped under a bitter gaze from her grandfather.

“We should go looking for him before he ruins something else…” her mother went on quietly

“He has some kind of PTSD doesn’t he?” her grandfather asked Ry directly

“Uh…yeah possibly” she knew the force made it more complicated than that but didn’t want to say more.
“I’ve seen it a hundred times…” he paused by the small desk by the door was as they headed inside
“Been there myself…” he sighed out.

“He can’t get into much trouble here…let him be a while, calm down a bit,” This was the side of her Grandfather she wished Ken had seen more of, commanding but compassionate. He placed his hand on her shoulders.
“He’ll soon show up…he knows he needs you,”

<<<<>>>>

Ken wasn’t sure where he was, the grey blue lit streets all looked the same…eventually through the over clean labyrinth he found a route toward the space port…

Where else was there for him to go – he had just bailed on Ry literally, left her behind along with their relationship – all because he…

He wasn’t even sure why, it was an inexplicable mix of anger, frustration, pain…

There was only a small trickle of Chiss about the place, a few automated cargo haulers. A somewhat gaudy green sign that stood out for being in Basic “Feetlers Food for Visitors.” Reminded Ken he hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

Why not he figured.

<<<<>>>>

The motion activated light shook her out of a half sleep
“Still nothing…”

“Still nothing…” she replied as her grandfather sat beside her a concerned look on his face

“He has some history with our allies doesn’t he…”

That brought Ry fully awake

“Allies…The Ascendancy doesn’t have allies Pa – who are they – what are they?”

“Ry…”
“Operational matters?” it frustrated her she couldn’t speak freely with her own family…no wonder Ken had bailed.
He ran his hand through greying black hair
“Wait here a moment.”
She stretched out a bit as he headed out, checking the door and House Comm again in case there was a text message…still nothing.

“Here…” he said on his return with a pile of framed picts, old style printed on flimsi
“This was my grandmother’s graduation class…your great-great grandmother…”
The pict showed 100 or so cadets in what were now outdated CEDF uniforms…at the far end of one of the rows four humans, pinkish faces contrasting with the hues of blue.
“This is my fathers…and mine…your parents…and yours…”
In all of them were five, six, three, four and in her own…five humans.

“What…I never…I would’ve noticed humans in my own…
”
“At the time you might’ve but not once they leave the room…they have that effect, they leave nothing behind…most of our family won’t even remember them being there tonight except for the most important members…they are the Ascendancies open secret…allies we rely on more and more….”

This was…crazy, the Ascendancy didn’t treat with anyone let alone some human allies like this…not over such a long period of time.

“Who…”

“It’s a long story…six hundred or so years ago a Jedi defector made the Ascendancy an offer – help him rebuild his world and he’d help our long term goals…at the time we were eyeing off territory claimed by a Kilik Hive, but had no way to counter their telepathic co-ordination…he provided devices that killed it – shut it off like a light switch, they went feral killing each other – a day later the Hive Queen was dead…a war that would have taken decades, cost thousands of lives was won by one man in three days”

He looked over his own graduation pict

“Since then…they help us deal with force sensitive threats, we gave them resources, expertise, infrastructure…but soon they were self-sufficient, now they have far better technology than we do…they send their people to study at our Academies, placed in the CEDF for 8 or 9 year tours – smarter than Givin, tougher than Wookies but utterly paranoid.”

“But why…keep it so secret, why invite them to the party…I don’t…”

“The point was our Houses prestige, the other Houses know they came, know I’m on good terms with them outside of official channels, they very rarely step out of their embassy except to attend the Academy, that they did on my invitation shows the great houses just how influential our House is becoming.”

That was where the Sons were getting Charric weapons from…on selling from the Ascendancy Ry realised.

“And that’s it, they’re our anti-force user allies?”

“More than that…they are the edge we need, our doctrine and technology only gets us so far, combined with a few dozen of them placed within the CEDF as flight leaders, marines, tacticians, black -ops our moderate advantages become overwhelming…the history books will say our discipline and efficiency win us wars – and they do – but these allies help us win quickly.”

“And everybody knows…but everyone forgets except the top brass…keeping the Ascendancy propaganda about our unique superiority intact…I don’t remember them because the Ascendancy doesn’t want me to know we rely on them.”

“That’s the truth of if…” he smiled “This is why it was so hard for me when you left…so clever and intuitive…I could see your potential as a Captain…Admiral even, you’ve got the experience with aliens now, you could easily get re-commissioned as a lieutenant – with a reference from their agents in the Sons…”
Her heart stopped and thoughts turned back to Ken
“You know about their involvement with the Sons?”
His expression became cautious
“I couldn’t tell you directly…but I asked their agents to keep an eye on you as a personal favour…”

Her body started trembling…he knew…this whole time…they were watching her…wait ’agents’? She’d only ever seen one - Black Armour…how many others were there?

Was this his plan all along, let her have her wild rebellious phase then bring her back into the CEDF when she’d grown out of it? Managing her like a recalcitrant officer.

“oh…Maker…is this…” her head fell into her hands

“This is all…would you even have told me if Ken hadn’t….” stupid question she thought it was a need to know matter – only now did she need to know.

“Ry-ry…” he placed his arm around her shoulder using he childhood nick name – Ry-ry and Pa-pa they’d call each other.

“If you love this boy fine, we can find a place for him here, but don’t throw your heritage, your House away for him – this is your home, your People – don’t leave all that behind.”

<<<<>>>>

Feetlers Food for Visitors had a menu of Exotic cuisines from the ‘Republic’, Nerf Burgers, Clone Cocktails, Jedi Juices, the décor was about as old as the Clone Wars – his nerf burger and hubba chips smelt like plastic and he suspected the word NERF branded on the patty was as close as the meat had come to a real one…but it was something

The only other person in the restaurant was a bored Chiss teen server and cook, flicking through his comm. Once again Ac’Siel was showing its tourism potential Ken mused.

“Hey Feetler Junior, here to pick up my shipment,” A voice called from behind. The teenager shrugged and headed out the back.

“Plus the usual!” he called after Feetler Junior.

Ken glanced up as he took the stool at the bar next to him, shorter than Ken about 180cm, he had handsome smooth features under short cut auburn hair and solid build.

“Food here’s not that bad…” he said looking at Ken, “Feetler does his best, hard to get anything through customs…let me guess trouble with the girl, or boy, or hermaphro friend?”

“Something like that…” Ken pushed around a hubba chip with his fork.
“You cheat on them, or they cheat on you?”
Ken almost laughed
“Not that bad…not that good…” he almost wished it were that simple…
“Sucks friend…a local?”
“Yeah she is…” by local he must mean Chiss
“Friend that is quite the glacier to climb…” he paused looking Ken over, he was still in his ceremonial robes from the party, Ken realised he must look like a fop.

“…Still, you’re here though she must be worth it…”

Yeah she is Ken would’ve said any other time

Feetler came back with a box marked ‘Sachhen Cakes X20’ and a plate piled with four burgers that smelt far better than what Ken had gotten.

“Special reserve,” his ‘friend’ smiled “Take one if you like…a burger that is, not the cakes, my wife would have my head…”

“She a local girl?” Ken mirrored slightly more interested

“Chiss…no, she’s one of my kind of course, I’m not that adventurous!”

Suddenly Ken recalled Silmans request…information about Chiss tech in the droids…he wouldn’t get a batter more genial person to question.

“You both work here?”

“Well…here and there with the CEDF…here today the Bridge tomorrow…”

“You’re in the CEDF” now Ken was interested, he put aside his cutlery and all thoughts of Ry – he needed to focus on the mission now – he actually looked at what he was wearing – a captains uniform

“A Captain…”

“That’s right…have my own fighter squadron, nearly two years now, wife’s a Colonel in the Marines,”
“How did you meet the entrance requirements? They must be colossal…”

He shrugged, “You could say it’s in the blood…but you know…it’s one thing to get into the game of ranks…but getting into the bedroom with one…now that’s hard…I mean it’s difficult enough understanding women of my own People, let alone Chiss women!”

He took a single bite and an entire burger vanished.

“Let alone them trying to understand you…looks like you and your girl need some understanding…I don’t know…it’s hard sometimes – you know what you mean but it’s not what you say, she asks you how you feel and you just don’t know how to tell her – words get in the way.”

Ken felt his stomach drop, and not from the half-hearted Republic cuisine – everything the Captain said seemed written for him.

"Sometimes I wish I could just push inside her head you know...see what she’s thinking...make them her feel what I do, see the situation from my point of view…"

Ken did too…and…he could…with the force he could make Ry feel what he felt, the isolation, ostracism, the disconnection from himself…make her understand, make her forgive him…make her…do whatever he wanted her to do whenever he wanted it…it was all so easy…I have the power why not use it?

His heart pumped with excitement for the first time in days - the thrill of transgression, dark pleasure at twisting things to your will, breaking the rules. And what rules…how many times had his father, mother and grandfather used the force to smooth their path, confuse or convince people – was this so different?

A micro expression crossed the Captains face…a sneer so swift Ken wasn’t sure he’d even seen it…maybe a trick of the light as he chewed his second burger.

It brought him back –it wasn’t right…it was tempting – he was Gray – he didn’t’ disavow such feelings – he was Mak’Tor - he confronted them.

He wouldn’t use Ry like that – couldn’t.

“Yeah…but…I don’t know…we can’t just change people’s minds…”

But where did that leave him? He’d just burnt his bridges, behaved like the tantrum throwing toddler the Admirals thought he was…he needed to get over this…push past it, those Black Warriors…he needed to be more like them, stony, mechanical, they wouldn’t let themselves get so upset and emotional.

“We need to just be better, stronger so other people don’t have to deal with our problems” Ken finished his reply.

The Captain finished off his fourth burger.

"You can be the strong man Ken, push through, toughen up, burn out your emotions...or you can be a real man and feel them, admit you can't handle them on your own – maybe you can’t show her every part of your mind – but you can at least try.”

That struck Ken hard. He had been white knuckling it this whole time, bottling up…hoping time would heal all wounds - it didn’t, couldn’t –actions healed time would fester.

He could only hang his head ashamed.

“You’re right…I’ve been…”

“Hey…” the captain clapped a hand on his shoulder it felt unusually heavy and extremely toned and hard even through his robes.

“We all make mistakes…too often with the people we love the most…you get out of here and go talk to your girl….I’d give you some cakes…but you know…”

“huh…yeah I Know…thanks for the perspective Captain?”

"My pleasure...” he replied not answering the implied question as Ken stood up

“I hope you don't think me a coward anymore.

"A what?" Ken had never said anything like that

"At the party...you said ‘You’re a coward, take that mask off and show me your face’ well here it is."

The party…the Black Armoured Figure…it was…HIM…how…

It didn’t matter…Ken had to get to Ry and pick up the pieces he left behind.

<<<<>>>>

Betrayed…used…she wasn’t sure what to feel. For now she just felt alone. Her Grandfather, Pa-pa, trying to pull her back in, Ken pushing her away…

She didn’t seem to fit into either of these scenarios – didn’t have a voice – things were happening to and around her, she wasn’t making anything happen except by her inaction. She should’ve stood up for Ken more, recognised the signs he was struggling better, should’ve seen that no matter what her Grandfather said he would always push for her to come back to the Ascendancy.

Ry needed to take back some control. She started packing. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here, perhaps it was exactly what was needed to get things out in the open – either way she couldn’t stay any longer – whether she left with Ken or not…didn’t bother her in that moment.

<<<<>>>

He pounded along the streets, humming a memory motif to help him recall the way – with his ceremonial robes fluttering he got gawks by the bucket full – a crazed alien running around a respectable neighborhood.

Finally, sweaty and hot he came to the house built into the cliff face and pressed the buzzer.

After a few moments in which he caught his breath with a steady force calming flow Admiral Tla appeared. “Ah there you are…didn’t get into any trouble I hope.” The Admiral had an ambivalent feel…while never overtly welcoming he had been polite – but something had changed.

“I’m fine…I…need to talk to Ry.”

The Admiral smoothly took his arm. “Ken…look…I know you have feelings for each other…but you need to be honest, this can’t really work, you tried your best, but the cultural divide is just too great, it’s no one’s fault – Ry is young this is just a rebellious phase, a few months, maybe a year and she’ll grow tired of rebelling…”

Ken tried to keep his already swirling emotions from turning to rage at the implication their relationship was a mere young-adult fling – he wouldn’t be here now if it was.

The Admiral continued, “This is her home, her People, her culture…where she belongs, you should make your goodbyes and head back to your Mak’tor get some help, some counselling for your traumas, with some clarity you’ll see this is for the best.”

“I think…” Ken did his best not to seethe his words, “It should be up to Ry and I to decide where we belong and what is best.”

The Admiral shook his head, about to berate the young fools when Ry called from behind him, “Enough Grandfather, let him in,”

<<<<>>>>

There was so much to say they were silent.

Ken could see the half packed cases on the floor. Something had happened while he was gone…something that showed up something Ry didn’t like and didn’t want to be part of anymore.

In the end there was only one thing to say. “I’m sorry…I tried to be…”

Those words were enough for her, she was sick of the fighting, the stress, and fell straight onto him slightly uncomfortably till they shifted into an embrace.
There was so much to be done – but at least now they had started.

He was so tired…tired of fighting, tired of hiding, and most of all tired of being alone through it – he had tried to push on through things not deal with them, and left Ry behind in the process, the one he should’ve turned to the most. He understood that now…but how to communicate it…

As ambivalent and he now viewed the ‘Captain’ he had been right, words just didn’t flow sometimes…and on another point the Force could provide a way to bridge the gap between them, but not in a controlling way as he intoned.

Ken gathered the force to him, building it up mixing it into his emotions, creating a diluted but recognizable set of feelings…then he let it flow out gently to Ry’s presence, washing his contrition and struggles over her – hopes but also fears, worries but also certainties…at the same time he opened himself to the response – actually trying to feel her as he should’ve all along. He felt the concern, the anxieties, but also the love, and determination.

In the ocean of their connection, amidst the beating waves of the confluence – he began to sing.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 18: Queen's Gambit
Part One

- Mendax -

One down two to go. An iron tang as she bit into Ruugs muscular shoulder added to the pleasure of knowing she had destroyed Karmack. For now his body was entertaining but she was quickly becoming bored – she had come straight back to her ship and summoned him over, pacing back and forth, the blood rush from the fight still hadn’t fully worn off over a week later, she could only sleep in fits and starts.

A more logical part of her mind told her she should have her blood analyzed further – this was not natural – they had done something to her, but she suspected it wasn’t intentional, more a result of false assumptions about Ferroan biology. Pushing up off him she stretched her arms out taking in the pleasure of her fulfilled vengeance.

“ummph…” Ruug made a sound…

She immediately slapped him leaving a deep red print on his cheek. “No speaking!”

“Not even to say I love you?”

Mendax sprung up, sabre straight to her hand and once again the blade sliced through Cha’s illusion as Ruug squeaked painfully under her sudden movement. “You pervert! Get out meat sack,” she ordered Ruug who couldn’t move fast enough, even forgetting his clothes.

She turned back to the spectre. “What do you want this time Cha, you disgusting bag of dren?”

“Did you enjoy Vyth? You look a little anxious…” he leered as she stepped closer – the perve had already seen everything no point trying to cover herself now. “Perhaps you should consider a Baran-Do meditative trance to calm you nerves ... but really you should sit down for this news.”

Mendax growled. “Speak or be gone!”

“Very well, it seems your celebrations are premature. Karmack is quite alive.”

“You Lie – he was deep in the force, no one could survive that!”

“On their own no ... but with his magical Crystal...”

******

“She frelling nuts…” Ruug knelt before Orfa. “We were right in the middle of it and she jumps up grabs her sabre and started talking to the empty air. I only overheard a little Mistress, someone named Cha...”

Orfa considered that, she would need to research but the name sounded familiar...

<< RED >>

Ruug jumped up with a howl and Orfa doubled over with a sharp gasp as blinding red pain filled her vision and screeched in her ears. "They’re all kriffing mad!” Across the ship everyone who had been even briefly touched by Mendax' Qixoni control now felt her rage – an injection of pain straight into their minds as her frustration poured from her body to the crystal to those connected to it.

******

In her room a pitcher of water shattered, the small desk buckled and twisted, compression drilled screws popped from the internal walls as her fists clenched drawing her own hormone filled blood. “No…I will not fail…I am Sith SITH!”

Keep telling yourself that... Cha mused happy he was very far from her.

“SITH DO NOT FAIL!” failure was death ... death ... she would not could not ...

“Ha..ahahahahaha” Mendax cried grasping her hair back painfully. “All of them... I’ll get all of them at once...” The only objects unaffected by her rage in the room were the two black collars that flew to her hands as she dropped her sabre. “I’ll draw them all in ... all to M’Tzigon ... then ... like Lord Kaan ... I’ll show them. SITH DO NOT FAIL!”

******

Misrum and Orfa struggled to their feet as the call came to their minds – Mendax was summoning them….despite their trepidation they dare not refuse.

- M'Tzigon Orbital Space -

Lieutenant De'Ana'Crin of the patrol ship "Maker's Melody" nearly jumped out of her skin as a ship emerged less than four klicks from them. "Helm, evasive!!!!"

The patrol ship was of local design, a cut-down version of the old Republic Light Attack Cruiser with a single engine, no hyper drive, and a crew of five or six. "Customs Patrol Craft" was the official description, but in reality they were search-and-rescue craft and picket craft, with fighter-range speed and cruiser-range sensors - and not much else.

As they arced away from the ship that streaked past, blue energy blazing away from the track of its pseudo-motion emergence, those sensors were already cataloging. "Sir! Emergence close aboard ... Identified as a YV-939 type freighter... Detecting atmospheric and radiation leaks!"

"Mayday ... mayday ... mayday ... this is the Lazy Suzan declaring an emergency... We have damage, losing atmosphere. Systems are off-line, drive is failing. Assistance required, there are twenty-seven souls on board..."

Lt. Crin turned to her communications section as the Mayday call played on the bridge speakers. "That sounds aweful weak. Signal strength?"

"Low, ma'am. I doubt they can hear it in-system."

"Relay to Central." She punched up her board, studying the radiation leakage. "Advise them that the ship is hot and we need to get transports out here to take the crew off..."

As her ship looped around the freighter continued to coast in-system, moving ahead now on thrusters. "Mayday ... Mayday ... Mayday ..."

"Put me on with them." Crin said next, composing herself. Her screen blanked, then filled with the image of the man making the call. His face was streaked with soot, a trickle of blood showing on his cheek and more blood on his uniform. "Lazy Suzan, this is the Maker's Melody. We are moving to assist you. What are your specific needs?"

"Thank the One!" the man said, visibly relaxing to near collapse. "Where are we? We made a blind jump, the pirates were all over us..." he started hyperventilating, giggling with hysterical relief.

"Sir, you need to calm down. Deep, regular breaths... You're in the M'Tzigon system. My craft is to small to take your crew off but relief ships are on the way. You said you were attacked by pirates?"

"Yes, ma'am." The other ship's captain made a visible effort to calm himself. "Yes ... we jumped away, but they may have been tracking us...."

Lt. Crin looked at her comm officer and made a quick slashing motion across her throat. Once the sound was cut she turned to tactical. "Jon, get Central on the line again. Inform them of the pirate attack and ask for back-up. We may have a pirate cruiser coming through any minute."

She turned back to the screen, where the nearly hysterical civilian captain continued to babble on, spilling words without meaning in his relief...

******

- Karmack -

* Historical Reference: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg622384#msg622384 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg622384#msg622384) *
* Also note: Shadow Etude CH14 / Wind Chimes CH16 *

Space erupted around the runabout as it emerged from hyperspace, and Karmack felt a chill run through him at the sight of the dry planet before him. Geonosis...

A trill from Two confirmed that they had emerged safely and were on course for the planet. The argument with the droid had been ... epic. Not because Two wasn't in favor of returning here to confirm that the Ferroan he'd fought on Vyth was in fact Menxax, but because he didn't feel Karmack was fully recovered or in any shape to undertake what he saw as another dangerous solo mission without proper support.

Which is just another way of saying that he wants to mount a DCC and go in guns blazing... Karmack glanced at his friend and smiled. The song was placid, without a hint of conflict. Unlike the last time he'd been here.

Karmack shuddered again as he remembered... Ken dying ... regenerating ... He shook it off. "Never again."

The runabout settled, close to the place where they'd confronted Mendax. The rubble from the collapsed hive-spire was there, spread around the room ... and oddly disturbed. A pit had been excavated, as if someone had come and opened up Mendax' grave...

Karmack came to the place where he'd fallen, crouched and touched the spot where the Ancient One had rested. He could still sense a residual glow from the crystal, even now. He hummed a perception motif to enhance his vision and more details sprang into view, more energy traces.

Including some that flowed from a nearby position to the place where Mendax had fallen.

Karmack rose and walked out into the room again, noting the energy lines. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. It reminded him of Shatterpoint theory, but these weren't shatterpoint faults. They were more fluid than that. More like a web of force energy, a residual trace of where power had been expended. As a test he used the force to call a small stone to his hand ... and a golden energy trace appeared in his perception, bright and strong. He looked around again, noting the different traces. A sunburst of gold where he'd fallen and nearly died pouring uncontrolled energy into Ken and the others. Smaller golden traces where he'd fought. Magenta traces and angry red where D'Aylanna and Mendax had clashed. Cool blue where Zearic had stood against Jennira's hot white flame...

And two other traces. Faint, nearly invisible. These two didn't radiate any light at all. They were voids...

What happened here? Karmack ran over what he'd learned on Vyth, considered the motifs. Time.... There's a time element... Before he composed the new song Karmack paused. It was never a good idea to meddle with time. It would be easy to convince himself that he would be an observer only, unable to touch what was happening around him. But deep down he knew that wasn't how it worked. He remembered the visions in the Spire. There was a real risk here. The force would not just allow the past to be changed, no more than it just allowed the future to be known. Even being seen could change his own past - and his own present. And yet...

I need to know, no doubt or ambiguity. But he needed to be very, very cautious.

His mind made up, Karmack stood and composed the modified motif. The time element made the song wild and beautiful - and a challenge to sing. He felt a deep satisfaction as he mastered it and the motif took hold. The very air seemed to change, filled with a golden hue, and he concentrated not on the energies he knew, but on the ones he did not. As he concentrated, he felt time ripple around him, and he was there: two days after the fight.

Two figures emerged, cloaked in black armor. The larger one - a male - held a small oblivion sphere in his hand. Karmack felt his eyes widen slighlty as the energies in the room - brighter, in the past - were absorbed by the sphere. Its a recording device! He saw the battle again, saw himself lying on the ground. Saw Zearic fall. Saw their interest in the dagger. Iphosies ... from Dathomere... He listened to them discuss the Ancient One, and cringed slightly at the reason the male voiced for not pursuing it. He knows my Clan? How? Why? Yet his assessment was accurate. The exploits of its members, from Ha'Ona and her misguided uncle Jo'Set to Cage Li'i and the famous healers Jin'Set and Ja'Mat. Mack's might be stopped, but they never quit.

Never.

The next snippet of conversation caught his attention. The two had found Mendax, still clinging to a spark of life in the force after two days, and they directed healing energy into her essence. Enough to keep her alive while a stasis pod was brought down. They watched the pod be activated and extracted by more armored figures before the two paused and turned again to his healing song, using their own devices to manipulate the time flow as easily as watching a recording on holocube. Karmack, in turn, watched them.

“I don’t think this Karmack or Zearic will appreciate our charity toward this particular individual…” the female noted, her attenuated voice still transmitting the ghost of a smile.

“We can’t be held responsible for what she does after we heal her. Still we do need to keep a closer eye on both of them...” The massive armored figure turned and looked down at Karmack's form, unconcious on the ground at his feet. “I’ve seen a true Master Singer…” he noted mostly to himself as she draped herself behind him supportively, “And you are not a true Master Ka’A’Mack ... not yet”

Karmack watched as the woman gave her companion a final squeeze before stepping away to oversee the final loading of the stasis pod - also made of the same black 'oblivion' material and far more compact than any he'd ever seen before - into their equally black, angular ship. The figure stood a moment longer ... and then Karmack nearly jumped as he looked up and fixed Karmack with his gaze. "Did you find what you sought Ka’A’Mack?”

His heart almost stopped, the connection to the past a millimeter from dropping from the shock. He sees me! Knows I am watching! But how? Looking this precisely into the past was requiring a substantial flow of force energy... But he sensed no similar output from him... You can't sense their use of the force? This surprises you?

The armored figure turned and faced him. “I was right to say you were not a master yet ... but it seems that has changed,” the black helmet stared straight at him. “You have gained power ... if not wisdom.”

Swallowing hard Karmack forced his mind to work again. “Why?” he finally got out. “Why Mendax?”

The figure shrugged. His speech was mechanical, gender-less, obviously designed to obfuscate the true voice beneath. “Does not your Book of the Way tell you to help those in need? Is it not an act of charity to heal a woman broken and abandoned?”

Counter-arguments sprang to his mind, but Karm brushed them aside. He would not make the same mistakes he had made talking with Andisdottir – arguing with them was pointless. They made their own rules, held every card and played expertly. He would not take the bait. “You are using her, knowing what she is, what she will do. Why? Who are you?”

“Always in motion is the future. I can’t predict what Mendax will do, nor are We responsible. Her choices are her own.” He answered no questions, avoided all responsibility for his actions ... and worse Karmack could not fault parts of his logic – a doctor who healed a criminal was not responsible for their future crimes.

Karmack tried again. “What do you want with the Mak’Tor?”

The figure stared silently for a moment. “Perhaps we haven’t told you that by your time..." He pointed at Karmack's saber. "That crystal and its abilities – just a copy, that’s all.”

The same as Andisdottir... Karmack nodded. “To protect yourselves, I’ve heard this before…”

“And you refused. Like I said; much power, little wisdom ... but perhaps we erred in our offer. I will propose a new one just between the two of us – I will leave my compatriots ignorant to avoid a time paradox…”

Paradox ... the implications of this conversation suddenly became apparent to Karmack. For the figure, Karmack was in the future. That meant…he knew Karmack would be on Geonosis in the future. If you knew exactly where and when your enemy would be somewhere... He couldn’t stop his face from falling, his body tensing. This man had months – MONTHS – to prepare for Karmack's arrival on Geonosis! Months to devise a trap... He swallowed, his mouth dry. “What is your offer?”

“Mendax is a problem for you. I can make it go away. Obviously I can’t undo what you have seen her do already, the Force would balk at such a paradox...”

That made Karmack think. just how much experience did this being have with altering time? If Karmack had felt intimidated by them before he felt a spike of abject terror now – how can you fight an enemy who knows how to toy with time itself?

“...but when you return to your ship you might find a message celebrating Mendax' disappearance from your colleagues…”

His head was spinning, making deals across time and the potential paradoxes ... but ... all things had a price. “And all I have to do is hand over the crystal for you to copy and tell you how to use it?”

“Fair trade.”

Karmack forced himself to consider it. Trade a copy of the crystal and what he'd learned and Mendax would simply ... disappear? No, the same arguments that had applied before with Andisdottir applied now. Even if it meant death, that was better than giving a creature with such power the kind of amplifying tool the Ancient One had proven to be. "As tempting as the offer is, I fear I must still decline."

The armored head cocked slightly to one side, the first really human gesture Karmack could attribute to him. “You realize if you refuse this offer, whatever Mendax does next will cause you great regret.”

Karmack nodded, felt the quick stab of guilt in his gut, but it was hollow. "Perhaps. Though I can't help but remember that it wasn't I who resurrected Mendax. Or gave her a ship and a crew." An intuition suddenly blossomed in his thoughts. "Or provided her with a thought bomb - and the means to survive it."

The armored figure didn't move, didn't try to defend the double standard he'd set. He simply turned and walked away, fading as Karmack left his song and returned to his own present. Only the echo of guilt remained. Karmack forced himself to face it. Sure, it was a double standard but Karmack did care about what Mendax did. However impervious to guilt or regret these people were, whatever the cost, Karmack had been given a chance to remove Mendax from the equation, and he'd not taken it.

In that light, the rest of what he'd said took on an ominous overtone. What is she up to?

Karmack turned and strode back to the runabout. He'd already warned Silman about the Sith Lord. The rest was in the Maker's hands...

Chapter 18: Queen's Gambit
Part 2

- M'Tzigon -

De'Ana watched as the Enterprise docked with the crippled freighter. The calls from the ship's crew had gotten frantic over the two hours it took for the carrier to intercept their position as the stricken ship slowly lost atmosphere and the radiation leak from her engines continued. THe leak itself did not appear to be dangerous - yet - but the loss of air was becoming critical by the time the carrier arrived.

The Enterprise was a converted Correlian CR-90 cruiser, one of several in the M'Tzigon navy, but the only one in-system currently. The other four were out on extended patrol, mainly supporting an "Operation Wilberforce" being run jointly by the M'Tzigon military and certain allies. Rumor had it that the Knights were heavily involved and while De'Ana was all for freeing slaves she sometimes worried about having so many navy ships - several Aurek and Besh type light assault cruisers were also involved - away from the home system.

Still, this crisis was finally coming under control. Enterprise, now docked to the freighter, would take off the ship's crew and board with crewmen in protective gear to get the ship safely into a repair yard in-system. She watched as a flight of fighters - elements of VF-1 - slid by on patrol. For a moment she was lost in thought, distracted by the desire to fly one of the new ETA-2MJ fighters. What a life...

Something odd caught her eye and she blinked. The gun turrets on the freighter were moving... "What the..."

"Attention Mak'Tor! My Mistress Darth Mendax greets you! You are informed that by order of my Mistress the so-called "Master of Song" Meanowan Karmack, Meanowan D'Aylanna Vih'Torr and Meanowan Zearic Vih'Torr are sentenced to death. Those who have aided them - and will do so in the future - will also die. This is only the beginning..." With a flash the guns on the YV-929 fired point-blank into the Enterprise, tearing the larger ship apart. De'Ana had no time to react as the cruiser came apart, internal explosions bursting the cruiser from stem to stern.

The freighter - still firing - leaped forward, her engines suddenly at full thrust and putting out far more acceleration than they should be capable of. The radiation leak became a flood as the over-powered reactor leaped to critical output levels.

"What are they doing? They'll all be killed!" her ops officer said. "Are they suicidal?"

De'Ana's eyes went wide. "Yes...." She turned to the comm station. "Communications! Get central NOW! CASE ZULU!"

The comm officer was a professional: despite his shock simply nodded and repeated in a calm, clear voice, "Central, this is the Maker's Melody. We are declaring Case Zulu. Repeat: Zulu Zulu Zulu!...."

De'Ana growled and threw her ship into pursuit, thrusters blazing at maximum power. The guns on the freighter continued to blaze, picking off the Black Aces as they made desperate runs, but they'd been caught flat-footed and without momentum. She would not. "Weapons status!"

"Guns are up, but our turret is only equipped with light lasers. Fine for harassing fighters or freighters, but against that?"

"Do your best." De'Ana replied. "Helm, plot an intercept course..."

******

The freighter blazed in-system, and there was nothing to stop it. The cruisers that would normally have been in-system were either out on Wilberforce missions or were conducting exercises - and not in position to intercept.

At the helm, Ruug grunted and shook his head. His hand rose toward the controls, intent on changing the collision course, only to have it swatted aside by her voice, her control... He was going to die. In ... twenty-three seconds.

...finally ... release ...

******

The Maker's Melody intercepted the Lazy Suzan twelve seconds before impact with Orbit Three, one of the five orbital stations ringing M'Tzigon and serving as its space-based commerce and industrial hubs. Lt. De'Ana'Crin brought her patrol craft in from below, driving the freighter's nose up. Her drive added a side-bar delta-vee to the freighter's continuing accelleration. It was just enough to prevent a collision as the two ships missed the outer industrial ring by a mere twenty-seven meters.

The pair were fourty-three meters away from the inner habitat ring, turning at a rate that would clear both the station and the planet beyond, when the freighter exploded.

Orbit Three took the brunt of the explosion, the habitat ring bursting open in catastrophic decompression. Debris and bodies flew into space in a raving torrent as the atmosphere of the station escaped into the vacuum of space ... and then the core power plants went critical. The station simply disintegrated, hurling debris in an expanding, 360-degree cloud. About 30% of it would find its way into the planetary atmosphere, where all but a few larger pieces would burn up harmlessly.

One of those exceptions were the station's four primary defense modules. Equipped with laser turrets and missile launchers, the modules were armored against attack and protected from the power surge that blew out most of the other systems on the station. These four modules, each with a crew of around twenty men-at-arms, survived re-entry more-or-less intact, slamming into the surface of M'Tzigon in a wide dispersal pattern. One landed in the ocean, harmlessly. Two slammed into the M'Skigon range, causing minor damage to some roads and minimal loss of life.

The fourth landed in down-town Coopersville, a hamlet in the M'Skigon range of approximately 5000 people. All but a handful were incinerated by the blast of the detonation of the pod's on-board munitions.

Of the 100,000 souls on board Orbit Three, less than 4,000 were able to reach a life pod or shuttle in time to evacuate the station.

******

On the edge of the M'Tzigon system Orfa shut down the recording systems of her assault shuttle. She cared little for the people of this system, but she'd felt Ruug die... She would not soon forget ... or forgive. But for now, she had a report to make. She turned and leaped into hyperspace, leaving death and chaos behind her.

- Karmack -

Karmack stepped out of the runabout and steeled himself. He could feel the shock, anger and grief reverberating through the entire planet echoing within himself. He'd see the spreading wreckage of Orbit Three on the way in, as well as the black scar where Coopersville had been and felt the sorrow of loss - and the rage at injustice.

You could have stopped this...

He shook it off, pushing away the voice in the back of his head. They'd stopped Mendax once; they would do it again. It wasn't his fault if someone else put her back into action! Karmack closed his eyes for a moment, a calming motif working through his mind and body. Justice would have to wait. He needed to report in with the Kage, then with the Order's healers and relief groups to see what could be done...

A Men-at-Arms Major wearing the shoulder flashes of both the Special Warfare Command and the Sword of Light approached Karmack as he left the landing pad. The Sword of Light were specially trained and equipped Men-At-Arms trained by the Mak'Tor to fight dark-side force users. Karmack had spent many hours instructing these elite soldiers, helping them hone their skills and learn ways to deal with and counter the special abilities a force user brought to a fight. Karmack didn't recognize the Major, but the hostility radiating from him was almost palpable. For a moment Karmack through it was just part of the general anger following the attack, but the two hulking Mark IV battle droids flanking the Major made the point clearly: They were not here simply to welcome him home.

The Major stepped out ahead of the droids and came to rigid attention. "Maenowan Mack."

"Yes." Karmack replied, ramping up the relaxing motif so he could maintain his relaxed demeanor and a friendly tone. "How can I help you Major?"

"Sir, you are ordered to report to General Cliff immediately. I am to escort you there ... sir."

Karmack smiled without warmth. "And what does General Cliff want with me?" he probed.

"Sir, you will need to take that up with the General. If you will follow me?"

Karmack looked at the droids, both of which were at the ready, their red eyes fixed on him. "Well, Major, it seems I have an opening in my schedule after all. I would be happy to see General Cliff. Please, lead on."

Without another word the Major spun on his heel and strode ahead at a crisp military pace. Karmack followed, noting that one droid fell in on his left, the other behind. Like the Major, the droids carried the shoulder flashes of the Special Warfare Command. "New recruits, Major?"

The Major said nothing, only walking. When they reached HQ the droids stopped outside, standing at parade rest flanking the main entrance while the Major led Karmack into the building. When they reached the General's office the Major reached out and knocked firmly on the door three times. The General's response was immediate: "Come!"

The Major opened the door and waved Karmack through, following him into the room and closing the door behind himself. As he entered Karmack opened himself to the force, listening to the song resonating within the walls and sampling the emotions radiating from the General. If anything the hostility in the room was greater than what had greeted him on the tarmac. Karmack bowed following Mak'Tor rather than military protocol. "General."

"Karmack." Cliff turned like a turret, eyes level. When he spoke his voice barked like gunfire. "Maenowan, you are notified that as of this moment you are placed under House Arrest. Your actions in regards to Darth Mendax and her associates have been deemed to have imperiled the lives of our Men-At-Arms, the security of our State, and were a direct cause of the death and destruction resulting from the attack on Orbit Three. You will lay down your arms and remain under House Arrest, under guard, until such time as a Tribunal may be empaneled to determine to what extent your actions or those of your Clan have made you culpable in this incident - and what charges will be brought."

Karmack met the General's eyes, and death stared back. He's utterly serious... Karmack's own emotions were raw...and suddenly he didn't care about maintaining his calm. The calming motif died and a white-hot core of anger and rage broke in his belly and blazed from his own eyes. "General, you have no authority..."

"I have all the authority I need!" Cliff blazed back. "Martial Law has been declared. You will STAND DOWN, Meanowan, or so help me Maker I will clap you in irons and throw you UNDER the brig. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, MEANOWAN?!?"

Cliff's temper was incandescent and unconstrained. Karmack felt his rage beginning to uncoil, awakening the opening motifs of his battle song. When he spoke his voice was the temperature of liquid helium. "As a courtesy, General, I will submit to your request for restricted movement. But I will NOT..."

Cliff interrupted Karmack, face darkened. "Are you resisting arrest, Meanowan? Refusing the order of a superior officer? How dare you? What gives you the right, you jumped up ... wizard wannabe!?!?"

Karmack stepped forward, into Cliff's rage. "Right? I have every right! You have NO cause, no evidence to demand this!"

Cliff's face darkened further as his fury built to dangerous levels. He rose and slammed his hands down on the desk, his voice deadly despite its suddenly lower volume. "You arrogant bastard. How dare you disrespect this office and it's authority? You really don't care about anything but your own jumped-up sense of importance and moral superiority do you?"

Karmack stepped forward and matched Cliff's pose, going nose-to-nose with the General. His battle song rang in his ears and his own eyes were focused and deadly, the blue icy with distilled fury. "General, I don't know what lies you have been fed, or why you seem to hate me so much, but know this: I do respect this office and its authority. If I did not, we wouldn't be having this ... conversation. But even under Martial Law you have no right to arrest or disarm me until after you have filed formal charges. And if you do file those charges, understand that I am virtually certain that any Tribunal or Military Court you empanel will be biased against me, and as a Knight I have the right to demand Trail by Combat."

"Do it!" Cliff hissed. "I swear to you, I will find the most psychotic brute the galaxy has to offer to slap that arrogance right out of you. Major, disarm this man and place him under close arrest!"

"Meanowan Ka'A'Mack, you are unde..." the Major stepped forward, reaching for Karmack's shoulder, intending to turn him for a quick search before confiscating his saber and binding his hands ... and froze in place. Karmack never moved, never broke eye contact with Cliff, never even twitched as he locked down every joint in the Major's body, careful to allow just enough freedom of movement for the man to be able to breathe and balance ... but nothing else.

Karmack leaned in further, his nose now only an inch or two away from the apoplectic Cliff. "If you press this, I will demand that trial, and your champion ... will ... die. Now, I am going home. If you wish to discuss this ... incident ... further, you know where to find me."

Karmack straightened and turned, meeting the eyes of the frozen Major. With an explosive exhalation of breath the Major stumbled as Karmack released him and his body suddenly unfroze. He lurched forward, caught himself, and then his eyes were captured by Karmack's. Nothing was said, but the Major immediately took two quick steps back, his hand dropping to his side-arm ... but he refusing to draw it.

Karmack turned back to Cliff, who was still red with rage but equally speechless. Karmack took a deep breath and let his battle song spin back down, returning to the calming motif. Karmack's rage ebbed slowly, his body still physically taunt as he turned and walked out of the office, the Major scrambling to catch up to him as he went.

Cliff sat at his desk, fuming, unaware of how close to death he'd been. He was only aware of his own fury, his own certainty that somehow, someway, Karmack and his Clan were ultimately to blame. He watched through the window as Karmack emerged from the HQ building, the Major still trailing behind, and fell in with his droid escort. He turned toward the foot path, leading the droids and the hapless Major to the motor pool where they would commandeer transport to the Temple area and Karmack's quarters. As he watched them go Cliff keyed his intercom. "Du'An, how many of the Mark IVs have the new software upgrade installed?"

"The 'Kage Killer' protocol? Seventeen, sir, including the two currently on special assignment."

"Good. Deploy two more as perimeter guards around Meanowan Karmack's quarters. No one goes in or out without my express permission. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

*end of Chapter 18*

Chapter 19 - Stolen Moments

Part 1

(https://thumb.ibb.co/nFk5Hd/b204abe387168a3a77c5374e2fb4dbfd_star_wars_jedi_star_wars_art.jpg) (https://ibb.co/nFk5Hd)

Thanks to Dutch for the picture!

Muddy brown dirt spewed up as the ground rocked beneath Gingal’s feet. The flick of water from the recent rains felt cool on his brown splotched skin, it had been nearly three years since he’d been back to Dac, the pools on the MC30c Cruiser Ellinga always had a slight taste of the water recycling filtration chemicals - even with the grit of the mud this at least felt a little natural.

“Captain! South East three AT-ST’s with speeder support,”

“Divert two squads to help, where are those Ion Launchers!” he replied in gravely tones straining against galactic basic with his vocal cords.

He knew where the launchers were…the transport had been shot down, he could see the smoke and blue green flare of blaster fire just over the top of the bunker – his attempt to surround the Imperial position had been a bust – after three bombing runs he thought the had the anti-aircraft weapons cleared – instead they’d dragged them into the tunnels of the blocky prefab garrison and wheeled them out as his transports moved in. The X-Wing escorts made light work of them but not before they’d done some damage.

Gingal had come down to oversee the attack himself, wanted the troops to feel like they hadn’t been left behind by the Alliance…Waters of Dac he felt like they had too.

This sector barely registered in Alliance thinking, the Deep Periphery region between various independent systems and Hutt Space had never had much Imperial presence, he had been deployed here as an afterthought with one MC30c Cruiser and an escort of four CR90 Corvettes, along with 2000 men to intimidate the few Imperial outposts after the Capital Ships had fled the region to join up with the larger Remnant forces.

“Silver Flight making attack run!” the comm crackled as the air ripped with the low flying rumble of the X wing squad, a hammering of red fire cut into the AT-STs to the South east, barely bigger than his outer finger at this distance.

Air superiority wasn’t hard, the two flights of TIE strikers dealt with, ground and mobility would soon be obtained even without the Ion Launchers…the problem was getting into the garrison. Up hill at the 600 metre wall to the north was a largely prefab building that was still imposing given his lack of heavy weapons – his artillery had been wreck three days before by a scout force. Whoever was in command was competent, playing to their strengths very well – Gingal hoped he could convince them to join the Alliance but knew better.

As one of the AT-STs fell with a metal screech the fire over his trench subsided…they were falling back to the garrison. He could take out the walls with proton torpedoes easily…but he was running low…they had been in this sector for nearly five months without resupply, the margins were getting thin…if he could secure the system maybe it would convince Command to send him some supplies…

“Sir we have incoming in orbit!” Lieutenant Jyss said frantically – everything was a calamity with him.

“Imperial Re-enforcements?”

“Imperial Raider corvette and irregulars, twelve ships…they’re hailing…”

“Patch it through,”

The grainy image of a Ferroan woman appeared on his screen.

“Captain…” there was a pause, likely static delaying her sentence

“Gingal…I am Commander Gaetana of the 63rd Rim Auxiliaries here to support…”

63rd last he heard the Rim Auxiliary force numbered only 40 divisions…still their force grew every day as the Alliances success built, even the Imperial Raider Corvette wasn’t unusual…and frankly he was just happy for the help.

“What resources do you have?”

The Ferroan smiled

“Special forces and irregulars…melee fighters – ready for some close combat in the bunkers.”

Bunkers…he hadn’t told her about the bunkers beneath the garrison yet…

<<<<>>>>

Give them what they want the most and no one asks where it comes
Mendax mused as she stepped onto the muddy no man’s land between the Rebel and Imperial position, Orfa casting daggers at Mendax over Ruug’s fate with her Pirate goons to her left, Misrum petting his new dagger with his Darkside fanatics to the right.

Both Orfa’s hate and Misrums obsession over his new toy would serve her – Orfa would keep Mendax sharp but seeking out any weakness, and Misrum would unlock the dagger secrets…although from the very little she had sensed it seemed the light eating dagger was unlocking Misrums secrets rather than the other way round.

The Rebel troops remained hunkered behind their trenches as she stepped forward – with an effortless swing she hit back the sniper shot from the walls with her sabre, the bolt screaming straight back into the Scout troopers scope.

“Hold here,” she ordered her thralls – she needed to show them her dominance, that was why she had so many down here…

As she strode across the battle churned mud only a few more took shots at her, idly she noted the white rocks half way to the wall – low tech range markers. The phwwooop of mortars cut the air she waved the bombs away dismissively as the flow from the Qixoni built in her limbs.

A brisk walk turned into run as a heavy turret opened up, somewhere in her ear piece the Mon Cal idiot was asking if she wanted air support. She WAS Air support.

Her blade a red shield clashing orange against red blaster bolts, Mendax took a running leap over the 10 metre duracrete wall grasping at its foundations in the silty dirt and tugging inwards.

She came down as the dust rose with the wall tumbling inwards, the Imperial regulars scrambled backward against the tide of rubble. Too quick for them to track, she brought her knees down with gravity accelerated force energy to smash into the top of an AT-PT – the durasteel buckled under her strength, metal shearing into flakes that bounced off her telekinetic shielding.

She wasted no time leaping out of the wreck and into the Regulars who turned in confusion at her lithe form.

A tide of red fury overwhelmed her as she unleashed her pent up frustrations on the petty mortals. Arms flew clear of shoulders, necks were divested of heads, auto-turrets were rent from rockrete plinths and slammed into fleeing soldiers as Misrum and Orfa crested the ruined wall in time to see her pursue the soldiers into the bunker.

They fired back at her through the emergency lit tunnels, her sabre beat a steady rhythm of retaliation as she approached the Vault door. Its servo’s whined against her force pull, the Qixoni increasing her strength well beyond what mechanical resistance could offer.

Misrum and his fanatics were close behind as she unleashed a torrent of blue turning the entrance way purple with her red blade as the lighting obliterated the defensive strong points behind the door. Troopers flopped over, the tang of burnt flesh filled the air as she moved deeper.

Lost in the rush of blood, within her body and painted in it from without, she forgot her conscious intent to take them alive to bolster her forces for a time, she sang into the melody of destruction, butchering, slaughtering these fools who thought conventional weaponry could resist her.

Through corridors and small cramped rooms she worked her way to the seat of control, an ever less confident presence in the force. Around him stern minds determined to fight to the last.

Behind her Mirsums thralls took a few hits, reminding her of the need to accumulate soldiers not destroy them all. She could be selective. Barging through the heavy doors with an indifferent thought the few Storm troopers hurled grenades and flash bangs as she contained the antipersonnel mines explosions under her feet to mere yellow flowers that lit her path.

Sending the explosives into the lights she plunged them into darkness – their helmets would compensate soon with night vision or thermal…so she gave them something to look at.

With blinding light that cut through her closed eyes she unleashed a Force Flare that stung their eyes, adapting the method Cha’s Black fiends used on her she screeched vocally to send waves of confusion from their ears to their mind as her fist and hilt worked in unison to pummel the elite forces into submission – some would die, but they were too weak for her to care –the strong would survive and serve their new Mistress.

<<<<>>>>

Gingal stood in awe as the Jedi came out of the smoking bunkers tunnel with the Imperial Commander and half his Storm Trooper guard dragged by her goons. He hadn’t been left behind by the Alliance…they had sent a Jedi to help!

Mendax fed these self-delusions with a flow from the Qixoni crystal.

“Master Jedi,” that was the formal term of address wasn’t it? His father had fought beside them in the Clone Wars…he never believed the stories till now.

“We are…in your debt…are you…” he was tentative to hope
“To assist with securing the rest of the system?”

“I am…” the Ferroan replied with an agitated tone, she was bouncing on her heels as if over stimulated.

“We will take this system and the Imperial Assets as quickly as possible…then you will assist me with a special task General Calrissian and Knight Skywalker have assigned me with.”

“Anything Mistress!” he replied enthusiastically

…Mistress?

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 19

Part 2

Canto Bight

“Come on and do it!” Julwynn pressed

“It’s not…right…”

“It’s no different to sparring,”

He arched an eyebrow looking over her shimmersilk dress

“Alright a little different, but it needs to be True, just do it.”

Balnard didn’t like it…but Force Types could pick a lie like a Pink Bantha…so…balling his fist he punched his wife in the right eye.

“Harder than that!” she insisted

It took more willpower than he thought but the next blow smacked with a red mark. He felt sick.

“Alright…that should be fine…” she cupped his face with her hand, “It’s alright...” he understood the strategic reason…but it didn’t make it feel any better.

“Now let’s move.”

<<<<>>>>

She stood gracefully as Cha approached with a bow, his rid and black suit impeccably crisp

“Lady Mack…”

“Please take a seat,”

About them the rooftop restaurant buzzed with conversation as the stars glittered overhead.
“I was tickled pink you invited me…” he began scooting in

“Though I must wonder why…”

Arnor leaned back.

“I wanted to apologise for…my deceptive behaviour and costing you a lot of money in an auction over something I didn’t really want, dinner seemed appropriate.”

Cha smiled softly

“Well…as I recall Lady Vesi is now paying for this dinner and your accommodation…but still your company alone is worth 10 times the cost of that trinket.”

She suppressed the urge to vomit on his sleazy face.

“Now shall we order?”

<<<<>>>>

“Locked in boys?” Du’an looked over to Mutt and Vegan plugged into data ports using Tel’Owna’s best slicer and security interruption systems. The Casino’s cyber security was naturally impressive, but there were differing levels, unfortunately Cha’s room was Category 5 Security, just below the maximum Category 6 for Talia friend Vesi’s Penthouse and the Casino Vault itself.

Still they were reasonably confident. Arnor would keep Cha out of his room, Talia was distracting Vesi, meanwhile Balnard would get in and out whilst Julwynn ran interference on anyone who got too close.

Chillum was to oversee extraction and cutting the security alerts if anything went wrong. So far it had been straight forward, he’d ‘convinced’ an electrical engineer of the importance of repairing a faulty converter to the anti-grav spa which had been out for a week – utterly shocked at his oversight he had readily agreed to Chillum and his droids assisting in repairs. Said engineer was now safely back to his usual work having completely forgotten the conversation ever took place.

Mutt issued a quick string of blurts.

“Hmm…none at all?”

A negative tweet, the droids couldn’t find the safe on the schematics for Cha’s room.

“Tippler we have no eyes on the kitty, have to rifle through the wardrobe,” he commed across the secure network.

<<<<>>>>

“HA!” Vesi cried as the comedy song full of double-entendres and veiled references to bedroom antics that made Talia blush finished.

“Oh…that’s so true…you never really think of it at the time!”

Talia wasn’t sure this was necessary, but Arnor and Chillum insisted she keep Vesi and Sophi away from their room – it wasn’t hard - they were determined to show her around their Casino, all she had to do was indicate she wanted to see a show and it was done.

She still couldn’t sense anything like the force to them, just that thin normal presence of all life forms, but Chillum in particular was convinced they had extreme abilities.

“I’m sure that song was written with Mari in mind!” Sophi said as the applause died down
“Ughhh she’d spend hours in the bathroom!”
“Still does!”

Talia tuned out mostly as a beep came across her in ear comm…it didn’t feel right stealing from them, especially now they were paying for their whole trip here…

They didn’t notice, the next song had started…

“…Please don’t ask me out / It’s a stupid thing to do / it’s embarrassing for me / and it will be much worse for you / please don’t ask me out / ain’t it plain to see / I’m a glowing Ten / and you’re at best a Three…”

<<<<>>>>

Julwynn was in position across the corridor from Cha’s door way, lying in a crying heap to intercept anyone who approached the door while he was in.

Corridor clear Chillum signalled the loop of the camera had begun with a single beep. Balnard had one system refresh cycle – 3 minutes twelve seconds – to get in, find the safe, spring it and get out.

Darting to the door way he flicked out the EMP scrambler onto the lock and began – 184 seconds to go.

<<<<>>>>

“It strikes me as odd Mrs. Mack…you could have simply sent a card…why meet me in person?”

Arnor shrugged “I prefer to offer my apologies face to face.”

“No that’s not the real reason is it…” he looked straight into her eyes, leering into a smile.

Her heart skipped briefly…surely he couldn’t know.

“Oh but I do know…you can’t deny it, I’ve known the whole time…” he leaned back with a winning grin

“You want me…”

“Wha…”

“I saw it the moment you came to the sabacc room, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me…”

The sick…perverted…thinks he’s Makers gift to Women! On the Other hand…

Arnor blushed and looked askance

“I’m a married woman Nimmin…”

“Oh I know that’s what makes it exciting for you isn’t it, sick of your frumpy Book of the Way Quoiting husband so busy playing with his little crystals he neglects your precious pearl…”

Arnor was caught in a strange place between amusement and revulsion as he went on, leaning forward,

“You want something dark, exhilarating…let go of those puritanical inhibitions…embrace pleasure…” he extended a hand across the half eaten meals.

There were lines she wouldn’t cross…but she wasn’t quite there yet…she only needed another few minutes…and this could be a bit of fun.

“You’re right…” she took his hand “…you’re so right about everything!” she gushed

<<<<>>>>

The apartment was large, but with the scanning visor he could trace lines of electric charge…he was looking for an electronic device not connected to the main supply…there a datapad, electric shaver, a few battery comms…behind the wardrobe, a large energy source in bright yellow against the blue haze of the visor, not connected to anything.

Bingo.

Swift, precise motions Balnard pulled the door open swept the clothes on small motorized rails aside and in one movement dropped to his knee, pulled his lock-pick kit and put the first breaker in.

<<<<>>>>

Turning the corner a woman was strolling along the corridor toward Cha’s room in a golden yellow dress - Julwynn increased her sobbing.

A quick gaze up she noted the features similar to those Arnor had shown her of Talia’s friends, Cha’s employers.

The girl noticed her and immediately swept toward Julwynn.

“Are you alright! What’s wrong!” she knelt down toward her,

“My…my husband…” she sobbed “Hit…hit me” just as Chillum had guessed Julwynn felt a brush of the Force against her assessing the truth of her words – and despite Balnard’s misgiving the truth of him hitting her flowed through.

“He did…oh my Goddess…well we’ll show him…” she flicked out a comm “What’s his name love?”

“Dex…Dex Alman…he saw me talking to the man in that room as he left…he got so jealous…it’s really my fault I shouldn’t have spoken to a strange man…”

The heat radiating off the woman in yellow was overpowering, Talia had told them they were ardent feminist matriarchs, Julwyyn had devised this distraction to play on that specifically.

“Yes…” she said to the comm, “Dex Alman – Bring him to me,” she paused for a moment “No alive for now…”

Julwyyn felt a stab of guilt for poor Dex Alman, the woman seemed to interpret the feeling as self-blame for being abused.

“Come on darling, can you walk, it’s not your fault ever, I’ll help you, you’ll see, everything will be alright”

<<<<>>>>

“Don’t you know who I AM!”

As Cha gently stroked Arnors hand there was a kerfuffle at the far end of the restaurant, five uniformed and two plain clothes security grabbed a man at his dinner who vehemently protested his treatment. Arnor felt a little pang of guilt for Mr. Alman.

“Things are getting heated,” Cha crooned not in reference to the poor fellow grabbing the table cloth, causing the plates to spill on top of him as he protested being taken away.

“We should go somewhere more private…I can have desert brought to us…”

Arnor could hear the ping in her ear, Balnard had found the safe and was working it, but it was taking longer than expected, and Julwyyn had obviously already diverted one potential interloper.

“Perhaps one drink for the road…” she replied, his face fell and despite herself she added a racy twist

“…something stiff,” now he smiled again

<<<<>>>>

The timer was going down fast,

“Any more give?”

Vegan this time tweeted negative,

On the real room feed he saw Balnard trying to deactivate the mag lock – so far it seemed resistant to a Pole-shifter that swapped one side’s magnetic pole around to fling a normal magnetic safe open.

He couldn’t wait anymore…donning his workman’s cap he moved to the turbo lift.

<<<<>>>>

CLUNK

Success at last, the polarity switched – but the lid didn’t lift, his nanite camera worm had disabled the internal lock…it just must be a heavy lid.

With both hands he pulled…

It was a bloody heavy lid…

“Makers bloody...what is this thing made of!”

<<<<>>>>

“No really, I’d like to go back to my room…pack my things…” this wasn’t going how Julwyyn expected

“It’s fine you’ll be much safer here…” the golden dressed woman guided her into her room one level up.

As soon as she stepped out of the entrance hall she saw it.

Separated from the main lounge room by a circle of stones – a Warding circle –were woollen rugs and hand spun cushions around a grey stone hearth a blue fire burning gently within. About the chimney were three carved female figures, engraved eyes stared at her, pulling at Julwyyns very soul.

Who’s she?
She’s new,
She’s looking at us – why is she looking at us?
She’s lying to our Daughter, Why’s she lying?
She wants to hurt HER!!

All three voices were the same yet distinct, speaking all at once, not in any order or normal conversational flow.

The woman in the golden dress slowed her pace and turned around, the statues weren’t grey anymore…

They were blood red.

This was bad – beyond bad – this wasn’t the Force – this was Old Deep Magick even the most deranged of the Night Mothers wouldn’t contemplate using.

Julwyyn had to get away, the woman’s expression turned from happy and serene to vicious in an instant.

“DOWN”

<<<<>>>>

“Please don’t ask me out /such a stupid thing to do / I’m a stunning Ten…” the Singer held the note tapping the same key building for the pay off…

“And I lied you’re just a Two!”

Raucous laughter over took the claps,

But this time Sophi and Vesi were not joining them, their face were carved of ceramic as they stood swiftly,

“What where are you going?” Talia protested

“Sorry,” Vesi’s voice was stern,

“We have to go,”

<<<<>>>>

Chillum pushed Julwynn aside with the force as the voices screeched in her head

STOP HIM
He wants to hurt our babies!
Children, Children, Hurry!
Get them, Run!

His stun blast fired straight at the girl in the golden dress as her hand lit with blue energy.

The stun pulse slammed into an invisible barrier, twisted into a concentrated spear and flew back out into Julwyyns breast, knocking her out cold.

Before Chillum had time to even blink at the flash of white from the hit, Chillum felt his chest sucked back out of the room, through the hall and out the door, the scene passing more rapidly that his eyes could pick up.

<<<<>>>>

Du’an Chillum would never fully know what his shot at Talia’s friend Mari caused – he was unconscious before he slammed into the wall from the Scream that echoed across the Aether.

For the first time in decades someone had actually shot at one of their People. To add insult to injury it had been a man who did it.

In a scurry three men suited up – genetically enhanced muscles tensed with fanatical rage that an outsider had attacked a female.

On Aestis Minor Black Armour left a meeting abruptly to confer with his comrades. At the edge of the system the Destroyer meant to protect the Sons powered up its engines, mirroring a half-dozen others across nearby sectors.

A sliver of a material the Templar Faradi had never gotten round to studying, and a curious statuette the Revenant had stored amongst other relics in the search for immortality both trembled looking for someone to send a warning to. By the time anyone noticed they had returned to a seemingly inert state realizing’ it they were far away from any ‘real’ People.

Luke Skywalker’s concentration momentarily snapped from piloting his T-65 X-wing alongside the quickly forming Rogue Squadron as they deployed out of Home One, a tremor in the force that felt strangely…familiar…distant and diluted - a call to home and family. As they approached the jump point he brushed the quiet flicker aside, there was still so much about the force he was yet to learn – but for now he didn’t have time to pursue every little flicker and jolt.

Further still in the deep core, devices honed over centuries of experimentation picked up the signal just after a thousand shrines and totems demanded their Children protect their Daughter in distress.

In less than a minute a People as paranoid as they were overprotective were primed war.

<<<<>>>>

Arnor pressed her hands against her head trying to block out the screech in the force.

Even Cha spat up his drink.

As it slowly died she heard his voice across the echoes – his face no longer the slick smiling sleaze bag, but drawn and iron.

“Oh Mrs. Mack…someone just made a very big mistake.”

<<<<>>>>

Finally

Balnard felt enormous relief in his arms as the huge slab of a lid finally gave.

Inside a few gold plated latinum bars, pure diamond casino chips, jewellery boxes, credit chits, and the Holocron, dim next to a black orb.

Fast as he could he swiped the holocron and twisted round. Straight into three angry looking white cloaked security guards.

For Kohl Balnard these regular security guys would be no problem to take out.

The Tank of a man in Light Eating Armour behind them however…

<<<<>>>>

Talia screeched around the corner to see a titan standing over Chillum. She had heard Ken and Jorya’s description of Black Armour…but the reality…

She lost her footing and fell to the floor as Chillum was lifted up without any effort at all and pushed into the wall by one midnight hand, the other fixing restraints.

Behind them White cloak security dragged Julwyyn out on a stretcher, behind them was Vesi,

“Oh there you are! Are you alright!,” she flew across the 6 metres to grip Talia

“You won’t believe what happened your friend Chillum and this blonde woman tried to attack Mari! She’s fine though, Sophi is with her…our cousins are here now,” she gestured to the Monolithic death statue that moved.

“Goddess know what came over him…” Vesi continued “…our Parents will be very angry about this…”

<<<<>>>>

“I think we should retire to my room Mrs. Mack…” Cha seethed his fists balled on the table broking no argument.

Arnor could feel – something - move up behind her. As the people behind Cha looked in terror she felt afraid to turn around to see what was looming over her.

“You can come under your own power,” he continued as a shadow fell across her from behind deep as night.

“Or my friend can assist you….”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 20 — Justice for the Wicked

Part 1

Canto-Bight

Justice on Canto Bight was swift.

After being arrested they were before a judge within 18 hours – their rooms and ships ransacked, the droids taken for forensic investigation.

With their in-ear comms the police had evidence that all of them were part of the crime – and under Canto Bight law designed to penalise criminals who ganged up to cheat the Casinos – every member of a criminal group would suffered the penalty for every crime that group committed.

“Mr. Kohl,” The Judge began, it was sparse just before sunrise – the courts operated non-stop in line with the Casinos they largely catered for – fast justice deterred offenders.

“Following the presentation of overwhelming evidence, audio and visual recordings, DNA traces…you are found Guilty of attempted Theft, Destruction of Property, and interference with a Legislated Security System, trespassing grad four, and Attempted Rape and Murder,”

“I would NEVER!” Kohl yelled back

“Would you like to add Contempt of Court as well Mr. Kohl!” The middle aged Bothan Judge with light blue dyed fur cautioned.

“And the possession and use of a prohibited weapon in licensed premises. The sentence for these crimes is in total 13 Years and eight Months of indentured labour at Deep Locke Correctional facility…alternatively you may remit your sentence on payment of 100,000 credits per month to be served coming to 13.8 million credits and exile from Canto Bight Independent System for not less than 25 years,”

On Ten Month Canto Bight anything could be bought with enough credits Arnor sighed, knowing that she, Talia, Julwynn and Chillum would all get the same sentence exactly as part of the criminal group…and M’Tzigon would struggle to find 69 million credits to buy them out.

And Arnor was certain that the only audience in the gallery, the three sisters and Cha flanked by two black killing machines, would make sure they didn’t escape.

“Any further outbursts Mr. Kohl…I thought not. The next will be Talia Cam, step forward,”

Talia did so, but couldn’t help looking to Vesi and the girls, they looked utterly shocked, disappointed and horrified she had betrayed them. She turned to face the judge…14 years…but it was true they had broken the Law, were anyone to do what they had on M’Tzigon they would’ve been imprisoned too.

“Your Honour,” The prosecution investigator stood up

“We have a Formal Minute here from the Fresia Rim Diplomatic Mission, might I forward it to you now?”

“Please do Counsellor,”

Talia glanced to the girls as the Judge read, then briefly conferred with an aide.

“The Free System of Fresia has formally requested the Independent system of Canto Bight turn over to their judicial officers the following offenders – Cam, Talia, Mack, Arnor, Chillum, Du-an, Kohl, Julwyyn, and Kohl, Balnard – under the Canto Bight External Affairs Act subsection 154 Extraditions on the basis that their offences were committed substantially against Persons and Corporate bodies who are citizens of the Free System of Fresia.”

The Judge then paused looking over all the ‘offenders’

“I am satisfied with this request and approve the transfer to occur in not less than three days after which the sentences imposed by this Court revert to an Exile for each offender of 25 years from Canto Bight.”

Arnor could feel Cha’s smile burning the back of her neck.

<<<<>>>>

Flanked by Night Shrouded warriors they were taken to the Casino’s hangar, waiting for them were their possessions neatly packed into their luggage, along with Mutt and Vegan.

“We will remove your restraints,” Sophi informed them

“If you try anything…Vesi won’t save you again.”

Talia’s hands tingled as the blood rushed back into them.

“Well Mrs. Mack it seems our game is at an end…” Cha slithered up beside Arnor

“Unfortunately for both of us…you’ve moved from the Junior league to the seniors by comedy of errors…” stepping back for Sophi to approach Arnor felt more than a little regret that Cha was leaving the scene…the devil she knew was far more preferable to this Devil she didn’t.

“Take them to the ship, I’ll be along shortly,” Her guards ushered them for except Talia who Sophi guided away,

“Wait where are you taking her!” Arnor protested, the Black Guardian simply pointed where she was to go – she wouldn’t leave Talia behind, Arnor’s fists balled.

“I’m not scared by the likes of,” she challenged the implacable soldier,

“Move or you will be moved,” Sophi said without emotion.

As much as it rankled…Anor had little choice.

<<<<>>>>

You can’t trust them.
They’re mean and nasty.
She said she was your friend.
She was though wasn’t she?
Maybe…not anymore.
She’s still nice, she didn’t want to do it.
It’s the others, they’re bad.
They made her do it.

Vesi listened as she sat within the Circle around the hearth. It had taken a lot to convince her Aunt not to come here…she had seniority and would’ve taken control, but Vesi convinced her that they were alright, and her Aunt trusted them – it was the Outsiders she didn’t trust.

What will you do?
Forgive her, forgiving People is nice…
But she’s not People, you don’t have to forgive her…she tried to hurt your sister…
Maybe she could be your friend again if she apologises…
Maybe…

Talia could only here a distant whispered conversation as she was brought into the room before the guard vanished into the Shadows it sprung from. She was sure it was still there somewhere….

Vesi stepped out of the Circle, a gentle shimmer of blue across her form as she passed through and gesture for Talia to sit.

“Why Talia…why?”

Talia didn’t know how to answer…it was her mission…yet they were her friends…

“I thought you were my friend…did everything I could to make you feel welcome here, offered to get you whatever you wanted…all you had to do was ask and I would’ve seen if we could get you the trinket…”

Vesi shook her head as Talia remained in shamed silence, Vesi reached out a hand to her.

“Why did you let them use you like that…they’re not true friends who ask you to lie, steal, attack people…”

“It was…our mission was to get the holocron…” she said quietly

“And you didn’t think to just ask…We’re your friends Talia…or we thought we were…”

That reminded Talia,

“Where are the others…”

Vesi paused,

“They weren’t our friends…Sophi will deal with them now.”

<<<<>>>>

The molten pieces of Chillums hold-out stun blaster dripped to the floor.

Julwynns mouth was wide open. Balnard remained stony but if he had a Force presence Arnor was sure it would be screaming shock. Chillum seemed to fare the best at the sight, he’d seen a lot more than any of them, and was less shocked than intrigued at how it was possible.

The last remnants dripped from Sophi’s hand like mercury – her hand simply held it one moment and it boiled the next, a small pop as the battery exploded.

She stepped forward, no longer in a dress but in Blood Red armour that had a sick glisten to it. She was wearing a helmet too, but the first shock had been seeing it vanish so they could see her face with an illusion Arnor didn’t dare try to break.

She stood over Chillum shaking out the last burning drop that hissed on the ferrocrete between his feet.

“What were you going to do to her? Why did you want to knock my sister unconscious? Rape her, mutilate her, kill her? Speak willingly human or I’ll make you talk.”

“I would never hurt her, she was about to…”

“To strike the woman who had lied her way into her room, to defend herself, yes she was.”

She shook her head

“How can I trust your intent, you came to steal from us, what else did you intend you lecherous vile creature.”

She stared deeply into his eyes, he felt a burning at the back of his skull spreading forward

“You’re not scared of me are you misogynist…what about my Aunt…no…my Mother…no…my father,”

Despite himself there was a micro surge in fear at the last name – socialization in a society where men were physically stronger on average making the patriarchal threat more potent.

“There it is…you’re scared of my father…that is wise…” she turned back from him

“My father has splattered more potent creatures than you under his boot without even noticing…and you had the temerity to try and abuse his daughter… ”

“We had no intent on sexually assaulting anyone, you know that!” Arnor wouldn’t let her accuse her father of crimes he would never commit

“Really, Old man breaks into girls room, stuns her unconscious – what do you think happens next Arnor Mack?”

Arnor swallowed back her protest, finally seeing how it looked from the outside looking in – Chillum had been in her room a floor above Balnard and the holocron, arguably there was no reason to shoot at Mari.

“You’ve already proven a willingness to lie and deceive, how can I trust what I sense as the truth from you? You may be mind-wiped programmed assassins for all I know,” Sophi went on.

Arnor bit back…it was true…Arnor couldn’t assume Sophi could see the truth perfectly…all her accusations were defensible.

“What has given you the right to come into Our Business, try and steal our possessions, and assault Our family!” she went on

“You gave as good as you got in the auction” Arnor snapped recalling the flashback to Namman Cha’s goons beating her.

“We did no such thing – if you fainted it was because of the trauma left behind in your own mind – we did nothing – we never needed to – you Outsiders destroy yourselves, and hurt real People in the process.”

Outsiders…real People…what did that mean Chillum wondered…who was In and Out?

“You felt Cha was ‘dark’, or ‘evil’ and didn’t want him getting some mystical box the contents of which you don’t even know…confused fools”

“Quit the blathering, if you’re gonna kill us be done with it!” Balnard yelled

“I’m not going to do anything with you…you have a far more terrible judge to face…”

“Who?” Chillum the most controlled asked

“Talia.”

<<<<>>>>

“What are these missions costing you Talia? First your husband, then your body – it’s disgusting sending you to seduce Cha – now your friends, your morals – your very sovereignty of self?”

It was a hard thing to say – because it was true – what was she really doing here except hurting herself – why were they even investigating Cha?…because Karmack thought he was bad…because he cheated at cards and bought a holocron they wanted…

“We’re the criminals…” Talia said quietly, they came here trying to steal something
“I’m sorry, We shouldn’t have done that…”

“You can’t apologise on behalf of the others Talia,” Vesi’s eyes were high looking down upon her, but she let out a soft breath.

“What do you think?” Vesi turned her question behind them Talia following her gaze to Mari

Her mouth twisted in thought,

“Hmm…The Goddesses said it’s nice to forgive…and you were a good friend to us on M’Tzigon…I forgive you.” Mari held out her arms expectantly as Vesi prodded Talia to hug her

“It’s not sealed until you embrace each other to reconcile physically as well,” Talia did so happily, a sense of relief flooded over her as she fell into Mari arms, Vesi encompassing them both from the side.

“You have to think seriously about what you want to do Talia,” Vesi went on

“Stop being used by other people, just a follower, first used by the traffickers, then the Mak’tor…you need to make your own decisions…and we’re happy to support you with whatever you need.”

Vesi was right, too long she’d been an observer in her own life…just going along with things, following not leading – her own desires left behind and ignored as her doubts.

“What will happen to the others?” she asked firmly, they gave her an odd look and didn’t reply – this was up to her.

“I’d appreciate it if you let them go to return to M’Tzigon,”

<<<<>>>>

“That’s it? You’re letting us go?”

“I’m not letting you go…” Sophi said dismissively as Talia entered looking a head taller.

“I’m doing a favour for a friend,”

Arnor could only wonder what trick they were up to now as Talia approached.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” the younger woman replied

“We’ll go back to M’Tzigon together tonight,”

“Together?”

“The Wayfarer is being sold at a Police Auction to cover court costs…Vesi will try and get it back,”

Arnor didn’t like this, every step they took was into deeper debt to those girls and whatever…society…was behind them.

“You have to be out of the system in three days” Cha broke in

“Or else things come off a head…So you get to enjoy my company for even longer Mrs. Mack…”

“I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way Mr. Cha…” she kept herself saying anything worse

“Oh but it’s not…I have a delivery for the good General Cliff….,” her eyes followed his hand as a transport she couldn’t recognise the make of lowered a platform.

Red Machine eyes stared back at her.

<<<<>>>>

M'Tzigon

[/i]
Leaving Csilla and Chiss space was much easier than entering it, so easy in fact Ry suspected her Grandfather had expedited their departure. Only two border checks and even those were perfunctory at best.

Leaving her family had been less tense than sad. They still didn’t seem to take her choice not to live in the Ascendancy seriously, were convinced she would come to her senses and return, that Ken was a mere fling with an alien before finding a real man – a Captain or Colonel in the CEDF.

It was true things with Ken were strained, chasms they had glided over in the first flushes of passion had resolved from the mists – difficult questions and issues that they needed to seriously consider hit them all at once.

Had it been painful for her – yes – would there be even more difficulties and stress as a result – yes – but you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge – and this trip had forced them to do a lot of acknowledging.

Perhaps that was good even if it felt bad – full honesty was rarely warm and fuzzy…

As soon as they came out of the last jump at the edge of the system on the main in-bound jump exit from the Corellian Trade Route offshoot to the Deep Periphery Ken was at the cockpit door Ricky trailing behind with the top of his dome still open beeping furiously as to why Ken had run off with him unfinished.

“What’s happening…” he said leaping into the co-pilots seat his face gaunt and terror stricken –

“what, noth…” she paused realising he must’ve felt something in the force, then as light began to filtering real time she saw what was going on.

A vast line of ships ahead were in neat orderly rows, overwatched by two refitted Old Republic Light Attack Cruisers, a CR-90 Corvette hovering just within range as fighters flew scanning missions over the queue, their blinking red lights indicating active scans.

“Vessel designate MT-1443-28 Gryphon you will proceed to these co-ordinates to await inspection before entering further, failure to comply will be considered an act of aggression,” A terse woman’s voice came over the open channels.

“And here I was thinking we’d left home…” Ry sighed.

<<<<>>>>

It took nearly two hours in line to reach the choke point where ships were and boarded- and hope Ken’s rank and the Gryphons status as a Men at Arms Vessel might expedite things was lost as the docking hatch hissed to reveal six power armoured Marines.

Having just been through nearly a dozen Chiss inspections since leaving M’Tzigon weeks ago, the Men at Arms were almost laughably inept in comparison – professional and detailed to be sure but nowhere near as scrutinizing as Chiss.

“So…Koawan Mack…” the Sergeant leered at Ken through the plated visor holding his indent card.

“Glad I get to be the one to bring you in before your Clan can do any more damage,”

“Bring in? What are you,”

The Sergeant produced a pair of stun cuffs

“Please make me do this the hard way,”

“That’s enough!” a crisp voice cut in from the docking port

“Koawan Mack, I am Lieutenant An’ne’Krey here to inform you that you are to be detained immediately on Lunar Base Crystom until debriefed,”

The lieutenant had a thin face but piercing eyes

“As for your companion…she will be detained pending an interview with Customs officials,”

“Chiss Schutta,” The sergeant whispered

Ken bit back any response that might make things worse.

Ry glanced around the body cramped living area, Ken with his sabre could easily take the Sergeant and other marines – heck even without it he could use the force to slap him,

Instead ken nodded grimly and extend his arms

“Mack scum,” The Sergeant sneered as if the word Mack were now more insult than scum as he slapped on the cuffs the servos in his mechanized arms audible as he clamped down on Ken’s wrists,

“I don’t know what has happened or what is going on,” Ken added lowering his arms “But as a Knight,” he emphasized
“I’m more than happy to follow orders – even if i don’t understand them,”

Ry felt proud to stand beside him then, compared to his aggressive reaction at the party with was a major turn around
“Follow orders! A Mack, That’ll be the day,”

“One more word Sergeant and you’ll be sharing the cell with Koawan Mack,” the Lieutenant cautioned.

The Sergeant awkwardly moved his suit behind Ken and gestured him forward, his heavy rifle in Kens back as though he were a prisoner of war,

As Ken stepped forward he turned and flashed Ry the warmest smile he had ever given her

‘I’ll be fine, you’ll see’ it said without words

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 20 — Justice for the Wicked

Part 2

Mendax

(https://thumb.ibb.co/hV2kHd/Elleressa_Volstraiger.jpg) (https://ibb.co/hV2kHd)

Nyder had been here before…well not quite here exactly, but close enough.

Standing behind Mendax on the Bridge of Zearics Bane she tracked the flights of X-Wings moving to make a run on the cavernous facility on a rocky moon of Uorous VII a gas giant the Empire had a Helium 3 processing plant on.

Mendax had swiftly integrate Gingal and his Rebel forces into her growing fleet, as well as the Imperial soldiers who surrendered.

“They’ve seen the light!” The Rebels had cheered

Oh they’d seen a light alright Nyder thought – the blazing energy of force lighting cutting their will to pieces.

She wanted to scream, but simply checked off the approach vectors, relaying orders through the Raider II from the MC30c Cruiser Ellinga that was positioned on the far side of the muddy orange gas giant to cut off any retreat.

Mendax was slowly rocking on her feet, becoming ever more impatient at the delay in getting what she wanted. Misrum and Orfa continued to snipe at each other, but in the effort to please her had continued to grow her forces, taking half a dozen small outposts more or less intact on the inhabited Oorous IV.

Now Mendax had ground forces, troops and vehicles…but nothing to transport them with - the over enthusiastic Rebels having blown the Imperial Sentinel Class Landing Craft in a bombing raid.

But Oorous VI held the key – a Clone Wars Era Venator Class Star Destroyer docked in the caverns. The outpost was built toward the end of the Clone Wars – intended to be a key depot for attacking the Sepratists from the Outer Rim inward – the war had ended shortly after the construction finished. The systems nearby were of no strategic value to the Empire anymore, so a token force and an old Venator Destroyer was posted, retired and forgotten.

As soon as they entered the system the local Imperial Commander had rushed to get the old ship back online – Mendax had done nothing to stop him – he would soon call her Mistress.

<<<<>>>>

Three flights of four Y-wings followed the X wing flights toward the hangar built beneath the lip of a natural rock cliff, atop the mountainous feature were the ruined craters of what were once turbo laser batteries, blasted by the X Wing and the Elinga now only odd pieces of metal and wire floated into the void.

“Stay tight, arm at 200 to target, Blue flight come round to cover,” Not that there were any enemy fighters to cover from, but Gingal would not let discipline slacken.

Their advance under the Master Jedi Mendax had been rapid, so many defectors they didn’t have the ships to house them – and still no word from the Alliance on additional ships to help their good work here.

It didn’t bother him, this was what the Rebels had done in the early days, making the most of enemy assets by capturing them. Once they had this Venator, they could get their new forces to the final destination the Master Jedi had targeted – the centre of Imperial control in the Sector – M’Tzigon.

<<<<>>>>

In close formation the somewhat clunky, frequently refitted Y Wings lit the ash grey sands of Oorous VII – Satellite 6 glacial blue with rapid repeating ion blasts against the cavern mouth, the batteries to the side hurled green fire in return, blasting one into an orange ball of crippled metal.

The concentrated fire was simply too much - within a minute of the attack run the hangar shield was flickering out and the emergency blast door descending, all the defensive platforms sputtering and cracking with ion discharge.

Pulling up from the attack run the Y Wings cut over head of the descending Raider 2 Corvette, its side panels opening, but in place of the usual TIE interceptors were mismatched forces – Rebel Shock Troops, Imperial Strom Troopers, Church of the Dark Side Flagellant Berserkers and Ex-Ruugs Raiders – their shadowed forms were lit blazing red by the Qixoni that one way or the other held them all in check, gripped tightly by the woman who had mastered it.

<<<<>>>>

Dust that had lain undistributed for decades flew up as the first boots hit the ground.

The ground quaked as the sparking ruin that was a turbolaser battery was ripped by eldritch powers off its foundation and into the careless void. With quick hand gestures the Rebel Shock Squad moved forward and tossed two stun grenades down the newly reveal maintenance ladder. Electric blue peeled over the sides as they jumped in followed quickly by Mendax herself.

She didn’t bother with the ladder, just dropping through the buildings faux gravity onto the decking beneath. The shock squad was already engaged by the Imperial Regulars, she’d sent them in first to capture more ‘recruits’ alive. Pressed to the walls they traded fire as she strode into the hall.

Such an obvious target was naturally pounded with E-11 fire – red bolts smacked into a deeper crimson blade with pinkish flares as Mendax inexorable march continued down the utilitarian tunnel. Rapid fire thoughts sent the ‘bucket head’s blocky helmets into the columns and beams they were covering behind, bloodying noses and swirling thoughts.

In moments she had overtaken the Rebel Shock squad leading the advance from the maintenance tunnels into the facility proper, pulling legs and thoughts from under the Storm Troopers.

There was a frustration to keeping them alive, all build up no climax – the peaking pain from her disorienting telekinetic strikes and the jittering twitches of the shock squads batons and stun cuffs – but not satisfying crunch in the Force as life fled.

Mendax determined she would have to attain a sense of ‘Finality’ another way.

Blast doors slammed before her, anti-intruder stasis fields lit up sickly electric yellow. The doors were torn apart by a flick of her hand, the fields overloaded with a burst of lighting from her fingertips.

She was barely paying attention to the pathetic attempts to stop her advance, more interested in ensuring her vassals were performing their tasks appropriately. Even at the height of her prior powers over Mellichae she never had this level of control and observation – the Qixoni crystal added a level of precision beyond anything she could achieve on her own.

From Misrum’s scheming and pandering to his Dark Dagger that increasingly twisted his thoughts, Orfa’s resentment that Mendax had used Ruug as her suicide bomber, even Nyders raging against the actions of her body in Mendax service, she saw it all as clear as a holo film in her mind’s eye.

As she slammed another four troopers to the ground and buffeted an officer over a rail down into a storage well, she knew Misrum had already seized the main power interchange but was delaying cutting the power in the hopes Orfa’s Raiders would take more losses. Orfa for her part had a secondary force stripping consoles for any scraps of data to sell on the side.

“Misrum cut the power,” Mendax seethed her voice carrying to his ears – she could see his scowl and tightening grip on the Dark Dagger – it was a dangerous thing he had found along with the Darkside fanatics in the deep core, but Mendax permitted it curious to see just what it would do to him.

The Lights died replaced by the orange energy glow rods as another hatch was torn away, before her the trasnparisteel wall that overlooked the docked Venator. The control room was empty, she gestured Nyder and the Rebel tech forward. They rapidly connected up the consoles to their battery packs and inserted the indent-cylinders from fallen officers to gain access.

“Status of the Stalwart?” Mendax demanded

“75% operational capacity…the inertial dampeners are still not fully functional, Tertiary drive engines inoperable,”

“The Hypermatter Annihilation Reactor?”

“Functional” Nyder replied the blue glow of the screens text zooming across her face

“But not necessarily stable, I wouldn’t try to jump to hyperspace with it.”

“Unacceptable, how long to repair,”

“We have to take the ship first Mistress…”

Nyder was not strong in the force but had an inkling enough to occasionally breech Mendax control – not completely but a snide remark here and there – Mendax feared clamping down would render Nyders mind too slurred to be of use. Still a little prick to remind her of who was Mistress.

“That is not your concern, begin determining a way to repair the reactor and dampeners….and get the comm online.”

Nyder nodded inwardly, reeling from form her Mistress dart of pain she continued the work getting the bases internal comms back on line.

“Imperial Commander,” Mendax pressed the whole of station comm

“You are surrounded and outnumbered - surrender and I may show you mercy and allow you to join the…”

Words slightly stuck in her throat
“Alliance to Restore the Republic,”

There was a long pause, the Venator below a silent block of durasteel and doonium from the outside – within Mendax could feel hundreds of Imperial personnel, left behind by their Emperor, even the Sectors Governor, to face a horde of Rebel ships, now their last desperate attempt to relaunch an ancient vessel and escape had floundered.

“Rebel Scum,” the response finally came Mendax eyes blazed as the Qixoni zeroed his presence amongst the trembling throng.

“We are not fooled by your lies, Even now the Emperor prepares to implement his final solution while the Rebels think him dead, You are the ones who will…ugrkkk..”

Even from here she could see his throbbing pulsing neck as the blood desperately tried to push past the artificial blockage in the artery.

Soon enough Mendax felt a little death, a micro climax to her day.

“Alliance Commander this is Lieutenant Nordas, offering our unconditional surrender….”

Finally someone intelligent Mendax smiled as she looked upon her new Star Destroyer, she had longed to say the name she had decided for it out loud ever since she learned of its existence.

“The Requiem….”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 21 - Homeward or Bound
Part 1

Delivery

The trip was…strange to say the least.

The Ships interior – or what little Arnor was allowed to see of it before being placed in a room dead to the force – had a blue-grey pallete with odd stone highlights, and frequent depictions of barely clothed women – always in threes – indented statues at the end of hallways, or hung in elaborate black frames – one might think it a strange art lovers home except for the hangar they had been rushed through full of Dark Trooper Mark IV’s.

Knowing just one of the things was just below a match for Kage Silman…seeing a vast cargo lift with 100 in a ten by ten standby mode vanish into the ships huge storage bays…Planets had been conquered with less firepower than those 100 droids, Maker knew how many the whole cargo hauler was carrying.

Once secured the Black guard left them alone they all let out a collective sigh. Their ‘cell’ was a hastily secured lounge area, with adjoining refresher and centre table covered in jugs of water and confectionary bars for them to eat with a disturbing note

‘Apologies for limited food - Our normal food is fatal to Outsiders’

“Maker what do these things eat…” Balnard shook his head reading the note

“I smelt some of their normal food once…” Talia explained, “It was…extremely rich, full of proteins, metals and sugars the girls are meta-humans…but I didn’t realise just how different they were…”

“It’s not your fault lass,” Chillum added suspecting Talia was feeling betrayed

“They tricked us all…”

“Did they?” Talia turned on him,

“Or did we – the Mak’Tor rarely tell anyone they are force users, it’s hypocritical to say they should’ve told me they were…and they weren’t the ones trying to steal things,”

Arnors eyes narrowed, had they done something to Talia to turn her.
“These are not trustworthy people,”

“And the Mak’Tor, conducting undercover missions on the basis of Karmacks bad feelings about Cha are?”

This didn’t sound like Talia…or perhaps not the Talia Arnor was used to, she’d been much more subdued since Illians death – perhaps this was a comeback.

“Talia, your friends are involved with some very dangerous Force Magicks, things that would’ve terrified Night Mother Talzin…Gethzerion herself wouldn’t touch that kind of deep Magick” Julwynn added – Arnor would speak to her later privately – if they go out of this – about exactly what these people were involved with.

“And we’re not, with ancient Crystals, Songs in the force…” She sighed and flopped into one of the genuine leather lounges.

“My point is maybe we are looking at this wrong…we’re more similar than different – both force users who don’t want the galaxy to know about it, both interested in force artefacts to protect ourselves and prevent our enemies from obtaining them – same goals but on opposite sides…” she paused looking at the cool white lights of the ceiling

“It’s misunderstandings like that which start wars.”

Their confinement was all but forgotten amidst the uncomfortable thoughts that now occupied their minds.

<<<<>>>>

She still had no idea what exactly was happening as she was shuttled with a handful of others out of system visitors to the Lunar base. There were no viewports to see just how extensive the lock down was.

Taken through the hangar to the brig she wondered how Ken was going to react to all this. He’d had his fill of this treatment with the Chiss, he should feel safe and welcomed on M’Tzigon…instead he’d been called a traitor.

Placed in a small but clean cell it was two hours before anyone visited her, an argument outside signalled her release.

“…still have the authority to debrief any prisoner,” the Knight behind the door argued with and officer backed by two guard.

“Ry’Lak?” the knight asked as the door slid open

“Yes sir,” she kept it formal
“I’m Koawan Da’Ne’Mas come to take you to the Mountain under my custody…” he glared at the indignant officer.

<<<<>>>>

“What’s happening?” she asked as they half ran toward the hangar before the Men at Arms changed their mind

“There was an attack on M’Tzigon, Maenowan Mack has been arrested and Martial Law has been declared. I spoke to Ken briefly, they’re holding him in maximum security, he told me to get you out first…”

Ry felt a slight smile spread that he’d thought of her freedom first, quickly dulled by concern for him.

Rounding into a smaller hangar a group of Knights waited for them before a few small transports,

“They’ll take you straight to the Kage…I’ll see what I can do to get Ken out…”

<<<<>>>>

Ry had met many intimidating figures, Ministers, Admirals – the Kage of the Mak’tor was not one of them contrary to what Ken had told her – perhaps having a mother and grandfather who were both Admirals inured her to the mystique or rank.

“Please sit,” the Zabrack looked slightly haggard, dark circles under his eyes

“I’m sorry to meet you in such circumstances….both Ken and Jorya spoke very highly of you...”

“Thank you, Ken also speak well of you Kage,” she note taking a seat

“Huh well…I trust Da’Ne told you what has been happening…”

“He did the other Knights told me about the attack…I’m sorry for your losses.”

“Thank you…” he finally stopped tapping a message on his comm to sit and look at her

“We’re still working on getting Ken out…General Cliff is determined to keep him off world…but that’s politics,”

He shifted somewhat uncomfortably as though sitting was at odds with the demand for action he felt.

“I asked Ken for a favour, to look into things on Csilla regarding the sale of Chiss technology for battle droids, did he tell you anything about it at all?”

“No he didn’t…Ken was…he’s been struggling lately,”

Silman nodded “I see…well thank you for…”

“But I have some information that might be helpful regarding not only Chiss technology but also the…thing…called Black Armour”

Silmans attention immediately perked up as she detailed what her grandfather had told her about the Chiss ‘open secret’ allies asking occasional questions regarding the nature of the CEDF and its operations to understand how they would fit.

“…The more I reflect on it the more sense it makes” Ry explained “the Chiss have beaten a number of force sensitive races, notably the Kiliks but never had any force sensitive corps of their own,”

“Kiliks?” Silman probed

“Uhh…insectoid sentients that use a telepathic ability to make people ‘join’ them…the first houses they encountered were pulled right in…but then it suddenly stopped – I mean abruptly, and the war that followed…I studied it in the Academy but on reflection some of the campaign details don’t bear close scrutiny,”

Silman had an inkling in the force
“Such as”

“Some of the Orbital Drop Shock Troop missions seemed…incredible…teams of 10 men destroying planetary shields and turbo laser batteries, it sounded like Chiss heroics – but the Kiliks we’re highly co-ordinated with a Hive mind…A Hive Legion of 3000 shouldn’t scatter into a rout to be cut down by 50 marines”
“But someone…or many Somethings…like Black Armour could….very insightful…”
He sighed heavily wiping his hands over his eyes in a sign of fatigue

“Any other time I’d love to hear more about that particular war…but…no that is useful…knowing the Sons are getting their Charric weapons through these ‘allies’…though I can’t see why the Chiss would allow it…”

“The Chiss…” she paused even after leaving the Ascendancy there was an ingrained desire not to talk about certain things

“Wouldn’t care about the Sons…but they care about the Hutts and Crime syndicates – sometimes they start probing the border regions, if they’re tied up fighting the Sons they’re not expanding.”

Again Silman was impressed and struck on an idea

“Could there be a link…between these Allies and the Dark Troopers…”

“I don’t know…Chiss circuitry is certainly well beyond simple Charric rifles if that is what it is…I could have a look.”

Silman grabbed his comm in a frantic burst

“Tel’Owna…I know you were having trouble analysing those droids…well I’m sitting right across from someone who might be able to crack the code.”

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

Cliffs foot tapped of its own accord as light freighter descended – he had made sure to expedite Cha’s Cargo Hauler passing through the system blockade by signing it in as a ‘Critical Ally’ – he wanted no delay in getting the new Mark IV’s.

As the gas exchangers hissed out carbon dioxide the ramp descended, Cha with his winning grin descended and behind him…

“Mack…bloody Mack…” Cliff hissed under his breath.

“General my friend, I have your droids…once we sign some paper work…and some of your friends…there was an unfortunate incident on Canto Bight…” Cha handed him two folders, one stamped with the Great Seal of the Canto Bight Independent system, the other the documents to lease the extra droids.

As Cliff’s eyes scanned over the Diplomatic Minute signed by the High Justice of Canto Bight his foot all but tapped through the sole of his boot.

A Mak’Tor infiltration force arrested – attempted theft and murder, hacking of a Casino’s security system…A formal caution that any further operations on Canto Bight by M’Tzigon would be viewed as an act of aggression and result in them being Blacklisted across every single Industrial and Commercial Trade organisation Canto Bight was a member of – M’Tzigon wouldn’t be able to buy a depleted Clone wars power pack from a Toydarian junk dealer if they were blacklisted….

And jail sentences remitted by Aertemis Industries costing…70 million credits!

“Maker…I…” He bit back what he really wanted to say to Arnor Mack

“My sincere apologies, on behalf of the M’Tzigon Government, for all offences against your company and staff…I assure you we will fully repay all costs incurred…”

Cha’s smile was greasy

“Not at all General, Vice President Vesi has impressed upon me we are not to hold this incident against you, but to turn over Mrs. Mack and the others to your custody.”

Cliff nodded to the Major who having overheard quickly had the Sword of Light squad surround Arnor and the others to take them away

“Put them in isolation, three droids,” he ordered – now Cha had brought more droids he could spare some to keep watch on another rogue Mack returned from spreading chaos across the galaxy.

“A moment in private General…” Cha gestured, Cliff felt just like a green recruit about to get lectured…he steeled himself, this admonishment knowing it was for the Mak’Tor and not him personally.

“Aertemis industries is very displeased about these actions against our staff and property, however we are willing to overlook it for now…but should anything like this occur again…”

They would be more than blacklisted – they would be anathematized as a trading partner for generations…

Bloody Macks…

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 21 - Homeward or Bound
Part 2

“It’s…Chiss but…” The images flickered across Ry’s gaze, half stolen from the Men At Arms who were struggling to program the Dark Trooper Mark IV to recognise friend and foe.

“…Different – I can’t really make out some of the connections…there aren’t sharp junctions, it’s more curved, rounded…almost feminine …”

“Feminine?”

“Artefact Psycho-Analysis…an old Chiss concept - learn about your enemy from their art and architecture…”

We could use some of those Chiss insights…if you’re free to share…” Tel’Owna noted

“Happily…” an odd readout on the schematics caught Ry’s eye

“That’s…interesting…” Zooming in she tried to determine was it was…

“Within the torso…that component…”

“Yes…we can’t work out what it does…”

“With scanning equipment like this you wouldn’t…it doesn’t do anything for the droids movement or control…” she zoomed back out to not the size and shape

“This is why your Kage couldn’t hit the thing with the force as hard as he should have.”

Flicking to a second screen she brought up and image of one of the Oblivion Marbles Karmack had found on Dantooine.

“Those Droids have hearts of Oblivion….”

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

His brow was drenched in sweat that also stained his singlet. The mountains rose majestically around the base, the deep colours of the rocks contrasting with the bright blue of the clear morning air and the brilliant white of glacial ice. Even in the summer the morning air had a crispness to it that Cliff loved. Too bad a morning run was the only way he could enjoy it... Cliff had to keep fit, physically and mentally especially now. Three laps around the perimeter of the Base took just over an hour, all he could unfortunately spare.

Turning back into the hangar he slowed to a light jog heading toward the barracks for a stretch down. Most of the new Mark IV’s had already been unloaded with the speed and professionalism he expected, and were now with the techs who were still having trouble with friend-or-foe identifiers. The transports were mainly gone, the hanger standing empty, but one Aertemis industries Transport was still there, a single figure loading spare power packs two at a time onto a grav pallet that trembled with each one he put on.

“Want a hand?” Cliff called out, he could use some upper body work...

“Sure…careful they’re a bit heavy,”

Well if he could take two surely Cliff could…

“Maker!” he almost toppled before righting himself “This has to be nearly 50 kilo’s”

“Yeah…” the employee said again lifting one in each hand, he had short ashen brown hair, a slightly pitiless serious face, handsome if he smiled.

“You get used to it.”

“Must keep you fit,” Cliff hauled one onto the palette

“A little…”

Cliff looked him over, he had solid, muscular figure but not overly bulky, a well-rounded soldier’s profile, his speed of movement and precision had a military look.

“You in the forces, Navy before this job?” Cliff asked heaving some more packs.

“That’s right, still in the planetary militia,”

Cliff could always spot a soldier

“Where did you serve, Empire?”

“CEDF – Chiss – ODST,”

Chiss was unusual…but given the Chiss tech in the Mark IV’s used not surprising.

“Orbital drop shock troop, that’s a tough posting,” ODST’s were often the first in last out in a warzone, sent to secure vital sites before a larger invasion force, or hit key targets – but getting to those targets - dropping in from space in single occupant Exoatmospheric insertion pod was even more dangerous, slightest miscalculation and you could burn up or get knocked off course. It certainly explained his physical fitness though.

“How long?”

“Oh a while…but…too much time away from the family…”

“I know the feeling…” Cliff had barely spoken to his children or wife since Orbital 3.

“It’s what you’re out there for…but…ah you know the feeling…so here I am,” the worker went on, and Cliff did, everything he was doing was to protect them, yet it so often took him away from them. Never more than now.

Cliff slapped the last power pack on the hauler, his arms sagging down straight after – he’d pay for that for a week.

“Thanks for the help, take care of yourself,” he clapped cliff on the shoulder, his hand heavier than it should be

“And take care of the people you’re fighting for,”

Cliff nodded feeling oddly humbled as though this much younger man was far wiser than he was.

They finished with a hand shake and Cliff headed for a shower, wishing he had more men like that in the Men at Arms, and determined to talk to his children before he went back to the chaos.

<<<<>>>>

M'Tzigon - Temple Precinct - Mar'Shall neighborhood

Karmack stretched and padded over to the 'fridge. The regenerative power of the crystal allowed him to spend a LOT more time in meditation than in the past, but he knew that eventually fatigue would catch up to him. And he still got hungry...

Karmack selected a cold mocha caf from the door niche, and then on reflection grabbed the second half of the sandwich he'd constructed the night before. Gulping down the cold cuts, cheese and veggies trapped between two slices of locally baked bread Karmack paced around the open-plan living area and reflected on the fruit of his 20-hour long meditation.

Or more correctly: the lack of fruit.

"Why did they have to use Chiss electronics..." he muttered, shaking his head in frustration. For nearly a full day he'd been examining the structure of the nearest battle droid in the force, and while he'd learned quite a bit about how it was laid out internally, he was no closer to tracing its circuitry out now than he had been at the start.

What he HAD traced out were the internal structures, which included reinforcement from what Cha had called "Phrik" in his sales pitch but which felt very much like the black, super-dense stone Zearic had dubbed "Oblivion". Whatever it was, the substance was extremely dense and it seemed to absorb force energy. Where he could move with full freedom and near imputinty through most materials during meditation, following the flows of the force, with these machines it was more like walking through knee-deep mud in pea soup fog. It was slow, slippery, you couldn't see very well, and exhausting. Without the power of the crystal and the new perception motifs he'd learned, Karmack doubted he would have been able to discern anything at all.

He finished the sandwich and carried his caf over to the window, looking out into the gathering darkness. The hulk of one of the quad of droids Cliff had dispatched was visible, maintaining its silent vigil over him. Well, big guy, a quick and painless death is out. So I guess we'll have to do it the hard way...

Karmack glanced around the quiet neighborhood streets. He would need to draw them away from the homes, minimize the chances of collateral damage. But there would still be some. I need to get a message to Silman ... have the neighborhood evacuated.

Karmack finished the caf and padded toward the master bedroom. A shower, some sleep ... and then he'd see how good his stealth techniques were. For a moment loneliness threatened to overwhelm him. He paused in the doorway of their bedroom, his eyes catching his wife's dresser and undisturbed closet. Maker, I miss her! I wish she were here with me... At an impulse he gathered the force to him and sang along their connection, weaving a melody for her into the song.

She was near, yet held back ... Karm couldn't speak to her telepathically across their bond but he could get a general sense of emotions and broad concepts. Beneath the joy to feel her husbands touch Arnor closed her eyes to try and communicate a sense of where she was, confined but safe, disappointment at things recently past, and worry about where it was all heading.

Karmack tried to reply with soothing melodies, but couldn’t hide his own concerns. The rhythms, melodies and harmonies of the song were gathering tempo, the themes and motifs building and melding, working their way toward - not a harmony, but a fugue - a rising crescendo of interlocking, reinforcing structure who's motions he couldn't predict. The only stability seemed to be the strong and steady rhythm between the two of them.

Everything else, every other melody and harmony, was bound up in the towering, growing uncertainty.

At the edge of the whorl a familiar yet new drumming beat entered his senses…it’s familiarity irritated like the tune to a song whose words you can’t remember…only as it closed rapidly did Karm finally recognise it….
Zearic?

<<<<>>>>

Zearic

Dualisms Soul rippled through the faux-reality of hyperspace at the edge of the system – but even before they reverted to sub-light movement both Zearic and Jim had sensed it.

A tension, like a tightly wound spring about to explode needing only the slightest breath of wind to trigger it.

“What has happened here?” Jaim queried to no one in particular.

“Mendax…” Zearic seethed the Nocte in his grip. Jaim cast concerned eyes over that dagger – the previous one the Tenebris was bad enough stoking Zearics fears…his one seemed to…consume…Zearics emotions and reflect them back. Added to the still unexplained regeneration of limbs and eye…

Jaim was determined to get the best Gray Singer he could to look his friend over once they reached M’Tzigon…though as they approached Jaim realised it may come too late.

<<<<>>>>

Zearic had never had such a cold welcome to M’Tzigon before. Getting through the blockade was hard enough – fortunately his access pass and permission to carry weapons was still valid, even so they had been escorted to the Mountain by ARC-170s.

The Mak’tor central hangar usually so full and alive was all but deserted except for the Kage himself.

Silman did a double take when he saw…and felt the Vhal’Dan approach – he had oft times sparred with the Vhal’Dan and knew Zearic Vih’Torr enough to know this was Zearic – but also enough to know this was also not Zearic.

“Kage Lo well met, may I introduce Jaim Monocerous, Maenowan of the Vhal’Dan,”

Silman nodded and took the firm hand

“You are most welcome here Maenowan, I apologise for the difficulties in getting you here, things have deteriorated, I’m afraid that,”

“I know about Mendax,” Zearic interrupted steel in his tome

“Tell me what she’s done…”

Even as Silman related recent events of the suicide attack, Karmacks house Arrest, Arnor’s internment after the disaster on Canto Bite, Silman suspected Zearic had his own story to tell, not the least of which would involve the where he came across thinner but even more vicious looking dagger on his belt that had taken the place of the Tenebris Pugione.

“…and when Ken’in’ah’Mack arrived he was detained on the Lunar Base, Ry’lak we managed to get out…she’s not a Mack after all, she had some interesting stories to tell from Csilla relating to the thing known as Black Armour.”

Zearic stopped dead on the walk to the office suddenly primed.

“What did she discover?” he said far more forcefully than he intended, in an almost…interrogative…tone

“That beings like them are allied to the Chiss, have been for centuries,” Silmans tone was steady and factual.

“It explains Chiss success…” Jaim noted “they’ve expanded into the unknown regions for centuries without defeat, Sekot has had to move a number of times to avoid their advance…we always wondered how they were so successful – after seeing that Black Armour thing…”

“You saw it?” Silman was now the one intense in his questioning

“We were after details on the Tenebris Pugione and the various ‘oblivion’ orbs Karmack found on Dantooine, traced it to a mining world in the Deep Core, turned up in the middle of a slave revolt lead by the Sons of Kessel, that thing was with them – we didn’t see much, but enough to know a dozen of them could turn the tide of a war,” Jaim explained oblivious to the historical import of his words.

Zearic remained unusually silent as Jaim narrated in more detail their journey to the Deep Core as they reached the Kages office – not sparing the details of Zearics remarkable recovery.

“…and then Zearic showed up and we held them off long enough for the Sons re-enforcements to reach us…speaking of Kage I think we would both benefit from the ministrations of a Gray Singer if there are any available?”

“I’m sure we can arrange…” Silman began

“No…” Zearic interrupted, “I need to speak with Karmack, without any delay…”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 22: Statesmen and Warlords
Part 1

M'Tzigon - Council of Balance Chamber - The Archive

"So, Silman, is this what your great "Wilberforce" has come to?" Master of Blades L'Gan'Zane thundered from her seat. The smart wall behind her displayed imagry from the charred remains of Coopersville as well as the spreading debris field that used to be Orbit 3. "We survived nearly fourty years of Imperial Tyranny and civil war with little or no damage, but in a year of..."

"Three years, actually." Silman interrupted, the calmness of his voice in conflict with the flashing of his eyes. "Plus an additional two if you count the preliminary intelligence gathering operations. All done with the full knowledge and support of this council."

"So you blame us?" J'Nor'Kroven, Master of Balance, managed to keep her voice as level as the Kage's. "We supported you because we thought it was covert and in-house! Knights, with healers in support in a passive intelligence gathering role! We never expected you to deploy half the navy in support of it!"

"Calmly, Masters, calmly." Ju'Li'Lus, Master Healer and final member of the council in attendance, tried to settle his friends. He flooded the room with a calming motif even as he spoke, and unlike the rest his eyes and emotions were as calm and placid as his voice. "First, Silman is right, we knew what he was up to, in general if not all the details, and if you read the reports that were filed everything is laid out in detail."

"In the fine print, perhaps..." J'Nor fired back. "With everything heating up, who had time to read it all?"

Julius only arced his eyebrows in response.

Silman jumped into the gap. "Masters, this is neither here nor there. For good or ill President Alvarez has declared Martial Law with the support of the Assembly. Under the provisions of the 7th Amendment the duties of Minister of Defense devolve to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff so that the Kage may be free to lead the Knights."

Silman paused, his face working slightly as his eyes flashed. "What no one expected was the unilateral action General Cliff has taken against Meanowan Ka'A'Mack specifically as well as the Mack clan as a whole. We must respond to this..."

"Respond? You could try apologizing and supporting Cliff. At least he seems willing to defend this planet!" J'Nor snapped. "This ... Wilberforce fiasco ... is bad enough. But then we get word that a team of two Knights and three agents were taken by Casino security on Canto Bite trying to steal the holocron of a Jedi who is more fantasy than fact!"

“I have full assurances from Meanowan Karmack that the Jedi Soryu was in fact very real.” Silman replied quietly, bracing himself mentally for the response even as he said it.

“Oh Karmack says he’s real! No doubt Odjina told him himself.” J’Nor’s face was the dictionary definition of incredulity, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I must admit…...” Ju’Li’Lus broke in “...some of the reported events on Vyth stretch credulity at first glance. No doubt Karmack has gained a new level of understanding of the Ancient One, but speaking to Odjina himself and then surviving a thought bomb?”

Silman was about to reply when he suddenly realized that it did sound, on face value utterly unbelievable. "I know it sounds improbable, but Cliff's response is reasonable?

You would have me support Cliff by rounding up Clan Mack and confining them all? We all read Master Karmack's report. Whatever else happened, he was ambushed on Vyth. He sought no confrontation there..."

"No, but it sure sought HIM there. Why?" L'Gan asked quietly, pinning Silman with piercing eyes. "What drew Mendax to him there? How did she even know he was there? And why does Cliff have four of those new battle droids stationed around his home?"

"I ... don't know." Silman replied. "Cliff hasn't shared his reasoning with me..."

"Karmack threatening to kill Cliff wouldn't have something to do with it, would it?" J'Nor continued.

"What? He did no such thing!" Silman snapped back. "Their conversation apparently became heated but..."

"But nothing, Silman! I know Karmack is your friend, but he's also a powerful Knight. With this new insight he's gained into the Ancient One that power is down-right scary! And if his abilities disturb me, imagine how they are viewed by Cliff! He turned a man into a statue without even a glance! I can't do that. Du'An can't do that. You can't do that. And he's not exactly one to follow rules. At best, the man is a loose cannon of the highest caliber. At worst..." J'Nor left the statement hanging, allowing each of the other council members to finish it with their own personal worst nightmare. Even Silman, long Karmack's friend, looked shaken as he thought through a worst-case scenario.

"OK ... Let me talk to Cliff. We can request that Karmack be ... removed from the equasion, in return for lifting his vendetta against the rest of his Clan. That should reduce friction between the Knights and the Men-At-Arms and allow us all to get past this internal squabble and focus on the main goal of securing the planet." Silman looked around the room, saw ascent in the eyes of L'Gan and J'Nor.

Julius, however, looked troubled. "Master Healer, are we agreed?"

"So its to be exile then?" Ju'Li'Lus asked in reply.

"No, not exile. I ... have a mission for him. One that will likely take him some time to complete." Kage Lo replied. "And with a little luck, by the time he returns this will all be a distant memory." He sat straighter. "Is the Council in agreement?"

"Aye"
"Aye"
"Aye"

M'Tzigon, Sierra, Men-At-Arms HQ

"...so that takes care of force coordination." Cliff made a few notes and handed the data padd back across the conference table to Kage Lo. "The Knight's command center in the Temple is fully integrated into the planetary net. Having your Knights assume responsiblity for the M'Skigon Province and the adjacent vales will greatly shorten the lines the Men-At-Arms need to hold around the Avron vale and the M'Ar'Quette."

Silman glanced at the padd, which had the frequencies and keys for their communications. "Thank you, General." He watched as Cliff shifted, eager to finish his business with his former boss and return to other matters. "Before I go there is one other matter I wished to discuss with you..."

"No." Cliff's voice was flat, his eyes flint.

Cliff kept his face and voice neutral. "No ... what?"

"No, I will not release Meanowan Karmack from house arrest." Cliff spat it out, his anger rising.

Silman sat back, crossing his legs and adopting a relaxed pose. "I never expected you would, General. I don't agree with you, but I understand your reasons for confining him." He glanced down at the padd again before continuing. "No, I am more concerned with your action against the rest of the Mack clan."

Cliff forced himself to relax in his chair. "What of it, Kage Lo?"

Silman leaned forward now. "General, it is both unjust and unfair! How can you hold an entire clan responsible for the actions of one man..."

"One man?" Cliff cut the Zabrek off. With a few deft key-strokes he transferred another set of files to Silman's padd. "That's the report from Canto Bite. Note the charges! Attempted murder ... assault ... attempted rape ... sexual assault ... grand theft ... It reads like a wrap-sheet from a Nar Shadda gang-banger!" Cliff didn't even bother to hide the contempt in his voice. "And everyone in this list - every single person, Silman - is tied to your 'super wizard'."

Silman suppressed his own anger, using the time it took to open the files and scan them to make sure he had his own emotions fully under control. "I would like to debrief Koawan Arnor's team, to ascertain the veracity of..."

Cliff's hand slammed down on his desk with a crack like a rifle shot. "No! Silman, don't you get it? These people lied to you, they lied to me, and they're well on their way to drawing this planet into a full-scale war with enemies unknown while simultaneously threatening access to the one viable force-multiplier available to us! You're lucky they're ONLY locked up in a cell!"

Cliff clenched his jaw. "Very well, General. Confine Karmack if you must. Ar'Nor'Mack and Du'An'Chillum for certain. But ordering every member of Clan Mack to disarm and stand down? Now? This is unacceptable."

Cliff sat back, a sour look on his face. "Bloody Macks..." He sighed, and his flinty eyes softened ever so slightly. "Very well, Kage Lo, I will ... take it under advisement. In the mean time, those members of Clan Mack who are not part of Meanowan Ka'A'Mack's immediate family may retain their weapons and positions within M'Skigon."

Silman Lo rose and extended his hand, which Cliff took. "Thank you, General."

"Of course, Kage. Just keep those bloody Macks under control," Elax Cliff's smile was meant to take the sting out of the comment, but his eyes were again flint. "Or I will."

The Kage returned his smile - and the flinty gaze. Both men maintained the vinere of civility over a core of hostility, willing to pretend to get the job done.

"Understood. I'll have Danny run a communications check with your staff when I return."

"Excellent! I'll tell Colonel Ta'Re know so she will be expecting Knight Da'Ne's call."

Cliff watched the Zabrek Knight turn and leave, counting to five before he dropped the fake smile from his face. He depressed a button on his desk comm. "Colonel Ta'Re, can I see you for a moment?"

"On the way, sir." came the immediate response. Moments later the Militia Colonel was standing in his office. "Sir?"

Cliff leaned back, arms crossed. "Expect a call from Kowan Da'Ne, he'll be setting up a comm check between the Knight HQ in M'Skigon and CIC."

Ta'Re nodded, making notes on her own padd. "Very good, sir. Anything else?"

Cliff made a face. "Yes ... send the modification we discussed to General Order Two-fourty-four." The General sagged back in his chair. "Whatever else, the Kage is right ... damn him and his wizards!"

Colonel Ta'Re only nodded. "Yessir. Any modification to two-fourty-two or three?"

The General turned to look out the window at a Militia formation training hard. "No. No other changes."

"Dismissed."

Chapter 22: Statesmen and Warlords
Part 2

M'Tzigon System, Deep System Patrol

Jan'a was reaching up to shut down her computer for the night when the admittance chime sounded. With a sigh she stopped, leaning back wearily. "Enter."

The door whisked open to reveal the face of Master Sargent Ram'Ond'Blake. Blackie (as he was known to the Marines aboard the ship) had inherited the position of senior NCO in the small and still depleted company of Marines aboard the Hornet when To'Mas'Crin was killed in action during a raid in the Magatesso System. Since then he'd acted as Jan'a's XO and 2nd platoon leader as well as the unit's senior non-commissioned officer. Normally the big man would have accompanied his interruption with a sheepish look, but today his face was blank - and his eyes troubled. "Ma'am, we just decoded new messages from central. You ... need to see this."

Jan'a sat up straighter, opening herself to the force. The humming tension ringing in the song from the Sargent immediately assaulted her senses and injected a sense of urgency into her mood that had been missing. She waved him into a seat as she pulled up the latest message traffic. "HQ ... Three new general orders... 242, 243 and 244(m)..."

She opened the first and started reading, a knot of dread slowly growing in the pit of her stomach. "General orders to all fleet units ... integrated Mak'Tor Knights are relieved of duty ... stripped of official rank ... transported to Lunar 3 for debrief and eventual transport to the Temple..." With growing dread she closed the first and opened the second. "To all fleet units ... all members of the Mak'Tor clan Mack are relieved of duty ... transported to Lunar 3 for debrief and re-assignment to M'Skigon Militia units..." She closed it and moved her pointer, hovering over the last, not sure she wanted to open it. With a deep breath she set her jaw and clicked, opening 244(m). "General order to all Men-At-Arms... All appended members of the Mack clan are hereby relieved of all duties, stripped of all rank, and are to be transported to Lunar 3 for immediate interment..."

Jen'a opened the attachment and saw that Major El'Lynn'Mack was included in the short list of what appeared to be the immediate family of Meanowan Ka'A'Mack. She sat back, not wanting to believe what she was reading. Command - General Cliff, as the acting Minister of Defense he was the only one with the authority to issue fleet-wide general orders - was separating the Knights and members of the Mack clan specifically from general duty and deployment, segregating them for duty with the M'Skigon Militia only. In addition the Knights weren't just being re-assigned - they were being stripped of all rank and unceremoniously returned to the Order, like so many unwanted temporary employees!

Jan'a pushed her shock and emotions down and turned toward her second. "You've read these?"

"Yes, ma'am." Blackie replied, his deep voice grave.

Jan'a tensed. "So ... what are your intentions?"

Blackie blinked. "I intend, ma'am, to follow your orders." His face softened. "I'm a Marine, ma'am, and as far as I'm concerned, so are you. You've led us through fire and blood, and this..." he thrust his chin toward the screen "...is bantha poodo. If you'll pardon the expression, ma'am."

Jan'a read the sincerity in his eyes and felt the tension in the song drop as he spoke. The knot in her stomach loosened just a bit, but the situation was still serious.

"Thank you, Blackie, for the support. Unfortunately, I'm not the Captain." She rose, her hand unconsciously brushing her saber hilt as she did so to make sure it was where it belonged. "Lets go find out if he's on board with our little rebellion, eh?"

*****

The conference room felt crowded. At the head of the table sat the Captain. Tellingly, Major El'Lynn'Mack, his XO, maintained her normal position immediately to his right. To his left sat Major B'Lain'Throwd, commander of VF-2, the "Jokers" and the Commander, Air Group (CAG) on the Hornet. With him was his own XO, Flight Lieutenant Jace'N'Cam. Across from Jace sat Jan'a, with Sgt Blake at her side. Master Healer K'Lain rounded out the group, seated at the foot of the table opposite the Captain. Each had a copy of the new General Orders on-screen before them.

"So, you all know why we're here. The question is, what are we gong to do about it?"

B'Lain gave Jan'a a bleak look. "Well, Captain, I'm not sure what options we really have. Master Healer K'Lain doesn't hold official rank and he isn't a Knight, so we can probably ignore them in his case, but as far as Jan'a and the Major are concerned..." He shrugged. "I don't like it, but I don't see where we have a choice but to comply."

"There's always a choice, Major." K'Lain replied. "There are orders, and there are orders. If I remember my studies, however, there are certain steps that must be taken before an officer can be relieved of duty ... or stripped of rank." He cast a friendly look at El'Lynn, who sat cross-armed and defiant next to the Captain. "These orders do neither, and are therefore illegal, exceeding the authority even of the acting Secretary of Defense." K'Lain turned back to B'Lain with a wry grin. "And you're wrong, Major. I am a Knight. I haven't been active in some time, but I retain the rank of Koawan in the Mak'Tor order."

"So ... if we follow these orders, we lose our XO, our Marine commander, and our ship's doctor. Nath sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hands folded in front of him. "I find this to be ... unacceptable." He looked at B'Lain, his face a mask. "However, I also see no alternative but to comply."

"What?!?" El'Lynn exploded to her feet. "How could you? You know this is an illegal order! It's bad enough being related to him, but to have him destroy my career..."

"Sit down, Major!" Nath's voice was calm but it carried a note of authority that brokered no argument or disobedience. "I said we had to comply. I didn't say how quickly."

El'Lynn sat, her eyes uncomprehending. "Sir?"

"We are on a deep system patrol. I imagine it will be some time before we're in a position to ferry anyone to Lunar 3. Hopefully by the time we are in position this will have passed. If not, we'll make the proper protests and file the proper paperwork to stall while we figure out how to fix it. In the mean time, nothing on this ship changes." His eyes moved from person to person as he spoke. "You're still my XO ... and you're still my Marine company commander ... and my ship's doctor. Understood?

Slowly all heads around the table nodded, and Jan'a managed to suppress a shuddering sigh as the knot of anxiety in her belly dissipated fully. Whatever craziness was happening elsewhere, the Captain had their backs.

The Jokers were wild...

*****

Captain Nath watched his officers leave the briefing room and inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. He'd been worried that the orders would tear his crew apart at the seams. Instead, his "solution" seemed to have had the opposite effect. They were bonded together, all Jokers in a stacked deck, facing the world...

El'Lynn reached the door, paused and closed it without stepping out. She turned, her eyes troubled. "Sir, may I ... have a word?"

"Certainly." Er'Wyn waved her into the chair. "Caf?"

"No, thank you." The Major sat stiffly, her back straight and her hands folded together on the table in front of her. "Sir I ..."

"Spit it out, Ellen." Nath grated. "No sense in prolonging the agony."

"Yessir." She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Sir, there's ... a disturbance in the force. A massive one. Something bad is coming. Soon."

Nath sat his own mug down and grinned. "I thought you didn't go in for all that 'wizards and warlocks' stuff, Major."

"I don't, sir. I've never been a fan of my cousin or his methods. But in this case..." She turned and looked at the bulkhead, her eyes opaque, seeing something only she could see. "I'm no singer, but I'm strong in the force. Stronger than most Knights. I left the Squire program because I didn't want to be a second-string..." She stopped, sighed, focused back on Nath. "I hate being in his shadow. I'm as strong in the force as he is, he's said as much, but without the ability to sing..." She shook her head. "But Master Karmack is right, sir. There's a storm coming, and based on what I'm feeling in the force, its almost here."

Nath leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I understand. So, are we talking weeks? Days?"

El'Lynn swallowed and shook her head. "More like hours."

Chapter 22: Statesmen and Warlords
Part 3

M'Tzigon - Temple Precinct - Mar'Shall neighborhood

The massive sentinel twitched, its attention drawn to a swirl of disturbed leaves. Optical sensors zoomed in, augmented by thermal imagers. Magnetic resonance scanners and EM detectors focused on the area as well, probing the swirl of disturbed air on to find....

....a small chipmunk, which stopped dead in the dry leaves again as it sensed the movement of the Dark Trooper's massive head. For long seconds the two stared at each other: One cataloging the small woodland creature, measuring its temperature and noting the rapid heart rate, increased respiration and hormone release consistent with a fear-induced fight-or-flight reaction while the other simply froze for long seconds, temporarily paralyzed by abject terror.

[ THE CREATURE WILL RUN ] the Dark Trooper concluded, micro-seconds before the chipmunk did in fact break and run, scrambling to get back into cover.

[ NO THREAT - PERIMETER SECURE ] The droid stated on the tactical link it shared with its three companions. Satisfied, the four returned to their standard perimeter scan.

In the doorway of Karmack's residence, a shadow rippled the air slightly ... and smiled ...

***

Karmack relaxed as Zearic maneuvered through the narrow streets and alleys to reach his home. They'd had a brief conversation via HD after his initial talk with Silman, insisting that he needed to see him ASAP. Zearic's stealth skills were very, very good, and if Karmack couldn't truly get into the programming of the droids he could certainly summon a small disturbance ... and the odd chipmunk.

He smiled as Zearic Vih'Torr slipped into the room. The Meanowan had grown since he'd seem him last... Literally, as it turned out. Karmack was already aware of the healing Zearic had undergone in the deep core. He had no details, but Silman had passed on the highlights he'd learned from the returning Vhal'Dan Knights. The physical changes were obvious to anyone - it wasn't every day that someone literally grew new limbs - but the deeper changes... As Karmack gripped his hand he could feel the minor notes that had inflitrated his song, giving the normally cheerful Meanowan's melody a somber undertone. "Zearic! Welcome, my friend. I'd invite you out ont the patio to enjoy the air but..."

Zearic chuckled. "I understand. We've all heard the stories about your Kage's fight with just one of those monsters. Four seems to be overkill..." The big man's eyes twinkled as he studied Karmack for his reaction. For his part, Karmack looked toward the titan nearest his home ... and let a small, deadly smile play across his lips.

Zearic's smile lit his face. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Karmack opened the fresher and grabbed two bottles containing a dark cola chilled nearly to the point of freezing. He tossed one gently to Zearic, who caught it while using the force to keep the carbonation from an explosive escape as he removed the crimped lid. "Thank you. Even with the 'Buried Presence' techniques its a long walk up a steep hill to get here."

"Unfortunately Cliff's sentinels out there have denied anyone who wants to visit any easier path." Karmack took a long pull on his own bottle, studying his friend. "Zearic, you look well. Better, frankly, than I expected."

Zearic held up the bottle with his restored right hand. "This ... is not important. Mendax is. We must find her and destroy her."

Karmack kept his face impassive as he studied his friend. He'd known from Silman's call that he'd been restored physically, but seeing it with his own eyes, feeling it in the force... It was strange. Since they'd first met Zearic had been without an arm and an eye. Now, he was ... whole. No, more than whole. He was utterly fit, in perfect health, and his presence in the force was ... stronger. Not just more powerful, but sharper. Like when he'd fine-tuned the Ancient One... "Not important? Your body is healthy - you're healthier than you've been since I met you - but you've changed. You know it, and you know that I know it." Karmack set his bottle down and perched on the arm of the couch. "Your native force ability has been augmented..."

How could he possibly know that? Zearic's eyes narrowed, his arms crossed as he turned to face his friend. "Its not important; Mendax is. Our focus must remain on her."

Karmack was undeterred. "Come on Zearic! I'm a singer. Your song has always been clear, but it was often ... of lower volume, shall we say? But now its like a beacon in the force, as strong as D'Aylanna, or Silman ... or mine." Karmack grinned. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed! I'm just curious as to how all of this happened?"

Zearic squelched his anger, felt the pull of the nocte as it harvested the emotion. His hand dropped unconsciously to touch it as he took another drink from the frosted bottle. He exhaled explosively at the end. "Good cola... Look, Karm, its not... Yes, I've noticed. I hear you've added some tricks to your kit bag as well?"

"Now THAT'S a loaded question..." Karmack replied. His eyes fell to the dagger Zearic continued to touch. Not the Tenebris as he'd assumed, but slimmer and even more deadly looking. Made for a human hand... In the hopes that it would help Zearic open up he gave his friend a quick run-down on his interactions with Odjina's ghost, and how they had ended.

Zearic's face and eyes had hardened by the end of the tale. "So, there's no doubt?"

Karmack shook his head. "None. She's alive, and stronger than ever." Karmack fixed his eyes on Zearic. "I needed to be sure, so I went to Geonosis on my way back from Vyth. I just wanted to verify whether she was still buried there or not ... but instead I found myself observing two figures in black armor, surveying the site of our battle. They were using one of those orbs to record what had happened, and when they came across Mendax..." Karmack finished his drink, his mouth dry at the memory. "They ... retrieved her remains. It had to have been they who reanimated her."

"But ... why? Why would they do something like that?" Zearic nearly whispered. His eyes were fixed on something only he could see. She left you for a reason...

Karmack's forehead crinkled as he sensed Zearic's emotional shift. "According to the larger one, they did it as a rescue. He even quoted the Book of the Way to me..."

Zearic's eyes widened. "Wait, what? You spoke with him?"

Karmack nodded. "I didn't realized we were actually in phase until he spoke to me. Scared me half to death..."

"What did he say?"

Karmack swallowed. He considered prevaricating ... but decided against it. Truth, Karm, always the truth... "He ... offered me a deal. He would eliminate Mendax ... if I would give him a copy of the Ancient One."

Zearic blinked. "A copy? All he wanted was a copy? Why didn't you give it to him?"

Karmack was taken aback. "Give it to him? Zearic, the man's people resurrected a Sith Lord. You've seen their power first hand. Another of these Armored monsters ripped memories from Ken's mind as if he were tearing pages out of a book! Beings capable of that kind of violation can only be described as evil. How could I give them the key to even more power?"

Zearic's voice was nearly a growl. "Take what you want and pay for it. These people may be powerful but they're no danger to us! Mendax is!"

Karmack felt his own anger rising now. "Mendax? These people are immensely powerful! Worse, they have little or no sense of morality! Handing them the Ancient One would make each of them a walking weapon of mass destruction! Remember what 'Black Armor' did to Ken? There's no way to restrain such power. We would be utterly at their mercy."

"You have access to it now." Intense blue eyes drilled in fierce hazel, neither man dropping his gaze. "In fact, you are probably the only person alive who can properly harness the Ancient One. You have already become a 'walking weapon of mass destruction'." Zearic stood taking a step towards Karmack. "You decide unilaterally how to employ that weapon. We are at the mercy of what you consider to be the moral use of it. How. Is. That. Different?"

Karmack stood facing his friend and he wanted to scream in frustration! How can he not see it? How can he not see the danger... He remembered what Andisdottir had said to him on Commenor, about becoming a living 'Death Star'. Had he? Was he?

That's when Karmack heard it. The fragment of a melody, close yet distant; familiar yet alien and wild...

Slowly Karmack focused on it, tracing it. It was woven into Zearic's words, his arguments... Take what you want and pay for it... A practical philosophy. Some would even say an immoral one, or at least amoral. But under it... There! He found it, deep down, resonating in Zearic's very core. As he'd found the Song of Vyth in his own. But there's more...

A memory motif flowed through him, sub-vocalized to avoid interfering with what he was hearing. Slowly more of fragments rose to the surface of his mind. A riff connected to Ken when he'd returned home, his mind raw from the 'delve' of 'Black Armor'. It had been there on Commonor when he'd met with Andisdottir ... and in the tune Cha had hummed while Silman had fought for his life against a killer droid. It had been on Vyth when Odjina showed him how he fell to the being named Valens ... and again in the renewed power of Mendax. And it had been on Geonosis when he'd spoken with the figure clad in darkness. And now it was here.

In Zearic.

It was all connected. The melody was all around him, infecting and twisting, manipulating and per-empting Karmack's every move. The dark warrior had no name, no species he could point to, but Odjina had known the name Valens. Was it possible, after six hundred years, that this Valens or his descendants were the Oblivion Armor beings?

Karmack came back to himself. Zearic had barely moved: Karmack had seen it, sensed it all in an instant of time. He stepped back, putting distance between them. "What have they done to you?"

"Who?" Zearic replied. He mirrored Karmack's move, his hands dropping to his saber - and the Nocte - as his eyes narrowed, searching Karmack's eyes desperately for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted to find there.

Karmack kept his voice level but his saber was in his hand now. "You know who, Zearic. The ones who gave you back your limbs, your eye, reset and fine-tuned your connection to the force. The ones in black."

Shock rolled through Zearic's mind. How? How did he know? He'd told no one - not even Jaim - what had happened to him in the mine.

Karmack continued to move, circling now. "What else did they do when they repaired you?" Karmack's saber ignited with a scream, the golden light of it's blade casting menacing shadows around the room. "Why did they do it? What instructions did they give you? 'Take what you want and pay for it,' right Zearic? You wanted your body whole, your connection to the force restored and enhanced - I've sensed the flares of envy and jealousy from you watching others train, the longing as Jorya outstripped your abilities - what did you promise them in return?"

Zearic turned like a turret to face Karmack. His own saber blade sprang to life, blue and deadly. In his left he held the black dagger in a reverse "assassins" grip, the blade extending back along his forearm. "I don't know what you're talking about..."

Karmack's eyes narrowed. "Yes you do. I can hear it, Zearic: I can hear their song. It resonates within you."

"I KNOW!" Zearic's voice exploded as his emotions suddenly flooded the force. "Yes, I was regenerated by the one we call 'Black Armor' - or someone else enough alike to be him. No, they didn't give my any messages or missions. But they gave me this." Zearic held up the new dagger, slim and deadly, and again Karmack could feel it drawing in the power and emotion of his friend. "It was ... a replacement for the Tenebris. With it and my 'find tuned' force abilities I was able to fight my way out of the mines in the core." Zearic looked long at the naked, black blade before he re-sheathed it.

Zearic slowly circled his friend in a ready stance, his weapons in defensive positions. "I don't know why they did it. Kindness? Blackmail? To use me as an agent?" The big man shrugged. "Maybe none. Maybe all. But I can tell you this, Ka'A'Mack, Master of Song: I made no deals. Nothing was demanded of me, and nothing was offered. I give you my word." Hazel eyes met blue and Zearic settled his shoulders. "Either accept it, or lets get on with it."

Karmack met those eyes and sensed his friend's anger and frustration ... and utter sincerity. The melody was still there, something still festering under the surface, but for now... Karmack relaxed his stance, shut down his blade and returned his saber to his belt. "Your word is always good with me, Zearic. Accepted."

Zearic stood for a moment longer before he also relaxed, sheathing his weapons and extending his hand. Karmack took it, but even as he gripped his friend's true right hand it's mere existance as flesh and blood reminded Karmack he would still need to keep a close eye on his friend. He trusted Zearic had not consciously made any deals, but he didn't trust 'Valen's People' not to have left something behind."

"Now ... Mendax..."

Outer Rim, Pelgrim system, not far off the Correllian Run

The room was lit with the red orange blow of Mendax blade, the Qixoni crystal pulsing with barely restrained rage.

Misrum and Orfa took up position on either side of the command room on Zearic’s Bane – summoned by the Mistress both longed to kill – but not before they were rid of each other.

Mendax smiled at their presumption, they were second rate thugs whose ambition outstripped their abilities – but they had their uses.

“My loyal servants…” she kept the blade lit as she turned to face them. “Soon we will destroy the False singer, the Hapan whore and the fat imbecile Zearic….not just them the entire Mak’tor order…”

She was obsessed with revenge Orfa had realized, Mendax' undoubtedly capable tactical mind turned to a goal that could only end in death and disappointment – Orfa was not so limited in her vision.

As Mendax began outlining the plan of attack Orfa felt the rage radiating off her mistress – oh it was understandable – to be crushed to death twice by the same interloper was galling…but to waste o mch time and energy on killing them…Orfa had more than enough people to hate in her own past, but she didn’t let that define her future. She would carve her own path in the remorseless galaxy – be a Pirate Queen in her own right, show them all she wasn’t just a Twi’Leki sex toy. As Mendax detailed Orfa’s target the only thing she could think of was how best to twist the situation to her advantage – Mendax had been indispensable in helping accumulate a solid group of Raiders and Pirates under Orfa’s command, now her usefulness was offset by her insanity and it was time to break loose.

Misrums hand never left the Tenebris. They both want to kill you… It spoke from the depths of his soul, the true knowledge of his heart. She’s sending you on a suicide mission…. His role was detailed, he would take the flagellants and Red police he had recruited straight to the heart of the lightsiders…he may even get a chance to avenge Mellichae. They don’t know just what you’ve become…what you can do now… it teased his ambition and inflated his ego.

With the Tenebris I can slay them all…take their life force into myself…become greater than Mellichae, greater than Mendax…do what she never could and destroy Zearic…do what Mellichae failed and unlock the Ancient One!

Mendax noted their traitorous thoughts but didn’t care. “…when the ritual is completed all those drawing on the Light side will be ripped to pieces – the Mak’Tor mountain with all its relics and weapons will be defenseless as the pathetic Men at Arms flee from our power with their noble Knights bloody corpses.”

It was an utter lie. The only one who would survive the thought bomb would be her. Once she had her revenge Misrum and Orfa’s usefulness was at an end. All the knowledge of the ancient Mak’tor singers locked in the Mountain vaults would be hers – she would need no one but herself…

Orfa felt the Nikto’s gaze linger on her…the weight she had felt from hundreds of male eyes before…he thought he could kill Mendax and then take her as a slave as he hand intended on Dantooine – fool! That dagger was controlling him not the other way round...

Misrum smiled as he looked on his future prize…he hadn’t forgotten how she had humiliated him in front of his Sith Sabres on Dantooine…he would make her pay for months with every part of her body for that…

“Are we agreed?” Mendax asked

“Completely Mistress…” they said in unison.

********

“Friends the situation is dire…” Gingal pointed toward the projection of the planet that filled the Elinga’s cool white and cream briefing room “This system, M’tzigon has been usurped by a former Inquisitor, Ka’Ah’Re’Mack a.k.a 'The Mad Singer'…”

Mendax repressed her smile – for days Bidis, the Church of the Dark Side maniac had been spreading rumors of the False Singer's atrocities during his sermons to Rebels and Imperials alike – the petty and weak turned to a higher power in times of stress and need. Mendax turned to her own power.

“He has we understand acquired advanced Imperial Battle Droids that cow the population into submission along with his necromantic arts,” His fin waved behind him to Mendax. “It is up to us to provide cover for Jedi Master Gaetana to infiltrate and defeat the mad warlord – with the Requiem and out new former Imperial Allies we have the numbers to hold his fanatical warriors who pretend at being Jedi back, Colonel Misrum will lead the ground assault whilst Colonel Orfa takes the Lunar facility and brings its turbo lasers onto our side with her auxiliary troops. Captain Nyder will pilot the Requiem from the edge of the system in to draw their ships away.”

He slurped up in the dry air and ugly Mon calamari habit Mendax was tempted to void him for at times.

“You will receive your squad deployment plans and particular objectives in the next hour…dismissed…”

“Might I add,” Mendax said smoothly, “May the Force be with us All.”

And may it serve me Only

Chapter 23 — As the Sun Sets

Part 1

Shadows

M’Skigon Ranges
Two shadows stood atop a peak amidst the M’Skigon ranges as the sun set over the city below, the sky reflecting purple onto the snows beneath their feet.

“We should do something to warn them,” Vesi said out loud amidst the whistle of the winds against her dark armour
“They already know Mendax is coming, we can’t tell them anything new”
“We could help them,”
He stood on an outcrop just above her looking protectively over her.

“We gave Karmack the chance on Geonosis, he refused my offer, and you returned his family to him from Canto Bite, even after they attacked Mari. Ardyn set his son straight on Csilla, Kyran and Lysaea armed and renewed Vih’Torr on Bellerophon, and Cha has given them enough Dark Troopers to hold off a Legion…if they use them correctly”

He paused as she shifted on the jagged peak.

“Would you have us risk our own lives to protect theirs?”

Vesi twitched her mouth beneath her helmet…as much as she wanted to look after her friend Talia…she could never risk a real Persons life.

“No…still…”

He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, her father one of very few males with permission to touch her without explicit consent, as was fitting.

“Your kindness is a good thing sweetling, you carry the Goddess in your heart, yet compassion must be tempered with wisdom, our strength must only be shown when it is absolutely essential.”

“It’s still sad,” Vesi added as they sensed the first ripple of the coming storm.

“As Aunt Kiri says let Outsiders kill Outsiders.”

<<<<>>>>

Requiem

Far Edge of M’Tzigon System
‘Captain’ Nyders left hand twitched as he swayed slightly on the bridge of the Requiem – the understaffed command desks being worked frantically by the Imperial turncoats, tapping keys furiously then sprinting across the control bay to enter the same commands at a secondary console for confirmation.

Many systems remained down, whole decks were deserted, without power or light, and far too many secondary and tertiary systems were offline or only partially enabled. There was a shudder as the dorsal docking bay doors finally began to open behind the screen of the atmosphere shield – her ears heard the squeal of the eight twin turbolaser turrets charging as they pushed through the tunnel of hyperspace.

Lieutenant Nordas, the ‘smart one’ who had surrendered rather than fight Mendax and the rebels and given over the Requiem managed the depleted bridge crew with all the professionalism and cool thinking of a competent, seasoned but overlooked Imperial officer as Nyder made only occasional spurts of vague orders.

For vague orders were all she had, Mendax will pushed in general directions not precision paths – with one…Horrific…Exception.

Nyder knew what she was doing, knew what her voice was commanding, abhorred Every. Single. Second. Of. It.

But could not stop herself.

“Realisation in 40 seconds…” Nordas advised stepping just behind her as her left hand, seemingly the only part of her body she had any true sovereignty over twitched furiously in protest at her situation.

“Targeting computers are online however the turbo laser are charging to only 60%...surprise will be key if we are to succeed…”

She nodded a bead of sweat dripping along her forehead

“That’s fine…all fine…...” no it really wasn’t

<<<<>>>>

The control room was decorated for S'Kar'Yom, festive lights and cornucopias arrayed around the room with traditional messages of Thankfulness and Joy, small table set for tomorrow's gift exchange beside a small buffet for those few unfortunates on duty over the holiday. The crew were still in good spirits, enjoying the holiday mood and relaxed discipline despite being stuck in the system's periphery doing traffic control and customs inspections.

Everyone, it seemed, except Lieutenant Jo'Lan'Trax.

Jo'Lan sighed and forced a smile as another of the crew greeted him with a over-enthusiastic holiday wish - he couldn’ shake the ominous feeling, whilst his parents hadn’t wanted him to undergo Mak’Tor trials his family did have a number of knights and he always displayed an unnerving ability to predict unfortunate events.

"Gus, what's the status on the inspection teams?" he picked at the sinking in his gut by looking for confirmation of his bad feelings he hoped no one else would find.

"No change, sir. All teams report nothing unusual. Bra'Di just cleared the freighter at Aurek-two and the other three teams will be done shortly. We should be able to cycle them through and get the next set underway within the hour."

"Very well." Jo'Lan turned and stared out the viewport at the nearby light freighters being inspected, so many people desperate to get home to kith and kin in time for the festivities…perhaps he was picking up on their anxieties?

"Keep me informed."

"Yessir." Nik'Olas'Slee, aka "Gus", updated his board. He'd worked with Jo'Lan for three years now and had learned to have a healthy respect for his infamous 'gut' while working inspection details together, Gus paused before moving to grab a cup of caf

"Sir…should I be worried.", he added despite himself wondering if Jo’Lan’s bad feelings were becoming infectious – Gus felt it too.

<<<<>>>>

Da’Vyd’Ell was bored and annoyed. He needed to get these custom crystalline circuits to the shop before the end of the day if they were to have any chance of meeting their orders by the end of the week.

Instead of the easy check in he was at the back of a queue of ships being boarded one by one before being allowed to enter further into the system – a blockade during S'Kar'Yom of all things. He didn’t mind working on this day rather than at home with his family, but this wasn’t working, this was just waiting and waiting and….

“EEEP” the proximity alarm blared him out of this stewing annoyance moments before he and his ship were vaporized.

<<<<>>>>

The Requiem screeched out of pseudo motion nearly 100,000km closer to the system than the normal jump exit point – before it had time to fully slow the tip of the Venator slammed into a mid-sized commercial freighter and imparted pseudo-momentum blared it into white heat and molten steel.

Jo’Lan’s guts twisted as he saw the blue white flash of re-entry peppered by yellow superheated fragments of metal.

At first he thought it was an accidental collision…but then he saw the size of the new arrival – and all doubt was lost as the turbo lasers opened up near point blank on the civilian ships in the queue.

Jo'Lan started issuing orders. "Red Alert! Communications, send a Case Zulu to Command, details to follow. Flight Ops, scramble your fighters now! Lets go people, this is no drill!"

Nyder did likewise

"Launch fighters. Guns redirect to the platform once the freighters are done" Her stomach dropped even further than Jo’Lans at giving the order to destroy civilian ships for the sole reason of creating a barrier of detritus to offset the disadvantage in having fewer fighters.

Nordas inured to merciless Imperial commands gave the specific orders with clarity and poise.

The Freighters began to scatter two slower than their brethren exploded under the hammer of the guns. Jo’Nal immediately commanded Alpha Station to return fire, heavy lasers hammering away in futile defiance while it's shields blazed with energy, buying time for its fighters to clear their bays ... and crew to reach their escape pods.

The ARC-170 fighters began to appear, launched from the control platform in a flurry of panic into the growing field of spinning debris.

“Launch fighters…” Nyder said unenthusiastically “Shields double front…”

The station was well armed, and the Venator old and at less than 50% operational capacity…but even for this disparity the Requiem was still a Star Destroyer. Jo’Nal knew this and was already making for the exit having given the order to abandon the station while the weapons remained hard locked to fire on the indifferent shields.

Ninety-seven seconds after the barrage on Alpha Station began the shields finally failed in a last flare of blue electrical defiance before it was slagged into molten chunks of doonium by turbolasers that remembered the Clone Wars.

The Arc-170s used the debris field to draw the TIE Interceptors away from the evacuation shuttles – in the co-pilot's seat of one the last evacuation shuttle to make it out Jo'Lan watched his station - his home - come apart. He used the visual sensors to zoom in on the Venator as it began to disgorge TIE fighters. "She's Imperial ... probably from a forgotten garrison on the Outer Rim. Old..."

"But effective." the pilot remarked. "Looks like the fighters are engaging our guys. We should be able to get away clean."

"Good." Jo'Lan felt his gut twist again. "We need to get down somewhere safe. Soon." He looked back at the Star Destroyer as the fighters began to engage. "This isn't over..."

<<<<>>>>

Fog of War

Above M’Tzigon Orbital Plain – North
On the Opposite side of the system another ship slipped into the pull of M’Tzigons star.

On the Bridge of Zearics Bane Mendax in a lotus position the Qixoni crystal in her temporarily deconstructed lightsabre spinning in place before her, amplifying the darkness she drew on like a carefully polished lens.

She remembered when she was still Gaetana, metal piercing her skin, heated ceiling plastics eating into her muscles as broken wires caused them to contract painfully.

That was the first time she had failed, tricked by Zearic into the collapse of the ceiling. For months she had been bathed in pain, rebuilt after a fashion but not anywhere near what she had been, barely able to survive for a day without injections of anti-rejection cybernetic hormones or dialysis – trapped in a machine cage with only her hate to keep her company.

The only way to be rid of the hate, the pain, was to push it back on those who had caused it to her, for pain like energy Mendax now realized could not be destroyed only changed in form or place.

She’d needed power and thralls to do that, Mellichae the Hri Twins, Namman Cha, the crystals…and yet she failed. For a Sith to fail was death. That should’ve been the end.

But it wasn’t – why Nimmin Cha had her revived did not matter, only that she now had a chance to redeem her failure to herself, to prove her hatred was greater than their weakness.

All the pain, all the hate flooded into the Qixoni as Zearics Bane sliced between the systems navigational buoys unnoticed, all eyes on the Requiem.

As the edge of M’Tzigon itself peaked behind the stars yellow blaze Mendax looked through the crystal to the slowly growing circle – the home of her enemy where all that pain could finally be shed – it flowed from her to the Qixoni, now the Qixoni to the luminous confluence of force energy that suffused M’Tzigon – apart from a few dark patches.

Like ink she spilled her hate across the Force.

<<<<>>>>

Battle Song

Residential District
The wave of dark energy hit Karmack like a hammer blow.
Disharmonies and discord building for days finally unleashed on S'Kar'Eve with theatrical flourish hammering through the song, overwhelming the normal melody of light and joy as people reunited with family or filled the Temples for the festival.

Karmack stood, filled with grim purpose as the virus of dissonance infused everything with a malevolence he recognized too well.

Mendax...

The vision rolled through his mind again, silver tide washing over the Temple, wiping away everything and everyone he knew and loved.

Karmack concentrated, singing a song he'd been carefully composing for weeks the Ancient One glowing gold in the back of his mind responding to him more easily than ever before as if sensing the impending disaster

Power built in a feedback loop as he drew on those he cared for - the familiar melody of his wife sliding into fugue effortlessly in the song as the mesh grew to encompass the others Ken ... Julwynn ... Du'An a chorus of light building against the dark.

A dissonant flutter came from Zearic ... not active rejection, but a resistance to the connection forcing Karmack too deep into his friend's song till the connection finally settled albeit with a wavering feedback

Gathering the threads together he anchored each in the Ancient One's hum, reinforcing the network. None except, perhaps, Arnor would even notice the connection, but he would be able to coordinate their efforts and funnel energy to them through the Ancient One.

“A weapon of mass destruction” the sliver of doubt assailed him, almost threating to undo his efforts then and there…at first he though it came from Zearics connection – his friend had accused him of as much just a day before…no this was something…else...

But Mendax was here and now.

He re-spun the complex motif away into the song as doubt dissolved embedding in the Ancient One's own endlessly complex series of harmonies.

Pacing the rise of his personal battle song he donned armour and weapons held in the bunker-like annex under the houses foundation – a ‘home improvement’ added after being designated one of the Council's "on call" special operations teams. Even as the pace built he kept patient and calm - high explosives required such - his neighbours would pitch a holy fit if they knew about the quantities and types of explosives stored here.

Dark Gray smart-fabric ... black LBH with his gear ... fighting knife on his left hip, the kukri-style blade forged from songsteel ... DL-44 blaster in a secure thigh holster ... and his saber, at his side and over that the songsteel plate. He was going heavy today, he suspected he would need every ounce of protection he could muster. Breast and back plate, pauldrons, vambrace and gauntlets, cuisses, knee pads and grieves provided coverage of torso, arms and legs in addition to his combat boots normal ablative armor. Like most Knights Karmack eschewed a helmet, preferring the better visibility and awareness of going without. Over it all went a loose-fitting combat smock with an energy-dissipating net built into it. Normally light gray, Karmack donned one that was pure white, designed to blend with the fresh snow blanketing the Temple area.

Stepping onto his back deck as he did every day with his caf for an hour of meditation while the massive droids noted and ignored him the force focused in and through the Ancient One a slight shiver of mixed fear and anticipation twitched down his spine.

His eyes were ice. Fire blazed in his heart. "Time to dance, big guys..."

<<<<>>>>

Rebel Assault

Beneath M’Tzigon Orbital Plain - South
Gingal felt his throat dry as they exited hyperspace perpendicular to the systems orbital plane- knifing straight up toward the target planet M’Tzigon.

His ships were crammed with transports and fighters brought over from the Requiem – the larger ship almost completely cleared out as it was ultimately the distraction to draw the defence fleet away from the enslaved planet.

Beside him Misrum thumbed the Tenebris Pugione wondering just how much blood the hungry dagger would consume today – it called to him, showed him such wonderfully terrible things – a shattered building alight with the fire of machines, Mendax slashed by the light sucking blade into ribbons of blood stained blue ferroan flesh…and Orfa, the petulant Twi’lek pleading for mercy – he showed it after a fashion, keeping her as a toy for his amusement.

Across the tactical display table Orfa could sense his vile intent, but she didn’t care – Misrum, his Flagellant berserkers and other dark side fanatics and Sith Shadows were to hit shortly after the Rebel troops, taking the brunt of the Mak’Tor response.

Meanwhile she would be relatively safe capturing the Lunar base with her Pirates and Marauders who were just now dropping out behind the MC30c Cruiser Ellinga they were on.

“All Fighters launch!” the deluded Mon Calamari ordered, in moments the screen was lit with the blue and red exhaust fares of two dozen rebel fighters between the Corvettes advance – the Rebels would take the Mak’tor Orbital defences and their insertion.

“Approaching way point one,” the Mon Calamari continued in blubbery tune to the rumble of the sub light engines.

“You may begin deployment,”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 23 — As the Sun Sets

Part 2

Collateral Damage

M’Tzigon Emergency Command Bunker
Within minutes of the attack at the edge of the system Cliff had moved to the war rooms deep beneath the M’skigon ranges, shielded by hundreds of metres of rocks and ceramite.

With martial law in effect the control centre was already staffed and operational, data flowing in and reports on response capability ready for his review.

So far the Orbital forces were making a reasonable showing for being so suddenly surprised, but the number and variety of foes was…random to say the least, an old Venator Star Destroyer, Mon calamari Cruiser and various pirate frigates.

The only logical explanation was Mendax, as he observed reports of Y Wings knocking out anti air defences one by one he was certain that very soon a ground invasion would begin.

“Sir,” Ta Re interrupted as he stared at strategic map

“13th and 14th Battalions are ready to deploy, 6th, 7th and 9th should be ready in minutes to secure the Space ports, Sword of Light Units are asking for instructions”

“Tell them to remain on standby,”

“Sir?”

“I’m not letting one more soldier die than is absolutely necessary…evacuate the spaceports and power plants, all the critical infrastructure…”

Soon enough the Hornet and its escorts would arrive to bolster Orbital Defences

“When they land…we let them secure their targets, get comfortable, think we’re in disarray - then we send in the Mark IVs, let the droids take the brunt and the Men at Arms clean up what’s left,”

<<<<>>>>

Joke’s on Them

Check Point Alpha- MWS Hornet

Captain Nath stood on his bridge, his hands folded behind his back. He had his back to the viewer and the chaos it showed - his attention was on the holographic tactical display showing the overall picture of what was happening in the M'Tzigon system.

It wasn't good...

Home fleet had immediately moved to intercept the Star Destroyer at the edge of the system.

Once more the surreal reality hit him

A kiffin STAR DESTROYER...

Minutes later a new threat had emerged from system "South", coming up perpendicular to the elliptical, disgorging dozens of fighters and Transports overwhelming the remaining orbital defences and moving to hit the spaceport and Central itself.

Another, smaller force had broken off and hit Lunar 3 with a ground attack as well, probably aiming to knock out the lunar turbolaser batteries and neutralize its fighters.

Or worse capture the turbolasers….

And to add fuel to the fire another gaggle of ships led by an Impie corvette had emerged on the NORTH side of the elliptic and was landing troops around the Mak'Tor temple.

The Knights were reacting swiftly, using their local Eta-2 fighters to good effect, but they were getting swamped ... and Cliff has thus far only issued orders for the defenders to pull back into tight defensive positions ... and wait.

Wait for what?

The planet was in jeopardy, the attack on three fronts and Cliffs lack of direction had them all struggling to determine Where to direct their response.

Naths fists tightened - everything in his being screamed for him to reverse course and burn for orbit to help defend his home, but he resisted that urge.

His fight was here. Now. In front of him. With the Star Destroyer. Fighters and an invasion force Cliff could handle – but if that Beast got in range of the planet…

The Lightray, a Besh-type LAC, was tucked in tight with the Hornet ready to provide fire support. They were giving the Star Destroyer a wide berth and moving around the perimeter, the TIE escorts kept tight, only sporadically engaging with the Jokers who probed their resolve.

On the far side of the battle space the Ranger and Wasp were matching his manoeuvre while their fighters engaged what appeared to be an almost token force of TIEs compared to what a Star Destroyer should be carrying.

A Destroyer like that should have dozens of fighters…what are they waiting for?

They were taking losses, but they were ripping the far more fragile TIEs to pieces when they did engage. The Star Destroyer continued to hammer the platforms around Checkpoint Alpha, reducing them one-by-one to scrap with its heavy guns making its way gradually toward the centre of the system instead of striking hard in Home Fleets rear as it turned to engage the attack from the South.

"What are you up to..."

"Sir?" El'Lynn asked from the bridge command station.

Nath shook off his meditative study. "El, I think we have an opportunity here. Give Jan the plus-five code please. Comms, open the party line, here in the tank." He didn't hear either officer's affirmative answer, his concentration on the miniature Star Destroyer hanging in the tank. Wait for it, my friend. Just a few more minutes...

<<<<>>>>

Nyder tried to look like she was in charge. Deep down she knew she was anything but. No! No! NO! NO! some sliver of inner will, still fighting for control, wanted to shout. Run! Get away! Now! At her side, her left hand twitched violently. "Status?"

"Fighters are engaging, ma'am...but our numbers are low in comparison." A whooping alarm from an unmanned station cut her off. In a flash the implacable Lieutenant was there, silencing the alarm and absorbing the data even as he beckoned one of their few bridge crew over to him. "Four ships approaching, from port and astern..."

Nyder swallowed bile. "Wha... What is your recommendation, Lieutenant?"

Nordas gave her a level look, the Imperial officer's eyes opaque and expressionless – he well knew there was something that Nyder was not telling him – why they had placed their armoured divisions and most of their fighters with the Elinga and its corvettes leaving the Requiem with barely enough fighters to keep a scout screen.

"Ma'am, three of the bogies are launching fighters. We should launch the reserve and vector squadrons to intercept them – too many of our anti-fighter turrets are offline to repel them if they get in close."

Nyder grabbed her violently shaking left hand, pinning it behind her back. "Very well. Make it so, Lieutenant."

Nordas nodded, barking orders with Imperial efficiency while Nyder returned to her contemplation of the blackness before her increasingly marred by flashes of yellow.

<<<<>>>>

Three disembodied heads floated on the edge of the tactical holo-tank, allowing Nath to address his fellow captains face-to-face. Captain Yak'Ob'Uziel of the Ranger , Captain Frank'Lin'Orlear of the Wasp flanked Captain Kar'N'Xir, commander of the Lightray - body guards flanking their queen Nath smiled, Xir had seniority with far more experience than anyone else except Nath himself, Yakob and Franklin were both fighter pilots, promoted to command the new carriers, while Karen was a cruiser captain through-and-through.

"What's on your mind, Erwyn?" Yakob near snapped his eyes darting between his comm link and his own tactical display, situated behind his comm much as Nath's was.

"The SD looks like it's preparing to launch more fighters. I hope you have something good up your sleeve."

Nath nodded. "An opportunity, this beast should be moving in-system by now to support the rest of the attack, but it’s taking its time systematically destroying the platforms and seems to have a low fighter compliment – this doesn’t make sense”

"Even so we can’t just break off and ignore it – its doing the job of forcing us to split our forces,” Franklin noted

"Exactly, I’m betting that is all it is there for – to lock us up worrying about it - they’ve put all their fighters into the South attack – we can overwhelm them and take down its turbo-lasers with our fighters,”

Karen’s lips pursed “That’s quite a gamble to take, if they’re simply holding their fighters inside…”

“Even if they are it will take time to launch and we can pull back and still do some serious damage enough to let us get in range with our own turbolasers – but we need to act fast…”

Nath's grin was feral. "El'Lynn is calling the Jokers back toward us, where they'll reform into a tight squadron formation. Frank, Yakob, have your fighter squadrons concentrate as well. They might have the bigger guns, but we have the mosquitos to kill it with bug bites while keeping our carriers out of range.

In ... seven minutes we launch a coordinated attack on the fighter squadrons. Your objectives are to engage and destroy as many TIE fighters as possible.

The Jokers will do the same - at first. Sixty seconds after they engage B'Lain will shift his formation and hold an open corridor through the fighter screen. Captain Xir and I will send our marine contingents down that corridor and breach the port landing bay with their Battle Taxis. One group of marines will go for the hypermatter reactors and main engineering, the other will attempt to secure the bridge."

Captain Xir grimaced. "We're under strength. I have marines, but Cliff gutted my officer complement for his witch hunt."

Nath smiled back. "No worries. Koawan Naith will be in command. Acceptable?"

“I didn’t take you as such a gambler Nath…this could go very wrong very quick,” Yakob said even as he offered a slight nod

“No worse than thins are now,” Franklin added “…let just hope the card fall our way,”

Nath smiled
“The Jokers are wild,”

<<<<>>>>

Swords of Light

Sword of Light Garrison edge of M’Skigon Ranges
“We’re not being deployed!” The Sword of Light Captain complained within Arnor’s earshot as she sat in the solitary force cage the amber energy field distorting her view of the long row of similar cages only five of which were occupied by herself, her father, Talia, Julwyyn and Balnard.

“General Cliff has something special in mind for the Invaders, we’re to remain battle ready to follow the vanguard, that’s all,”

“If it’s Mendax we should be on the frontline” a Third Officer grated

“It’ll be those droids I reckon,” A lieutenant suggested,

“The General will send them in to soften them up, we’ve all seen what one did to Silman, half-an hour there’ll only be clean up left for us.”

“That won’t help the guys in orbit…”

Arnor didn’t know fully what was happening, but the tide of death rising in the force and the suffocating darkness spreading over the world was enough to know it was not good.
Mendax….Temple…hurry
Mendax was dead…surely…what had happened while She and the others were on Canto Bite?

She reached out for Karm to try and get a sense of what was happening…but he was…not closed so much as steeled…in furious combat – he didn’t need any distraction.

That made her heart sink enough. The shadow that lengthened between the two guards made it crash.

Chillum and Julwynn across the detention floor in their own cages looked up as well as the figure resolved from shadow, to silhouette to nightmare.

It was one of them…The Dark Armoured ones, walking straight past the guards who were completely oblivious.

As Arnors mouth moved to scream a warning it spoke in smooth feminie tones.

“There’s no point they can’t see me…” Maker what was this creature!

“Creature! That’s very rude!” she added whilst her hand shimmered by the console that controlled the force cage. Arnor knew the voice belonged to either Sophi or Vesi, or possibly Mari, their voices so similar as to be indistinct to her ears.

“How are you doing this? Why?” Arnor whispered assuming she could hear her.

“You need help…it will be dangerous for you if you stay trapped here when the guards leave to fight the invasion…So I’m helping you as much as I can…”

“Invasion? Leave?…”

“Don’t try to understand…” she went on “Your mind isn’t neurologically capable of it…in 4 minutes and 23 seconds the Sword of Light Squads will be deployed under orders that appear to come from General Cliff but are really Kage Silmans…when they do the emergency audio code to deactivate the shields is Peth – Onith – shen – 7-8-2-4-4-5-Release…I’ve unlocked all the other doors to the armoury where your weapons are held…”

“You’re not here…are you…no you’re not here now….” Chillum realised

“Like I said don’t think too hard about it…just remember the code….”

“Wait if you can walk through time…and we’re under attack…why not help us fight?” Arnor protested under her breath as the Sword of Light guards stared at their comms waiting for the orders that were now 3 minutes and 45 seconds away

“I’m happy to help where I can…” the dark figure went on turning away to do Maker knew what in the…future? Past? “…but I won’t risk my safety for you.”

As the figure faded into the air Arnor sat perplexed as the Force, even through the suppressive walls of the Sword of Light complex became increasingly tense and conflicted.

Right on Time the Guards sprang up and out of the room slapping the lock down button as they left.

Arnor swallowed hard as the battle rose outside

“Peth…Onith…”

As the crew left the building moments late Vesi cocked her head to the side across the road and went to work to make sure Temporal-Reality remained stable.

<<<<>>>

Moonshadow

Lunar 3
As the explosions in the gravity well between the moon and the planet doubled in number, The Elinga clashing with the portions of the Home Fleet that had remained on station as the rest jumped to counter the Star Destroyer, a flotilla of irregular vessels sliced under the Lunar bases turbo laser range and slammed to a stop kicking up grey dust by the side of the above ground portion of the facility. Four boarding tubes extended from the vessels clamping on and set plasma to the metal as the ground assault began.

<<<<>>>>

The silence of his cell was broken by the alarm klaxons.

Ken had been in deep meditation just to keep himself steady, to not let the confusion of the last few days overwhelm him – first the difficulties with Ry and the Chiss, the Black Creatures, then arrested by the Men at Arms without explanation.

Ken slowly turned his focus form within to without.

Panic, confusion, determination, fear – the heady beat of battle was rising in pitch all around him – only one sound hadn’t yet joined the symphony.

<<<<>>>>

Death

The first of the day.

Orfa continued the cut through the trooper’s ribs and out, then sent him flying with a force push into the corridor to be torn to shreds by friendly fire by the retreating soldiers.

The pang and hiss of bolts bouncing off her sabre moved in time to the advance of her raiders all across the lunar base.

The lights cut out leaving only the fiery yellow of emergency signals – a pathetic attempt to stymie them when they were already in.

The Marines were no doubt capable soldiers and she would take a fair number of losses – but against the most depraved, violent scum she could find raiding the star lanes and backed by Orfa herself and four other Sabre wielding Sith Shadows the balance was in her favour.

Rushing down the corridor she met the fire head on, bolts smacking black chunks out of the wall as she sent a surge of telekinetic energy forward bowling over a few of the marines, gripping their prone forms and dragging them toward her insatiable red blade.

The first slammed into her like a lover falling upon a lost muse, the energy blade straight through his back as he acted as a human shield to the others fire – giving her pirates a chance to catch up with her.

Firing from crouched positions they took the Marines legs out before they retreated back behind a rapidly closing blast door. Dropping her glassy eyed lover, she flicked two fingers toward the door and the thermal breaches were brought up in seconds by raiders who made living boarding and ransoming facilities like this one.

Orfa smiled as the white plasma began to slough off the durasteel bulkhead – soon she’d have the facility and its Turbo lasers – then she would open fire on M’Tzigon as planned – she just intended to fire on the Temple complex a little earlier than Mendax would’ve preferred.

<<<<>>>>

“…Mack’s damn idea of a rescue!”
“You’re a damn idiot Vas, just open the door,”

The cell door hissed open to find Ken’In’ah’Mack still seated eyes closed

“Mack we’re under attack,”

Ken raised his hand, eyes still closed to catch the sabre thrown toward him

“Get that blade humming,” the lieutenant finished as the Power armoured Marine beside her sneered.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 23 — As the Sun Sets

Part 3

Collateral Damage

M’Skigon Spaceport
“Go go go!”

A flight of X-wings streaked past pursued by ARC-170s as the Ewing landers and GR-75 transports hovered half a metre above the ground disgorging the Alliance advance squads, TIEs redeployed from the Requiem at the staging post covering them.

Forty eight vanguard infantry fanned out across the tarmac securing themselves behind crates and landed craft as the heavy equipment was brought in, their objective to secure the space port.

Some of the troops almost opened fire on the Imperial Sentinel Landers above before remembering they were on their side now, joining the Alliance to help defeat the Insane Warlord K’ah’re’Mack who had taken control of the M’Tzigon system in alliance with the Remnant.

AT-STs and AT-PTs dropped in beside Mobile Proton Torpedo Launcher Artillery as overhead the anti-air defences shot two more landers out of the sky before the Y-Wings snapped around for an attack run that lit them blue with Ion fire.

“Form up!” “Hit the air intakes” “get those doors open!”

Resistance wasn’t as strong as they thought, the Rebel squads advanced rapidly into the main control room as the Imperial Strom Troopers held the exits and secured the main interior bays.

“This is too easy, stay sharp….Watch out for counter attack,”

<<<<>>>>

“Are they set,” Cliff called out across the War Room

“Yes sir,” Ta’Re replied amidst the hubbub of analysts and logistics officers organising the defence and trying to predict the invaders next moves. Still there was a trepidation in her voice.

“A problem Colonel?” he queried

“No sir, just the Friend-Foe designators are still less than perfect,”

“That’s why I withdrew our forces, send them out,”

Ta’Re nodded and held down the button for the comm

“Deploy Waves 1 to 3,”

<<<<>>>>

At a base some 50Km from the City hangar bay doors slowly opened to the setting sun casting orange hues on the form of thirty metal and stone titans whose eyes blazed red as the flames of Hades.

Their processors uploaded the target location and analysed the intelligence feeds being supplied across quantum network. Predictive software determined the most efficient course to achieve the simple objective.

[Eliminate All Hostiles]

On blue wings of Proton jet packs they lifted silently into the sky and sped toward the conflict as gathering Men at Arms watched with uncertain eyes their ‘replacements’.

<<<<>>>>

Council Of Balance

The Mountain
There was no question they had to act, simply how without getting in Cliffs way – co-ordination and co-operation between the knights and the Men at Arms was not what it once was or should be.

“We’re already moving to deploy,” Silman said firmly over the secure comm that linked the Kage directly to the Chief of Staff

Cliff immediately protested as the jumped up wizards once more threatened REAL Military strategy with some damn foolish idealistic crusade
“Unacceptable, hold back until I give you the go ahead, we wait until they are comfortable then hit them with the…”

“The droids I Know, but I am not content to allow invaders to secure beachheads while you wait for your tin cans,”

“You defy my orders!”

“You can’t give me orders, you may have authority to control the military but the Knights remain autonomous under my command as Kage to direct as I see fit during a crisis situation and I will be happy to answer personally for any breaches of the Uniform Code of Justice they might incur…we will not stand by and wait…we will be moving on the Temple District to engage the darkness there and I look forward to hearing from your officers to co-ordinate.”

Silman slammed the comm off.

Ju'Lus stood warily behind him “Are you sure that is wise, Cliff obviously has a plan in mind….”

“A plan that puts too many lives at risk…we all felt the dark wave, Mendax isn’t here to capture spaceports and secure objective, she’s here to kill every being she gets her hands on until we put a blade through her skull.”

His sabrestaff in his hand he thumbed the activator eager to set it alight and end this bitch once and for all. The Force boomed his voice across the Mountain hangar.

“MOVE OUT”

<<<<>>>>

Blades of Night

The Mountain
His boots pounded on the ferrocrete, knees bent for a moment before leaping onto the side of the modified LAAT already crammed with Koawans. He gripped the cold metal, frozen snow continually bombarding his body while ice shards cut miniature lacerations across his neck and face as the ship ascended, heading towards the village proper.

All that seemed perfectly normal, but a mere week ago Zearic would’ve been afraid of his cybernetic legs buckling, false eye flickering or mechanical hand stalling.

There was no more fear, no more worry, only the violent drive to strike back at the cowardly attack lighting the Force with the flares of death.

A tremor at his side that wasn’t the vibration of the LAAT as it skimmed toward the blue and red blizzard of blaster fire far below, the Nocte Pugione fed off his deadly intent, trembling with his fury to see his friends’ home ravaged so. Yet another among many of the depredations that his family and friends had suffered at the hands of that traitorous bitch. Zearic’s hands tightened on the hilts of his lightsabers.

“Soon Mendax, soon.”

<<<<< >>>>>

Temple Village, Mar’Shall District
The Temple of the Maker and the surrounding Temple Grounds looked as pure and unadulterated as the driven snow that had blanketed them in white.

It was a place for the contemplation of the infinite light and goodness of the Maker.

As Misrum’s Church of the Darkside allies set down on the streets he felt a thrill at his own blasphemy. Bidis chanted a war incantation over the Flagellant berserkers, the self-inflicted pain of their electro harnesses and surgically implanted vibroblades stirring them into a battle-frenzy while Red Police and Sith Shadows dropped in behind from the Rebel E Wings.

He didn’t need to issue orders, they had long since determined the plan on the Requiem, as the Flagellants rushed around seeking any glimmer of Lightside Auras to quench while the Red Police and Sith Shadows rammed down the Temple’s outer doors to take control in preparation for Mendax’s Arrival. With the element of surprise, they were able to overwhelm and subdue the handful of Knights within. Those that they didn’t kill, they restrained as fodder for their Mistress, more fuel for the Thought Bomb.

It was a place of worship and beauty, the stained glass amidst vaulted crenelated columns offered no defense to the fanatics who saw desecrating this place as Holy work. And once he followed them into the main entrance, the delicious screams within already starting to overcome the chanting that had echoed in the Temple the whole day through, Misrum sensed the approach of two dozen flares blazing in light.

The Gray Knights had arrived.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 24 — As Evening Falls

Part 1

Battle Song

Residential District
With a thought Karmack launched four modified thermal detonators, essentially jacked-up flash-bangs, from his deck and in an instant, before even the hyper-speed huristics of the Mark IVs could do more than begin to react they detonated in unison.

Each grenade was less than an inch from it's target's optical sensors when it exploded and in each case the droid's primary optical sensors were burned out.

[HOSTILE DETECTED ... OPTICAL MATRIX COMPROMISED ... SWITCH TO THERMAL IMAGING AND SECONDARY SENSOR NET.] The Mark IVs were linked and in a flash three of them had switched over to their secondary systems, already searching for their single attacker in the dissipating explosion after-effects. They turned first to Karmack's last known location.

He wasn't there. Karmack was moving fast, somersaulting over the head of the fourth and nearest Mark IV he connected with a massively Song enhanced saber-stroke to sever the droid's neck in a shower of sparks, a solid force grip stabilising it as he drove his blade into the neck cavity.

Silman's fight with the Mark IV and Karm's own study of them in the force left him with no illusions that decapitation was sufficient – so into the blade burnt hole he dropped a high-density thermal detonator, ramming it in with the force as deep as he could before pushing off the droid and shoving it away with a telekinetic fist..

The droid staggered, its impressive computer system nearly swamped dealing with the damage he'd dealt but still on its feet. Karmack landed lightly and hammered the droid with a massive force-push, even headless internal gyros and energy systems damaged from the saber strike still managed to resist... for a moment.

But this push was an order of magnitude greater than anything Silman had been able to throw, and the Mark IV was physically picked up and hurled into the arms of its neighbour, which just had time to catch it before they were both embroiled in the massive release of energy as the detonator exploded and ruptured the energy systems inside the Mark IV's chest. The stricken droid came apart, the explosion venting mainly upward as the torso opened like a blossoming flower.

Its companion, amazingly, remained on its feet despite deep rents in its armor from it's brother's immolation. Before it could recover Karmack was upon it, severing knee joints and a hip before plunging his golden blade deep into the chest, destroying the droid's central control system and primary power busses. In less than ten seconds of combat Karmack had killed two of the massive droids.

He felt a small thrill of satisfaction as he withdrew his blade, a thrill that died as the song shifted and he realized that he'd been in the same place a moment to long...

As their brothers fell the remaining two droids absorbed the data from the attack, the speed with which Karmack was moving ... the power of his blade ... the strength of his force attacks. In unison they took to the air, rising on blue proton streams even as they unlimbered their massive cannons and opened fire.

Missiles were locked on and streaked down from internal launchers blazing with the yellow fires of hell.

<<<<>>>>

Collateral Damage

M’Tzigon Space port
On wings of proton blue another wave of Mark IV Dark Troopers slid through M’Tzigons skies.

Too small for the X and A wings targeting systems to register automatically, Wave two locked on their plasma cannons and missiles. As Cha had promised the Mark IVs were just as capable in the air as on the ground, blasting half a dozen Rebel fighters out of the sky, and keeping them occupied as Wave one and Three moved forward.

Implacable ruthless logic determined the best way to achieve the simple objective of [Eliminate all hostiles]

Each armed with two backpack missiles they locked onto the visible Imperial Walkers and Rebel Artillery on the tarmac.

With a machines precision yellow trails burst in advance of their approach, winding in corkscrews to avoid flak fire before slamming into the vehicles – the ultradense Phirk missile tips effortlessly penetrating military grade armour and detonating within – in one salvo half of the landed armoured division at the Space port was turned to smouldering wrecks, infantry fleeing behind crates and into covered hangars.

Swinging round to avoid the hurried launches of Plex missiles from Rebel squads their plasma cannons blasted the walls of the Space port weakening the ferrocrete enough for the droids immune to pain to simply barge through the wall and inside.

Rebel soldiers saw only the Imperial Design elements that the Droid were based upon, a veteran called ‘Dark Trooper!’ correctly identifying the source but not the current master.

In close confines of the control rooms and cargo corridors the Droids half bent over used their bulk to crush anything in their path, thermal detonators were tagged onto their legs – but as Karmack had learned even when blown they continued crawling along the ground with disturbing speed pulling the unlucky to the ground to die in efficient single palms that smeared faces to the floor.

Infantry blasters were ineffective, torrents of red and blue energy simply darkened never penetrated the grey-sleet- plex missiles hitting dead on slowed but didn’t destroy outright. On the main landing platform the MPTL managed to get a square hit on ones back before another ripped it apart with its bare machine hands.

“Pull back!” the commander finally ordered as another droid was taken down at the cost of nearly a dozen missiles,
“Warn the Elinga, Advanced Imperial droids, we need EMPs down here!”

<<<<>>>>

M’Tzigon Emergency Command Bunker
In the War room Cliff smiled as he watched the Droids hammer the Imperials and Rebels – he was taking down the invaders and saving his men’s lives.

“Deploy Waves five and six to the Power Station, prepare seven through nine to move on the Temple precinct,” he ordered keeping a cool head despite the losses of his own – fight now weep later.

“Yes Sir…however” Ta Re replied

“However?”

“The Knights are at the Temple, and the friend foe identifiers…”

“I did not Order the Knights to attack the Temple, if Silman has sent them there he’s done so at his own risk, in violation of my direct command…now issue the orders and link me to the Firefly.

Issuing the commands despite her misgivings – certainly they had saved lives by letting the droids off the leash…but as she pressed the release button once more Ta’Re wondered whether they would be able to put it back on again.

“Captain Ben’Ja’Min you have the cargo ready?” Cliff could rely on Ben to follow his orders without question and had given him a very special task – whilst they had not commenced testing the droids in Zero-G yet he was ever more certain they would live up to Cha’s promises

“Standing by General, Home Fleet Squadron is ready to deploy once they hit.”

Nath might be fidgeting about at the edge of the system, but this was Cliff zone of control, he had drawn the Home Fleet capital ships still in orbit to the far side of the planet to come around at the Mon-Cal Cruiser – but only after the Droids were launched at them.

“Fire as soon as you’re in range,”

<<<<>>>>

Battle Song

Residential District
On the ground Karmack was nearly overwhelmed by the first attack. He moved, his saber flashing as he desperately deflected the heavy energy bolts.

Using the force he pinched out the missiles, detonating them harmlessly above the neighbourhood as he dove and rolled.

He felt bruises forming as flying rocks impacted his armor. A sliver of paving stone sliced open a cut on his right cheek, missing his eye by mere inches. He deflected another, larger stone with the force barely in time to save his neck, literally. Power surged through him, but he couldn't keep up...

In desperation Karmack opened another channel in the Ancient One, humming a perception motif. Time seemed to slow as his perception increased speed, augmented by the force. His initial movements felt sluggish until he channelled the same energies into his body. Moving now at a speed almost as fast as the machined droids he was better able to block their incoming fire moving constantly sending most of the bolts back at one of the droids while he reached out toward the other and...

With a scream of rending metal and deforming alloy Karmack pinched off one of the flying droid's proton-pack nozzles. The other he deformed, shaping it dynamically as the droid flipped over and screamed head-first toward the ground.

Each attempt the droid made to correct its flight path or simply to right itself Karmack countered, using the remaining nozzle's deformations to continue to drive it into the ground of an empty schoolyard, where it was impaled on a thick pole, part of the school's climbing equipment. The resulting explosion levelled the yard and adjacent school, which was empty for the holiday.

The last Mark IV immediately went to rapid fire on its cannon and cut its proton jets, intent on closing the distance. It calculated that it would have a better chance against this new, deadly opponent in close-quarters battle than at long range – after all it was metal – he was flesh.

As it dropped from the sky Karmack turned his full attention to it. His saber blurred into a golden shield as he calmly deflected the incoming fire while he reached out...

The last Mark IV was still 30 meters over the ground when it suddenly dismembered in mid-air. Shoulders, elbows, hips and knees separated and the torso dropped like a rock. The proton pack overloaded and exploded, driving the armored body into the signage adorning the center of a traffic circle, where it lay, severed connections sparking, as Karmack approached...

With a single, precise thrust Karmack impaled the crippled droid, neatly piercing the CPU and severing its control runs. Even now the droid died hard, the oblivion internals and phrik structure resisting his coup de grace, but his blade and aim were true. The droid, devoid of control, went into emergency shut-down and began to cool, sending out a distress beacon for recovery and repair.

Karmack felt the burn of the force energy he'd focused on himself and let it back down some, shifting more power into the healing flow.

The hyper-speed perception he kept. The motif was an improvisation of the flow-walking song he'd sung on Geonosis, but it worked...

Another wave of dark energy hit him in force and song and he shook his head, clearing his senses. He pushed back, holding it off, and used the attack to orient himself...

There you are...

A dark wave was washing over the Temple, and Mendax was at its heart.

With a pulse Karmack sent an instinct to Arnor and Silman to meet him there as soon as they could.

Zearic was already on his way, Karmack didn't disturb him. Ken ... would be engaged soon enough, and would need all his skill. Other Knights were engaging, moving to the darkness and challenging it.

The force was alive with clashes between light and dark, the song frenzied with the clash of battle songs and dark melodies. Lives ended, flaring like strobes as death took them. Everywhere there was flux and chaos as light and dark collided.

Karmack pulsed his song into the net and the space around him, pushing back the dark song which bound the enemy together. He began to run toward the temple, toward Mendax, using the force to augment his limbs and increase his speed. Pouring this much energy into his body, even with the Ancient One, was dangerous, but there was no time to spare. He had one goal: Engage the darkness...

...and destroy it.

<<<<>>>>

Rebel Assault

M380C – Elinga in orbit over M’Tzigon Captial Sierra
The enemy fleet had pulled back allowing them to secure aerial supremacy and deploy their forces at the space port and main power grid near the city too easily…now Gingal realised why.

Advanced Imperial droids were taking apart the ground forces piece by piece, the forces at the Space port were already calling for extraction, they had downed twelve of the droids, but the eighteen that remained were too many for them, they were too small for the A Wings, too manoeuvrable for the Imperial walkers, and too strong for Plex missiles and handheld launchers.

“Confirmed captain,” A tactical officer responded to his request

“The M’Tzigon regulars are slowly moving up to the space port and power grid, our forces will be unable to resist by the time they get there,”

Our forces will be gone by the time they get there…

On the main holo-console the battle at the Power station took a turn for the worst, the two six-legged AT-TE’s – old Clone wars walkers they could barely fit in their transports and keep running which they had used as mobile hard points around the Power Station were now streaming smoke.

“One of the Droids got inside!” Reported the on Ground Commander, no more explanation was necessary, at close range no humanoid could resist them as if they’d been programmed to take on Jedi hand to hand.

“Begin extraction, we secure orbit and await the Requiem,” his gravely tones carried across the bridge as a third wave of droid was detected heading toward the Temple Precinct where the Mad Singer was said to be located. He only hoped Misrum and Mendax could kill the insane Karmack and end this before those droids arrived.

But…waters of Dac he was glad to be up here away from those mechanical abominations.

<<<<>>>

Firefly Bridge Far side of M’Tzigon orbit
“Locked on, all signals green,”

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he checked the vectors himself, after launch they would curve around using M’Tzigons orbit and then hit the Alliance.

“Launch.”

The launch tube of the Firefly normally used for ARC-170s had been refitted temporarily to test Cliffs deployment concept for Space warfare using the Mark IV’s, Ben never expected the first test would be in active combat.

Four of the Droids were hurled into space by the propulsion sling, their proton jets firing up on exit to add acceleration as they tore across the sky at 300KMPH, arcing toward the distant rebel corvettes. Even as they reached maximum velocity Ben was already overseeing the loading of the second group.

Sensors on the Elinga detected the unusual flares of proton engines…too small to be fighters…too powerful to be escape pods.

Indifferent to the shattering speeds, Phirk armour brushing aside micro particles that would rip any other unshielded being moving at that speed apart, they began twisting toward the corvette, large Rebel Symbol painted on its upper hull in red.

The X-wings managed to pick one of them off, the blazing body spiralling out of control before self-destruction protocols overloaded the plasma cannon to deny the enemy anything to learn from.

But Three hit the Rebel symbol straight on, their vast weight denting the doonium hull, kinetic energy too low for shields set to counter energy weapons to divert.

Stone hand grasped and pulled off the plating with clinical efficiency, the breached section was sealed off, the Droids dropped inside, running through their inbuilt data-drives to find a corresponding schematic. Then they began executing the simple instruction [Eliminate Hostile Vessel – Maximum Prejudice]

Gingal began wish he was in the Waters of Dac as the Corvette was rent from the inside out.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 24 — As Evening Falls

Part 2

Shadows

Somewhere in or Near M’Tzigon system
The profile built in greens, reds and blues along the screen, overlaid with more complex symbols and notations that could only be seen without training by her own People – and perhaps the few of their very distant Miraluka cousins still alive. They had improved themselves over the millennia since Nihlus destroyed Katarr, become People – become better - the Miraluka had not.

What Karmack had refused them by way of trade, they would obtain by observation. Combined with data from his fight with Mendax on Vyth they were getting ever closer to developing a working model of his unique Crystals functions and abilities.

Data from the fight with the Rebels and Imperials flowed in the secondary and tertiary channels adding to the accumulation of knowledge - even now Aeresdottir was planning the upgrades needed to counter Karmacks tactics in the next generation of droids – they needed to constantly innovate, to learn and adapt to ensure that they were always better.

Cliff seemed to be using his forces wisely, 3rd level cognisance equivalent - impressive for a mere human although she doubted he would be doing so well without the Droids to use as a spearhead.

But the Knights were disobedient, no doubt seeking personal glory to ‘fight the darkness’ and would interfere with his strategy rather than assist it…they were led by a male after all…their territorial chest thumping evident over the transmission between the Kage and General she had intercepted.

“Clever moves…” Cha noted behind her encased in his air tight suit, this was her ship and she had the atmosphere set to her preferences, Noble gases and radiation levels matching her Deep Core home world that would, given more than an hour’s exposure kill even an enhanced human so fragile were they.

“Not clever enough…”
<<<<>>>>

Joke’s on Them

On heading to M’Tzigon from Check Point Alpha- MWS Hornet

Jan swallowed and hummed a calming motif under her breath as the assault shuttles launched. The Hornet's two "Battle Taxi" assault shuttles were overloaded, carrying her full Marine complement of fifty men.

Heavily armoured and moderately armed, fast but not highly manoeuvrable, but their pilots formed up expertly with a matching pair of craft from the Lightray. The assault force paused, loitering in the shadow of their parent ships, waiting for the "go" call from Nath. Jan noted their position on her tactical repeater and made her first transmission. "Eagle One, Jester Six: we are go for launch."

<<<<>>>>

"Acknowledged Jester. All Vipers, go go go! Jokers, go! Jesters, go! Heavies, launch now ... now ... NOW!" Nath transmitted. As he completed the call, the three carriers and LAC flushed their concussion missile tubes in rapid-fire mode. Within second’s fourty-eight missiles streaked out in proximity mode, seeking targets in the cloud of TIE fighters swarming nearby.

About half found targets, opening holes in the fighter formation just as the reinforcements from the Star Destroyer arrived.

Into those holes 39 ETA-2z and 12 ARC-170-MZK fighters drove, sowing death and reaping destruction...

<<<<>>>>

"OK, Jokers, we're wild! Tighten up! Shields double-front! Lets punch through and see if we can't scratch the paint on that beast!" B'Lain called on the squadron frequency.

Around him the 12 fighters of the Joker's formed into a stacked chevron formation, with his gold flight in the middle and slightly ahead of silver (above) and bronze (below). As they reached the encroaching fighters they started firing, 'plowing the road' with their heavy lasers as they maneuverer subtly in formation to prevent long-range fire from impacting them.

Ahead of the tight, heavy formation a wall of fire advanced as TIE after TIE entered the cone of energized light - and died. The Jokers advanced, a juggernaut, unstoppable - and the inexperienced TIE pilots broke off and got out of the way.

"Joker One to Eagle: The road is open! Send the music!"

"Eagle Actual: The Music is playing. Keep the road open."

<<<<>>>>

Jan was pressed back into her seat as the Battle Taxis went to full thrust and leaped out of the shadow of the Hornet. Moving at full speed, the four spherical ships arrowed down the middle of the corridor the Jokers had opened. It seemed like an eternity, and everyone inside was tense, waiting for the fighters to turn and attack.

They never did. Concentrating on regrouping and organizing to counter-attack, the TIEs were all looking the wrong way as the four dark-gray shuttles slipped through their defenses. Jan let the breath she hadn't realized she was holding out as an explosive sigh and turned her attention to the port-side docking bay doors. "Jester Six to Jester Flight: Combat spread. Gunners, concentrate your fire! We need to take that door down hard and clean! Call your bearing!"

"One on target!"
"Two ... lock glitch ..."
"Three on target!"
"Four on target!"
"Two, manual battle-sight up! On target!"

Jan'a closed her eyes and for a flicker of thought she opened herself to the Song. A dark thread was woven through the song of the battle, evil and oppressive, but it was ... thin. Elusive. Waning?. From the planet she had a sense of a golden melody overtaking the core of the darkness, drawing its attention to itself and the fight there and abandoning this one. "Range?"

"Four thousand and closing..." Jan'a added her exultant cry to the song and spoke a single word: "Fire."

The four single-mount heavy turbolasers on the Battle Taxis spoke as one, their green bolts striking within centimeters of each other and blowing a hole into the docking bay door more than large enough for the taxis to fit through. With an expert touch the four pilots slid into a single line and went to full thrust braking as they closed the distance and slipped into the portside auxiliary hangar of the massive Venator-class Star Destroyer.

<<<<>>>>

Nyder jumped as an alarm wailed. "Report!"

Nordas took two steps and vaulted over the pit, cutting the corner off as she headed to the offending station. Nyder saw her face go pale. "Captain... Port side bay is compromised. 18% loss of atmosphere. Emergency force fields are in place." She straightened and turned, stiff and formal. "Captain, we are being boarded."

Nyder felt her left hand jumping in her right. Run! Now! some part of her screamed again ... but she couldn't...

Could she? She tugged... Mendax' control was distant, but the Quioxi wasn't quite ready to give her up yet. It yanked back and Nyder suppressed a flinch of pain as the crystal - and its Mistress - once again exerted control. "Notify Grayson and Choel'dral. They will know what to do."

Nordas nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Nyder turned back to the darkness, again poking at her leash the way one pokes at a sore tooth. Maybe... Just maybe...

<<<<>>>>

Moonshadow

Lunar 3
The Men At Arms stationed on the Lunar base were competent, well trained and organised. They rapidly locked off critical section, vented key passages of oxygen, disabled gravity in entire wings and activated countermeasures all across the base.

For all this they couldn’t stop the raiders. The Lunar base was designed before the Clone wars, for all their training in zero G, few men at arms had actually experienced a real battle.

The Raiders used the latest breaching equipment and disarming mechanisms, had spent years pillaging and boarding craft across a dozen hyperspace exit points, seen dozens of different ships, sneered at hundreds of captain’s attempts to throw them off.

And so section by section they left a trail of floating bodies dripping frozen rubies of blood amidst carbon scored armour that wafted out of breach holes mingling with the molten globs of promethium blasted blast doors and hard walls.

Most importantly they had Illiv Orfa at their head. She knew how to run a raid, her teen years had been spent being passed between various pirate captains, a trophy of sorts until she finally learnt to control the latent power within her.

She had learnt much during those years – how to conduct a raid, how to manage and control a band of alpha males each vying for personal glory…and that no matter what she did, the female twi-lek would always be looked at as a weak sex object and the only way she could have any choices in her life at all was to make them fear her more than they wanted to use her.

Even as another power armoured marine fell to her blade three of her men were looking at her thighs and rear with lecherous intent – only the threat of violence kept them from using her – every moment was a precarious tightrope walk to stay above their contempt and out of their clutches – this was the only Galaxy Orfa knew – one in which you were either Using or being Used - she knew which she preferred.

Pushing off the armoured form off and into the pile atop the bloody corpse of the less than co-operative base commander, she gestured for the team to secure the doors as the slicer set to work – as expected all the consoles in the TurboLaser command centre were locked down, just as a regular commercial captain would lock down auxiliary bridge and engine consoles – Pirates dealt with such measures every day.

Through the Trasnparisteel window she looked on the planet across the gulf of space where the Elinga provided the anvil against which the Requiem would crush the M’Tzigon fleet.

It was a waste, all for Mendax vanity, and that was why once the Turbolasers were online Orfa would blast Zearics Bane in Space and Misrum on the ground to pieces and call for a full withdrawal – yes they would take losses, but she would still end with at least one capital ship and hundreds of soldiers.

For the first time she would truly have power, maybe then they would call her ‘Mistress’ without locker room sneers an hour later.

<<<<>>>>

Long hours he had spoken to his grandfather about the necessities and implications of battle, the role of the Knight to take on the burden of ending one life to protect others. Ken had in his way come to accept the necessity during his time with the Sons.

But intellectual assent didn’t make emotional impact any less.

Ken felt powerless in a way, thrust into a fight before he was ready, the burden of his Oaths dragging him into an external battle when a greater one still raged across his mind.

He felt the gaze of the Marines upon him, half looked upon him as the only hope they had to defeat the murderous witch who had torn through their defences, the other half saw only a Mack and kept their fingers on their triggers just waiting for Ken to turn on them.

Ken wasn’t ready to lead these men, or even himself, but the choice wasn’t his to make.

He looked behind him and raised a thumb up indicating he was ready, Lieutenant An’ne’Krey, now the ranking officer that the Commander was presumed dead.

“Go!” she called into her comm and the lights in the hall died to be replaced by the blue of Ken’s sabre that became hot white and yellowish gas he plunged it into the wall, beside him three promethium breach charges likewise lit up the dark and rent holes into the wall to Turbo Laser command.

It was time for the Men at Arms, and Ken himself to take back control of the situation and themselves.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 24 — As Evening Falls

Part 3

Joke’s On Them

On heading to M’Tzigon from Check Point Alpha- MWS Hornet
B'Lain watched the four landing craft disappear into the Star Destroyer. "Joker Six to Eagle: Jesters are on stage."

"Acknowledged Joker Six. Move to track two."

"Roger. Jokers are wild." B'Lain fired, taking out a pair of TIEs that lingered too long in his sights, and corkscrewed back toward the rest of his squadron. "Jokers! Form on me. We're about to play track two!"

From the swirling dogfight ten ARC-170s emerged, finding and forming on each other even as they continued to twist through complex defensive manoeuvres.

As they shook out into formation B'Lain noted the missing pilots and a small part of him said a prayer for them. Mostly, though, he concentrated on bringing the formation back toward its next objective.

The Requiem.

With a twist the formation, which now resembled a three-bladed arrowhead with B'Lain as the tip, swooped in on the Star Destroyer. B'Lain set his vector to appear to be setting up a run on the port turbo-laser batteries, twisting and turning along that base course ... until they were nearly on top of the Star Destroyer.

Then with a whoop he arced up, and each of the ten fighters loosed a proton torpoedo. The concentrated spread streaked toward the starboard tower control station, impacting in tight sequence and obliterating the fighter control deck.

But that was just the distraction. By the time the torpedoes hit, B'Lain'Throwd and his Jokers were inside the main bay of the Star Destroyer, prepared to launch their second volley of torpedoes.

No fighters Nath was right! …. Somehow that fact wasn’t as enthusisaing as it should be…

"Torps away! BREAK BREAK BREAK!" B'Lain yelled into his mic. He hit the firing key and reefed his controls.

As one the ten Joker fighters launched and immediately arced upward, streaking up and out of the bay as quickly as they had entered it. They emerged in a line which immediately broke into five pairs of fighters on independent courses.

Anti-fighter laser turrets laced their formation and hit three of them as they sped away. Jace managed to hold his fighter together, spinning away and putting himself on a course that would go very near the Eagle before punching out and activating his transponder. Jokers Nine and Eleven - both new - were not so lucky.

Both ships were hit emerging from the bay with catastrophic results. One simply exploded, but the other, out of control, drove full-power into the port-side turbolaser turret #2. The resulting detonation destroyed the turret and badly damaged the turrets to either side, crippling the ship's firepower on that side.

The damage to the surface, however, was only a side-show. Inside the ship carnage and chaos reigned. The proton torpedoes diverted port and starboard, tearing through the hanger decks of the massive SD. Flames erupted from the long dorsal hanger bay door and the smaller ventral bay as fuel tanks and ammunition storage for the ship's small complement of fighters and ground-assault vehicles were detonated in long chain reactions.

“Jesters Track two complete” Blain commed as he twisted out shaking flecks of debris off his wings.

Armored bulkheads and automated fire suppression systems saved the ship despite the internal damage.

Shivering from the explosions and streaming air and debris, the Star Destroyer seemed to shrug off the attack, her fire on the M'Tzigon platforms diminished but continuing.

<<<<>>>

Jan'a and her men were thrown off her feet by the Joker's attack, and for a moment she thought the bay was compromised and they were all dead.

But the ship and song both settled back into their steady rhythm and she rose to find the internal gravity was still in place ... for now. "OK, Jesters! Listen up! Sgt Cam will take her teams from the Lightray and secure Engineering. Blackie and I will take the teams from the Hornet and secure the bridge. If we're on plan, the Jokers just blew away the fighter control center on the starboard tower and obliterated the main bay. Hopefully that means most of their troops are dead, but this is a big ship. Move fast, hit hard, and don't get pinned down. Understood?"

The marines gathered around her answered in unison: "HOO-AH!"

Jan'a grinned a deaths-head grin and ignited her saber. "OK, boys, lets take this bucket!"

"CAN DO!!!"

<<<<>>>>

Nyder was knocked off her feet, almost falling down into the control pit, when the torpedo storm destroyed the adjacent tower. She stood, blood trickling from a cut on her scalp and stared in fascination as the deck vented, belching flames, air, debris, and bodies into space.

Someone, back to them, drifted toward them almost gently. He struggled briefly as his blood boiled and his body bloated in explosive decompression, kicking and thrashing in the vacuum, unable to even scream in the cold, hard vacuum of space...

"Ma'am!" Nordas spun Nyder around, pulling her eyes from the carnage. "Ma'am, the bay ... its gone! I need orders, ma'am..."

Nyder blinked, swallowed, focused on Nordas, still somehow impossibly neat and clean despite the soot and smoke from secondary explosions. "Orders...." Nyder pulled on the leash, felt it slipping... Not yet. Soon...

Nyder steadied herself. "Status of Grayson and Choel'dral's troops?"

Nordas frowned and his voice shook slightly as he answered, the only outward break in his calm façade. "Grayson is dead, his troops were wiped out in the bay. Choel'dral is online but his Marines were in the Armor Morgue when those damned torpedoes hit and were wiped out. He only has a handful of troops with him."

Nyder nodded. "Have Choel'dral block the passages to engineering ... and have everyone here draw weapons, and prepare to repel boarders…then engage the drives full speed to the planet.”

Nyder met Nordas' eyes with her own. She felt her hand twitching again, felt the control of her Mistress' will. Will he defy me as he did his former commander? Will he choose surrender and life rather than resistance and death? Will he kill me to live?

Nordas looked away and swallowed. "It will be done."

Nyder exhaled explosively as the small Imperial stepped away, issuing crisp orders again. Nordas was back in the groove, his moment of weakness past.

So why do I feel disappointment?

<<<<>>>>

Sgt. Cam suppressed a curse as blaster bolts impacted on the bulkhead just above her helmet. She jerked her head back, meeting her second's eyes. "Don't you dare say it..."

Corporal "T" Anders only grinned ... and handed her a fiber-optic scope.

"Thanks Tee." Holli grated, the boyish grin on his massive face irritating her. Calm down, girl! You're only riled up because you did something stupid ... and nearly paid the ultimate price for it.

She shook it off, focused, and carefully slid the probe around the corner. The small screen of the device lit up, showing her a half-dozen impies in soft body armor manning a barricade at the next intersection. She held up her hand and flashed three fingers twice to the troopers with her, then made a fist and flashed the estimated range - "2" and "5" for twenty-five meters. She tapped her grenadier on the helmet, pointed up the corridor, and signalled four fingers, instructing him to pump four "hot fragment" grenades 25 meters up the corridor.

The trooper nodded, checked his weapon, then after taking a deep breath he ducked low and poked his weapon around the corner.

<<CHONK-CHONK-CHONK-CHONK>>

Return fire struck the corner above him as he rolled back into cover. Holli ignored him, watching the grenades go down-range on her tiny screen and impact among the prepared positions.

<< BOOM >>
<< BOOM >>
<< BOO-OOOM>>

Holli noted with grim satisfaction how the position came apart. "GO GO GO!"

Tee charged around the corner, flanked by Marines, and finished off the strong point, taking another 25 meters of corridor. Holli followed him forward, advancing cautiously until a new strong-point emerged, and they started the process all over again. Tee rolled onto his back, slapping a fresh power pack into his blaster and grinned. "Two more turns and we'll be in engineering. Almost there, Sarge!"

"Good. Now, lets see about this next strong point..." Holli was already watching her screen, her scope snaking around the corner again.

<<<<>>>>

Behind the barricade Choel'dral Bendix tried not to despair. Not enough time...

He'd been in a hurry and sent his men to the Armory in a group - just in time for that fiendish torpedo strike to wipe them out en-mass. Only the small detail that he'd kept back with the engineers and his small HQ group remained, and most of them...

The flashing explosions of grenades hammered his ears and lit the corridor. One more turn ... and they're turning us into ground nerfmeat...

He looked at the position. He had seven men here, all armed with side arms and the odd bladed weapon. No heavy weapons. No explosives. No armor...

His orders were clear, Hold Engineering at all costs.

Behind him the bulk head to the hypermatter tanks and reactors was already sealed…

Odd looks like they sealed them before we got boarded…
The thought stuck for a moment but given they had a skeleton force on the Requiem at best perhaps it made sense.

As he sat and racked his brain, trying desperately to think of some way to slow the advance time ran out. Choel'dral heard the <thonk><thonk><thonk> of the boarder's grenade launcher firing... Heard the grenades whistling through the air toward them...

Nerfmeat...

<<<<>>>>

“It’s speeding up!” Ellen called from tactical as the Jokers continued blasting away at the Turbolasers, support flights from the Ranger dealing with the few remaining fighters.

“Heading in system,”

Nath couldn’t pick why…surely if it wanted to join with the rest of the fleet it would’ve done it earlier…it was as if whoever was in command was…vacillating between wanting to press forward and wanting to run…for now pressing forward in fits and starts of conviction.

“Franklin, Yakob, have your fighters hit the engines with ion cannons, looks like the Marines won’t get there in time,”

Fighter grade Ion cannons against a ship that size were almost useless, but the only other option was…

“Helm heading 425, get us in range of their engines and charge turbo lasers.”

“We’re not going to engage a Star Destroyer?”

“If Jan can’t take the bridge we won’t have a choice.”

<<<<>>>>

“Ma’am” we’ve lost contact with Choel'dral” Nordas reported as the last of the TIEs was blown away by the proficient ARC-170s that now turned their attention to the Requiems Turbo Lasers, whittling them down one by one allowing the carriers to close back in and begin picking up their casualties.

“Very Goood…” Nyder nearly drooled glancing to the tactical display, the Carriers were not in vaporization range…but would certainly be crippled….

None of it matters, none of it matters

As Sgt. Cam began placing charges to breach and take Engineering and Jan worked her way quickly up through the empty corridors to the bridge, increasingly troubled by the lack of resistance, the charges were being prepared by Engineers convinced by the Qixoni crystal to turn the Requiems outdated hyper-matter chamber into an anti-matter bomb that would be the crescendo of the M’Tzigon fleet.

<<<<>>>>

Blades of Night

Temple Outskirts
Zearic hadn’t waited for the transport to land. Along with half a dozen of the bolder Koawans and Silver Knights, he had simply leapt into the mutilated hordes of Darksiders.

Around the Temple Grounds and adjoining hamlet, the battle between Light and Dark raged.

The Flagellants cared nothing for pain nor feared death; each life they took, each drop of blood they squeezed from their enemies was a votive offering to the Dark Side.

Likewise, the Knights of the Mak’Tor cared nothing for pain nor feared death; each heretic they struck down was another step toward fulfilling their Oaths to the Maker to protect the weak.

With enemies on all sides, Zearic led the charge, ploughing through a group of the vile fanatics, his glacial blue blade plunging in the back of an opponent with a hissing vaporization of meat and bone, the last breath of the dying Flagellant steaming in the frozen air. He was quickly surrounded, the four Darksiders confident, taunting him.

Zearic engaged the four Flagellants, their red meeting his own ice-blue and silver blades in a flurry of strikes. They found no hole in his defence, nothing to exploit as they attempted to overwhelm him.

Before his…augmentation, he doubted that he could have fought this many enemies—opponents who were skilled saber-practitioners—simultaneously and lived, much less prevailed. And with his anger raging inside, he instinctively knew that he required an…outlet was the best he could describe it as. With newfound speed, he tangled three of his opponent’s sabers, identical looks of shock upon their faces.

Suddenly, the Nocte flew from the holster behind his belt as if pulled by the Force. Glancing behind him, what he saw filled him with amazement. And grim satisfaction.

The Nocte had flown from its scabbard…to bury itself deep into the forehead of the fourth Darksider Zearic had been fighting. He had done nothing telekinetically with the Force; the Oblivion dagger had reacted on its own…almost as if it was an extension of his will…

Breaking the blade-lock, Zearic quickly dispatched one and then another of his foes, eviscerating the bodies even as they fell, the last one backing up as a look of terror began to spread across his face.

As a sudden explosion pulverized the house by which they’d been fighting, Zearic lost sight of the Darksider as he turned to run. But while he couldn’t see him, he could feel him in the Force. Using his shoto—as well as his enhanced abilities—he threw the silver lightsaber at the retreating figure, its scything blade burned through the falling snow, bisecting the Darksider’s torso at an angle, head, neck, and right shoulder falling to one side, the rest of the body to the other.

Calling his shoto back, Zearic went to physically retrieve the dagger. As he pulled the Nocte from the already snow-covered head of the Darksider, the black blade stood in stark contrast against the white blanketing the ground and surrounding buildings. Like the Tenebris Pugione, the Nocte would not respond to telekinesis.

But it did to his anger…of which he had plenty. Instinctually, he channeled his rage into the black weapon, an almost sub-auditory hum accompanying the action. As he reached behind his back and holstered the dagger, Zearic’s thumb felt the slight but deliberate indentation of the inscription upon the fuller.

“She left you for a reason”

And now just as then, he wondered what it meant…

As Zearic moved through the streets towards the other side of the village, a large explosion destroyed one of the taller buildings on the west-side of town. The west-side…which invariably pulled one’s gaze to the slopes of the near mountain.

And ever-present just atop the slopes: the Temple of the Maker. Even from this distance, every Force-user and Singer could feel the power emanating from within the building. Something momentous…and terrible…was going to happen.

And thanks to Karm, Zearic had a feeling as to what that was.

“Mendax” He seethed rushing into the fray once more

<<<<>>>>

Inside the Temple as the Red Police rounded up the terrified worshipers Misrum felt the Tenebris grasp his mind with fear, his eyes rolling up in their sockets, visions of savagery assaulting his senses.

Strike Now, Strike Fast, He’ll Kill You!

The one from the Deep Core…Zearic was here…if Misrum killed Zearic…not only would he deny Mendax her satisfaction but more importantly he would prove his superiority.

The red Nikto grimaced malevolently. “To me, thralls! Our enemies gather for the assault.” In one hand he held his ignited saber, in the other, the Tenebris Pugione. He brought the black dagger to his lips, the bifurcated tongue licking the blade. “They will beg us for mercy. And shall be granted none.” With shouts arising from the two dozen or more Darksiders that had broken off to follow Misrum, those remaining trained blasters and sabers upon their fearful hostages.

Moving with purpose, his fingers possessively clutching the Oblivion dagger, Misrum gave a devious grin, thinking again of the gift he’d been given. He would do what Mendax had failed at twice: killing Zearic Vih’Torr.

<<<<< >>>>>

Chapter 24 — As Evening Falls

Part 4

Blades of Night

Temple Grounds
Zearic’s blades moved like a spinning wheel slashing through limbs and torsos. The Nocte filled with his fury could no longer be contained, slicing once again out of the leather sheath he had quickly made on Dualism’s Soul as it flung itself between the vibroblades of a distant Flagellant and straight into the skull, through and out the back of the neck. Then, its energy spent, dropped again.

Zearic pivoted through another foe, shoulder and torso parting as he arced the blade upwards allowing him to scoop up the Nocte once more. He’d gotten used to that.

The drive to the Temple grounds had been gruelling, Red Polcie and Fanatics in small mortar encampments levelling houses to stop their advance, LAATs unable to land clean closer to the Temple for the plex-missile armed fanatics running from apartment to apartment firing from windows.

Without intending to Zearic had picked up a group of knights, the bloody path he carved inspiring them to follow him through miasma of dust snow and blood that choked their lungs and stained their armour.

To his left Sam’El’Mack and two other Silvers whose names he had no time to learn jumped across the street battering the door open – through the windows he saw the glow of swingin blades as they took down the Red Police hunkered within, to his right Silver Knight Shar’Naa lead half of the Koawans up the right flank while Knight Boh’Az will took the remaining Grays in a circuit up the side streets along the left the retaining walls for cover and splitting the Darksiders double the targets and diverting their focus while Zearic leap frogged along the left his ‘buried presence’ and Sam’s Force Concealment hopefully allowing them to get the drop on the mortar positions as they fired on the right.

Take what you want and pay for it he said - The Temple was only a few blocks away, the price was flesh and bone.

<<<<>>>>

You Must Kill Him, You Must Strike Now, You Must Strike Fast, He’ll Kill You! KILL HIM BEFORE HE KILLS YOU!

Misrum’s fear was stoked to another pinnacle as he grasped the deceptively heavy black dagger in one hand, humming red lightsaber in the other. “You six, come with me.” He indicated a group he knew to be deadly swordsmen and women. “The rest of you: fan out and kill those frelling Mak’Tor.” The red Nikto looked on as the Flagellants dispersed, a mix of anticipation and trepidation roiling within him.

Misrum moved, making turns and going forward by instinct, one supplied—at least in part—by the prodding of the Tenebris Pugione. Even filled with the Dark Side, his thralls had a difficult time keeping pace.

Damn his orders to remain in the Temple, he had to kill him before he kills you

<<<<>>>>

One moment their spotter was calling out target protocols, the next her head disappeared, a fountain of blood spewing from her neck. When one of the loaders looked up to see why the spotter had stopped talking, his eyes saw only a blue flash before his vision went forever dark.

The second loader had time to cry out in confusion before a lance of silver plasma impaled his throat, silencing him. The commander of the team was the only one to put a hand upon their weapon but was unable to draw the blaster, a blue blade bisected her wrist, torso, and shoulder in a brutal cut across her body.

But even before the pieces of the dismembered body hit the ground, Zearic was already moving up the sloped and snow-filled avenues between dwellings leading to the switchbacks up the mountain.

The dull tvump of Sam’s DC-17 blaster pistol echoed in a building up ahead and the clockwork fire of Plex missiles on Shar’Naa’s squad stopped dead allowing them to vault a wall to the next ring of houses, the last block before the Temple.

The way ahead looked clear and they had no time, every moment the pressure of darkness built up ahead.

Rushing into the manicured Temple Grounds Zearic was soon followed by Bo’Ahz knights, their presence reminding Zearic not to get lost in the single-minded focus of his anger. But that warning seemed a small thing compared to the fury that he’d surrounded himself with.

As if crossing an invisible barrier he suddenly felt it…familiar as it was unwelcome oppressiveness, like a menacing sound just below the hearing threshold. …The Tenebris Pugione… Even here and now, he felt an unnamed, indefinite fear starting to rise. …no…No…NO…! Anger like he hadn’t felt since losing G’av consumed him, a rage that flared white-hot burned the remnants of his fear away.

And within its scabbard, the Nocte trembled.

With laser-focused senses, Zearic gave warning to the Mak’Tor Knights, igniting both of his sabers.

Moving purposefully through the delicate white-covered garden paths, the beautiful snow speckled lavender blooms an unseemly backdrop to the violence of the night, the Gray Jedi fanned out, feeling their Darkside counterparts as they closed the distance with the inexorable pull of opposites.

And like the meeting of matter and antimatter, the results were as catastrophic as they were destructive.

<<<<>>>>

As soon as the heavy Temples doors opened to let in a breeze of dust contaminated snow Misrum saw him.

There! Kill Him NOW! KILL HIM BEFORE HE KILLS YOU!

Yellow eyes filled with hatred locked onto hazel, the red more pronounced with burning rage.

Without waiting for his thralls, Misrum knew what he must do, to usurp his one-time Mistress, to stop the big man from stealing back the Tenebris, but mostly to eradicate the fear coursing throughout his body.

Wordlessly snarling, Misrum attacked.

<<<<< >>>>>

…Bastard…that dagger is MINE!

The thought came unbidden to Zearic as the red Nikto rushed forward, red saber and black dagger in his hands, deadly intent matching the hatred within his Sith eyes. Zearic’s sabers spun, deflecting the Nikto’s weapons, icy-blue blade meeting red, silver shoto against Oblivion dagger.

The first two passes had already proven dangerous, both combatants had drawn blood as their blades fended off the others, intent on a lethal strike on riposte. Zearic bled freely from a vertical cut from chin to brow; Misrum’s eyes cringed in pain from a semi-cauterized laceration on his shoulder. And even as they both shunted the pain away, their injuries did nothing to slow their attacks.

Again, their blades locked together, determination masking the other emotions that both men felt. But for Misrum, he received his second shock of the night: this human was stronger than he was. That by itself may have been uncommon as categorically most humans were weaker than Nikto, but Misrum prided himself on his physical might and was pointedly stronger than average. But against Zearic, it didn’t seem to matter… The Tenebris was right…

Zearic kept forcing downwards, the Nikto’s red blade slowly but inexorably being pushed closer to his horned head. The big maenowan could see the abject fear in the yellow eyes, intent upon the loudly humming red blade. Then he saw the Darksider’s eyes flick over his right shoulder, panic replaced by relief…and satisfaction.

Almost instinctively, Zearic pushed the Nikto away, pivoting to his left and circling around the incoming attacker. It was one of the Flagellants from the Deep Core, her red lightsaber cutting through the air and the spot that Zearic had but a moment ago been. A look of surprise filled her face as she hit nothing, instead leaving herself exposed.

Grimly, Zearic brought both of his sabers together in a savage cut, effortlessly slicing through the Flagellant’s chest and neck, nearly decapitating her. His senses alert, Zearic took a moment to step back and assess the situation.

In his haste to engage the Nikto who seemed the leader, he had missed the battle around him, another seven clashing with the Gray, Sam diving beneath the charge of one firing his pistol straight up into the arm, Bo’Ahz sabre locked with another, Shar’Naa stumbling but still fighting as her Knights moved to support.

If he could break the leader and get the Tenebris…two Oblivion blades who could stop him! The glee fed into the trembling Nocte as the Nikto surged at him again with zealous fury, twoof his companions attempting to circle Zearic where with their numbers they would have advantage.

Trying to keep his sabers between himself and his enemies, Zearic moved both blades in a defence pattern, trying to cover all areas at once. But deep down, beneath he stirring of the Nocte and the pull of the Tenebirs he knew that he was in trouble; he could not possibly defend against this many opponents at once, and he didn’t have a magic crystal to help…

Suddenly, when the first Darksider quickly advanced, the Nocte spun out of its sheath, twirling point over hilt in the air, creating a black edged barrier between Zearic and the attacker. And while Zearic’s anger was still primed, he could now feel the dagger itself feeding off of his opponents…almost as if it had locked on to their aggression, siphoning power from them.

With a small grin upon his lips, Zearic looked around, scrutinizing the group as he mentally switched tactics. With crystal clarity, he noticed they were all competent saber-practitioners, balanced between rushing him and waiting to see how he responded. …No time like the present…

And so Zearic attacked.

With both sabers creating a whirling shield of plasma, supplemented by a black shadow that seemed to teleport around him, staving off attacks, Zearic engaged the two Darksiders in front of him, focusing on the Nikto leader.

Smiling grimly, each of his attacks threatened his opponents, disbelief etched deeply in their faces. The Flagellant on the right soon fell under his blade, his eyes widening as he died a victim of his own saber as Zearic’s blue blade crashed down against him, too much momentum for the Darksider to mitigate. He died…poorly.

“‘And then there were two…’” His quiet, deep voice intoned. Stepping forward, he gave a flourish, the glacial blue and silver blades burning the air as Zearic adopted an aggressive stance, the Nocte continuing to hover protectively around him, a third hand and blade.

The red Nikto and the remaining Darksider exchanged a glance as Zearic smiled, a wicked grin that spread across his face.

And without warning, the Nocte dropped from the air, the pommel of the dagger heavily clouting Zearic on the head, blood suddenly flowing down his face.

Seeing their opening, both of the Darksiders rushed forward intent on killing the human.

<<<<< >>>>>

KILL HIM BEFORE HE KILLS YOU!!

Misrum’s fear-fueled body and mind jerked forward as if controlled by a marionette. Seeing the human’s own weapon fall and strike him upon the crown of his head was the moment that the Nikto knew he had been waiting for. With death in his eyes, Misrum knew that he would taste victory over two of his enemies today: first this Zearic and then his former Mistress, Mendax.

Stabbing outward, Misrum felt the Tenebris cleave into flesh, blood wetting the tip of the heavy blade as he withdrew it. His red saber soon found an opening to exploit in the big human’s defense, scoring a glancing blow off of Zearic’s elbow. The smell of burnt flesh joined the snow falling in the air. Inhaling deeply, Misrum licked blood from the black blade, fear and ecstasy acting like a drug, coursing through his body. The remaining Flagellant pressed her own attack, making the human lose ground as he desperately defended himself.

KILL HIM BEFORE HE KILLS YOU!!

Not wanting to be deprived of his victory, Misrum’s own trepidations gave way to his growing paranoia. Knowing only that the Tenebris would be silenced by Misrum killing the human, he plunged the black dagger deep into the spine of the Flagellant, shoving her aside even as her lifeblood flowed from the wound in her back.

But it didn’t matter. Misrum knew that only he was worthy to carry the Tenebris; Zearic Vih’Torr had only been a…carrier. Much like a vermin acts as a vector, so too was this…insignificant human, carrying a powerful entity, one that like the plagues of old, held the very power of death.

And it was Misrum that would command this power.

<<<<< >>>>>

Zearic desperately tried to clear his ringing head as well as the blood that threatened to blind him. He was vaguely aware that the Oblivion hilt had given him a concussion and that he’d need a Singer for the accumulated wounds that he’d taken.

But he knew that that was academic; he was literally fighting for his life. And he was sure that the Flagellant in front of him would be the one to end it; she was a better swordsman than he and—worst of all—she was patient. Combined with his head wound… He tried to flare his rage into something constructive but both pain and vertigo acted as a cold river dousing the flames of his anger. It was all that he could do to defend himself.

And then, shockingly, the Flagellant cried out in pain, her left arm dropping her saber while her right tried to reach around to her back. Confused but nevertheless grateful, Zearic didn’t bother wondering what had happened, instead taking a moment to wipe his eyes and gather the Force around himself in a Healing wave. And while his skill at Healing was still lackluster, his augmented abilities also seemed to help out in this regard as well.

It was the chance that Zearic needed; he was finally able to collect himself so that he had the wherewithal to focus again.

And none too soon; the Nikto suddenly attacked shouting wordlessly, a crazed glint within his yellow eyes. Zearic’s two lightsabers matched the Darksider’s weapons, strike for strike, the two opponents being fairly equal now. Even as they circled one another in the snow, steam radiating off of their backs in the freezing night air, neither was able to gain advantage.

Suddenly Zearic slipped in the snow, only faltering an instant but it was detrimental to his defense. His mouth wide in a rictus grin, the Nikto laughed loudly as a strike to Zearic’s blue blade sent the saber flying from his hand, leaving him with only his silver shoto. But worse, the Nikto hit Zearic full in the chest with an unexpected Force Push. Knocked on the ground, the wind from his lungs, his head concussed, the big maenowan lay stunned on his back.

The Nikto’s lips kept moving, as if he were saying a silent litany over and over again, one that Zearic thought he heard as “kill him before he kills you.” Desperate, Zearic was at a loss as what to do.

Misrum stood over the human, crazed, triumphant. “Tomorrow, I vanquish my Mistress forever.” Flipping the Tenebris in his hand blade-downwards, the Nikto raised the weapon, intent upon plunging it into Zearic’s heart. “But first, tonight, you die.” And as his hand fell, two things happened. First, instead of relying on his anger, Zearic instinctually focused on his opponent’s aggression.

Second, he funnelled all of it towards where the Nocte lay.

Zearic heard a wet, deep thud and saw the Nikto’s arm drop, the Tenebris falling from limp fingers. His hazel eyes intent upon Misrum, Zearic saw the Darksider fall heavily to his knees and then unceremoniously on his face in the snow. And from the base of his skull, the Nocte had buried itself to the quillions at an angle, stabbing upwards into Misrum’s brain.

Sighing heavily, Zearic rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying as a wave of nausea hit him. Supporting himself on one of the granite walls, Zearic spend several minutes focusing on Healing. Once he felt strong enough to stand unaided, he retrieved his three weapons and went to search for one of the Singers among the Knights.

He knew that the night’s killing was far from over.

<<<<< >>>>>

Chapter 24 — As Evening Falls

Part 5

Collateral Damage

M’Tzigon Spaceport
Captain Tesk had a smile on his face as the armoured speeder hovered near the edge of the fence around the spaceport. All across the tarmac were smoking ruins of Imperial Walkers and Rebel Tanks, E-wings and an Incom Y-85 Titan drop ship desperately trying to get back into orbit as the Mark IV’s opened fire on them in between plastering fleeing troopers.

Preliminary scan indicated at least a few dozen enemy infantry still through the space port, but their main force was broken.

“Move on up,” he clapped the pilot shoulder and headed into the back, he had been suspicious of the Droids, incensed that Cliff had held them back for so long but considering the losses they had avoided among the men at arms by letting the Droids loose…he couldn’t argue with results.

“Alright we’ve got rats to round up, set for stun initially but if they shoot back give…”

<CWOOOM>

The transport shuddered and nearly tipped, he felt the G’s and slammed into his second in command as it cut a hard left – they must be under fire…a rear-guard…

“Captain! The droids they’re firing on us!”

<<<<>>>>

Sword of Light

Main road from M’skigon Mountains to Sierra Temple District
The shift in the Force was sudden – shock, disbelief…betrayal. Yet this wasn’t the echoes of the initial attack, this was new – elation turned to terror in an instant.

Arnor pressed on despite it, as bad as that was the rising darkness ahead was worse – a tune at the edge of her perception telling her it needed to be confronted before anything else.

Up ahead she could see the blinking lights of blaster fire begin to erupt on the fringes of the Temple district…still so far away…glancing behind she saw Julwynn near behind her, but Balnard absent the force to speed him, Talia understandably a bit out of shape after Ilians death and her father struggling with age were back a fair way.

A familiar yet…strange…presence exploded as the LAATs descended halfway up the built up are around the Temple Zearic…but not Zearic… something about him felt familiar in a…wrong way.

“Come on!” she called shaking it off through the empty streets, the citizens all evacuated to underground bomb shelters as the battle raged above them, speeders by the side of the road universally mag-locked and drive dead to avoid becoming explosive collateral and deny the invaders any materiel.

A rumbling erupted behind her, snapping on her sabre she turned to face the threat…

The LAAT that descended had the familiar figure of Kage Lo hanging from the side had out.

“Silver Mack need a lift!”

Shutting off her blade she rushed forward to rasp his hand

“Definitely, where is Karm?”

“No clue there was a burst of energy earlier on, but amidst the rest of it…how did you get out of jail?”

“Eghh…I’ll explain later, we need to…”
Silman nodded grimly as his fellow masters helped the others onto the deck then finished her sentence
“…Drive the Sword of Light into the heart of Darkness.”

<<<<>>>>

Battle Song

Road from Residential district to Temple District
Through the thickening snowfall and gathering darkness Karmack ran...

Ice crystals stung his cheeks as Karmack pushed himself beyond previous imagination. The cut on his cheek stung but the bleeding had stopped. Karmack ignored it, not wanting to divert energy to heal such a minor wound. Other pains - contusions and cuts from his fight with the droids - pulsed on the edge of his awareness for a moment.

Gently he willed them away, subsuming them under his expanded awareness. He knew he was running at incredible speed, but the enhanced awareness that allowed him to carefully plan and place each step also made the journey take even longer subjectively than his normal walk along the same, familiar path.

Time crawled...

With effort Karmack squelched his own impatience and the tremors of panic and frustrated urgency that rose in his chest. He'd seen the ship land, felt the swelling of the darkness as it subsumed the Temple.

Mendax had landed...

Hurry... he injected into his connection with Arnor and Silman.

And he ran....

<<<<>>>>

The Temple

Mendax walked slowly down the knave of the Temple, her boot-clicks echoing through the chamber. Carved stone arches rose majestically around her, framing brilliant stained-glass windows ... at least where the flagellants had not broken them out in their orgy of defacement. No matter. The real beauty of this place lay deep below...

Mendax came to a halt at the exact centre of the intersection of knave and transcept. All around her power hummed. No doubt there were secret shrines and hidden chambers cut through the rock below her where the Mak'Tor had placed more of their damned crystals, focussing and balancing the force nexus deep in the mountain's core.

The regulation of the force's flow was an impressive achievement - and would help them not at all. Their efforts would only serve to focus and amplify her own act of destruction and bring down not only their Temple but the entire planet.

With a sigh Mendax opened herself to the force, letting the flow of power envelop her and amplify her song...

He was close .... nearly here ... too late! Mendax felt Karmack's presence in the force, heard his counter-melody rising to challenge her own song. For a single moment she was staggered by the strength, volume and depth of that song, and instinctively she pulled her own song in tighter, wrapping it tightly around herself and the Temple.

He was strong, but she was Sith! She would prevail! She turned, dropping her outer cloak and drawing her saber as she addressed the strongest of the flagellants she'd chosen for this most important task. "It is time. Set yourselves here. Prepare yourselves and begin the incantations. I will buy you the time you need."

"Yes, mistress!"

<<<<>>>>

Ahead of him light and dark clashed. The fighting still raged throughout the ancient village below the Temple to the West, but inside was only blackness and death. Mendax was there ... and behind her a deadly, familiar pressure was building in force and song. The Thought Bomb!

There was no time... Karmack pulled every ounce of speed he dared from the force, feeling the burn in his limbs despite all the Ancient One could do. With a final leap he launched himself up the hill, somersaulting through the air, aiming at the Eastern portal...

Only his enhanced perception saved him. Almost before the blood-orange blade formed he was activating his own saber. With an easy push he deflected her force attack but his own blade was still coming up and was out of position. As he landed he caught her strike on his vambrace, defecting the blade and following through with an elbow strike that caught the Ferroan woman on the cheek.

Blood spattered from the cut that opened, and Mendax staggered backward. Karmack used the opening to shake off the damaged vambrace, the songsteel armor warped and red-hot from the lightsaber blade's impact. Only the very tough cybernetic glove underneath saved his arm from taking serious damage, but his right arm was now un-armored and vulnerable.

So be it. Karmack adopted a high guard settled, his attention on Mendax even as a part of his mind searched the temple...

Mendax stood, outwardly calm as she raised a hand to her damaged cheek. "You'll pay for that, singer..." she spat. "An eternity trapped in the silver hell of the bomb..."

"After you." Karmack replied. Mendax opened her mouth to respond ... and he attacked.

<<<<>>>>

Iconoclasm

M’Tzigon Emergency Command Bunker
“What!”

“They fired on us when we got close!” Tesk reported, “Knocked out two transports before we could pull back”

Ta Re repressed the urge to say ‘I Told You So’, they only had ‘friend’ designators for their immediate handlers, techs and key command personnel, options for working out how to designate all Men At Arms friendly once they were set to Active Combat Status still proving elusive.

“We should shut them down, they’ve done their job” Ta Re suggested

“Send the order for them to return to base then,” Cliff said grudgingly

“Sir we should also stop the launch of wave seven and eight on the Temple Precinct, the Knights are there…”

“Still? Against MY orders.” He slammed rather than pressed the red square that initiated a direct link to the Kage in a crisis

“Silman get your men out of there, we will handle it!”

Silman could only shake his head, belatedly realising Cliff couldn’t see on the audio only channel.

“General this is something only the Knights can deal with, the Dark Side of the Force is being wound into…”

“Enough with this superstitious rubbish, let the droids turn this Mendax bitch into a bloody paste why risk your lives, pull out now,”

He personally typed in his launch authorisation codes for wave seven and eight.

“You’ve been warned Silman…”

<<<<>>>>

Wave 7 and 8 had a simple objective [Eliminate Hostiles at the target location]. As they analysed the data feed from the Central CPU they determined the most efficient way to achieve this at location designated [Temple].

Their long range scanner detected Zero [People] or [Friends] therefore all life signals within and about must be [Hostile – Extremis].

As they added blue flares of light to the yellow and orange fire tinted night sky their emotionless red photoreceptors synchronized with radar and thermal sensors to lock their missiles onto the structure [Temple] which contained [Hostile Extremis >>> 342].

They fired.

<<<<>>>>

Temple Grounds

Blood turned the snow a strange pink as Zearic knelt beside Misrums corpse, pulling out the Nocte with a wet crack, the battle petering out around him as the humming LAAT’s delivered more knights, Arnor leaping in beside Silman to put an end to three flagellants locked with Sam and Boh’Az.

Yet all this was peripheral. The Tenebris sat in the pink snow…strangely…lost without a master, calling for someone to take it…his mind was split…he knew the dangers and the benefits...and right now with Mendax just inside…

He took up the Tenebris once more, the blade almost bouncing to his hand as soon as the decision formed in his mind, the Nocte trembled with glee and filled him with confidence – Two oblivion weapons…Mendax has no hope!.

Zearic’s strong leap over Misrums corpse toward the Temple doors turned into a dive as his spine snap froze with danger sense icing the confidence the daggers and their master healing had given him.

Overhead ten missiles slammed into the side of the Temple, ripping through the stone erupting stained glass and marble fragments back over the assembled Knights

Arnor skidded to a halt as her stomach lurched with the sudden loss of life and shock from the knights she had just reached to support. Karm was in the Temple already in danger from the Oily black monolith that was Mendax – and Mendax would hardly give him a break to turn on their common enemy.

From the West a flight of Machines was closing fast, another salvo of yellow burning missiles approaching as the cries within the Temple in time with the seepage of life forces.

As one the Knights turned their attention from the civilians inside to what they could only assume based on the first salvo were enemy units.

“Stop Those Missiles!” someone screamed.

As if guided by a single will the assembled knights threw up a telekinetic screen into the missiles path – a few exploded others were slowed enough for concentrate grabs or pushes to send them spinning wildly.

Cold logic assessed the failed launch and determined the intervention of the variegated unclassified sentitents was responsible – as they had interfered with completing the droids objective they must be [Hostiles] splitting into four groups of five they opened up with their assault cannons on the [Hostiles].

Three dozen already fatigued blades slammed back the supersonic blue bolts, - arms and minds burning with overexertion as the Droids attempted to surround and [Eliminate] them.

<<<<>>>>

CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp

Part 1

Moon Shadow

Lunar 3
“Breach!” a Sith Shadow screamed as the east wall lit hot,

“Imitation is the highest form of flatter,” Orfa mused as the Marines copied a tactic she had used fifteen minutes before

“Blast them!, How long till we have the cannons online!”

“Nearly there!”

Nearly was not good enough as the walls blasted inward smashing consoles apart – this was not momentum from an explosions, the tingle in the back of her neck told Orfa there was a Knight.

<<<<>>>>

The Marines lobbed grenades and blasted repeaters into the rows of control consoles, doing more damage to the computers and screens that to the enemy. Ken remained with his back to the wall waiting. The Sergeant eyeing him off mistrustfully, wondering why the Knight wasn’t leading a glorious charge.

A moment later the red glare of a sabre appeared from the haze and Ken swung up from his low guard to slice the hands that held it apart, his hands and sabre gone the Sith Sabre was easy prey for the Sergeants rifle.

Now Ken Moved in.

Torrents of Red bolts battered against his blue blade casting a purple tinge to the smoke from the electrical fires that stunk of melted plastics. He pulled a teetering light fixture down onto one head, used a micro tug to dislocate the shoulder of another on the far side to create a window for the power armoured marines to get in and lay down covering fire.

“In 10!” Ken called back.

<<<<>>>>

Orfa leapt down as the Marines poured straight into her trap, slamming one onto the ground as her best men who hand hunkered underneath hollowed out control stations fired from holes blasted in them in the midst of the Marines.

Like shelled aquatic animals they darted out lethal red claws but remained unharmed by the return fire, until the Knight realised the ruse and pulled on the force to lift a half dozen of the improvised shells up, the power armoured marines using their servo enhanced fists to bludgeon the pirates.

Irritated Orfa leapt over the melee to strike her blade straight into the high guard of a blue sabre.

<<<<>>>>

He barely met the blow…but he met it and that was all that mattered…the twi’lek fought with ferocity and instinct rather than a form or method as Ken kept note of the time.

3

The marines were losing, the counter trap too effective, on the large vid screen half shattered he saw a vast crosshair pointed at an overhead image of the Temple Precinct on M’Tzigon.

2

Her attacks were driven by a rage Ken felt a sympathy with, to not be seen as weak, take back control.

Ken had thought that way – that to take back his sovereignty he needed to attack those who had taken it from him, and deny anyone else the chance to take it by showing how strong he was.

It might work but it left you isolated and turned you only into that which you sought to overcome.

1

As the attack intensified and were supplemented by slaps of raw force energy the Gravity died. The Twi’lek and the Pirates scrambled to activate their mag boots, Ken twisted horizontal to the floor and sliced into her pauldron cutting into the shoulder of her left arm.

Quickly backtracking she let off a furious blast of lighting – more instinct that strategy that left her drained – she was not a sith master to pour such energy out without consequence and the slip in discipline she had never been taught left her weakened as Ken used the force to push him through the weightless air.

In rapid controlled movements he picked apart her blows, she overextend in rage with one slash toward his legs, his blade dragged in sparks and crack of energy from the tip of hers to near the emitter then flicked, sending the hilt flying from her hand,

As she reached out with the force to summon it back he twisted round in the resistance less air to slam his pommel into the side of her head.

“Target Confirmed” the recorded voice called across the room as the Marines finished off the last of the raiders.

“Target?” He spun round in his float to see the console at the far end of the chamber lit up – the Turbolaser control…He recognised the green map outline…Temple district full of worshipers on S'Kar'Yom Eve….

Pushing as fast as the force would let him he floated over the console looking for the kill switch and not finding it.

A hard shoulder shoved him away

“Move it Mack!” The Sergeant set to work fingers tapping quickly – the same sergeant who had demanded Ken not be behind them as they moved through the station, the same sergeant who had thought the attack was a ‘Mack’ conspiracy to bust Ken out…

“Got my position the hard way…years of study, nights behind these consoles, not cause I was born the son of some Wizard with magic powers…” the sergeant grumbled as he saved the lives of millions by repointing the turbolasers to the Alliance ships floating nearby.

<<<<>>>>

Rebel Assault

Elinga – M’Tzigon Orbit

EEEP EEEP
The Elinga was rocked by a blast from the Lunar base that Jedi Gaetana assured him would be captured by Padawan Orfa.

On his sensors the Corvette Sentas went black as the Droids got into that one too, they already lost the Nch’Anas Hope to a dozen of the machines. The M’Tzigon fleet was creeping up behind as his own ships spread out to get out of range of the droid proton jets and cover the evacuation of the ground forces.

The entire assault was coming apart, the Requiem was moving in but had lost its fighters, the resistance was far stronger than Gaetana had indicated…

The more he thought about it the more Gingal realised the whole situation was utterly wrong…the whole plan now seemed ludicrously wasteful in men and materiel…there was no strategic merit to taking the Temple Precinct, it was illogical to use their greatest asset the Requiem as mere distraction and under equip it…

Yet he had thought it brilliant at the time.

They had not even tried to make contact with any local resistance movements, co-ordinate an uprising against the Mad Singer…was there even a Mad Singer at all – the concept sounded ludicrous

It was as if the waters he swam in became less clouded with mud every second. He needed to stop the carnage, to pull back and reassess the whole situation…

“All ships pull back, rendezvous Besh!”

<<<<>>>>

Last Song

The Temple
No banter. No quips. No comments. Just concentration. Karmack, moving with blinding speed, abandoned his normal Soresu and hammered Mendax with a blistering Ataru attack. Mendax, on the defensive, quickly found and mimiced his improvised perception motif, matching him speed for speed, blow for blow ... but without the Ancient One he could feel her burning already, the force overloading her like an overtaxed electrical circuit.

Savagely, desperately, Karmack pushed the pace, forcing Mendax to burn hotter and hotter in the force, bringing her closer and closer to burn-out ... and death. Behind her he could feel the Thought Bomb rituals building as well. It was a race. Would he burn Mendax out in time to stop the bomb? Or would she hold him off long enough for her enthralled followers to destroy everything he held dear?

<<<<>>>>

With a shriek Mendax drew her song to herself, pulling it ever tighter, ever closer. Like a cyclone it surrounded them, light and dark in mortal combat. Lightning flickered ... flashed as Mendax drew on it ... died as Karmack dampened it.

Gold and orange blades flashed and screamed as they traded blows. Karmack drove the pace, pushing. Probing. Always moving closer and closer to the central alter and the dark ritual being performed there...

No! I am Sith! I will NOT FAIL! Mendax altered her song, drawing more and more power into the dark vortex which surrounded them. The oblivion collar was heavy around her neck, ready to cut her off from the force at the appropriate time.

Time... She needed more time...

THIS was the time. THIS was the place. Nothing else mattered. With a shriek Mendax cut her links to Gingal, to Nyder and Nordas ... even that bitch Orpha ... She no longer needed them. They could fend for themselves now, live or die. They no longer mattered. Only the adepts, Red Police and flagellants directly involved in the Bomb ritual remained under her direct control as every scrap of energy was diverted into her song. Only this fight, her revenge, mattered now.

She felt the energy flow strengthen, felt the energy of her battle song increase, felt the blackness of her hatred intensify, and she revealed in it. Saber flashing, she shifted from defense to offense. Now ... now Karmack, Zearic, and all they held dear would die!

<<<<>>>>

CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp

Part 2

Requiem

On Approach to M’Tzigon Gravity Well
Nyder felt Mendax' iron grip suddenly release and she gasped. Free! I am free... The dark hand gripping her heart released as Mendax turned her attention to other things. Released, her soul rose and her eyes watered. "Free..."

Joy bubbled up inside her and she forgot about her ship, her crew, her mission, her life. Everything was was right again. The bubbles burst and she sank down, hugged her knees to her chest and begin to giggle uncontrollably as tears streamed down her cheeks. She ignored Nordas, who was shaking her shoulder, trying to get her attention...

Free!

She was free ... and she couldn't do anything but blubber and cry! Through her watery vision Nordas looked perplexed and flustered. Something hovered in her mind, in the corner where the blackness left an ugly, scarring stain. SOmething important. Something she needed to tell Nordas. Something important...

Did it matter? It mattered very, very much!

If only she could remember why....

<<< >>>

Jan was ten meters away from the bridge hatch when she felt the wave of energy wash over her. The song rippled as light and dark melodies clashed, and then in a massive push the symphony of light overwhelmed and subsumed the dark song, wiping it away and leaving the song and the force shining and bright again. The oppression of the darkness lifted, but the suddenness of the change still staggered her. She missed a step, stumbled, and caught herself, leaning on the bulkhead as her equilibrium returned.

"Ma'am?" Sgt Black's voice betrayed his concern. Like everyone else in the Hornet's Marine complement he knew his Lieutenant was a Mak'Tor Knight. Anything that could suddenly make her stumble was worthy of note. "Everything OK?"

Jan grinned and nodded. "Yes, Blackie. All is well. I think..." She looked away, eyes opaque and far away for a moment as her concentration left the ship and she saw the system, the planet, and the swirling lines of force-energy all around them. After a moment she shook it off and her attention returned to the moment. "I think something massive, something good, just happened on M'Tzigon. But we're here, now. Lets finish the business at hand..."

Blackie realized she was talking to herself as much as anyone else and just nodded with a matching grin of his own. "Aye, Ma'am."

Jan stepped forward, steady now, her senses probing forward again, noting the drop in energy, the confusion, the panic... "One more hatch." She ignited her saber, it's pink glow infusing the corridor. "Jesters, lets dance..."

<<< >>>

Regann Nordin was at a loss. He was trapped on the bridge, cut off from the rest of the ship. Engineering was off the air, no longer responding to them. Flight control was gone, the adjacent bridge platform shattered and open to space, its crew dead. Already severely undermanned, the large portion of the crew assigned to the flight decks had been killed by the devestating torpedo attack launched from the enemy fighters. They had boarders somewhere nearby, and none of the few Marine units aboard were answering her hails. And now...

He looked down at the sobbing Nyder, still completely unresponsive. Its on me ... again ... Nordas stood a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. No commander ... decimated crew ... badly damaged ship ... There was only one thing to do. At least I have some experience... "Communications, try to raise one of those ships..."

Before he could finish the sentence the bridge hatch exploded inward. Nyder never moved, just continued to blubber. Nordas was knocked off his feet, stunned by the explosion. He shook her head and started to rise only to stop as a battle armored figure wielding a hot pink lightsaber loomed over him, extending her blade to his throat.

"Surrender your ship!"

Nordas just sighed and nodded. "Yes ... ma'am."

<<< >>>

Nath frowned at the icons in the tactical display. The Jokers' heavy strikes had done a great job in suppressing the turbolasers on the Star Destroyer and he had moved this small fleet in close to the massive ship to limit it's maneuverability and better support his Marines at need. So far, however, there'd been no calls for fire or continued bombardment. The ship's accelleration had dropped off and it was essentially coasting in-system now. Other than simple attitude control it hadn't even manuevered. Things were going well, but he still had an itching sensation between his shoulder blades, a feeling that the other shoe was about to drop...

"Sir, message from Lt. Naith! They've captured the bridge, but the controls are off-line. She's left Stg. Blake and second squad on the bridge and is heading toward Engineering to support Sgt. Cam. Sgt. Cam reports he is about to breach."

Nath nodded. "Very well. What's the status of the Star Destroyer's engines?"

The tactical officer manipulated some controls, and Nath felt his hackles rise at the officer's suddenly thoughtful tone. "That's odd... I'm showing the hyperdrive offline but there's a spike in both the power grid and the hypermatter reactor chamber. Its like they're building up to a hyperspace jump, but..."

"Show me." Nath ordered. As the power curves and build-ups were overlayed on the tactical icons his blood froze. The hyperdrive field guide was indeed building up a gamma charge, but the motivator itself was off-line, the power relays dead. Without the motivator, the hypermatter would continue building the gamma charge until the system overloaded ... and turned the entire ship into a collection of shrapnel moving at near-light speeds. That cloud of projectiles would tear his ships, Home fleet and lunar 3 apart and would devastate the spaceport and Sierra, as well as the primary agricultural areas of the Arvon and M'Ar'Quette vales. And the Temple...

The Temple would be at ground zero, the focus of the explosive force. Irradiated by gamma rays and scoured by debris, the entire Temple area would be utterly destroyed...

"That ship is a bomb..." Nath checked the plot. The rebel fleet had been driven off... The droid attack launched by the Firefly had been as effective as Cliff had promised. Maybe those overpriced rust buckets were worth something after all... Space between their current position and the planet was clear, and at their current speed they'd be just about into orbit when the hyperdrive went super-critical. "Comm, contact Central and the Mak'Tor! Update them on the situation, then contact our boarding parties. We need to get into engineering on that ship and stop that reactor now.

Nath studied the plot for a few more seconds. He didn't have time to get out of range... Might as well try. "Helm, come to 272 mark 358. I want to be just below the nose of that ship in ... two minutes."

Maker, what I wouldn't give for a hammer-head right now...

<<< >>>

Sgt. Cam nodded as her demolitions troopers placed the final breaching charges and scampered back from the blast door into engineering. A quick glance confirmed that everyone was behind cover with their heads down. "Charges set. Assault one and two, on deck! Demo, go!"

"Fire in the hole!" Smoke erupted as the shape charges detonated, cutting through the doonium like butter. Criss-crossed with compound-22, the circular blast door was cut like a pie, the pieces slamming inward. Assault group one and two followed on their heals, charging through the smoke with weapons raised.

Inside they found ... nothing. No return fire, no defenders, no crew. Nothing. The assault force fanned out, advancing to contact as Sgt. Cam led the engineers and remaining shooters through the portal behind them. She was about to call in a SITREP when one of her marines with engineering training stopped next to a console. "Strange..."

"What?" Cam looked down at the confusion of lights and graphs. Despite being displayed in standard it was just so much gobble-de-gook to her. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah. There's a feed-back loop in the field guide. This would usually only be happening if they were building to a jump, but if that were the case, the motivator over there would be lit up like a S'Kar'Yom wreath. With the motivator offline there's nowhere for that energy to go, which will eventually cause the entire chamber to explode."

Cam looked around nervously. "Um... I take it that's bad?"

The trooper gave her a very level look. "Yes. Very bad."

Sgt Cam spotted Lieutant Naith coming down the corridor at a dead run. "Ma'am! Over here!"

Jan'a came to a halt next to them, her face grim. "Eagle One says that their sensors show the hyperdrive is building up to an overload..."

"Way ahead of you El-tee..." The trooper said, fingers already clacking away on the keyboard. "And ... I'm in. Gotta love those default passwords..." The trooper's hands flew over the controls, flashing through screens faster than Jan'a or Ho'Li could follow. "And...there. Sergent, if you would stand by here for a moment, and when I signal press that blue key there."

"You bet." Ho'Li replied, taking the seat the trooper vacated.

Jan'a watched him sprint across the room, setting into another station and beginning his work again. "How does he know what to do?"

Ho'Li grinned. "When they increased the figher complement on our ships they had to make room for more flight crew and maintenance crews. They did it by assigning the Marine complement to damage control. Corporal Mainze is assigned to engineering. I guess he's picked up a few things from them."

"Thank the Maker." Jan'a replied.

"Sergent! On three! One ... Two ... Three!" Corporal Mainze called. Ho'Li mashed down on the blue button, holding her breath. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen ... and then there was a winding-down sound in the air as the power levels displayed on the screen visibly began to fall.

Maize jogged up and checked the screen. "Good. Power is falling off now. for whatever reasons the knuckle heads in here overrode about a half-dozen safeties and manually started the wave guide charging. Its almost like they wanted their ship to explode. Idiots..."

Jan'a shook her head. "No, not idiots. Martyers."

Sgt Cam rose. "Well, whatever they are, lets find 'em before ..."

She was cut off by a member of Assault Two. "Yo! Sarge! Over here!"

Ho'Li and Jan'a left the main engineering space and followed the voice into a small conference room. Inside were a half-dozen crewmen, wearing Imperial uniforms. Five of them had their throats cut. The last, at the head of the table, held a bloody knife in one hand and a hold-out blaster in the other. His face was placid, even peaceful looking. It took a few seconds for the two women to realize that the entire back of his head was simply missing.

"Well... I guess they won't be causing any more mischief." Ho'Li said. "I'm overdue for my SITREP. Maize! See if you can get auxilliary control online! We still need to stop this beast..."

Jan'a turned to follow, but on a whim turned back. Calming herself, she opened herself to the force and listened intently to the song. The despair and darkness echoing in the room nearly overwhelmed her, but she fought through it, isolating it and analyzing it. The song was dying now, depleted, but the signature was the same as whatever had come from the planet.

With a shuddering breath she pulled back from the contact. Her eyes were watery as she looked again at the dead engineers. "Thought control. You poor bastards..."

<<< >>>

Nath copied the report from Sgt Cam, followed shortly thereafter by one from Lt. Naith. The Requiem was taken and under control. The hyperdrive was slowly discharging, the gamma radiation being directed harmlessly into space through its shielding. "Eagle One to Jokers: Take up station around the Requiem and fly CAP. Reapers, Black Sheep, Bingo, re-arm and refuel. Task force, stand down." Nath relaxed in his command chair, letting out a long, slow breath. "Ok ... Communications, send a SITREP to Central and request instructions."

<<<<>>>>

Last Song

The Temple
Karmack felt the power of her attacks grow and realized she'd found some further reserve to tap. Her renewed attack was powerful, but like before he deflected and redirected her force attacks with ease. Patience... There would be an opening soon enough. The song was still confused and chaotic, but the underlying harmony of Light was asserting itself.

Energy crackled through him as he moved with lightning speed, expertly countering her attacks. Karmack shifted from the aggressive Ataru back into his more familiar Soresu and absorbed her attack, leading it, looking for openings...

Even at the speed his mind was racing Karmack almost missed it. Mendax, her blue Ferroan skin suffused red-orange with the power flowing through her, missed a block. The miss was only a milimeter, the recovery only costing her a split second ... but it was enough to provide him an opportunity. Karmack shifted his orbit and attacked her blade, pinning it high and away, stopping her motion just long enough for...

The side-kick was force-enhanced and hammered Mendax with the power of a grenade. Too late she swept her saber down, missing Karmack's exposed leg by millimeters. The Sith Lord absorbed the attack and rolled to shed energy, coming back to her feet several meters away ... and closer to the Bomb. Karmack closed the distance, re-engaging with furious speed, focusing more of the power of the Ancient One through his own body now. Time to finish this...

<<<<>>>>

Mendax screamed in pain as the armored boot slammed into her ribs. She expected to feel the breaking of bone, taste blood in her mouth from the punctured lungs, see the fall of the golden blade...

But none of that happened. She rolled out and came back to her feet, bruised but intact. Enhancements...

She swept her blade up, catching Karmack's blade high and throwing it off. She could feel the power of his song increasing, beating hers back note by note. She glanced over to where the Acolyte was beginning the final incantations. More time... She needed more time.

She would NOT FAIL! She couldn't overpower Karmack, he was too strong in the force, too powerful in the song, thanks to that damn crystal of his...

With a maniacal laugh Mendax locked blades with Karmack. "You fight well with your magic crystal! Lets see how well you do without it!" With a savage jab Mendax reached up and activated the oblivion collar, cutting herself and her foe off from force. Her saber died in her hand but she had expected that and hammered the stunned Karmack in the face with the dead hilt.

"First you bleed ... then you will DIE! FAILURE IS DEATH!"

Failure is death. The words echoed in her mind. She would NOT FAIL!

<<<<>>>>

CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp

Part 3

Sword of Light

Temple Courtyard
Everywhere was war.

The last few flagellants were picking at the edges of the assembled knights, Silman and the other members of the council of Balance effortlessly cutting through their rear to relieve Zearic and the other knights.

Then they had struck, twenty of the hulking machines flying around unleashing indiscriminate fire on the Temple and everyone near it.

Already weary members of Boh’Az and Shar’Naa parties strained to deflect the high impact plasma cannon blasts – they had all seen footage of Silman being near killed by just one of these things. A few of the Red Police still holed up in the Temple took the chance to peek out and fire gratuitous shots at them foolishly believing they were being relieved.

Red blazing eyes turned upon the new combatants and three of the machine dove.

Arnor leapt out as they crashed straight into the north western corner of the Temple – their phrik armour easily able to deal with the impact – the Red Police dura-forge less so. The three droids were covered by five of their brethren to tear the Red Police into chunks of limbs and torso’s, at the far side of the Temples entrance the last few flagellants found themselves likewise under the baleful gaze of the machines – it was the best break they could get.

Silman’s group covered the more depleted Knights, occasionally hurling chunks of the rubble at the droids that weaved around, a spark of understanding and Arnor saw the pattern they were eliminating anyone with ranged weaponry first...it made sense eliminate anyone who can shoot you down.

Pushing forward she saw Balnard twist round with one arm the other covering Julwyn, rifle in hand.

“Bal put it DOWN!” she screeched reaching out with her arm to use the force on the rile itself, Balnard as always a blank.

“Stay away from the rifles and launchers!” Silman called across picking up on her thought as a battle meld began to form across them.

“This way lass!” Chillum called keeping Talia covered – neither of them had any place here…

Danger sense filled his spine and chillum pushed up as fast as he could as out of nowhere a crazed darksider appeared tattooed and bloody eyed – its cortosis weave blade rammed onto his rapid shii-cho guard as Talia fell away. He pushed back against the lock sparks of energy coming off his blade as…

Searing hot blood splattered against his face – the tattooed head was gone replaced by a charred stump of a neck. Chillum leapt back as another series of shots turned the body into fragments.

The droids had opened fire on him but not Chillum why….

Arnor looked at the scene of Talia scrambling up, then how the Droids repositioned their fire away from her…

She’s locked in as a friend… Arnor realized…or thought or…heard like a voice in her ear…If Talia was protected…then…it created a safe zone – if they could get her into a building

“Talia get into the Temple!” she pointed across the courtyard “Everyone fall back with her!” the younger woman didn’t ask questions just rushed toward the ruined façade of the Temple, the Droids laying down covering fire for her against everyone else – they might still be targets but they wouldn’t imperil Talia’s safety with their missiles or indiscriminate cannon fire if she was in a cramped space….

The deepening battle meld pushed the knowledge through without words as they all headed for the building, Zearic gripped his twin blades of night – the droids might not use their ranged weapons inside…but they would surely use their fists…

Shut down

The Mountain – Intelligence Bunker
“Anything?!” Tel’Owna called frantically as Ry’s eyes strained against the flashing code. As soon as the first reports of the droid firing on Men At Arms had arrived the pair had been frantically trying to find a way to shut them off to protect the populace…

“I’m working on it…” Ry’s voice echoed in the empty command room, everyone else was at the Temple fending off said droids.

The encryption was strong but not invincible, indeed there seemed to be deliberate ‘backdoors’ in the droids sold to the Mak’Tor – something Ry and Tel’Owna would need to investigate later.

“Come on there must be something….”

Targeting, Gyroscopic balance systems…there

“Friend Foe identifiers…its…” she saw the identifier was linked to a separate CPU circuit that was hard wired – the Friend identifier had some kind of permanent ‘Friend’ designate that clearly did not include the Mak’Tor – who was friendly all the time?…was another question she would have to ask later.

The rest of the code seemed deliberately complex…she would need to program individuals as Friends not whole groups – why do something so inefficient unless…you only had one or two friends.

“No hope there…um…” the Cheunh scrolled past faster and faster, something finally caught her eye

“Standby mode…that’s it…” she almost knocked Tel’owna over pushing her aside to get to her key board and program screen – no time for niceties now – and started typing

[Ish-Ka-Re {Acha-Sec + Acha-Sen} = Acha-En] she hammered out on a basic keyboard then ran through a Holoogle translator which was amazingly accurate.

And >Input<

“Is that done?” Tel’own cried her head pounding as another knight fell before the droids kilometeres away.

“Done It’s in the next system refresh cycle…”

“How long?”

“One minute”

<<<<>>>>

60 Seconds

The Temple courtyard

The force was roiling with the push and pull deeper in the Temple, somewhere on the periphery of her awareness Arnor could feel Karm was – not just in the midst of it but partially the source of it - but what was happening to her husband over there didn’t especially matter at the moment – only surviving here.

The Temple was already pock marked from the ravages of the dark siders, side chapels, benches and books shelves tumbled over and burnt, defaced with sabres and blasters and now covered in dust and debris from the Droids missiles that left ragged creaking holes in the skies and teetering buttresses swaying in the snow filled winds.

From the gathering storm outside it was now assailed by the cold phrik fists of the droids in their attempt to ‘protect’ Talia from the Knights surrounding her.

Arnor pressed close behind a heavy altar at the end of a larger chapel annex, the air full still of the spice of S'Kar'Yom mince pies and rounded ginger biscuits that were upturned on the floor in what had been a makeshift buffet – a few of the more starving knights sweeping up some of the scraps to get some food in them as a vast shadow filled the stained glass on the right wall then shattered it inwards.

“NOW!” She yelled. Cramped beside her half a dozen other knights strained in the ragged force to hurl their sabres across the room straight into the droid – yellow, blue, green and orange lances telekinetically guided into its heavy joins – like arrows on an armoured behemoth it tried to shake them loose, in its distraction Zearic leapt from the side two daggers in hand – the ultradense black material cutting in deep to the machines head with his newly strengthened limbs.

In the small library nearby a similar scene played out, the lanced droid assailed in addition by Force Tugs at its components from another four knights – the combined effort offsetting the Force deadening oblivion core enough to wrong foot it and Sam’El’Mack to hit it dead on with a discarded Proton beam cannon.

Along the balconies of the second floor, subtle patterned mosaic flooring now covered in fresh fallen snow, another out of place monstrosity burst through one of the few remaining pieces of the ceiling to meet Silman and the Council of Balance – the Droids receptors recognised the Zabrack immediately – designated it [Friend 00058] and briefly wondered why this [Friend] was now enacting violent behaviours > its conclusion was [Irredeemable Corruption] rendering the Zabrack [Hostile - Extremis] – but in the time that calculation took Silmans sabrestaff was whirring through it along with Ju’Lus and Zanes’ blades, Boh’Az adding a gratuitous fist of telekinesis to his shots from a grenade launcher that Shar’Naa guided into the holes the Kage cut, the detonation tearing it apart from within.

Balnard more comfortable now he could fight back hammered out his few remaining micro rockets and unleashed on the swift moving machine as he rolled cover to cover through the pews of the choir practice room, the acoustically engineered chamber reverberating with a dozen echoes for every shot he squeezed off, Julwyn and two knights who he would thank later coming in behind sabres humming along with the crackle of a mains-electricity line rapidly cut off that was shoved by Julwyn ungently into its proton jet pack causing a queer shrieking implosion.

Remote control of the abandoned LAAT’s was activated to open fire on the next wave of droids, striking two in the back, they rapidly turned and set about demolishing the offending machinery, the droids programming increasingly irritated and unable to fulfil the objective [Extract Friend 00024 Without Damage]

Leaping off the first victim Zearic felt the daggers in his hand tremble with unrestrained ferocity…on instinct he simply let them go – like arrows they flew out of the ruined wall and straight into the red eyes of an approaching droid, fulfilling his unconscious will to do as much damage to it as possible by burying themselves in further before cutting out of its chest.

Jaim arms weary from bashing back another droids sniper shots like a hover ball batter shared a concerned look with Arnor, both more than a little worried about what their friend had just accomplished but had worse things to deal with recalling her sabre as Talia skidded in behind her.

Talia huffed out – she had been running up and down increasingly unsafe stairs to keep the droids guessing where best to ‘liberate’ her from and avoid them simply blasting one section if she were to avoid an area. Chillum and the more gifted healers in behind her did what they could to see to the increasingly depleted knights – the droids were few and could be overwhelmed but each one took a heavy toll to bring down – in open battle Chillum sincerely doubted their chances for survival.

“That’s seven down! Thirteen left!” he called over the trampling of their heavy boots and hum of blades being thrown forward again – they were never fooled twice it seemed – it grasped one sabre out of the air and crushed the hilt in one hand shoulder mounted small cannons peppering the benches with fire before Sam ducking round the corridor drew its attention with a burst of fire.

Thirteen… Silman breathed, he was still reasonably fresh, but the rest of the knights who had faced the darksiders earlier were flagging rapidly…with the possible exception of the unnaturally vigorous Zearic - shadowed daggers and blazing sabres…I warned him about the Tenebris…now he’s gone and got a second.

The entire building began to shake, S'Kar'Yom decorations falling from the ceiling…

Dozens of spines turned ice cold with danger sense as the last pieces of the roof caved in under the heavy boots backwashed by proton jump jets as four droids descended through the two upper stories no regard to the damage, analysis of structural integrity indicating a less than 5% chance of total collapse.

Like meteors they slammed into chapel splintering centuries old hand carved wooden pews as Talia gulped down over the noise more afraid of her unwanted protectors than anyone, outside they surrounded the building completely, the depleted knights telekinetic attacks wavering as all the Light of the force drained to the Temple where a blinding confluence of radiant energy speared into their minds periphery.

Chillum looked once more at Arnor, convinced it would be the last time, then all the strength in his limbs he threw himself forward at the four machines, the light of his sabre leading the way.

It wasn’t the droids fire that send him back to the ground, painfully but alive – the red lights of their eyes died as Ry’s standby mode finally took effect rendering them little more than ill-suited statues that jarred with the masonry of the few remaining columns.

It was the blast of jarring, dislocating metaphysical energy from the Temple that washed across and tumbled the assembled knights

<<<<>>>>

CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp

Part 4

Last Song

The Temple
Karmack staggered as he was cut off from the force, from the song, as if by a falling axe blade. He stumbled as perception slowed, his racing mind sputtering to adjust to the loss of flow. His limbs and body felt heavy, pain suppressed by the purity of his Song erupted from a dozen minor injuries...

The hammer-blow of Mendax' punch slammed into his face and he felt his nose break. Blood erupted and he choked, his eyes watering and his breathing suddenly badly compromised. Instinctively Karmack rolled back and away, trying to get fighting room. What happened? How is this happening?

Mendax sprang forward, keeping close to him, and his eye caught the midnight black looping her neck. The black collar!

Whatever it was, she was using it again, and this time he was within its field as well! Mendax was light and fast, but her series of kicks and punches hit like a warhammer, almost as if she were still force-enhanced. Karmack's armor held, spreading the energy of the blows, and what would have broken bone and ruptured organs only cracked bone and opened deep cuts and bruises. Even as he took damage Karmack felt his own anger rising. Again! She'd suckered him with another force-dampening field! And now he was trapped within it with her.

Karmack channelled the anger into energy. Without the force she had the advantage, but if this continued his people, his planet was going to die. To save them he had to end this...

Lighter and faster, Mendax would not let him open the range. His saber was dead, the power of the Ancient One cut off. Karmack slung the saber from his belt and drew his blaster ... only to have it kicked away by Mendax.

She laughed, launching a savage spin kick toward his head that he managed to duck under. Closer is better... Mendax punched - punched - punched, blows he blocked or simply absorbed on his armor, and he stepped back from the last one as if again trying to open the range. Mendax responded with another wicked, spinning kick...

Karmack stepped up, into the kick. He heard his own "Whommf" as the impact drove the air out of his lungs despite his armor, but he caught and held her extended leg with his right hand while his left swept the kukri from its sheath. The razor-sharp blade sliced effortlessly through Mendax' thigh, opening muscle to the bone.

Blood sprayed out and the hamstring parted, locking her leg. Karmack followed through high, still holding her leg, and plunged the knife into her chest. More blood erupted from her body as he released her. As she fell, his fingers grasped the necklace, ripping it from her neck.

Karmack turned and threw the night-black ring of stone into the center of the Dome of Temple – the once hallowed ground that now remebled so many other cruins of lost civilizations. The baleful thing caught on an altar canopy support - directly over the circle of Acolytes arraigned around the heart of the Temple chanting the last lines of the Thought Bomb ritual.

The Null field slammed down on them at the last moment, cutting them off from the force - and stopping the bomb.

The effect on the chanting circle of darksiders was similar to a grenade going off. The leader of the group, specially trained by Mendax and chanting dark incantations, screamed as the force energy within him was cut off instantly - unstable energy, no longer focused, immolated the Dark acolyte, his head literally exploding from the energy overload. Other acolytes died or went catatonic, blood oozing from eye sockets and ear canals.

A few lucky ones with weaker force abilities recoiled from the circle and stumbled away, dazed and confused but following the hardwired imperative to survive.

Karmack let them go. The force flowed through him again, and he simply knelt where he was, opened his mouth and sang. One by one he crushed the melodies of Mendax, purifying the song and driving the darkness away.

Karmack sang like he'd never sung before, pouring everything into the rhythmic counterpoint to Mendax echoes, searing away the cancer of her presence with an implosive pulse that hurled his nearby friends and family from their feet…but left one quiet observer indifferent, still as a statue.

Lost in the song Karmack Sang on, flecks of glowing melody like inverse rain rising off him - and when the Dark melody finally collapsed….So did he.

<<<<>>>>

Pain... There was nothing but pain... Mendax knew she was dying. She'd felt this pain before. Felt the final slipping of awareness... She heard the song Karmack sang, felt it overtake her own song and destroy it. She could sense her thralls, no longer enslaved, scurrying away in their snivelling attempts to live. She had failed. Death came for her...

NO! Her hate flared, a supernova of dark intent, giving her one final moment of clarity. ...There... she felt the...memory of something...someone whom her dark arts had touched...

A flicker...no a ghost of a flicker...she reached out to tou---

<<<<>>>>

Karmack felt a last, weak, white-hot spike of hatred in the force. Still kneeling, he reached over and laid his hand on Mendax' forehead, reaching out with the force.

No pulse. No thought. No essence. No song.

She was dead.

Satisfied, Karmack broke the contact, sighed, and collapsed completely, rolling onto his back and looking up at the cracked Temple dome high overhead, noting the mingling of the snow with the flecks of his own explosion of power, a curiously pretty twinkle in each one.

He was bleeding from several minor wounds and every part of him hurt, but the bomb was defused and Mendax defeated.

The terror and destruction of the vision had been averted. "Thank you, Maker, for your bounty to us..." Karmack prayed the traditional S'Kar'Yom prayer. "Thank you ... it’s finally over..."

<<<<>>>>

CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp

Part 5

Midnights Grasp

The Temple
Like sleet the particles of energy fell upon the shattered floor as Zearic pushed through toward Karm who knelt over the remnants that had been Mendax.

Karm’s body had a slight glow that was only gradually diminishing as the light of the stars and dimming glows of the orbital battle poured in from the open vista that had once been a dome above them.

So many things that once had been and were now no more.

Zearic reached down putting the thought aside for the moment and took Mendax discarded sabre in his hand, feeling the dark weight of the crystal within. He had every intention of handing it to the Mak’Tor Kage who was now pushing through the ruins to reach them.

But for reasons he couldn’t explain Zearic turned and knelt toward a ruined column as Karm looked through sweat drenched eyes.

Like a defeated chieftain pledging surrender Zearic offered up the sabre on bended knee to the figure that resolved form the shadows of the ruined temple.

This was right and fitting that he, an abominable accident should offer fealty to the Pure Master Race… it seemed so clear now, he was to deliver the fallen Ferroans sabre back to the ones who had gifted it to her.

“Zearic step back!” Silman called as he felt the weight of the sabre leave his hands

“You!” Silman was almost speechless at the sight of the thing – he had heard reports from Ken, then Arnor and Karmack, and even Jaim and Zearic, but this was the first time he had seen one of these things in person. Although to say ‘see’ was a misnomer it was more noting the vague mist where the light died around its form like some ancient vampyr.

“Drop your weapons at once,”
Karmacks eye fixed on the being and noted what was in its left hand - a sphere…like on Geonosis…

The dying embers of the Ancient Ones power connected threads of thought, teased meaning from snippets of the last few weeks.

“That was why you revived Mendax, you knew I’d use the Ancient One against her…” Karmack rasped out the realization, Arnor hobbling over to his side along with Ju’Lus master of healing.

“I refused to give you the Crystal, you waited for me to unlock and use it instead,” Karm whispered his throat still sore from the song that had erupted from him it seemed the healing powers of the Ancient One only went so far – and could do nothing to hold off the growing dread of the true antecedent of all this destruction.

He raised a swaying finger to point at the orb

“It’s a recording device…all this just to…”

“You psychopathic parasite – drop it!” Silman yelled as he understood the import of Karmacks words and was in no mood for mercy as his adoptive home world burnt around him, the symbolic centre of their faith in tatters and under the pall of the Shadow Daemon that had dogged the Mak’Tors steps and reanimated the woman who had done all this.

“You are under arrest,” Silman pointed his sabre straight at the creature, Master of Blades L'Gan'Zane on his left, and J'Nor'Kroven, Master of Balance to his right.

For a moment Silman wondered if the being was actually alive it stood so still, the only easily discernible part of it was Mendax saber on its belt.

“I have permission to be here.” A genderless voice echoed from it mechanically as a Military Code Cylinder bearing a M’Tzigon crest floated before it before illuminating with a blue holo of an Access Pass, festooned with electronic authentication signatures from General Cliff.

“Legal authorisation to be present, carry arms and move freely, signed by your own Chief of Staff, if you attempt to stop me leaving, you will breach your own laws,”

“And I break my Oath as a Knight if I let an Evil that would let a world burn and revive a madwoman just to document some force powers go unchallenged”

A handful of Knights not completely fatigued or injured from the fight with the droids and darksiders before that formed behind him.

The next words seethed from between the Zabracks teeth as he flooded the force into his limbs, fearing the fight to come yet knowing his demands would be refused.

“Throw down your…devices…and weapons, and surrender,”

Zearic in between the Kage and the Shadow slowly rose, his newly restored hand trembling like an addicts seeking a fix as it sought his sabre to calm the ragged nerves. His mind was torn between his friendship to the Mak’Tor and the indescribable pull for the…he didn’t even know what to call it – all he knew for certain was he couldn’t stop the internal conflict erupt into the real world.

“What have you done to him…” Silman gasped as Karmacks eyes widened in time with the blazing energy of Zearics glacial blade lighting up the gloom casting a hideous shadow on the creature that had him enthralled.

Both men knew Zearic would never willing turn on them – whatever ‘healing’ they had performed on him had obviously not been absent of some kind of mind control.

Around the figure more knights formed, Jaim in the rear expert in mental techniques perhaps the only one to sense that perhaps Zearics enthrallment was not so much imposed from outside but…welling up from his very genes.

“Your last chance…release him and surrender – or die,” The Kage pronounced never more certain of a decision to lead the Mak’Tor into battle, even as Zaeric shifted into a defensive stance to protect the monster – Silmans heart was already so heavy with the sorrow of damage done that losing Zearic – if it had to be done - couldn’t add to it anymore.

Your Last Chance…the warrior who stood against the strength of the Mak’Tor reflected on another Jedi Leader who had used those same words, a Grand Master no less who also thought to ‘arrest’ him.

Clipping the orb to his pack he gestured for Zearic to lower his blade and turned to leap away.

“Stop him!”

Silman, Zane and Kroven sprang forward sabres humming to life, as they came upon the figure time slowed for all of them except the Dark Warrior, who swiftly skidded down and low straight toward L'Gan'Zane, Master of Blades.

Before Zane could build the force in her limbs enough to match her opponents speed the Dark Warrior had the Master of Blades wrist in his hand, rising on strong legs from the crouch he pulled the Mak’Tors arms over her head with a rapid pop that dislocated the shoulders whilst crushing down on the wrist that became limp as her sabre dropped.

While the pain in her arm slowly made its way through myelinated neuron paths to her somatosensory cortex a palm slammed into Zane’s sternum, her ribs retching back into her organs in bony fragments. Yet neither of these things truly mattered.

Karms slowly diminishing hyper acute senses saw a thousand needles puncture through Zane’s mental guards – the best Force Thorn he had ever seen was sloppy butchery compared to the surgical precision that lanced the Master of Blades mind. As Master of Blades it was Zane’s role to excel in all forms of sabre combat – to know all the Maenowans and Council members strengths and weaknesses and find ways to innovate and overcome them.

All that knowledge slid like mercury to their enemy.

As Zane dropped Silman swung down to where the enemy had been a moment before but found nothing. He was already moving on Kroven, again keeping low and fluid, as Kroven took a quick back step to try and allow Silman to surround he found it was too late.

A low spinning kick smashed into both Krovens knees, smacking out the knee caps and ruining the lower femur and upper tibia. With malignant grace the Dark warrior followed through with an upper cut that put Krovens teeth into his nose while once more leaching out thoughts and memories from the Master of Balance with rapacious hunger..

Zearic stood stone still as two members of the Mak’Tor Council of Balance were taken out in mere seconds, they were not dead – absolutely crippled – but alive and decades of knowledge, research, experience and training all consumed as easily as light by the shadow that felled them.

Silman felt his skin tingle as every drop of force energy he could summon filled his body – he needed speed and strength as he had when he faced Cha’s droid – more in fact. He felt the air resist the sudden movement of his body as he dodged a fist aimed at his shoulder that would no doubt have wrecked it.

Seeing two of their master’s fall the Knights that could lit their blades and prepared to strike even as Silman went on the offensive against the Dark Warrior who easily avoided the Zabracks sabre staffs rapid flourishes.

A short sharp spike in the force and Karmack grabbed at Arnor and Ju’lus “Cut off your…”

‘Mind’ would’ve been the next word but it was too late – like boils the conscious stream of thought of over a dozen knights in the ruined temple were suddenly lanced, thoughts and feelings a messy ooze that flowed all over the place.

Some fared better, even avoided the first needle of mental assault, Jaim and Chillum even resisted the second, Jaim expert in mental techniques was still mostly coherent after the third as well…none made it past the fourth from the seemingly unlimited pool of metaphysical weaponry.

Arnor flopped onto Karm painfully as Zearic watched the blue blade of Silman try and fail to cut the dark mist that moved about him.

Silman could already feel the blaze in his chest, the pounding behind his eyes, the unstable feeling of moving much too fast - like riding on an out of control hover-bike he tried to keep himself from flying off his own legs.

All about him knights flopped and crawled trying to regain their sense first of who they were, then what has happening.

Silman wasn’t disappointed in them, they had already fought with such honour he couldn’t be prouder – it was on Silman now to lead the fight against the darkness – as Kage it was only fitting.

Each foot fall cracked another crater into the already shattered marble floor, each missed strike blasted a hurricane of displaced air into the night, churning the dust and debris into a storm about them.

Neither seemed to make any progress, they simply danced in a strange attraction and repulsion – matter and anti matter on the event horizon of existence, pulled together yet knowing when they came together only one would triumph.

As Arnor slowly recovered she felt Karms weakened hands holding her down, his body shielding her head and upper body as best he could. Zearic was fixed in place mind a blank as his face received a number of small cuts from flying shards of stone.

The recovering Knights saw their Kages skin luminous with pure energy – as though the Hand of the Maker were upon him, the touch from which no mortal could survive – infused with the pure energy of the Force to destroy the darkness that swirled around him.

An Angel fought an inconclusive battle trying to strike down a Daemon who remained unarmed – whether from preference or pride none could tell. The battle screeched across the far end of the once domed Temple, force blasts pounded Columns into dust, Silmans staff seared through metal that cut as easily as paper.

He was no longer sweating, no longer feeling, the pure force energy he drew in soothed all pains as it ate away at the Zabracks cells one by one – what seemed like divine luminosity was a last ditch effort, to trade flesh for the pure force energy.

Silman knew he there was no going back, but to destroy such an evil was worth his life. Without a healing channel of power Karmack too knew there could be no surviving it yet he also knew Silmans sacrifice would be in vain.

The thread of the song that surrounded the dark warrior - that had echoed in the confines of the Vyths caverns and leeched off of Zearic himself had barely changed – Silman was giving up his life to match his enemy, and his enemy had barely touched the Force.

He didn’t need to – the Kage was strong but the Dark Warrior knew 65% of his effort was needed just to put him on the same level of strength and speed that came naturally to the warrior, another 25% to avoid unfamiliar techniques, and the remaining 10% wouldn’t even cause a sweat for him to match.

As Silmans body began to break apart more and more he realised his error – his starting point was so far behind his enemies that all his power was needed just to catch up. That didn’t mean he couldn’t win…it just meant he needed to win another way.

Moving out of a diagonal strike from his low guard toward the head his attempt was met with a millimetre perfect dodge, Silman tensed his calloused bleeding hands and flicked his wrists out, sending the blade spinning out wildly – the blue tip catching his enemy off guard enough to slice a thin line in the black pauldron. Silman almost laughed, it had taken three Maenowons just to get that strike…

As the Dark warrior re positioned, Silman simply charged like a Razor Ball player to tackle grabbing the warrior around the ribs with all the momentum he could build.

But he didn’t collapse to the ground – Silman had assumed he weighed perhaps twice a normal Knight in armour – he weighed over 300 KG before the ultradense armour. Even as Silman’s blazing body stared to burn through the plating, a knee rose up and two elbows came down to slam through the Zabracks torso, ruining what was left of his spine, and slushing his main organs.

It made no difference, his body as a mere vessel for the luminous being that had been Kage Silman Lo that now prepared to implode. The force flashed a brilliant white that Arnor could see through her husband’s body as a counter blow shattered the Kages grip, another knee put the Zabracks body near standing as the Dark warrior rapidly sidestepped the renewed charge, grasped the Kage’s glowing head from the side and twisted round and up to part it from the body.

There were ways to reconnect and even survive such an attack – but Silman knew none of them. The headless body flopped forward, a hole ridden remnant as the head was crushed in Midnights Grasp.

<<<<>>>>

The peace that descended over the Temple was broken by the hum of approaching vehicles,

Sword of Light Squads hit the ground and took up positions around the Knights as Cliff stepped onto the dust that was the Temple, idly scowling at the Droids standing in lifeless sentinel where they had been shut off.

All the Knights seemed stunned to silence for some reason, likely to do with the pyrotechnics he had seen as they approached in the LAATs.

One figure in extremely black armour walked toward him, holding out a Military Code Cylinder Cliff recognised as one of three he had given to Cha for the Aertemis Industries overseers, a concession he had made for the short notice supply of extra droids was they be allowed to have field observers.

“General Cliff, your…melee infantry here...attacked me directly even after I presented this evidence of my legal authorisation to them - I was forced to defend myself.”

“Apologies…” Cliff said cautiously “No doubt a result of the mix up with the droids friend/foe targeting…”

“It was unwise to deploy these melee infantry to this particular theatre without resolving that issue first General…” the Aertemis industries employee noted as he headed past.

Cliff scowled “I didn’t order these Knights here…Silman stuck his sabre in despite my orders…”

The Dark Warrior already 15 metres past the General in the blink of an eye, replied in dry tones.

“He won’t be doing it again…”

<<<<>>>>

Time to get this one rolling again....

Chapter 26 – No Longer forgotten

Part One: The Past…

Harsh winds scored against the cloth hastily wrapped around his face. Even after a thousand years it seemed the hate filled winds had not settled on this cursed planet.

Each step scrunched dried detritus of some form or other – old walls, manuscripts, Carbonized flesh? All turned to an indistinguishable grey sand around the great cliff face that was once part of the library complex.

Ossus was now a land of the dead and dying, a fitting place for Dorian to place the remnants of the Nameless One’s vile arts.

While She was defeated, she was not destroyed, nor all of her Dark Crystals – even if he could Dorian would not go that far…to destroy something completely was…an act of hopelessness, a resignation that there was no potential for good and light within an object or person.

Even after all he had seen he could not bring himself to lose such hope.

Yet his hope was not a naïve one…he well knew he had to keep Her far from her devices and fetishes as possible whilst she…considered the error of her ways…perhaps in a year or two he would return to reclaim them and turn them to a more noble purpose once she saw the truth.

Harsh moistureless rocks scored through his gloves as he climbed toward a gap in the cliff face; on his dried lips a memory motif to remember the exact path. On this dead world he would place the last Dark crystals beyond her reach…beyond anyone’s reach…hidden in the arid cracked cavern formed from the slow grinding of rocky strata on a planet that was so lifeless it took all the effort he could muster to sense its location.

Dorian paused to rest in the hollow for a moment. He carefully sipped from his bottle, not wasting a drop. Had he known the state of this world he would’ve worn a full enviro suit…but then that would’ve been too clumsy to climb in…let alone proceed deeper into the cavernous depths.

Still... Dorian made a note to himself to bring respiration gear and more robust protective clothing. For now, his heavy utilties and simple face veil would have to suffice.

Rested, he countinued up the tortured pathway. So focused was he on the climb that he nearly missed the opening, damaged by shock and fire and nearly buried by rock fall and drift. As it was the opening was far to small for an adult human to enter, but a few moments of concentration fixed that and the aging Master ignited a light as he entered the dark, dead cavern.

Stepping into the space Dorian shone the light around, noting cracked walls and debris from the damaged ceiling overhead crushing the fixtures. Still, unlike the exterior, one could still see the bones of the past here. This chamber was nothing like the great library with it's lost Hall of Knowledge, but it had been some kind of annex to either that library complex or the Academy, perhaps more like the Gardens of T'alla: a place of reflection and contemplation rather than a storehouse of knowledge and artifacts.

However it had been used it was now all but destroyed, nothing more than broken stone and drifting dust and ash. Dead, like almost everything else on Ossus. Dorian paused, opening himself to he force, humming an enhancement motif as he reached out for the echoes of the past. After long minutes he sighed. There was a faint echo, but nothing he could resolve. Like everything else on this cursed planet, the voices of the ancient Jedi were all but gone. It just all felt...

...dead...

Dorian suppressed a shudder and pressed on, finding the natural cave opening at the back of the chamber and moving into the cliffs proper. As he moved deeper into the rock he became aware of the soft background hum he'd hoped for. The rocks on Ossus were laced with crystal matrix. Despite the loss of life, the crystals themselves still hummed with the complex harmonies of the Song.

Here... Dorian stopped as the hum he was hearing was suddenly enhanced by the feed-back characteristics of the place. He paced around until he found an area of high volume conveniently near the cavern wall. Carefully he removed the small chest containing her dark crystals. Setting it aside, he began singing, slowly nitting the fabric of the cavern's native song into an intricate web, a web that would prevent anyone without the key from moving the object which now sat at his side.

It took hours, during which time the lock first grew, then vanished into the background hum of native rock. Dorian was exhausted when it was finally in place, but he summoned the energy to test it, reaching out with the force for the chest...

The first layer of the song lock sprang, slapping him back and hitting him with the force-equivelent of a high-decibel sonic cannon. Shaking his head, Dorian nodded in satisfaction. Successive layers would grow stronger as the lock was triggered, sowing confusion and blocking anyone who triggered it from using the force. A sufficiently advanced singer could eventually match each layer's harmonic in turn and defuse it, but it would take weeks if not months of painstakingly slow work to do so. Meanwhile, the crystals would remain inside the song web, trapped, not even detectable unless someone physically came within a few meters of the chest and utterly unable to touch the Song from within.

It was very similar to the web The Nameless One now found herself trapped within, and would serve the same purpose - repentance and redemption. As Dorian physically buried the chest, he prayed fervently that the Maker would bring Morrigan to repentance and that one day, very soon, he could accompany her to this very spot to recover and redeem her craft.

But until then... Dorian walked away, gently sweeping the floor behind him with the force to remove all evidence of his presence and work in the cave. Behind him the crystals lay, buried under rock and sand and cradled in the arms of the song lock, hidden and safe.

..buried ... and dead ...

<<<<< >>>>>

Chapter 26 – No Longer forgotten

Part Two: Then...

They paused at the crest and turned to look at view across the tree lines. The mountains were white crowned peeks in the crystalline air, pretty in a way…yet inferior compared to home.

The air was thin for a human…it made no difference to them at all.

They’d easily traversed to the top, the gravity less than their home, the terrain easier – even the mountain was inferior she noted, the rock far softer, the temperature barely cool to her body…no wonder the natives of M’Tziogn were so weak and soft….

But she ought not be so dismissive…it was terribly easy to look down on the humans – a dangerous underestimation, they did have some moments of insight.

“It’s near here…” Her sister noted up ahead. Lysi was very particular about things like this, following their mother’s example ... of course there were no formal titles, every woman embodied the Goddesses … but her aunt often said her mother was in effect their ‘Priestess’...or ‘Nymphomaniac Witch’, either way Lysi as the eldest had followed their mother as was fitting.

Up ahead the cavern had a queer shadowy feel in the Aether, contrasting to the brighter one at the Shrines and Temples of the Mak’Tor further below. Yet they had a false feel, they felt imposed not embedded into the landscape as this place did, on which basis Lysi had determined it was the best place for them to visit.

While their sisters– well outsiders called them cousins but such distinctions mattered less to People - set up in the Hotel, she and Lysi had come to introduce themselves to the Gods of M’Tzigon as was only polite.

Yara felt terribly sorry for the Gods, or God, or goddess – that were native to this world – the fact she didn’t really know much about it showed how the Mak’Tor who as aether users should be attending to it were simply neglecting it in favour of their impersonal ‘Maker’.

It was such an arrogant contradiction to claim their God was all powerful in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. If their Maker was the only God, why did they have their Goddesses? Why did the Dathomiri have the Fanged God and Winged Goddess, the Miraluka Ashla and Bogan – apparently no one told them they didn’t exist? And what was this Maker doing with his supposed power – for an all-powerful God he seemed pretty mean to allow so much suffering of his own followers.

No they were simply mad, wilfully ignorant of the true nature of Gods and their link to Place and People, and the limitations that came with it. To believe in an all Good all Powerful god in the face of reality showed its obvious falsity – but numerus partisan and limited Gods was completely consistent with how the universe operated.

They paused at the cave mouth.

“Should we take our clothes off?” Yara queried, Lysi having the same thought, all their sacred spaces required them to be undressed or wear only light garments.

“hmm…I think it should be fine, after all we don’t know what their rules are…”

The moss covered rocks at the edge soon gave way to stark brown and grey rocks deeper in, lit by the reflected light off the snow peaks across the valleys, an antechamber of sorts with various offshoot caverns trailing off into the dark depths.

As they looked about for a shrine or appropriate place the shade that dwelt – or rather was chained within the caverns spied the visitors nervously – these were not the usual little trainees sent to be tempted, nor Karmack who had just been here…hadn’t he…time was…strange in her prison – it could’ve been centuries for all she knew.

“…perhaps they left it natural,” one of the two women said

“There is probably one in the deeper caverns…but it might be forbidden or secret, here should be fine,” She set her pack down on a natural table high outcrop and took out a small carved statue of three women back to back, arms linked, figures curved beneath thin robes, one had a bow, another a book, the third flowers along her arm .

“Deities of M’Tzigon! I am Lysaea and this is my sister Yaraea, Daughters of the Three Goddesses of Aethas who I have brought with me that you might recognise them.”

The shadow – she had forgotten her name again! - assumed that one was in charge shouting in an echoing voice far too loud, fast and high pitched to be human.

“Children of your world and ours have been in conflict in the past…but we think this is because, in part they have forgotten you, raising shrines to their false Maker insulting your sovereignty – but we remember and ask your blessing for a new start between us!”

Lysi paused looking around for any signs of response, Yara shrugged so they continued on.

“If you will have your children welcome and treat fairly with Us we will welcome and treat fairly with them!”

The shadow heard the queer words and was…curious? was that the feeling? Or rather excited….

“We come here to visit, and learn and trade!” Lysi continued summoning over her small pack with the aether she placed three gifts beside the statue, a bolt of hand spun cloth, dyed red, a heavily redacted, but truthful, hand written vision of the Peoples history, and a handful of purple diamonds that vibrated quietly with the breezes of the aether. The cloth representing Aephrodaea – warm, soft and comforting, the book Aethenaea full of knowledge and the Diamonds Aertemisaea, able to deflect attacks when made into necklace or bracelet.

“Please accept these gifts of from us and our Goddesses,”

Having thus introduced herself Lysi felt satisfied the true Gods of M’Tzigon would be placated and hopefully not feel so neglected, but as they seemed rather quiet she took up her pack and prepared to head off.

“Hey look!” Yara called out noting the shadows shift strangely

She wouldn’t waste the chance to talk to someone…anyone!

“Please don’t go!” taking her cue from the statue they had left the shadow adopted one of her more provocative forms with a flowing white robe just covering her.

The two women’s eyes widened

“I’m so lonely here…” the Prisoner could only speak the truth here…but the Truth could still be used

“Hardly anyone visits me…” True

“They all seem to worship the Maker now” True

“You’re one of the Goddesses of M’Tzigon!” Lysi said excitedly

Mor…Morri...she still couldn’t catch her own name but could at least reply

“They trapped me here!” True albeit in a holocron

“The Maker Worshippers trapped me here!” That was True too, Dorian did worship the Maker.

“Left me too weak to escape beyond the threshold of the cavern” Also true

Yara put her hand over her mouth in shock that they would abuse the planets Goddess so terribly. Lysi equally shocked probed further.

“Are there other Gods trapped here?”

“No” – True

“Makes sense to keep them apart,” Yara noted, “What can we do to help!” The thought of trapping a Goddess….it was abhorrent, not enough to drive her away with their Maker temples but to lock her up as well, deny her even looking after the woods and rivers, animals and plants!

“Our Goddesses will know what to do!” Lysi added determined to right this terrible blasphemy.

Every place, the Aethan women knew, sometimes only a single valley, other times whole star clusters – had their own God or God’s for the people and living things native to it, the Gods were binding agents between a people, place, aether and universe, the common thread that held them all together, to cut yourself off from that was terrible enough in the women’s eyes, to then lock away that source of connection was beyond the pale.

“They say I can’t leave until I accept the Truth that I am evil and have done wrong in the eyes of the Maker!” the ‘Goddess’ of M’Tziogn added truthfully

Yara gasped at the increasing amount of abominable torture the Mak’Tor were inflicting on her – Gods loved their people, were part of them and answered only to them not some false super deity!

“This is terrible…hmmm I’m not sure what else I can do…” Lysi looked around her pack for anything that might help.

“Hmm…maybe you can talk to our Goddesses through their statue so you won’t be lonely? I don’t really know how Gods talk to each other…I thought perhaps they had a special place they all visit, at least you will recognise them now…”

The shadow resolving more fully as the conversation progressed was loathe to go anywhere near the statue they had put in the cavern, diminished as her senses were, there was something very wrong about that thing and the power behind it - even in her most desperate moments in life against Dorian she would Not have sunk to meddling with such things...

But she wasn't alive anymore.

“Please hurry…I’ve been in here so long…I can no longer even remember my name!” she said truthfully once more.

This was very serious indeed the women realized, no wonder this mad Karmack was going about wrecking things, there was no one to tell him off anymore.

“We’ll do what we can…” If they could get the Goddess of M’Tzigon out she could likely help them keep the Singer from attacking the People!!!

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 26 - No Longer Forgotten

Part Three: Now...

M’Tzigon's sky was peppered with small explosions as they headed up the mountain.

A full tactical squad of ten moved soundlessly and tracklessly over the snow, three as vanguard, three as rear guard and four in the centre guarding the hovering black oubliette. Their HUD’s picked up the progress of the battle far below them, the Mark IV Dark Troopers might be working for the Mak’Tor, but they still ultimately served People, so far the droids were making a good showing against conventional military forces, on ground and in space

Still there were improvements to be made against aether warriors, the Mak’Tor Knights were not…incompetent…in their battle against the Flagellants and cultists and even held well against the Mark IV’s.

Of course the Tactical Squad Gormin could easily have dispatched both opponents in less than a quarter of the time…but their mission was to observe not intervene directly unless absolutely necessary.

Tactical Squad Gobrils mission on the mountain was different, they were to deliver the oubliette - patterned after Lord Remulus Dreypas Oubliette though naturally enhanced and improved – to the prison and release the trapped Goddess of M’Tzigon.

Their discussions with this Goddess had determined she was imprisoned using a form of Holocron, the make of which was unique even to them. The fact this Goddess could be trapped in a Holocron was…unusual to say the least…but they were well aware there were many different types of Gods, some of whom were once mortal.

The Vanguard quickly reached the cave, ignored and undefended as all the Knights were focused on the battle below, fighting under the watchful aim of Squad Gormins Arrows…they had to be ready, at any moment they could get the order to open fire on the Mak’Tor…it would be a short battle if it came to it though – able as they were 85% of the knights would be dead in the first 8 seconds unable to adapt their tactics to teleporting aether guided arrows of ultra-dense blackstone in time.

Unclasping their packs Gobril began setting up the suppressive fields. The design of the prison was effective, the Aether Architect was very clever and powerful…but there were a number of techniques the Aether Architect had simply not been aware of, and like so many outsiders had designed the prison to prevent humans like himself from breaking it, not People with far more advanced cognition.

The caves were not overly deep nor complex, at any rate they were all acquainted with such caverns from Home. They soon found the main chamber where an Aetheric illusion protected the prison shrine making it appear a rock wall.

For species like the Miraluka, or their genetic descendants, who could see using the aether, it was pointless and indeed the aetheric emanation made it easier to find -once more the imaginative limits of the architect were on full display.

“Here…” Lysi ordered them to bring up the oubliette as she shattered the illusion with a tap.

Behind it was a small plinth with an etched cube holocron, aurebesh font indicated it was about 2500 years old. She gently probed it with the aether, soon getting a response as the Goddess appeared.

“You…you returned…” if a disembodied creature like the Nameless one could feel surprise then she felt it now.

“We said we would…” Lysi replied assessing the holocrons defenses…it had a weaving interlocking and rhythmic aetheric wall that couldn’t be opened from the outside…yet there was…a ‘door’ but it was locked from the inside…

“I see what you mean now…” Lysi went on, “It’s easy to escape…but only if you fulfill its conditions of criticizing yourself and bowing to their false God….”

“Despicable!” Mari spat behind her preparing the oubliette.

“And…yes when it is opened you won’t be truly free for anything expect to dissolve into death…”

It was a sick punishment indeed, this poor woman-goddess was kept alive in a prison and taunted with escape that could only result in her death…despicable indeed.

But no wall was invincible…the song like binding was tightly and carefully wound…but like any ‘wave’ it could be offset with a corresponding wave of the exact opposite wavelength and opposing amplitude…then they had to capture the released spirit into a body quickly.

Linking minds with her sisters they soon devised a method – they would create a pocket surrounded by aether null fields to ensure once the spirit was released it couldn’t dissolve too far away in the critical seconds, meanwhile they would unwind the song with its counter harmony.

The original architect had been highly skilled no doubt…but was still only human, limited to one level of conscious thought…to memorize and unwind such a Song Lock would require a human singer to study the song in full, devise a precise counter and insert it perfectly like a DNA double helix, every ‘note’ had to exactly offset.

Dorian had never imagined such a thing was possible – Master Singers were few and far between, and even should one arise it would he thought take weeks of effort to devise the counter song, and be near on impossible to play the anti-song in the force perfectly enough to breach the Song lock.

He had not anticipated the existence of a race of beings whose parents would sing them to sleep with words and the aether from birth, who lived on a world where avian species trilled in the aether to each other, whose minds were capable of eight levels of human genius cognition at once…and who could integrate seamlessly with their siblings in a synchronicity that Multiplied their intelligence and power not just added it together.

Even for all this the breaching of the walls of the holocron was not easy for them, they had not encountered such a precision crafted Song Lock before…they took their time, triple checked their counter song carefully…marveling at the intricacy and creativity of the architect, able to respect his work even as they undid it – all of them were soon using one of their spare levels of consciousness to determine ways to upgrade their own aetheric security systems with a more Perfect Song lock of this kind.

Morrigan unable to fully sense the Force mechanics in her drifting state began to feel herself seep away as the walls were removed…she felt…even more spread out than before – her consciousness was a drop of dye hitting the ocean, through natural process about to dissolve across the vastness of the seas never to be reconstructed again.

But as she slipped a firm…and terrifying hand gripped her together…some small pieces slipped through fingers but nothing essential.

She felt…Pushed into a form as the oubliette hissed open.

The body within was a Stage 3 Meta-Human, cloned specifically for purpose based on the M’Tzigon Goddesses preferred specifications.

They were of course not foolish enough to give her a body that could threaten them, Stage 3 was almost primordial compared to People, it contained no Miraluka sequences, was limited in life span to 250 years, standard if upgraded homeostatic systems and organs and only 2.5X standard human speed and strength, roughly equivalent to Nimmin Cha’s enhanced base line.

There were of course other redundancies and fail-safes to keep People Safe, the ability to activate physical overrides much like those that affected Zearic Vih’torr a distant hybrid descendant of People whose remnant sequences had recently been reactivated – they were still unsure exactly what effect it would have on him, there were theories of course, but 20 generations of dilution added so many potential variable they had to simply wait and watch.

As much as they wanted to help, they could never fully trust any Outsider – God or not – they well understood that Gods were tribal as their people.

The song lock finally dissolving, the holocron seemed to deflate as its purpose was lost and the last tendrils of its prisoner flowed from crystal to flesh and blood.

“Now,” Lysi ordered.

Yara raised a finger and shot a bolt of red lighting into the naked breast of the body initiating homeostatic systems.

The heart thumped strongly, the breath entered.

Morrigan's eyes opened.

Chapter 27 - Fallout

Part One: New Dawns

The sun rose over a different planet.

M’Tzigon was still there, the physical accumulation of mostly silicon and iron that spun about a distant yellow sun, but the essence of the world that woke on S'Kar'Yom morning to blood spattered snow and the scent of smoke was indelibly changed.

They had escaped the wrath of the Empire and the desolation caused by the Clone Wars before that: for some it seemed fate had finally caught up to them. For others fate had been summoned to them ... by Mak’tor meddling where they didn't belong.

Militarily losses were relatively few, apart from the Requiem's initial assault and the losses on Lunar 3. General Cliff’s strategy of holding back his forces and using the Mark IV droids to spearhead the ground and orbital battle had worked: of 80 droids deployed, 48 had been destroyed beyond repair, but they had eliminated over 3000 Alliance troops, two corvettes and dozens of Imperial mech units at the spaceport and power plants.

In the cold logic of post-engagement analysis they were a resounding success. Cliff’s sole regret was not being able to afford a full legion of them.

The Hornet and other M’Tzigon fleet elements tracked the Elinga, the Rebel Command Ship, to the edge of a nearby empty system. There they found a confused Commander Gingal, who had finally re-established contact with Alliance command only to discover that they had never heard of a "Jedi Master Gaetana", nor the "Mad Singer Ka’Ah’Re’Mack".

When hailed, Gingal agreed to parlay with the M'Tzigon forces and a negotiating party was dispatched. When they met the Rebel command team Knight Da'Ne'Mass instantly felt the back-wash of Mendax' mind control from all of the senior officers, exactly as the Gray Singers had reported feeling from the Captain Nyder, commander of the surrendered Requiem, though in her case the intensity was far greater and her withdrawl systems left her struggling just to piece together coherent thought while Commander Gingal and his officers were simply deeply confused and disoriented.

With Captain Nyder incapacitated, Lieutenant Regann Nordas of the Imperial contingent was instrumental in ensuring a smooth surrender of the Requiem and the few Imperial forces still holed out up after an aborted assault on Lunar 4 that had gone unnoticed – he had surrendered to Mendax and Gingal to save his men once and was not too proud to surrender once more to save the lives of his remaining forces and prevent their dying in another pointless battle.

Of the invading fleet only one ship was not found by the Jokers as they sought to track down the location of all ships involved in the orbital battle. Zearics Bane, Mendax' Raider 2 Corvette had simply dissappeared. Adding to the mystery, it's small crew was found in an airlock on Lunar base 5. No one knew how they got there or what had become of their ship. Even under Jaim’s interrogation their memories were simply ... not there.

Across the ruin of the Temple the Men-At-Arms began clearing up the bodies and debris as best they could. Many of the residents of the Temple Precinct approached the area, attempting to volunteer, but were kept behind the hastily erected barricades while the scene was examined.

Among the prefab tents set up around the ruin of the Temple was a M.A.S.H. unit filled with the injured Knights of the Mak’tor, emotions shattered along with their bodies. They had won the battle; defeated the dark-siders; the Master of Song had destroyed Mendax and prevented a thought bomb from desolating the planet...

Yet none had ever felt so defeated.

Their Kage was dead. The Master of Blades and Master of Balance were on life support. All had been cut down by one man - a man that General Cliff had then apologized to for the Kage's attempt to arrest him.

The Death of Silman Lo and a dozen other Mak'Tor was emblematic of the split between the Military and the Knights. Silman had refused to follow Cliff's demands and pull back from the Temple; Cliff had refused to hold back the Droids despite their lack of friend-foe identifiers; Silman had refused to accept the Dark Warriors credentials issued by General Cliff; General Cliff refused to censure the Dark Warrior or his employers for destroying the Kage and instead blamed Silman for the whole disaster.

They were talking past each other now, Knights and Officers convinced of their own right and the others wrong:
“The Knights disobeyed a direct order to get out of the way of the droids,”
“Cliff refused to listen to the Kage because he hates Karmack”
“Karmack Brought Mendax here, the blood is on his hands! Cliff saved hundreds of lives by using the droids!”
“He threw untested, out of control machines into the battlefield and let that Murderer just walk away! Silmans blood was still on his fists...”

As his body slowly repaired Karmack heard the whispers and felt the staring eyes upon him. The attention from his fellow Knights was split; the attetion from the Sword of Light Commandos securing the site far more hostile. Cliff had deployed the Sword of Light to patrol the Temple and provide security for the convalescing Knights – and also (he suspected) to keep a close eye on them.

"Take what you want and pay for it” Zearic’s phrase rumbled in his head triggering ugly recriminations on how he might’ve stopped all this. The unexpected meeting on Geonosis, the chance to end Mendax by doing a deal across Time and Space. He had refused ... and M’Tzigon had paid the price.

Guilt twisted the knife in his gut. Oh he could see that Mendax' actions were not his responsibility. The blood was on her hands ... but if he accepted that position so too did he have to wash her revivers of responsibility. If he was not accountable for the terror Mendax wrought even after refusing to stop her how could he hold them responsible for it after they healed her?

No! There was a difference! They actively assisted a mad woman, I only refused to murder one...

Karmack shook off the guilt. They were the ones who enabled all this, they who killed Silman, they who let crazed droids loose on the Knights, all so they could learn how the Ancient One worked. They... The Dark ones... "Black Armour"s... Nameless and vile... An evil worse than Mendax!

“Take what you want and make others pay for it.” That was their creed, they took everything and risked nothing in return...

The energies of the Ancient One caressed his mind as he gripped his sabre tightly beneath the flimsy medical sheets.

No. He would never allow them to have it.

<<<<>>>>

Council of Maenowans

“Let us keep a moment of silence for those fallen,” Ju’Lus began the convocation of Maenowans sombrely.

The silence that followed seemed to echo off the walls of the meeting chamber deep in the Mountain, the empty space on the carved list of Kage’s on the far wall where Silman’s name was yet to be entered another speechless reminder of their losses.

After what felt like and eternity it was broken by Ju’Lus quiet but firm voice. “I call this convocation to order.” A light tap of the ceremonial gavel and the proceeding began with the surviving 15 Maenowans on planet in attendance seated around the large round table, carefully etched with scroll work and verses from the Book of the Way exhorting wisdom but also temperance, and above all a reminder of the heavy responsibility all leaders had. “My friends, our first order of business must be the election of a new ...”

“A moment Master. I believe it is important that we assembled understand the nature of the threat that we now face. A moment to explain, if I may?” Karmack interrupted, ignoring the sets of eyes that now bored into him from around the table.

Ju'Lus scanned the room, but then sighed in resignation. “Very well. Master Karmack has the floor.” Ju’Lus sat, yielding despite a number of indignant expressions.

Karmack nodded his thanks and turned to face his peers. "Fellow Masters ... Friends ... The dark singer Mendax has been defeated but I fear there is a far greater and more dangerous enemy at work. Our Kage gave his very life standing against them - the black-armored warriors, the Dark ones even now inflitrating our very world and society."

The murmurs were stifled but they were there Chillum noted.

"Kage Lo stood because he knew the truth: These beings have no respect of life, no regard for the Way or the Song. They seek only power, to what end I know not. When I went to Commenor they approached me desiring a copy of the Ancient One. They promised great things in exchange for it's knowledge and wisdom but refused to share what their purpose for it would be. When I refused to allow them access to it they offered threat. It was shortly thereafter that I encountered Mendax on Vyth, not only impossibly alive but renewed and strengthend and in possession of a device which enveloped her in a force-null field. She used it to attack me with a thought bomb in the caverns of Vyth, which I barely survived with the aid of the Ancient One."

“cccggh…nerfshell…” someone coughed not subtly

"Unable to believe even my own eyes," Karmack continued evenly, "I sought out Mendax' grave on Geonosis. Using songs taught to me by Master Odjina, I was able to enter a flow walk and observed these Dark Ones rescue Mendax months ago, intent on setting her loose with no regard as to the consequnces. When I spoke with one of them, and he offered..."

Across from Karmack, Maenoan Ra’Qe’Nell groaned and buried her face in her hands in utter disbelief at this insane story of dead women rising, time travel, and thought bombs. Du'An Chillum kept his face neutral. Next to him Maenowan Telow'Na Jackson radiated only anger, her own experience with the "Dark Ones" and their drones clearly influencing her to agree with him, despite the incredible nature of his story. She glared at Master Do'Ran, who again coughed loudly into his hand to cover another rude exclamation.

Karmack again brushed off the interruption. “...he offered to destroy Mendax in my time in exchange, again, for the Ancient One. This confirmed to me that my refusal on Commenor was the trigger that led them to unleash Mendax on us, as well as reinforcing my conviction that it is imperetive that we keep such power from these ... these creatures..." Karmack's voice broke and he closed his eyes briefly as the image of his Kage ... his friend ... shining like a beacon in the Force...

...only to be destroyed, the light extinguished by that Oblivion-clad Monster.

Karmack cleared his throat and continued. "These ... creatures ... have no morality beyond their own desires. They defy the very laws of physics and nature itself, as if they no longer apply to them. They ripped my son's memories from him, twist time as if it is their personal playground, revive the dead with no regard for the natural order of life, offer artifacts of tremendous and sickening power such as these null collars, the Mark IV drones, even the Tenebris Pugione, which are beyond our ability to understand. Under the guise of helping and healing they resurrect twisted and evil sentients like Mendax and turn good, decent men like Zearic Vih'Torr into helpless patsies. They seek out the most powerful force relics they can find, such as the Ancient One and the Holocron of Soryu...

Another sigh of incredulity, stronger this time, rippled around the table.

"...and employing the most vile of agents – Nimmin Cha not the least of which I’ve no doubt. These dark creatures will stop at nothing to obtain what they desire. They ALREADY control vast armies of advanced droids and create wars simply to test them! I believe it is no exaggeration to say these beings are worse than the Inquisition! They are more powerful individually and have far more advanced weapons and knowledge of the Force than ANY inquisitor. Arguably better knowledge of both force and Song than we do, and they seek to constantly and rapaciously expand it under the guise of ‘self defense’.”

As Karmack paused he glanced around the table. Half the gathered Maenowans looked at him as if he were a poor comedian. Of the other half a few nodded with firm gazes of confidence, but most seemed uncertain or simply unmoved. To his sadness even Chillum seemed lukewarm.

Karmack made one last attempt, leaning on the table, his voice filled with urgency. “My friends, make no mistake: This is a greater threat than the Empire ever was to us. I would gladly trade these enemies for the return of Vader and Palpatine! We need to arm and prepare for their next move, but as a start they must be expelled from M’tzigon, by force if necessary, their droids melted to scrap and every shred of their "oblivion" based technology eradicated! We must call on the Vhal’dan and the Templars, to warn them and form an alliance against these ...”

“Oh for frells sake, is this going to go on any longer?” Ra’qel finally complained out loud. “It’s like a campaign speech for President of the Crazy Conspiracy Society! You talk as if these people were an army of Revan’s, or Black Rikards, or mythical Aetharians! They’re just men and so are you!” her finger jabbing at Karmack with each word “Even with your fancy crystal...”

“Enough!” Ju’lus interrupted. His voice, normally soft, crackled with the authority of his age and position. “Master Mack do you have anything further to add?”

Karmack sighed Yes, much, but it seems the Masters of the Mak'Tor wish to bury their heads in the sand rather than listen... he thought, but bit off the bitter reply. "No, Master Ju'Lus. I yield." he said instead, taking his seat again.

“Very good. In that case, assuming no one has anything additional to add, we will proceed with the discussion of the election of a new Kage. To that end I have recalled a number of other Maenowans who should be arriving over the next few days...”

Karmack sat, his mind cataloging the discussion as it progressed but his attention was on other things, while next to him Du'An Chillum mused over Ra'Qel's statement.

Aetharians... Chillum rolled the name of ancient myth around in his head. Now there's an ancient and obscure myth! I doubt even Karm knows about that one. Aetharians .... and something Zearic had mentioned a few months back ... [i/] He would need to dust off some old tomes, but maybe, just maybe there would be something to give them a clue as to who these creatures were.

Chapter 27 - Fallout

Part 3: Cliff

There were two camps: one in order as good, in fact probably better condition than when the Men at Arms had set it up. The other made a nerf-sty look hygienic.

Whilst most of the attackers had left with the Rebel fleet, nearly 800 remained in two parties – a group of 300 former pirates, raiders, and mercenaries with a handful of former cultists and Red Police mixed in for good measure on one side, and on the other 500 former Imperials who had only grudgingly joined the Rebels for the attack on M’tzigon and refused the opportunity to leave with them.

As Cliff wandered in the gap between the electro-fences he wondered which he should be more worried about; the violent vicious Pirates half trashing the camp they were held in, or the regimented Imperials who were divided into squads performing exercises and drills as if this were boot camp.

“Status captain…” he asked

“No outright riots so far, the pirates were unhappy with the rations last night, but it’s the Imp’s that worry me. They’re ... too organised. They’ve asked that all instructions go through their commander Lieutenant Nordas.

"Nordas..." He had helped round up the Imperials after the battle, yet had chosen not to stay with the Rebels. Now, why was that? Cliff wondered. “I’d like to speak to this Nordas...”

Passing through the double ring fence he saw two Imperials on guard at the entrance, one of which headed off to relay Cliffs arrival in unnerving chain of command.

Soon enough Nordas arrived with three other officers.

Saluting they all stood at attention. “General.”

“Lieutenant. Quite the operation you have here.”

“Simply trying to maintain discipline sir. There has been much disruption, some routine will do us good.”

Cliff nodded. “Indeed. I must say I was surprised you didn’t accept Gingal’s offer to join the Rebels after fighting beside them.”

Nordas back became even straighter if such was even possible. “Oorous System had little communications with the rest of the Galaxy, General. I did what was necessary to preserve my men’s lives, and Gaet.. Mendax ... had me believe the Empire had integrated into the Alliance and we were here to remove a local Tyrant. Once I learnt that the Empire - even divided - still remains...” His voice was firm and steady. “Sir, My Oath was to the Empire and the Emperor. One may be gone, but the other remains.”

Cliff nodded, this was a man who took his duty very seriously, a good loyal officer the Empire had too few of.

“I understand ... but you see the difficult position this leaves me in Lieutenant. I can’t keep 500 prisoners of war indefinitely, nor transport you to Imperial space safely.”

“I understand general. Unfortunately we don’t exactly have any credits to pay for passage, only our labour ... if you would be so inclined to use it.”

He’s been planning this... Cliff realised, once again appreciating Nordas skill as a leader for his men and women.

Cliff turned away slightly, looking out at the horizon while his mind's eye travelled even further. There was a huge amount of post-battle clean-up needed in and around the Temple district ... and it was more economical to use 100 Men-at –Arms overseeing 500 Imperials than sending 500 Men-At-Arms or civilian contract labor in to do the work.

Cliff met the younger officer's eyes levelly. “I’ll consider it Lieutenant ... very carefully.”

<<<<>>>>

The ruckus in the other camp was unending. Already a few pirates had set up black markets trading in rations and small gangs were beginning to form around the strongmen.

If Orfa were to have any chance of getting out she needed to act fast.

The young Jedi might have beaten her on Lunar 3, their fleet of pirate ships likely sent to be scuttled or recycled by the Men-At-Arms – but on the upside Misrum and Mendax were both dead, leaving her the only one with any real Force ability left.

Hopping off her collapsible bunk she scratched at the bandages around her head just under the lekku where the young knight had pommel struck her – that pain would feed her power.

Stepping out she surveyed the situation around the centre of the camp, noting four groups were forming around each of the larger tents. Along the electro-fences Men-At-Arms and a scattering of other troops with Sword symbols patrolled - watcing but not intervening in the minor fights.

Smart enough to know better than to come down here

She strode to the centre clearing where small portable fountains had been set up for drinking water and pushed her presence outward – she might not have Mendax power of direct mind control, but with this lot she didn’t need it. “Mendax is dead, Misrum is dead!” she yelled, attracting the guards attention above. “I, Illiv Orfa am now your Captain, your Mistress, your frelling Queen!”

She noted the few smirks at the sight of a female twi’lek taking charge “Anyone who wants to challenge step up now so I can ram my fist up your exhaust port and have you thank me for it!”

She felt out the crowd. About a third – those that had already been in her faction under Mendax - seemed if not enthusiastic then at least content with he declaration. Another third seemed uncertain, waiting to see who stepped up, the rest...

“You just a twi’leki whore,” a vast Yinchorri stepped forward, arms covered in a mix of scars and tattoos. “And I’ll fill your tight arse with my….ccchhh”

Hand stretched out she grasped at his neck with the Force, strain on her face as lifted him as well, her strength still recovering from her over exertion in the attack. The Yinchorri however were immune to all but the most extreme telepathic force powers, giving her no choice but to exert herself again.

She managed to bark a laugh despite the strain as she taunted him. “What were you saying vog kisser?”

The Yinchorri gripped at his throat. If it had skin rather than scales she was sure it would be turning blue. Its feet bagan waving in the air ... then dropped gasping.

“That’s enough of that!” One of the guards with the Sword symbol was suddenly behind her, flanked by half a dozen Men-At-Arms in riot gear, the Sword of Light Member using a counter –tune to cut the choking power. “You’re headed to solitary,” he continued.
Without warning Orfa spun and slammed her fist into his stomach – the armour took the brunt but he was winded by the sheer shock of a prisoner attacking despite the fact he was armed.

“Frell you all! Grab them!”

As one the pirates that had crowded around started attacking, the Men-At Arms twirling their electro-staves and hammering a retreat as those on the walls opened up with stun nets.

Hurling off a Rodian the Sword of Light officer rejoined the Riot squad as they retreated, their blast shields bounding off rocks and the occasional piece of funiture thrown at them.

From the guard tower near the gate General Cliff looked down on the riot. The Men-At-Arms got out safely enough, but the first blow had been struck, and while they were able soldiers they were simply not equipped to handle this many violent prisoners in one place.

His eyes fixed on the Twi’leki woman Orfa. She stood atop the water dispenser like an all conquering queen having won the day psychologically – they couldn’t get to her now without a full on riot ensuing, and he had no desire to risk his men on these pirates. Should’ve just shot the lot of them... he cursed at impracticalities of following codes of conduct in warfare that the other side most certainly would not have had the roles ben reversed.

Feeling the heat of his stare Orfa looked up with a smile. She had the 300 pirates, had set up a conflict, now ... now she just had to nurture it a bit more ... then barter peace for her freedom.

And... Chapter 28! Finally! Thank you, LSG, for the amazing plotting and for setting up the google drive! :-)

Chapter 28 True colours

Arrivals

The flotilla burst out of hyperspace well above the elliptical plane. It was a curious choice of entry destination it had to be said, more akin to where a smuggler or raider might emerge, though far closer to the planet than either would have preferred. With the system so on edge virtually every monitoring system on-line immediately lit up like a S'Kar Tree. Hornet was already on alert, her fighters on patrol, and Nath forced himself to relax in his command chair and wait out the transmission lag as (hopefully) a message of greeting streaked in-system...
On queue the bridge speakers crackled. “Hornet this is Wilberforce requesting permission to proceed in-system.”
Nath felt his muscles relax slightly but he waited as the force's Indent codes, along with pre-arranged authorization codes, were pulled out of the datastream and decoded. After a few more seconds of work his comms officer turned and gave him a thumbs up.
Nath keyed his own lapel mic live. “Wilberforce, this is Hornet Actual: you are cleared to proceed, Wilberforce. And welcome to M’Tzigon D’Kev.” Nath added recognizing the voice of the flamboyantly attired Besalisk. He spent an idle moment wondering what outlandish outfit the Son's front man would be wearing this time as the Jokers formed up to escort the Sons of Kessel in-system. Not that they really need it... Nath mused, studying the data codes on the tactical display. Inside the loose globe of ARC-170 fighters were several transports, flanked by three Raider 2 class corvettes and several fighters. I'll bet Cliff wishes he could lay hands on that kind of firepower. I know I do!

<<<<>>>>

Karmack stood watching from the ground in the main port, where the formal greeting party was gathered. With effort he suppressed a grimace as a pair of TIE Defenders, emblazoned with the clenched fist breaking a linked chain of the Sons of Kessel, screeched overhead. They were escorted by the Joker's ARC-170's, the contrast of old and new striking. While he fully understood why the Sons would want to have and use those fighters Karmack couldn't shake the feeling that flaunting them this way was in bad taste considering the battle that had just been fought.

It was hard not to take offense at the sight of front-line Imperial technology being waggled under their noses... And where in the HELL does a group like the Sons get TIE Defenders in the first place?
But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer: Aertemis Industries. But where did they get them from? Did they make them? Steal them? Conjure them up with some Dark Magic? Karmack didn't know ... and not knowing made him even more uneasy about this arrangement. What ELSE have they been given?

<<<<>>>>

B’lain was less concerned with the TIEs as he escorted the cargo hauler to the still battle strewn spaceport than he was by the freighter itself - and what might be on it.
The ship was roughly triangular shaped, typical of both Chiss and the Empire's capital ship construction, but with the smooth lines of a Mon-Cal or Kuati drives built ship. His unease, however, stemmed not from the incongruent design, but because the last time he had seen ships like this was on a frustratingly under-explained mission in which Jan and her marines had found a Corvette full of headless corpses.
How do you fight someone who can make your head just ... disappear? Nath had asked at the time, and it was perhaps the first time B’Lain had truly worried about supporting the Sons ... or rather ... worried about who else was supporting the Sons and to what lengths they were willing to go.
Out of irrational fear he let off the stick to scratch at his neck, worried a split may have appeared... OK, get a grip B'Lain...

<<<<>>>>

B'Lain's discomfort was sensed by Karmack as the odd-looking freighter landed, casting its shadow over him beneath its vast hull. He watched as an honor-guard of Marines deployed from one of the Hornet's shuttles, forming around the nose of the freighter. Karmack could just make out his cousin El'ynn'Mack among them, resplendent in her dress whites next to the gray-on-green Marines. Curious... Perhaps Nath wanted an extra Force sensitive backing up Jan to look in on this meeting... ...but then the whole thing is curious! M’tzigon has more than enough engineers and construction workers to help with the recovery! Never mind that the Order should rebuild its own holy sites! Bringing in these former slaves to help seemed like unnecessary and potentially damaging charity if not down-right interference! Karmack again pushed his building anger and uneasiness down as at the head of the formal delegation Ju’Lus, as Acting Kage, stood beside General Cliff and the group readied itself to welcome the Sons leadership.

Karmack's eyes lingered for a moment on the back of Cliff's head, and he was tempted to pry into Cliffs thoughts to determine what price he had paid to Artemis industries this time. Karmack’s mind was recovered even if his body was still sore and the Ancient One pulsed with power, ready to grant him the strength to breach the General’s obstinate mind. It would be so easy ... but no. With difficulty he suppressed the urge, unaware that he had come within a breath of doing what would have been unthinkable to him even days ago...

<<<<>>>>

The odd, angular, triangle-shaped ship lowered a platform as the Marines snapped to attention.
A gaggle of beings was on the loading platform, most prominently a Besalisk in an over-the-top bright yellow and purple shimmersilk outfit. Er’Lav’Racc looked downright drab standing beside him in tactical utilities, as did the Togruta opposite her. Despite his simple utility uniform however, the Togruta emminated an air of authority that was unmistakable: this was the leader of the Sons of Kessel, the one called Scrubber.
Scrubber stepped forward to greet the General who proffered his hand. “Welcome to M’tzigon, General Scrubber.”
“General!” he smiled “I’ve been called many things but not a General! First among equals perhaps but no general in this band of brothers, but thank you all the same,” the Togruta replied with a smile and firm hand shake. Cliff noticing with approval the still calloused hands: this was a leader who still lead from the front.
Cliff turned toward the robed figure next to him. "Scrubber, may I present acting Kage of the Mak’Tor Knights Ju’Lus.”
The introductions proceeded as Cliff and Scrubber presented their respective delegations. Of the Sons, the member of most note was the flamboyant Besalisk D’Kev who flourished all four arms in an elaborate bow.
As Karmack shook hands or the equivalent as appropriate for the half dozen different species, he noted one absence: Scrubber’s notorious bodyguard 'Black Armour' was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they at least had the decency not to bring him along to add insult to injury...
As the receiving line ended he released the breath he had not realised he was holding. Karmack relaxed slightly as the groups intermingled and they chatted amicably. Karmack remained on the fringes, his attention drawn to where more of the Sons' workers debarked from the transport, descending the ramp to the tarmac. All wore simple-looking but well-made workmen’s utilities with Artemis industries insignia - a three pointed star - carefully embroidered on the shoulders and chest. Interestingly their names were also embroidered into the fabric immediately below the Artemis icon - a lot of effort for 'simple' work clothes.
Karmack refocused his attention back to the conversation happening in front of him. “…we are after all…” Scrubber was saying to Cliff and Ju’Lus while Erl’av stood to the side between them, as if attempting to bridge the two parties together. “…friends more than allies. We could not stand by and do nothing when you are in need, and I tell you, you won’t find more dedicated or harder workers! Many owe their freedom to the assistance of Ken and Jorya, or to the crew of the Hornet and they have not forgotten.”
“We appreciate you support Scrubber,” Ju’Lus replied, “And for being able to spare Er’Lav for a few days.”
Karmack stepped forward at the break in conversation, “Scrubber, I notice your workers have Aertemis industries symbols on their utilities. Are they employees?”
“Hmm, oh yes, Aertemis industries is another of our good friends – they have a special program for former slaves, they are given retraining and formal qualifications in engineering and construction with a guaranteed job thereafter.”
Karmack’s eyes narrowed as he thought thorough that. It sounded generous at first glance but... “They are indentured to Aertemis industries after the training?”
Scrubber bit back replying with visible effort to the highly offensive connotations the word 'indentured' could imply for a former slave, and Ju'Lus and Er'Lav exchanged a glance at the emotional spike registered with them. To his credit Scrubber rallied quickly and his voice retained its friendliness and mirth when he spoke.
“They are offered a three year contract, well paid, with excellent work and living conditions. Their qualifications are fully accredited and are recognised across the ... well, across the former Empire. They could work in any firm or guild from the Core to the Outer Rim, but given the political situation and a desire to remain with their comrades no one has refused the offer that I know of. Indeed many of the first few participants are now teachers and senior managers in Aertemis industries.”
Karmack sensed Scrubber believed all he was saying, and was slightly offended to have Aertemis Industries implicitly slandered. There was a pulsing defensiveness there ... a thread ... not a tune or motif, but a humming, ringing connection. Karmack nodded, acknowledging the statement and disengaging as he mentally picked up that ringing thread and followed it into the song.

<<<<>>>>

“Seems to be going well,” Jan noted to El’ynn off to the side as they oversaw additional lifts descend with various pieces of heavy construction equipment, all very well maintained and looked over by former slaves beaming with a pride that shown like a beacon in the Force and rang like the peeling of bells in the song to be working by choice and not compulsion.
“Good to see all those weeks out in the sticks made a real difference…” El’ynn replied as she noted her cousin poking around, as if he were looking for something ... or someone. “I wonder what he's after?”
Hopping over Karmack seemed to have narrowed his fixation on the ship's various landing legs, looking from one to the other as if they contained some sinister threat. El'ynn walked over to him, Jan in tow. “Karm? Hey, what's up?”
“Huh? Oh, El... When they came in were there any strange ships or odd sensor readings? Did you sense anything in the Song that was ... oh, blank or empty?” Karmack never looked at his cousin, his gaze fixed on one or the other of the transport's main landing struts at all times.
El'ynn was having nothing of it. She mimicked his intent pose and clipped tone. “Nice to see you El! How have you been? Did you get hurt in the Battle?" She then flipped over to the side and resumed her normal voice. "I’m great Karm, how are you? Heard you beat Mendax! Is Arnor OK? Ken? Your mom?”
Karmack didn’t even hear her, his concentration riveted. It was here ... it MUST be! The tone leads here, but it's too diffused, too spread-out... It's trying to hide itself,. but ... why? Was it just trying to avoid conflict, or was it planning to attack?
El’ynn gave an exasperated laugh and punched him playfully in the arm. "Hello?!? You there?" She stepped up and looked over his shoulder, following his line of sight. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“There!” Karm's eyes narrowed as he finally resolved the hum and traced it to the far landing strut covered in shadow. ”It’s there. I’m going to...”
“How the frell…” Jan's voice was shocked as she tapped on El'ynn's shoulder. El’s mouth opened wide as her gaze snapped around in the opposite direction.
Karm felt the presence resolve in the force and Song even as his own head snapped around to see the hulking from of Black Armour standing in his usual place behind Scrubber, arms crossed against the barrel like chest, a sword that could compete with Zearic for height on his back next to a rifle that glowed dimly red like the fires of the underworld.
“Was he here the whole time?!” El gasped.

<<<<>>>>

With the initial greetings over Ju’lus bowed, Cliff saluted and the group broke up into several smaller knots of people, each drifting apart and going it’s separate way.
Karmack’s mouth pursed as anger rose within him at being fooled. Somehow … it … had displaced its presence as well as hiding it. His trace must have forced it out of hiding, but he’d still been taken on a wild porg hunt and been left staring like a fool at the landing struts for minutes while at any time it could have emerged and snapped his head off.
Er’Lav, after a brief word with Scrubber, had fallen in with Ju’Lus, with the rest of the Mak’Tor delegation trailing behind, conversing. Karmack, his rage barely contained, strode directly into the acting Kage’s path. “What is that ... thing ... doing here?” Karmack seethed pointing straight at the hulking brute behind the Togruta.
Er’lav glanced behind her, then met his flashing gaze with cool, level eyes. “And what ‘thing’ exactly are you referring to, Master Mack?” she replied evenly.
“The “thing” masquerading as Scrubber’s bodyguard! It’s their kind that are responsible for reviving Mendax and enabling Cha! it’s an insult to Kage Silman’s memory for it to come here! Until we can counter the threat they pose, we should refuse entry to any more of those creatures.”
Er’Lav sighed, and glanced at Ju’Lus. The acting Kage looked uncomfortable but was clearly not ready to confront Karmack or shut him down, and this was not the time nor place for his wild theories! This was supposed to be a diplomatic mission, frack it! Worse, the Son’s delegation, following the Tortuga, had caught up to them on the tarmac. Er’Lav could see that he had perked up, his eyes bright with a mixture of mirth and challenge. It was clear the Tortuga had heard every word.
Make the most of it… Er’Lav met Ju’Lus eyes and he nodded to her, giving her permission to take the lead. Her eyes flashed to Karmack, her look to him a clear warning: back off!. Then she let her face soften into a friendly smile as she addressed her ally and , yes, her friend. “Scrubber, will you take responsibility for your compatriot’s actions?”
“Of course” Scrubber replied without hesitation. His eyes continued to twinkle, though they hardened considerably when they met Karmack’s.
“Then that is good enough for me,” she stepped forward but Karm blocked her path.
He gripped her arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Er’Lav, no! These creatures… They can easily control even the strongest minds. That thing is a danger to us all,”
“Irritated now Er’lav jerked her arm free. She turned and stood face to face, noting the bacta strips still on Karms face glistening in the reflected glow of the midday sun off the ferrocrete. She kept her voice low, matching his whisper - and his intensity.
“Master Mack, I’ve been posted with the Sons for months. I don’t deny Black Armour is a bloody serious danger … but only to Slavers! So long as there are none of those on M’tzigon, we won’t have a problem, and if there are … well, I’d be the first to put my fist into their face!”
“The one at the Temple murdered…” Karm began but Er’lav raised a hand to cut him off.
“I’ve read the reports. The Aertemis industries Employee provided a valid signed military authorisation. That document was confirmed authentic by General Cliff. Kage Silman chose to ignore it and engage anyway. His death is a tragedy, but until I see any other compelling evidence it is a tragedy of his own making.”
“Evidence….” Karm bristled with frustration: Why couldn’t she SEE! It was so obvious they were manipulating everything! Even the Sons of Kessel were under their control, wearing their damn three pointed symbol!

Sensing the direction of his emotions Er’Lav continued. “This is not the time or the place for this discussion,” she paused briefly seeing the red pulsing of his still unhealed wounds. “There has been a lot of loss. We should grieve and rebuild first. Allocating blame can come once the passions have died down.”
She stepped past him, followed by Ju’Lus and Scrubber, neither of whom met his gaze.

As the small group of Mak’Tor and Sons moved away from him Black Armor remained unmoving. The two stood facing each other for long seconds before the armored figure cocked his head ever so slightly. Karmack felt the bubble of anger rise in him again. He’s mocking me! A gesture of contempt, as if to say ‘We’ve won … and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Then the figure stepped forward at what to Karm would’ve been a stiff jogging speed. Drawing on the Force Karm matched it. Blocking the behemoth he flipped up his hand to push against the armoured chest piece – he felt a few dissolvable stitches in his arm pop out at the speed of the movement but in that moment he didn’t care.
The vacant face plate looked down at the hand as Karmacks voice came in barely a whisper. “Tell your…masters…I WILL get justice for Silman, for the Temple, for everyone.”

Zearic

He felt like a lab-nerf.

His arm was peppered with small stings from needles; his head still slightly swimming from the Gray healer’s analysis; his legs tired from running the treadmills to test his new limbs; the taste of canister oxygen still in his nose from the breath analyser.

Maybe not even a lab-nerf. Just a bio-sample…

Zearic waited across the desk as Doctor Ar’Re’Lin – or Ariel - approached with his results, that she wasn’t flanked by Maenowans suspicious of his behaviour was a good sign. But as Kir’Kas’Ren appeared with Jaim a moment later he was less confident. ‘Kirk’ had been responsible for analysing the Nocte and Tenebris. As Jaim took the seat beside him he could feel the tension in his friend had only tightened since he had last seen him on the other side of a transparisteel window during a mental delve.

“Well don’t everyone rush to give me the good news at once,” Zearic smiled trying vainly to inject some humour into the situation. After his…incident at the Temple everyone had been beyond guarded around him as if afraid he could snap at any moment.

If they had any idea how afraid I am of doing just that…

“Well let’s get right to it then,” Ariel began. “Physically, you are perfectly healthy. More than healthy in fact – compared to the baseline data we had from your last training sessions on M’Tzigon you’ve improved significantly in overall endurance, blood oxygenation is up, lactic acid build up is down, reflex time is significantly improved…”

He couldn’t deny that after the initial shock of having his limbs restored he felt healthier, stronger than ever before… and it was more than just having flesh and blood renewed.

“The only oddity is the presence of half a dozen…unique…hormones in your blood that were not there before,”

“What kind of hormones?” Zearic queried idly clenching and relaxing his renewed hands.

“That we don’t know…there are similarities to testosterone, somatotropin, musclin .. but only similarities. The sample was given to Kirk…” she nodded toward him.

“Compiling what we could from the Gray singers and Jaims delves, we couldn’t find anything untoward in your force presence, no evidence of deleted or suppressed memories, subconscious programming…”

Jaim looked at Zearic guiltily, Jaim was renowned among the Vhal’Dan for his ability in Force Suggestion and Mental analysis. To have found nothing was…distributing to say the least.

“It was only by accident we discovered the connection. A Silver – Fey - knocked over a beaker and caught it with the force while a blood sample was under the scope…it caused a reaction in these new hormones and your cell samples. Basically, we believe not only are these new hormones responsible for your recovery and enhanced strength and speed, but also linked to the control the “Black Armour” beings wield over you,”

“We think the Hormones and the chromosomal sequences that produce the mRNA for ribosomes are stimulated by the Force,” Jaim explained, “But only reactive to certain…sequences,”

“Or Songs,” Ariel added

Zearic sat like a kaadu in headlights

“Force…Song…activated hormones…that make me obey the BA’s and enhance my physical abilities…is that like…midichlorians or…”

“No this is distinct…this is…” Ariel paused shaking her head “Well beyond our understanding of how the Force interacts with biology. Even among the archives I could only find a few papers that discussed the possibility of such things, and they were written over 500 or more years ago. They were also heavily redacted.”

The healer paused for a moment to let that sink in before she continued. “The samples we took were the most reactive when placed next to your unique…daggers…”

Zearic nodded as a cold sweat began to trickle down the small of his back. I can hear it, Zearic: I can hear their song. It resonates within you. Karmacks words from mere hours before Mendax attack ricochet through his mind shattering hopes and dreams he barely knew he harboured

How can D’Alyanna Trust me…How can Jorya be safe around me…how can anyone ever come near me when I could…I don’t even know WHAT at any moment

Kirk was still speaking - all Zearic could hear was the pounding of his heart, the raspy of his breath that was much too strong –

He had his arms, his legs, even his eye back … but at what cost? To be a thrall to creatures he could not comprehend?

She Left You Behind for a Reason

At first he thought … no he hadn’t thought, he’d just pressed on taking the blessing in his stride … but of course there was a Price…of course there was a Reason but it was HER Reason not Zearics.

“…earic…Zearic” Jaim finally broke through as his friends face turned red and swollen

“Are you alright....” It was a question Jaim felt foolish to ask as soon as it left his lips – how could he be alright when someone else controlled him.

Swallowing dry Zearic spoke

“Is there a way to shut it off – to suppress it?”

Ariel glanced to Kirk

“It’s possible that the hormones are only activated in response to being near a BA and the effect will gradually fade. Your levels dropped 55% over the two days of testing. Over the course of a month we’ll know more but that is the physical side, the change in your Force presence…the strengthening of your general aura…”

Kirk stepped in

“The only certain way is a force suppression device. The nature of this change is a mystery to us. We have a reasonable idea of the basic components in isolation, but the combination of biomechanics, Force activation and conscious control … it could take years of tests to piece it all together.”

Lose the Force…to regain my freedom… A darker bargain he could not imagine. Without the Force, how could he protect his family, serve the Vhal’Dan, live his life. Of course there were non Force Sensitives in the Men at Arms and among Vhal’Dan auxiliaries but … There must be another way…there must be…

Jaim watched Zearics face go from furious red to bleached bone white in an instant. “Perhaps we should discuss this further later. This is a lot to take in at once. Are there any other options we can consider?”

They would know… Zearic thought ruefully, The Black Ones who did this…who heal with a horrific price…and they would never undo it…She left me behind for a Reason…but what reason? To spy,? To destroy? Or simply to confuse everyone – they destroyed Silman – they freed Arnor – they revived Mendax – they support the Sons of Kessel with ships and resource - why not revitalize me to escape the deep core and spread chaos the next moment?

Still the others spoke on but their words meant nothing compared to the pounding of his thoughts. He’d never been Stronger … and never felt Weaker …

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

“They’re using them. Exploiting them over again…” Karm seethed. He and Arnor were looking out from what had once been an upper-level chapel. It now served as an open-air observation platform overlooking the work parties clearing away the debris from the collapsed roof in the main aisle. Karmack started to to say more, but bit if off as his anger boiled, his eyes hard as he watched the work. There were knights below, and M’Tzigon natives, but the vast majority were off-world labor, conspicuous in their Aetremis industries uniforms.

The damage to the Temple had been so extensive there was no thought of repair. The bulk of the site would need to be cleared and rebuilt, but the workers were being careful about recovering all the intact columns and material they could to be recycled in the new construction.

Arnor felt the roiling emotions in her husband and kept an uneasy silence. She was far from certain about Aertemis’ ill intentions toward the former slaves. She sensed only pride from the workers to be wearing those outfits - even gratitude at being given an education and employment. All the foremen and the Site manager were former slaves as well … and there wasn’t a “Black Armour” creature or one of the ‘girls’ in sight. One thing she was certain of - neither Er’lav or Scrubber would allow anyone to exploit them. Period.

Karm spoke again, half under his breath. “Look at those false grins. They’ve manipulated hundreds of beings...”

“You disapprove of our employee’s loyalties Karmack?” the oily sweet voice of Cha carried from behind.

Karm turned slowly. “You….I thought I smelt something disgusting…”

Cha smirked and raised his arm, sniffing at his arm pit. “Yes perhaps Ch’nel No. 6 was a bit too much for a site inspection. You must tell me what perfumes you use…”

Karms fists clenched as Cha approached, even the dust from the work sight seemed repelled by his oozing presence.

“Such a waste…” Cha tutted over the scene “So much valuable real estate given over to rebuilding a madhouse peddling superstitious nonsense. Tell me Karmack, where was your glorious Maker when Mendax attacked? Out whoring with some catamites by the Styx, or too busy watching indifferently as the Hutts torment millions of refugees from the war perhaps?”

Karm felt the pain in his jaw before he realized he was gritting his teeth - hard. He forced himself to relax. It was not worth responding to a patsy like Cha. ...or was it?.

Cha felt the direction of his thoughts and smirked as he turned his attention to Arnor. “Mrs. Mack, you radiant as ever. I see the morning sun has brought a nice blush to your cheeks.” Cha bowed to her, his tone oleaginous as he snapped his fingers to summon over a worker with a small refrigerated box.

“For you Mrs. Mack…” he flicked it open to reveal a bunch of colourful flowers. “To commemorate our time together on Canto Bight. I know I'll never forget the nights we spent together, fencing over the sabacc table, excitement in my room as I lay undressed before you, that dinner on the rooftop…ah but still I can see it! That tension between us is still unresolved…”

It was Arnor’s turn to seethe. Oh there is tension… Arnor thought…but releasing that tension would end with Cha on a gurney rather than a velvet bed.

The real target of Cha’s loquacious outburst stood still as stone. Every word grated against Karm like sandpaper drawn across his still healing face - a face that Cha now regarded.

“When was the last time you took Arnor out for the evening Karmack? Spending all that time fiddling with your little saber is bound to make her feel neglected! You’ve spent more time with the dearly departed Mendax of late than your own wife. I can see the signs of your infidelity all over your face – my that Ferroan was a ferocious lover…”

Cha glanced at the flowers noting Arnor was making no move to take them. He twisted the knife one more time. “Remember Mrs. Mack, when you decide you want a real man to satisfy you...”

The smile oozing across his face ended with a heavy smack, and only from the heat on his hand did Karmack realize he was the one who had punched him. Without hesitation Karmack pulled back, ready to strike again as Cha reeled.

”KARM!” Arnor grasped at his arm, stopping the follow-on blow as Cha hit the ground.

“No … let him Arnor. Let him show everyone he’s just a little boy, angry because daddy Mack went and got himself killed...” Cha spit blood and laughed back through half a mouth.

Something in Karm snapped, he broke out of Arnors grip and shifted, left foot planted as his right swung straight into the fallen Cha’s exposed chest with a heavy thud that sent him skidding across the stone. He hit a broken column hard, head snapping back but avoiding a long fall to the main level below.

Before Karm could take another step forward two vice like hands grabbed him from behind. “He’s not worth it!” Zearic yelled in Karms ear, pulling him back into a bear hug with all the strength his new limbs could lend him.

“…Aaah…Zearic…” Cha wheezed from the stone. “You know he’s jealous of you now. Without that magic crystal he’s nothing…” Cha raised a trembling finger, “...but you Zearic…you carry the blood of true gods”

“Don’t listen to him, he wants to provoke you Son…” Chillum scrambled up the steps as Karm bristled against Zearics grip, feeling all too keenly the truth of what Cha had said – Zearic was now physically stronger than him absent the Ancient Ones power.

Cha pushed up on his knees, right arm wrapped tightly around his damaged chest. “And Chillum! Oh it should’ve been you! You’re the one most worthy of that crystal’s power and everyone knows it…” He gasped, pain evident on his face.

“SHUT IT!” Arnor snapped back. Despite his position, she was already wondering how much - if any - real damage Cha had taken from the blow.

Cha laughed again, spitting out more blood onto the stone. “Ah how disappointed you must be. You have given so many years, so much of your body to this pathetic fool. Neither Karmack nor I are man enough for a woman of your calibre, but at least I admit it!”

Both his legs jumping up Karm almost toppled Zearic over frothing to get at Cha.

Cha again: “Let him go Zearic let him show his true colours!”

“One more word and it won’t be him you have to worry about!” the big man snapped wrestling Karm to face away from Cha.

“What’s this!”

Oh great just what we need… Arnor thought as General Cliffs voice rung out over the platform. He ascended the steps to the main floor in winter kit, followed by Scrubber, Ju’Lus and Er’lav.

Cliff took one look at the situation and turned straight on Karmack, finger pointed straight in his face as Zearic let go of him.

“You can’t help yourself can you…it’s…pathological…you need to be locked up!,” Cliff turned as Cha rose back to his feet saddened by the wasted flowers trampled underfoot.

“Mister Cha…once again I must apologize for the violence of this raving lunatic,” Cliff bowed to the grinning Cha, then straightened suddenly as his condition registered. “Sir! Do you need medical assistance?”

“Not at all General. No worse for wear. Though … it seems Karmack is experiencing some kind of mental breakdown. I’m sure his loyal wife will ensure he gets the medical help which he needs.”

Cliff shot Karmack a deadly look as he stepped past him and offered a hand to Cha, helping the Artemis Industries Representative up. He turned Cha back to the vista, sweeping his hand across the panorama of the slowly diminishing rubble of the Temple. “Amazing progress!”

Cha nodded in agreement, dismissively turning his back on Karmack, Zearic and Arnor even as he wiped the remnant of blood from his nose and chin. “Already we’re ahead of schedule, and I must thank you General, the workers have expressed to me their gratitude for all the thanks and meals they have received from the citizen of M’tzigon.”

“I will pass that on. Your workers have certainly made things easier for us,” Cliff added. While the Men at Arms had a competent military engineering division to help with the rebuilding having the Aertemis industries workers meant he could direct them all to focusing on repairing the Lunar bases and orbital platforms while the Aertemis employees and M’tzigon construction firms worked on civilian structures. “I am also appraised that you are making progress with devising a correction to the Mark IV droid friend foe identifiers…”

“I have a meeting with Colonel Ta’Re on the subject tomorrow general,”

Karm kept quiet as Arnor held him closely, not out of affection but worry he would snap again. If he struck Cha in front of Cliff, Ju’Lus and Er’Lav he would be lucky if house arrest was all he got. She shared a glance with Chillum, saw the same worry on his face, and without another word she guided him down the stairs and away from the temptation of hammering Cha.

“Vih’Torr…” Scrubber noted breaking away from the pleasantries, “Good to see you again, I regret we did not get to speak in the deep core,”

Zearic looked down at the shorter Togruta uncertain how to reply to that. He had come here to catch up with Karm and see what was going on with Aertemis Industries. He’d done both … after a fashion. Best laid plans…

“I wonder is Jorya here with you?” Scrubber went on.

“No she is…on assignment with her mother,” Odd he hadn’t heard from them for a while. Still with the civil war comms often got lost as arrays in deep space were cut, and he would’ve sensed if anything was wrong … Better that way, until I know what they did to me. Well time to roll for a hard twelve... “I must say I was surprised to see the Sons of Kessel so deep in the core,”

“Anywhere there are slaves we will go Vih’Torr,” Scrubber replied nonchalantly “And we obtained some valuable minerals and Imperial defectors to train out pilots and marines…and get the most out of our Star Destroyers…”

Zearic noted a raptor like glint to Scrubbers eyes in that instant. This was a man who was playing a long game, and playing it damn well from what Zearic had heard. One doesn’t just stumble into possession of two Star Destroyers!

“And do your allies always go with you?”

“When they can…”

“Are any of them here? I’ve some questions I would like to ask them.”

“Well this is M’tzigon. Plenty of Mak’Tor,” Scrubber jested

Zearic’s face hardened. “You know the Mak’Tor are not the allies I’m talking about.”

The genial smile fell off Scrubbers face as he stepped toward the broken edge of what had once been a wall overlooking the Temple’s gardens – a beautiful view, now ruined.

“See this? Two thousand, one hundred and nineteen former slaves all told, from hundreds of races, all ages and half a dozen genders…all given an education, a job, apartment, and healthcare by Aertemis Industries. The Sons can free slaves,Vhi’Torr, but we can’t support them all. This…this is giving them new lives, new chances. Can you imagine what this costs? I can’t and I don’t ask, I just look at the faces of those workers, and I see their pride. I see their hope. I see a future.”

Jorya had said Scrubber was an eloquent leader, and he was expertly trying to not so much divert Zearic’s question but repoint his thoughts to make it seem not worth asking. The message was clear – accept the benevolence the Gods rain down and don’t worry about the how or why of it.

Zearic couldn’t do that…he needed to know the why, what and how. Not for himself, but for his wife and daughter.

“I see someone playing a game far longer and far more intricate than any one of us can comprehend … and I don’t like being played, Scrubber. I don’t think you do either.” Zearics tone was firm but not aggressive.

Scrubber nodded tugging at his remaining Lekku absently. “We don’t get to choose who helps us when we need it Vih’Torr…keep that in mind..”

He turned and headed off to where Er’Lav was speaking with Chillum, leaving Zearic to stare across the worksite feeling only more a pawn.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 29 Promotions

Morrigan

The light in her eyes caused her to see the veins around the pupil flash green and pink as she stared up to the right. She was naked on the cushioned seat, enjoying the sensation of the fabric on her skin. Enjoying having skin at all...

The Doctor entered the data onto a screen thing. “Eye sight is optimal.”

This was the last of the barrage of tests she’d been through, ensuring her body was fully functional.

Morrigan thought she was still experiencing some dysphoria, so far all the faces about her looked exactly the same, alabaster skin and red hair, none seemed over the age of twenty.

“You need to run neurological alignment exercises every 12 hours. We will provide you with the details,” Her liaison explained as she handed her a gown that seemed hand stitched. Her memory might be faded from centuries of isolation but she was fairly certain handmade clothes were uncommon.

Pulling on the gown she noted her figure in a floor length mirror – similar to the other women, perhaps more full in the breast, and as per her instruction long ashen blonde hair framing sapphire blue eyes that had unnaturally sharp flecks of gold scattered throughout.

“So where to from now?” She inquired noting her name had been embroidered on the robe…Morrigan after so long not remembering it…to have it here...and so REAL

“Well that is up to you…” Lysi said guiding her to the door. “We won’t keep you prisoner like the ugly, naughty, mean Mak’Tor…”

They passed other small medical rooms to a main corridor which featured a number of paintings of three women barely clothed against a verdant alpine landscape, small niches held statues of one or more of the same women – it seemed more art gallery than ship...if art it truly was.

The Force was slowly flowing back to her, and the same strange sickly feeling the statue they had left after visiting her cave – her prison - for the first time dripped from these objects. There was a purpose to them beyond decoration, but even she dared not probe too far.

“…instead we give you freedom and resources to make your own choices as the Goddess you are.”

Larger dark grey doors opened into a hangar, a central well gazing down at the stars, above which hovered was a vast ship, at least 150 metres long and grey with odd looking black wings on the far end.
“This is a Raider 2 Class Corvette, named Zearics Bane by its previous owner…call it what you like - it’s yours now…we can even paint the new name on the hull before you leave.”

Morrigan had no idea whether the ship was any good, it certainly looked clean and well maintained

“That is very generous Lysi…but I’m not sure I’m up for piloting such a vessel,” she was never a great pilot before her imprisonment, she would have no clue how to use such a vast ship.

“That’s why we made you a guide to help you…M4…”

Morrigan turned expecting to see one of the gangly bow armed interpreters and assistance droids she had known centuries past…instead she was faced with a massive looming tank on two legs.
A burst of wind hit her face as it dropped to one of its massive knees in obeisance. “This Unit is programmed to serve the Goddess Morrigan of M’Tzigon”

“M4 will assist you in getting up to speed with recent events and technology, serving as a bodyguard and advisor…”

No doubt parroting your advice…

“…M4 will give you access to 10 million credits which should be enough to get a good start in the galaxy even during the current civil war…and in consideration of that danger your ship is also equipped with four TIE advanced and a further twenty Mark IV battle droids - like M4 but not quite as clever.”

“As much as I appreciate the generosity…I must wonder how you come across such excess to give away.”

Lysi shrugged. “Our needs are few and simple…and we like to make new friends - especially with Deities.”

<<<<>>>>

The meeting room had a beautiful view of the Mu’Skigon ranges, the winter snows pure white concealing the grey shards of rock beneath. It reminded her a little of the ranges on Csilla, but even in the depth of winter on M’tzigon there was a warmth from the people that the Ascendancy lacked.

For the moment though she felt cold - perhaps empathic suffering? Ken was somewhere up on that mountain on a personal quest of some kind. After the events on Csilla and Lunar 3 he was still … something. Off somehow. She didn’t know how to describe it, she just fervently hoped he found what he was looking for and knew she would be here when he returned.

Tel’Owna was still tapping along on her datapad with Colonel Ta’Re beside her waiting for the Aertemis industries employees to arrive to discuss the issues with the Mark IV droid's IFF programming. Ry had been ‘employed’ by Tel’Owna as a ‘Technical consultant’ - mainly as she was the only one who could comprehend the Cheunh coding without needing to refer to three different translation holo-sites, and had a basic understanding of the Chiss electrical engineering concepts that the droids used. She was glad to be of use, and was starting to feel edgy standing here looking at the mountains instead of digging into the problem.

Precisely 20 minutes after the planned beginning of their meeting Nimmin Cha, followed by a nervous looking young woman who couldn’t be any older than Ry herself strode through the mahogany door.
“Well, it looks like we’re all here!” Cha boomed with an oily smile. “So let’s get down to it!” He pulled out a seat for the young woman, bowing to her as she sat. The woman quickly hid behind a fold up datapad, uncomfortable on the seat as if she feared it would break beneath her.

Cha sat beside the girl, Ry sat opposite him next to Tel’Owna, with Colonel Ta’Re at the foot of the table, as if providing a bridge between two opposing parties in a negotiation.

“Have you read the debriefing I provided?” Ta’Re inquired

“Naturally,” Cha replied.

Ta’Re had a firm set countenance: there was no doubt she was as angry as anyone about what had occurred at the Temple. “What options are there to ensure this never occurs again,”

Cha glanced at the woman, but she simply leaned back and kept her eyes locked on her screen, apparently unwilling to speak.

Cha’s smile never changed, but his eyes hardened a bit as he replied. “We provided what you requested; a system that enables careful programming of individuals who are ‘friends’ to ensure no one can hack or fool the droid's IFF systems. While it may seem onerous to program bio-metric data for each ‘Friend’ it is still…”

“Seem onerous…” Ta’Re replied bitterly, cutting Cha off. “The specificity your system requires is impossible ” Ta’Re looked at her notes. “Height, weight, thermal signature, retinal print! And then it has to be updated when any of these changes. Its illogical – You could conceivably be cleared as a Friend, go to the refresher or walk outside in the midday sun and just like that a [Friend] is re-designated as a {Hostile-Impersonator} and get blasted because your weight is a few grams off or your thermal signature is three degrees warmer!”

“Accuracy is safety, Colonel.”

Ta’Re bit back her reply. It was as if they were built to protect some unchanging immortal creature rather than real people… With a sigh she shifted her line of inquiry to avoid a fruitless argument. “Have you considered any options for smaller identifiers?”

“Ah yes, Miss Aeresdottir has a neat solution: sub-dermal implants with a unique identifier implanted just under the arm.”

Ry had no doubts that would be utterly unacceptable to the Mak’Tor and M’Tzigon civilian government. Tel’Owna spoke up, confirming her doubts. “I don’t think that is feasible. We can’t barcode or chip the entire population.”

“Oh no it’s quite simple.” Cha replied. “We can produce 100 million units within a week.”

“That is not going to happen,” Ta Re, focused on getting a result, cut the discussion off “What other options do you have?”

Cha sighed. “Well…the simplest method is utilizing the existing M’Tzigon Citizen and Military personnel facial recognition database. But if anyone were to hack those far less secure systems, or one of your own turned traitor, you would be terribly exposed.”

Ry’s mind churned. As much as she already disliked Cha having been in a room with him barely 5 minutes, she had to concede his point. The easier it was to be a ‘friend’ the easier it was to undermine the whole point of a battle droid.

“Perhaps…” Ry countered, “...it could be restricted to military personnel and Mak’Tor Knights only. The droids are basically hammers not suited for civilian extraction or protection, so we restrict them to military targets and interaction with military personnel. Civilian targets would be ignored unless the droid is given a very specific override - along with a verbal command system that lets an officer with sufficient credentials designate someone not in the database as a temporary friend?”

Tel’Owna looked at Miss Aeresdottir. “Is that possible?”

After nearly 30 seconds of silence Cha looked to the girl who was tapping away on her strangely antiquated key board. Ry adjusted in her seat to look over her screen at it. The keyboard had a queer little sticker on the top of a cute little cartoon animal with sparkles, like a ten year old girl's lunch box.

Suddenly she looked up. “Oh…it’s done…” the girl turned her pad around, the screen full of tiny lines of Cheunh code

“You had the code ready?” Tel’Owna asked

“No, I wrote it just then…”

The older women looked at each other in disbelief, then turned to Ry, who squinted at the screen. It took her longer to read the changes than it apparently had taken Miss Aeresdottir to create it from scratch. To Ry, the code looked correct, it just needed the facial data table added and some suitable reference fields added. “It checks out, but we’ll need to add it into the main command terminal,”
“I can upload it now,” Aeresdottir said

“Actually I’d rather Ry work with you on that,” Ta’Re intervened. She did not want Aertemis Industries being the only ones who understood such a critical function, and the M’Tzigon Cyber warfare team were still learning the basics of Cheunh coding.

“I wasn’t aware Miss Tla was officially part of the M’Tzigon Military,” Cha mused with an odd smile

“Oh yes,” Tel’Owna interrupted, “Lieutenant Tla is a critical Technical advisor.”

Ry blinked, but managed to keep her face impassive at the remark. If she didn’t know better it sounded like she had just been drafted … and promoted.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 29 - continued

Orfa

Finger pressed to her lips she sat atop a pile of crates in the centre of the camp that served as a throne. It was the highest point available - and a visual reminder to the other ruffians of who was in charge.

Through the fence she saw the orderly Imperial prisoners left-right-lefting as if they were practicing for parade, overseen by Lieutenant Nordas. It was a stark contrast to her compound, where her band of pirates and fanatics beat each other up and did their best to hoard whatever rations they could with each drop from the walls.

After the last riot none of the M’Tzigon guards were game to enter. Rations were tossed off the catwalks causing a feeding frenzy in which the strong or swift would claim armfuls of goods, then rush to her feet to offer them as tribute. It was a system she approved of whole-heartedly, not least because it so annoyed their captors.

Nor was the violence and disorder as chaotic as it seemed. She needed to keep some order, but not too much. The more dangerous her 300 raiders and scum were the quicker General Cliff would be to see them off world…

It had been over a week now with no visit from said General.

She needed to get his attention once more.

Finger still on her lips she felt the gaze of her lookouts upon her, her own attention swapping between a Gand and a husky Shistavanen. The first tapped his antenna, the second scratched…somewhere only a canine sentient species would get away with in public…

Her finger lifted from her mouth giving the signal to six others.

It never ceased to amaze how creative a caged being could be – from the plast-board bunks they had fashioned ladders, from the poly-twine sheets dampeners to hurl onto the electro fences, and from carefully mixing of foods and fluids provided to various species among them with non-humanoid dietary needs, had created effective smoke grenades in empty water bottles…which were now rolled to the far edge of the camp.

Immediately the M’Tzigon Military Police reacted, riot squads arming as the guards near the smoke took up position.

Through the electro-fence the Imperials paused to observe the riot, Nordas curious as to what his erstwhile ally was up to.

The makeshift ladders were rammed along the sides of the electro-fences, along with piles of wetted bedding thrown on the charged walls to cause temporary shorting of the stun powered defenses as the pirates quickly clambered up onto the cat-walks. It was an impressive tactical feat, but the ‘victory’ was very short-lived.

The outcome was as predictable as it was brutal. The M’Tzigon Military police hit the prisoners as they got onto the catwalks with disciplined stun fire and locked riot shields to contain the break-out, then began to drive them back as they were reinforced by additional guards in full riot gear and the main gates were opened once more to admit armored speeders flanked by even more Riot Police.
The entry of ‘boots on the ground’ triggered the second phase of the riot as the smaller pirates, mainly Chandra-fan and Gand, set upon the Riot police with utensils and hastily-made shivs, while larger species blocked the route forward by main force and simple bulk.

As capable, well equipped and careful as the Military Police were, they couldn’t hold off all of them. The first losses came as on the catwalk a Barabel broke a gap through a riot shield wall, slamming down officers with leg and tail. On the ground Ugnaughts isolated an inexperienced private and simply swarmed him under, leaping all over him.

The air quickly filled with the crack of stun blasts, crisping the air unnaturally as shock batons hammered Twi’leki and Weequay back, stun nets pinned former Red Police in place, and tattooed raiders pummeled any Military police unfortunate enough to trip in the mud the prisoners had slurred up before.

And all the while atop her makeshift throne Illiv Orfa simply watched and grinned.

<<<<>>>>

Election

Acting Kage and Master of Healing Ju’Lus sat at the Kage’s desk and surveyed the room. The buzz of conversation made it feel almost normal … until you listened to the undercurrent of the Song. The melodies and harmonies of the gathering Meanowans buzzed with tension and conflict. The calm tranquility of peace was replaced by the turbulent flow of distrust and anger.

There was no balance.

Nor was the conversation itself truly normal. Instead of a freely mixed group of friends the room was divided into tight knots of 3-4 people engaging in animated, intense whispers rather than open and easy conversation.

There were exceptions. Ju’Lus met the eyes of his old friend Du’An, hoping to find the tranquility and balance he was seeking. In Du’An there was balance … but also worry and anxiety. Understanding dawned as the Master Singer glanced over at his son-in-law, engaged in his own quiet conversation with Te’Lowna Jackson. He’s worried about Karm…

Ju’Lus gave him a slight nod. Before the unfolding of recent events Karmack had been one of the people many thought might step into the role of Kage, likely after spending some time on the Council as Master of Song. But his recent obsessions and increasingly erratic behavior had many worried.

Worse, his positions were polarizing and dividing the Mak’Tor just when they needed unity and balance. Ju’Lus feared that, if elected, Karmack would simply use the Mak’Tor as his personal weapon to exact vengeance on those he felt were responsible for all that was wrong - the mysterious “black armor” aliens.

Ju’Lus continued to scan the room as J’Nor Kroven opened the proceedings. She and L’Gan Zane were attending holographically, unable to come even the short distance from the House of Healing. A part of Ju’Lus winced at the weakness of J’Nor’s amplified voice. He also felt its impact on the room. The conversations died as the assembled Meanowans found their seats, but the tension in the Song soared. Everywhere was discord … pain … anger … eccentricity … imbalance …

Everywhere but there….

She was sitting near the back, observing much as he was, and the song seemed to pool around her, the eddies and vortices smoothing into stillness and calm. Here, at last, was balance! Ju’Lus took a second to probe deeper, checking under the surface, and he found more of the same. She was just as engaged and concerned as everyone else, but she maintained her balance and had her emotions in check.

There was a flicker as she detected the probe and their eyes met. She looked a question at him, her eyebrow rising slightly. Ju’Lus just smiled slightly, returning his attention to the room.

“The chair recognizes the nomination of Meanowan K’A’Mack by Meanowan Te’Lowna Jackson. K’A’Mack, do you accept this nomination?” J’Nor was saying.

“I do, Master Kroven.” Karmack’s voice was resonant and filled the chamber.

The Master of Balance nodded. “Very well. Master K’A’Mack and Master Ra’Qe’Nell have been placed in nomination. Are there any further nominations?”

Ju’Lus sensed a stir in Du’An and he caught his eye before he could speak and do something rash. Like nominate this old carcass! Before Du’An could recover and speak Ju’Lus rose. “May it please the chair, the Kage would like to make a nomination.”

“The chair recognizes Acting Kage Ju’Lus.”

“Master Kroven, the Acting Kage nominates Meanowan Er’Lav’Racc for the position of Kage of the Mak’Tor.”

Er’Lav’Racc’s eyes widened at his words and there was a perceptible shift in the room as attention focused on the slim woman. Ju’Lus felt a slight waver in her song, but then it steadied as Master Kroven spoke. “The chair recognizes the nomination of Meanowan Er’Lav’Racc by Master of Healing and acting Kage Ju’Lus. Er’Lav’Racc, do you accept his nomination?”

Er’Lav’s voice was clear and equaled the resonance Karmack had managed in the ancient hall. “I do, Master Kroven.”

“Very well. Master Er’Lav’Racc, Master K’A’Mack, and Master Ra’Qe’Nell have been placed into nomination. Are there any further nominations?”

There was a flicker in the song as several Meanowans considered … and then declined. Ju’Lus smiled inwardly. It was virtually unprecedented for a Kage or acting Kage to nominate a successor, but it had happened. Ju’Lus just hoped that it would be enough.

“Hearing no further nominations, the chair moves for vote by secret ballot. Is there a second?”

“I second the motion.’ Du’An spoke firmly, his resolve evident.

“The chair recognizes the second from Master of Song Du’An’Chillum. Ballots are available in the ante-chamber. The College will proceed in order of seniority and cast ballots individually, placing them in the ballot box for tally…”

Ju’Lus rose. He was the most senior member present of the 20 surviving Meanowans of the Mak’Tor order and had the honor of voting first. As he entered the ante-room, he prayed the Maker that this would bring a return to balance and not just greater eccentricity.

<<<<>>>>

The Master-at-Arms, a Kowan Knight, emerged a little over two hours later and approached the chair. As the chime calling the chamber back to order sounded he laid a piece of paper face-down on a scanner. Normally he would have handed it to the Master of Balance to read, but as the Master of Balance was attending holographically this allowed a scan of the results to be transmitted to her.

J’Nor read the results and nodded to the Kowan Knight. “Thank you, K’Nar.”

As the Kowan withdrew J’Nor turned her attention to the chamber. “Assembled Meanowans: The ballots are cast. Receiving eleven votes and a simple majority of the quorum count, the new Kage of the Mak’Tor is … Meanowan Master Er’Lav’Racc. Kage Racc, please advance and accept your Office.”

The room was silent as Er’Lav’Racc stood and advanced to face Kage Ju’Lus. Ju’Lus had already stood and had the pendant of office in his hands. Er’Lav dipped her head and the Master of Healing placed it gently around her neck. Light as feather, it still seemed to weigh a ton as it settled on her chest.

Ju’Lus smiled and shook her hand. “Congratulations, Kage Racc.”

“Thank you … I think.” Er’Lav leaned forward. “Now what, Master Healer?”

“That, I am afraid, is up to you, Kage.” Ju’Lus released her hand and bowed formally.

“Three cheers for the Kage Racc!” cried the Master at Arms, his voice filling the chamber. “Hip hip….”
“Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!”

Er’Lav grinned as the cheers faded. “Very well! Lets go break the news, shall we? We have a lot of work to do.”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 29 - continued

Cliff

“For frells sake…” he buried his face into his palms. Another riot…twelve Military Police Injured, one in hospital.

He suddenly realized he should not have cursed…his wife would’ve scolded him for that…but still… “Maker what am I going to do…”

M’tzigon had clear policies for the treatment of military prisoners, and civilian prisoners…unfortunately these pirates were neither – they were not civilians, nor were they members of any conventional state they could be repatriated to like the Imperials were.

And with the reconstruction efforts and clean up underway in orbit he didn’t have the ships to deport them even if he had a destination…

His features darkened as he thought on the only people nearby who might be able to help…Aertemis…

Before he could brood on that unappealing thought the comm buzzed on his desk. “General, the new Kage Er’Lav’Racc is here to see you.”

Racc… that was a surprise, he’d thought either Ju’Lus or Du’An’Chillum would be a shoo-in. He’d hoped it would be one of them, both were steady hands he had some experience dealing with. He hadn’t even known she was in contention for the position.

“Send her in,” he replied, adjusting his shirt and hopefully wiping the frustrations off his face.

“I’m not sure on the exact protocol,” Er’Lav noted, entering Cliff's office for their first meeting as General and Kage. “So I’ll get right to the point if you don’t mind.”
Cliff nodded “Fine with me,”

“General, we need a hard reset. The disaster of the Temple Battle shows we’ve moved too far apart. That needs to end now or more will suffer next time. Silman was playing games with deployments and intelligence, running things behind your back … and you were playing to spite him with Aertemis.”

It was less accusation than simple fact as she sat across from him, firm but not unyielding in her demeanor.

“So I’ll give you access to all the mission reports Silman kept from you and you give me the details on exactly how deep you’ve gotten into bed with Aertemis.”

Cliff didn’t know much about Er’lav, but so far she seemed pragmatic at least. “You’re right. This can’t go on, and there has been sniping on both sides, but no matter what accord we make it won’t help till that damn jumped up singer…”

Er’lav raised a hand “We can discuss Karmack later. For now…how deep is Aertemis,”

Cliff raised an eyebrow “I thought you were quite chummy with them, given your time with the Sons and all.”

“It’s because of my time with the Sons I want to know. I’ve seen how they pull the strings there, how much Scrubber relies on Black Armour … and how little even he knows about their motives and resources.”

Cliff nodded. “Very well. Apart from the droids,” Cliff began, “which we still owe a significant sum on, by the way, Artemis bailed out some of the Mack Clan on Canto Bite and made a generous donation to the M’tzigon emergency relief fund,”

“How generous?”

“Generous enough that the President wishes to thank their President Sophi in person.”

Er’lav’s face froze at the prospect of one of Aertemis’ ‘girls’ anywhere near senior M’Tzigon officials who were not Force Sensitive. “That would not be an … ideal situation,”

“Unfortunately the invitations are sent. President Alvarez is keen to meet his benefactors The economy has not been doing well with the civil war reducing trade. We are self-sufficient for the most part, but there was little spare money for a disaster like this and we’ll be stretched very thin making repairs even with off-world insurance to defray the costs, let alone our other plans for the Requiem”
“You intend to rebadge it?”

“Amongst other adjustments. We’ve released emergency funds, but even so…” Cliff shook his head frustrated that he couldn’t defend M’tzigon properly for lack of credits “…without their donation and their workers we’d be looking at years to recover…”

“And instead they let us do it in months and earn our eternal gratitude in return. It’s the same honey trap they use with the Sons.”

Cliff had long suspected as much, but Er’lav’s statement confirmed it. Like an opioid, they soothed your pain and problems and got you addicted at the same time.

Er’Lav felt the direction of Cliff’s emotions and she understood his apprehensions all to well. What she hadn’t told him - and had no intention of telling him - was that she had reason to believe Artemis may have instigated -however subtly - the entire failed invasion for this very purpose. While she wouldn’t admit it to Cliff, she shared Karmacks' suspicion they had revived Mendax to force a confrontation, but she knew it could never be proven.

Cliff grinned wrily and continued. “So far they haven’t asked for anything in return apart from our payments for the additional droids we hired. Can’t really blame the for that. We broke them, we bought them…”

“So far…” Er’lav agreed

“Which makes bringing Karmack into line all the more important. We need them…and if he and his family keep attacking their staff all those droids and workers will vanish like that.” he snapped his fingers to emphasize the point.

Er’lav was not so certain Artemis actually cared about Karmack slapping Cha around. Indeed the sleazeball seemed to relish it. Even so… “Karmack went too far, he won’t escape censure” Er’lav said.

“Your predecessor would not have been so willing to throw him under the mag train,” Cliff noted.

“I’m not my predecessor and I’d prefer not to be compared to him or assessed in the light of his legacy when the situations we face are radically different.”

That was not the response Cliff expected…firm, confident and individualistic yet not overly hostile. He decided could work with this Kage. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, do you have plans for keeping him in line? If not, several members of the Sword of Light are chomping at the bit to get their hands on him.”

“And while your pen is no doubt hovering above another issue of General Order Two-forty-four…”

Cliff straightened at the accusation, more in surprise at her insight than any real offense. Yes, he’d held back any further action against the Macks in light of Karmack’s personal defeat of Mendax, but he had not forgotten that it was he who’d started the conflict in the first place!

Er’Lav continued “…I’m trying to build bridges General, not toss people into Brigs. I’m giving Karmack one more chance to get his act together. If he does anything to upset the delicate balance we have now, he’ll be gone in a week for a long long time.”

“Silman promised the same…” his gaze lowered, his eyes as bitter as his tone. “Ask the families of Orbital Three how that worked out.”

Er’lav would not be baited. “Like I said, General I am not Silman.” She stood up and headed for the door without another word.

General Cliff leaned back as the door closed. No…no you are not…

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 30 — Unearthings

Ken

It was…cathartic.

Not comfortable. Certainly not easy…he was dirty, caked in the strange cloying sweat of exertion at low temperatures, struggling for oxygen at high altitude on the weather damaged, barely trod path.

Yet here…in the empty cold he was away from everything, nothing but the howl of the wind and crunch of the snow: no decisions, choices or confusing emotions – that would come later – just the purity of one foot in front of the other was enough.

Ken wasn’t exactly sure how far it was to the cavern where the Nameless One resided. There were three paths to it, but twice he’d been forced to backtrack the route after finding the trail blocked by snow. The delays were long … but it gave him that much more time to clear his head.

And there was a lot in there to clear…

So much had happened since being knighted. Too much, in too small a time frame: being placed with the Sons, his first real combat and infiltration mission; arguing with Jorya; developing his relationship with Ry; being accused – not unfairly he had to admit – of spying; his mind opened and sifted like a cheap ebook; and then being thrown into Chiss space with its restrictions and discrimination, his own hate boiling over, both for the Black Armoured creatures and his own weakness, and finally coming back home only to be arrested and then plunged into an outright war…!

Concentrate. One foot in front of the other … that was more than enough for Now.

Hand over hand he passed over rocky outcrops too steep for snow to settle. Shimming on the edge he curved round the barely-there trail, air thinner and colder, his worries melting away in the white clarity of ice that settled on his reddened cheeks.

His father had come here a number of times. He never spoke of what occurred but always seemed more self-assured afterward… Maybe it was just the climb?

Over a small crest of snow he saw the rocky pile that marked the whistling entrance as the wind picked up. Through the stinging sleet he stepped into the darkened cavern as the setting sun was finally lost behind the dark gray clouds of the gathering storm – he had reached it just in time

Switching on his flashlight he looked around for any trace of a…whatever he was meant to find.

Nothing appeared.

Maybe it's too cold for temptation… he thought, settling on a large flat rock further inside the cavern to eat an energy bar and sip his water. As he ate he listened, deepening his awareness of the here and now, a nice change from worrying about before and next.

Nothing but the echoes of the wind against the rocks, the trickle of water deeper inside…even the Force was still and cool. As time wore on his eyelids became as heavy as his weary limbs… Before he even realised it, Ken was asleep.

<<<<>>>>

Uncovered

Whistling a tune Snelb Sharpgrass set about digging once more. His aim for today was to finish trenches 4 to 6…but if he worked hard he was sure he could get 7 in as well. Whirring up the excavator he settled into the seat and tested the arm before digging into the ground, hauling up the cold hardened dirt.

The new Temple would have additional underground levels, including a hardened shelter to ensure an attack like that which had demolished the first Temple would not be so devastating.

It was sad to have come here under such circumstances. Snelb well knew what it was like to see your home burn: His people, the Nosaurians, had been deemed primitive by the Empire and New Plympto and its population deemed as ‘expendable’. The Empire had seized businesses and razed entire city blocks in the capital Phemiss for its new factories while it commandeered the rikknit trade on which they relied. The final step was to round up and sell the Nosaurians that their exploitations had left unemployed and homeless, as Snelb had been - as slaves.
One day he would go back…but for now he would help those who had helped him, save up his pay and build his experience so when he did return he could set up his own construction firm and help rebuild the homes the Empire had destroyed.

He focused on digging, the vast shovel pulling up more and more dirt, a few old dead pipes…his tune continued on in time with the thrum of the earth…
Till a CLANG disrupted it.
“Hoh what’s that!” Lleww cried out as Snelb turned off the excavator and hopped out.
“Looks pretty solid that…I thought we were below the foundation level…get out the shovels and call Overseer Fik!”

<<<<>>>>

Something sharp and hard struck his vision all around. He was…where was he…at the Temple…no the temple wasn’t there anymore…but there it was…then it wasn’t…
Karmack sat bolt upright with a cold sweat on his brow. The sensation from the dream hadn’t faded. Something was striking … something … at the Temple…

Spinning round he reached out to summon his sabre to his hand. With the Ancient One pulsing within he reached out again, probing … something had been … uncovered … revealed …

Without a word, with barely a thought his armour was summoned onto his body by the force as he nearly flew from out of the house, the force slicing his legs through the air past all resistance – leaving Arnor in the bath completely ignorant of where her husband had gone or why.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

His back was sore from the uncomfortable stone, but apart from that he felt perfectly refreshed. Perhaps that was all there was to this place ... a retreat from the world rather than a test? No, that seemed wrong. The Nameless one ought to be here in some form … yet he sensed nothing…

Maybe you have to go deeper. The front of the cave is for resting after the climb, then delve further for a trial… He ate and drank a little, stretched out and limbered up then proceeded deeper.

The winding tunnels were worn with footsteps, but utterly silent. While there were a number of passages they all led to the same endpoint.
The cavern wasn’t large or impressive, just empty. There was a small plinth within a carved space in the rock – but it was empty of the Force itself. The force was not dead like it was around Black armour but it was so quiet Ken could not have drawn on it.
Atop the plinth was a holocron, it’s surface dulled with the patina of great age and etched with ancient Aurebesh … and yet … as his head lamp flicked across it he saw a glint. Something that old wouldn’t glimmer unless it had been very recently scratched… He stepped forward to make out the inscription etched into the side of the cube.

“Keeping Women against their will is mean and nasty!” he said out loud as he lifted it up, feeling the lightness of the aluminium dyed and scrubbed to look old in his hand.

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

It was a repeat of his race to the Temple when Mendax had attacked – and whilst there was not the same clash of fighters over his head or looming darkness to face…Karmack felt no less agitated as he leapt past hover cars, through traffic lights and over buildings.

Aertemis industries ‘workers’ staggered away as the yellow blur of his form sped past them, a few who had seen Black Armour were less stunned but no less concerned as he headed to the main excavation pit.

A rolling flip he landed in the hole before a soil covered hexagonal stone building, ancient seal marked with archaic letters on a bench nearby having been removed.

A number of workers at small collapsible desks and with various scanners and tools taking samples of the Stone – he was at least four storeys below ground level, past even the access and sewerage tunnels that had been removed…So far as Karmack could recall the Temple had been the first structure on the mount and not built over, the Temple district being built around it…yet all this was mere detail…

Where the sealed tablet had been rent away stood Black Armour in towering Oblivion blocking the entry into the shrine…or rather it’s contents…that had called out to Karmack in his sleep after being disturbed.

“Uh…can we help you…” A stunned Nosaurian jittered at his sudden appearance

Karmack ignored him eyes boring the Oblivion monster that stood in the door way to a shrine marked with ancient Mak’Tor Clan symbols. Some other person began asking him things but he ignored them too striding straight up to the defiling presence.

“Move,”
It stood as still as a statue

“Move…whatever is in that Shrine belongs to the Mak’Tor, you’ve no right to…” he kept himself from saying ‘desecrate’ if only barely
“…be here”

For a moment Karm thought it might actually be a statue given its unresponsiveness and absence of any presence in the Force…but that was their trick, to appear absent when they were present, seem present when they were absent.

“Move…or I will remove you!”

He just realised he was screaming, he didn’t care – he would not stand by while these creatures devastated the planet, murdered the Kage now defiled the Temple and the Mak’Tor’s heritage.

Once more it seemed to laugh behind the unmoving helmet straight at him.

A sudden pulse in the Force removed any doubt they were doing something terrible in that shrine…it was not dark, but certainly not what Karmack would consider natural – it was a cloying cacophony of current and twists that was there then gone an instant later.

For all he knew they could be building a thought bomb in there - he had to end it.

“You leave me no choice…”

The snap hiss of his sabre filled the excavation trench with yellow light, Karmack opened all the channels of power he could, the ancient one the nexus between himself and the Song of the Light building to strike down the darkness.

“What do you think you’re doing!” Er’lav’s voice rang out from behind the safety barriers around the excavations upper level.

She flipped down into a graceful roll followed by Ju’Lus, Chillum and Le’Nas’Vam, a retired but still able former Maenowan who now oversaw M’Tzigon Museum.

“Put that sabre down before you hurt yourself.”

His heart seemed to stop at her patronizing tone, the sudden drop off from his combat ready high jarring his niggling wounds as she pushed past and strode straight up to the Oblivion monster without fear or pause.

It moved aside instantly for Er’lav to step inside. The Shrine was small, the size of an officers cabin on a frigate, columns were etched in intricate scripts, in the centre a small podium upon which a blue-silver crystal hovered millimetres from six pointed claw tips that traced lines to each of the six columns.

As she stepped closer the crystal shifted in colour to a deeper midnight blue with a light blue moon-like glow in the centre. The room was clean, it had obviously been sealed air tight up till this very day…though whether it had been opened accidentally by the excavator or on purpose was another matter.

Two women from Aertemis industries with a small rounded droid hovering behind them were scanning the walls. One held a hand sized scanning device and a medium sized box containing sample, the other woman cradled a queer Orb of some kind in one hand while her other hand was held palm spread above the crystal…there was a thin trail of blue from the crystal, to the woman to the Orb.

“You should not have touched it before I arrived…” Er’lav censured

“We had to make sure it was safe,” the one with the scanning device replied indifferently. “We’ll be finished in a moment, no damage has been done - everything will be as we found it…”

Er’lav wasn’t inclined to argue…they could’ve easily kept the discovery from her…if not Karmack – but they had informed Cliff and Ju’Lus – unaware of her election as Kage – as soon as they found the shrine.

“Be quick…and true to your word,” she turned back out where Karmack was still in a battle stance as Chillum tried to explain to him they had contacted the Mak’Tor as soon as they found it,

Karmack was not convinced.

“…that doesn’t give them the right to set foot in it! To bring their thugs to the Temple grounds! They should’ve waited until Len arrived with the proper equipment to preserve the find!”

“I agree.” Er’Lav interrupted, Karmack looked stunned.

“They should’ve left it alone…but what is done is done and it’s not worth dying over,”

“hmmph,” Karm sneered He wasn’t the one who would’ve died if it came to a fight he was sure.

Er’lav rolled her eyes…Men and their sabres – at least they’re more open than women bitching behind each other’s back…but more destructive for all that…

“I will make a formal complaint through the proper channels…for now we’ll leave it to Len to work with the construction crew to secure, map and preserve the find…” she strode past Karm as the two women walked out of the shrine, the sight of the Orb in one of their hands causing Karmack’s ire to rise once more.

Er’lav stopped mid stride
“I want to see you in my office in three hours, Karmack.” She finished

No ‘Kage’…I will see you in Three hours.

<<<<>>>>

Arnor

“Karm?”

Hair tousled in a towel she wandered about the house barefoot, a breeze of cold air on her wet skin from the bath.

“Karm…where…” coming to the entrance she saw the door was left wide open,

Reaching out with the Force she sought the familiar bond with her husband.

A sharp agitated spike miles away was the only response, while they couldn’t communicate telepathically she knew enough of the meaning behind the terse response to know it meant something like ‘I’m busy leave me alone’

“Maker, where have you run off to now!” she scowled.

Arnor had hoped they had at least a few days of peace, Maker knew they both needed it after weeks apart on Vyth and Canto Bite, then the chaos with Mendax. She was glad Karm had lost the election for Kage all told, the extra stress was the last thing he needed.

And yet now he seemed to be running into ever more trouble, out the door without even a word of warning – she knew he was – sensing things – learning things that were important…but the rudeness of it, the sense she was just an aside, not even among his top ten priorities was hurtful.

Sighing she closed and locked the door and headed back. She had barely taken off her towel when she heard the front door fly open.

“Dad! Dad!”

The panic in her son's voice had her throw on a loose shirt so fast it was on backward. She grabbed her sabre, never far from her hand.

“Ken what’s wrong!” she burst out of the bathroom.

Her son’s face was red with cold, the door once more open behind him with an emergency skiff parked behind – the skiffs could be summoned using a gps tracker from anywhere on the planet by a Knight in need – he must’ve used it to come from his planned mountain hike early.

“Mom, we need…Dad, Grandpa, anyone…she’s…she’s gone…”

“Who?”

“The Nameless One,”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 30 — Unearthings

Chillum

“They are Mak’Tora Runes…albeit of an little ancient dialect, and the crests on the columns are of the Xandir clan.” Le’Nas’Vam of the M’Tzigon museum explained summarising the initial findings of the Shrine beneath the Temple

They were in the labs beneath the museum, the crystal sitting in a safe field slowly changing from light to dark blue, Chillum himself, Len and Kir’Kas’Ren, a Silver Knight and responsible for analysing unusual Force artefacts, most recently Zearics daggers and the Oblivion Orbs, albeit with little success.

And of course Karmack who had refused to leave the crystal unattended and escorted it the whole way to the museum, his son-in-laws face etched with a mix of anxiety and anger.

“So far we’ve been unable to translate the words, there seems to be a…cipher of sorts in use…we’ve tried traditional ones, Clan names and such, but no success so far.”Kir’Kas explained having finalised his preliminary examination.

“And the crystal?” Chillum asked.

“That is a curiosity…it seems to have a suppressive quality, the likes of which we wouldn’t have even realised had we not spent so much time with Zearic daggers…we think it works as a kind of shadow field similar to Stygium crystals which are used in cloaking devices, pure ones - rare it must be said - were used historically by Jedi and Sith Shadows and assassins to augment stealth abilities,”

“But this is a Kyber?”

“It is, but it’s been - programmed - one might say…whoever made this was familiar with Stygium but wanted the better Force ‘capacity’ of Kyber.”

“Stygium…” Karm chewed leaning over the crystal in its small sealed transparisteel analysis chamber on the desk.

Chillum checked his watch, it had been just over two hours since they had gotten the crystal…

“I thought Kage Racc wanted to see you about now Son?”

Karm dismissed his concern

“This is more important, that crystal called out to me as soon as it was touched,”

“Master Mack…” Kirk interrupted…

“Not to underestimate your abilities…but we only just found this crystal, working all nighters it will take weeks to…”

Karm wasn’t even listening to his petty concerns, staring at the crystal in the field, it looked much like the ancient one, perhaps more smoothed on the edges, more oval shaped...feminine?

Without asking he reached out to touch it, deactivating the stasis field with a thought.
“Son be careful…” Chillums warning fell on deaf ears
As Karmack caught up the blue crystal, cool and light, yet unresponsive to touch it seemed.

He probed gently with the force…but it seemed…slippery, diiffuse…a thread there in the distance…stretched out…Stealth indeed

He paused considering whether to use the Ancient One to enhance his probe…Chillum too wondered the same thing.

If it were Chillum…he would be cautious, putting too much power in a strange crystal was dangerous, it may have been found beneath the Temple surrounded by Mak’Tor runes…but were they warnings not to use it in a dialect long forgotten? And then those Aertemis girls had been in there for nearly an hour alone with it…had they set a trap?

Karmack considered none of these issues, confident in his connection to the Song and the power of the Ancient one- he was a Master Singer affirmed by Odjina himself – if anyone, in deed the only one who could scry the secrets was him.

Opening a channel of power he allowed the melodies of the Force all about him to flood in…there was Lens, Kirks…Chillum strongest of all…the underlying beats of the city of Sierra…

He focused in on the wavelengths closer to the crystal…faint…only the highest notes…closer still…the upper quarter of the spikes of song…closer still…there a pattern, a steady and gentle flow that wanted to stay close to the underlying rhythms of the force…stealth by subsuming within nature, elegant he thought…closer…

A blinding flare of blue hit him from all sides – his stomach was retched in a queer parallel to his vision surviving the thought bomb…the Ancient one burned in…Recognition?

“Whoa…”

He was not in the lab…no…yes…no…it was a workshop…queer archaic devices neatly arranged on the tables, metal arms holding two crystals that looked so familiar yet so…different…

Incomplete

There was a figure sitting beside another crystal whose outlines were so much like the one found in the Shrine…

A man, weary, determined…the Force flowing through him to the crystal…he was a filter for the power of Life, adjusting, choosing and shaping what flowed into the crystal….he was making it…creating the crystal Karmack was touching millennia later….it could only be

Klu Xandir himself!

But then what was this crystal? Karmack knew of only the Ancient One – also known as the Sunfire, and the lost Starfire…what was the third?

As if in answer Klu stretched out his task finished and lifted the blue crystal to the light

“For you Kay…the light of the Moon that shone in your eyes and under which you would run…”

Kay…who was Kay?

Before he could get any answer he was back in the lab Chillum starting at him

“…arm…Karm…”

“I…I’m fine…just a vision…the…he…I saw Klu Xandir himself making this crystal…it was for Kay…the Moon…the Star…the Sun…the third piece, the Lost One, the Hidden One…the Moonshadow…its Song…I can hear it…I could always hear it…”

He stopped dead as he heard it…everywhere…and Everytime… it was part of the background of M’Tzigon it was…

“ha…hahaha…Genius!” he boomed out
“This is…our first line of defence…the Moonshadow! It…is in the Song but it holds it, counters it, covers it up…disguises our use of the Force! A stealth device for the whole planet! it masks our use of the Force with a counter song of such…such precision…such amazing precision…Klu was a true genius!”

Images, ideas, faces flicked across his mind as he opened a Channel into the Moonshadow its history laid bare…

“And Dorian…he must’ve worked out how to use it…then…Odjina…he took it with him, set it here after the Exile…before he went to Vyth for the second colony…but never had time to…he had an idea…but didn’t…”

From the elation of Klu and Dorians, Genius Karmack suddenly felt the depth of tragedy for Odjina well in him once more…
“If he had time he would’ve made another…hidden Vyth in the same way…”

He had to focus…this discovery was…as important as the Ancient One…possibly more for this affected the whole planet

“If I can duplicate it…we can cloak all our knights, our ships…healing centres…not fully but at least in part…give us an edge…”

Chillum and Lens simply stared blankly.

For the last three minutes Karmack had been babbling…his mouth running like a man on Death sticks, fast and incomprehensible…occasionally Chillum caught some words – Dorian, Cloak, there was an Odjina in there too. He leaned forward and grasped his son in laws arms

“Karm…Karm…Kirk get the healers!”

Karmack suddenly stopped

“What…why nothing is wrong, weren’t you listening?! This is wonderful…the edge we need!”

“Karm, you've been talking gibberish for minutes…”

How could they not understand…it was so obvious…but…they can’t hear the song…I keep forgetting…they’re so...deaf to everything

“I…sorry I got carried away…but…” he looked to the crystal in his hand
“We need to put this back...it has an important role here on M’Tziogn, until I understand it better it needs to remain.” He glanced over to a printout of the rune from the Shrine, it explained the function of the crystal as he had just seen in the vision.

“But…it says it right there?”

Chillum looked at the print out.

“You can read that?”

“Of course…isn’t it obvious?”

Len looked astounded at him “It’s in a cipher…what is it?”

“Cipher…its…”

Karmack stared more intently…they were right it was…gibberish

“It’s covered by the Song…only a singer attuned to the crystal can read it…but I can translate,”

“Maybe you should sit down first son,”

“No…no time,” he pushed off Chillum and grabbed a pen

Chillum had heard of amulets that allowed bearers to read ancient Sith scripts, it made sense a Mak’Tor might use a similar method…and he was genuinely happy for Karmack, he had obviously found something important…still as he looked in Len and Kirks worried faces…

What is this power doing to you Son?

Even as he thought his commlink buzzed on high in his pocket, leaving Karmack to frantically write he clicked it on, the chime was Arnor’s

“Love, what's the matter?”

“Dad where are you, we need to speak now,”

<<<<>>>>

Arnor

“We must go there straight away…find out what Aertemis has done…”

Karmacks tone broached no argument as they stood in the museum lab surrounded by barely legible scribblings of the translations from the shrine.

The father looked as drained and frantic as the son after Ken explained what he had not found.

Len, Kirk and Chillum all bore grave expressions, but ever the voice of reason Chillum spoke.

“We don’t know it was Aertemis,”

“Of course it was” Karmack snapped, “They are doing everything they can to destroy us, first Mendax now Morrigan, it fits the pattern,”

A pattern we only have your word for Arnor found herself thinking. Perhaps it was her anger at him literally running out to be with a crystal instead of her, she wanted to believe her husband but he was increasingly on edge.

Disturbingly she found herself agreeing with Cha in that respect. Her husband was not slowing down after the battle - if anything speeding up.

And she felt he was leaving her behind.

“You should speak to the Kage son,” Chillum said calmly

“She’s expecting you, I’ll check the cavern with Ken, call Ju’Lus to get some Silvers together on the way to help check it out thoroughly,”

Begrudgingly Karmack agreed,

“Fine, The Kage ought to know,” he checked his Chrono. It was nearly midnight.

He strode straight past Arnor, he hadn’t said a word , not even a glance.

Was she being selfish to expect some small nod of acknowledgement given the stress of the situation?

The door slid shut behind her husband as her father came up to her.

“You alright love,”

“Fine…” she lied
“Just tired,”

Chillum simply placed his hand on her shoulder seeing in her face every doubt and pain his daughter was feeling.

“I know love, I know, we just have to try and keep him grounded,”

<<<<>>>>

FINALLY! The next chapter....

Chapter 31 Stalled Meetings

Zearic

Dust flew back in his face as his fist hit the punching bag, once…twice…three times… The sneeze was sudden and explosive, interrupting his rhythm. Immediately the midnight-black dagger clattered to the floor as the sequence broke.
“Damn…”
Huffing out he stepped across to take it back up…the Tenebris seemed less obedient than the Nocte.
During the battle around the Temple the daggers had seemed to have a mind of their own, saving him more than once but never firmly under his control. He needed to establish that control, and was practising having the blades ‘orbit’ him with the force whilst performing simple unarmed routines.
He had mastered keeping the blade moving in time with his strikes easily enough. Now he wanted to be able to move his body and the daggers ‘out of sequence’ with each other so his moves were less predictable to his opponents, so he could ‘flow’ as a water warrior should on two different levels of combat. In time he would combine the dagger orbits with his sabre work…but…little steps.
Tossing the blade in the air he tried again. It levitated mostly under its own power, but was fidgety compared to the Nocte. The Tenebris also still probed at his fears and worries; not as strongly as before with his now ‘activated’ genes, yet still…
As he hammered the bag with a left hook his mind kept coming back to his father…to Kazic…

What more had he known…that his father knew of the BA’s was a certainty - he not only sealed the records on Oblivion materials but all but deleted them…

As the Tenebris split the air behind his head he felt a new appreciation for the dagger – it might stimulate paranoia…but in doing so it did open his mind to new possible threats and doubts he had not considered.

Kazic had to have known more though…more about Zearic that he never spoke of – what and why – did he know they could control him?
And worse…D’Alyanna knew something…oh yes he remembered that line in white on blue on the screen

“Sealed by order of Seventh Speaker elect, Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr.”

They were keeping things about his own body from him…

They Left You behind for a reason

A hook, jab, right elbow, left elbow, twist…pause as the Tenebirs flashed between him and the bag…upper cut.

The bag rocked on its support with the power of his blow…strong as any human now if not a little more…certainly not as powerful as most meta-human species…but when blood was on the line it couldn’t hurt.

If that is the benefit after 20 generations of dilution…what must my ancestors original biology be capable of even without the Force…

That was a sobering thought.

So sobering he missed a beat and the Tenebris clattered again.

“Shavit…” turning round he saw a boot on the blade, following it up to see Er’Lav Racc…or rather Kage Racc

“Neat little toy…” she lifted her foot

“Heavy little toy…” he noted hefting it up

“So it seems…have you spoken to Karmack of late.”

“No…he’s been hard to catch,”

“You have no idea…” She gaze an exasperated look before continuing
“…I hear you two had something of an animated conversation before Mendax’ attack…”

Zearic managed to keep any hint of surprise off his face. He didn’t bother asking how she knew about a private conversation in Karmacks home.

The Kage continued. “You expressed some concerns about the…arbitrary nature of some of Karmacks choices and actions. I’m afraid it’s becoming somewhat worse.”

“Not without justification from what I’ve heard,”

“Perhaps…but he remains a…what were your words? A ‘walking weapon of mass destruction who decides unilaterally how to employ that weapon’?”

Zearic swung upright, his face set in flint. The Kage was serene - and unreadable. Clearly cut from very different cloth than Silman… “What do you require, Kage?”

Er’lav nodded “A contingency…something to put some torpedoes into the exhaust port before that ‘Death Star’ opens fire.”

Despite the serious import of the conversation Zearic smiled at the analogy

“And you want me to be that contingency.”

“I can’t ask another Mak’Tor…I could ask Scrubber’s silent friends but I’m afraid of the response I’d get…”

“And I’m somewhere in between, Gray Jedi but not Mak’Tor, armed with Oblivion Stone but not covered in it.”

“And you know Karmack better than I do…you’ll be able to tell where the line is…when he’s crossed it…and when he’s too far to pull back.”

Zearic flipped the Tenebris into the air….

Its bulk seemingly nothing compared to the weight of the task he was now taking on…even if…Even If it came to it…could he succeed…

I’ll need to perfect the daggers…train harder than ever before…find new techniques and tactics…

No. This was his friend…how could he train with the express goal of killing him? And yet if not him then who?

He looked at the inscription on the Nocte, the oft repeated dictum that haunted his dreams strangely warm and comforting for the first time.

She left you behind for a reason

“If he crosses the line…”

He caught the Tenebris in reverse grip in his opposite hand.

“…not before,”

<<<<>>>>

Stepping through the body scanner to the command Hub Ry smiled as the guard apologised, gently sweeping his body scanner over her breasts, under her arms then between her legs.

“Sorry Ma’am, standard procedure,”

“Not an issue,” Ry replied, compared to Chiss security checkpoints this was barely an effort and at least here she got an apology rather than sneer..

Heading through the deep underground corridors she passed a number of red lit doors, the odd Guard or engineer moving to and fro, none acknowledging her, the Colonel or Tel’Owna.

Finally they reached the large durasteel doors that were green lit for them to enter – none of the rooms had labels, if you didn’t know where you needed to be, you were probably not meant to be there at all.

Inside Cha was already waiting along with the young woman for Aertemis Industries. In the centre of the room hooked up to numerous cables feeding into the walls and ceiling was a large rounded computer glowing blue, with three indented stations with flickering blue screens.

“Anything look familiar?” Tel’Owna inquired
Ry looked the computer hub up and down,
“No…this isn’t standard Chiss design at all…”
“At least we know what it is not…” Tel’Owna smiled

“Ah Colonel,” Cha wandered forward “and Miss Tel’Owna and Lieutenant Tla…I forgot to ask how is the old Admiral?”

Ry nearly lost her cool, how could Cha possibly know about her grandfather in the Ascendancy…no this was how he worked, kept you off guard with subtle hints he knew more than he probably did.

“He’s fine, still stubborn,” she answered, taking him on directly hoping that would throw him.

“A family trait you blessedly skipped, Miss Aeresdottir is most looking forward to installing the system updates…” he gestured to the young woman Aeresdottir.

“Right shall we begin,”

Aeresdottir leapt up and seemed to be at one of the three consoles so fast Ry’s eyes were still on the seat she had been on that now sported a leather bag with small girly crystals woven into it in star patterns – once more Ry saw the girl as just that, a 18 year old tech whiz toying with coding which seemed incongruous with programming high end battle droids….perhaps it was an elaborate act of misdirection, appear child like to ensure everyone underestimated you.

“Just go to one of the other consoles,” Aeresdottir directed, “They are all the same so three People – or outsiders - can work on the same or different things at once,”

Ry wandered over to an open console, brief curiosity about what People were compared to outsiders forgotten as she focused on the task at hand, Aeresdottir already punching in new lines of code that flashed across the screen.

“Umm can you slow down a little…this is going way too fast…”

“If you insist…”

Now only three lines appeared every second.

“Ummm…maybe one coding statement at a time?”

“It will take longer….”

“We have time don’t we?”

Aeresdottir made no reply but only input one statement for Ry to check. Finding nothing wrong she nodded for her to put in the next.

And so it went for the next three hours, a number of times Aeresdottir entered coding that was…bizarre to say the least requiring Ry to strain her mind and ask dozens of questions to understand it, but always in the end she realised it was a neat and efficient way of achieving something Ry would’ve required pages and pages of clunky coding to achieve.

Amidst the queries Ry did what she could to get to know her as a person, but she seemed…closed…polite certainly never complaining about her questions, but could not be drawn on any topic other than the one at hand.

“Next one loaded…” she said in her sweet slightly high voice

“Alright…let’s see…[Nip tun'ci en'casrt'is ( Vx>3.5% >> NAAH vx<3.5% Tasarah)] -or in basic Nasal bridge distance greater than 3.5% variance deny, less permit…so did you learn Cheunh on Csilla?”
“Can I lock it in?”
“Yeah seems fine…or did you learn it online?”
“All my family know how to speak it,” she replied as if that somehow answered the question.
“You speak it at home?”
“No…we all know it.”
Ry frowned not understanding
“But when did you learn it? When you were little?”
“No…We…All…Know it…” she said slowly as if Ry were a simpleton before moving on.
“Perhaps we should take a break for an hour or two, freshen up, my fiancé told me about this great café, should be open at this hour, my treat!”

“Ch'ah k'ir nah ch'in'he'ah bisnisi nocsim'i” she replied in perfect Cheunh
“Ch'ah cart rost'sep vah k'ir”

The translation was ‘I don’t eat…foreign…food and I’m surprised you do’ – however she used ‘bisinisi’ for foreign rather than ch’atetin’b…both were correct but bisnisi could also be translated as ‘barbarian’ or ‘uncouth’.

“Veo Can M’tzigon,” Ry replied staying up beat – ‘when in M’tzigon’

“k'ir nah cssen'v to ch'avz”

‘don’t drink the water’

It was going to be a long day.

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

Head held high Karmack strode through the corridors of the Mountain, his robe fluttering behind him with the unnatural speed of his steps toward the Kage’s office. His sudden appearance in the outer office startled Do’Nal at his desk. “Maenowan Mack, the Kage will be with you in a…”
“I will see the Kage now, this is too important to be delayed.” Karmack barely broke his stride as he moved straight past the desk and pushed the door open with the force.
The office beyond was nearly completely empty, all of Silman’s modest decorations and books gone. The only adornment Er’Lav had made to the utilitarian space was a simple but elegant display rack on her desk, holding her saber.
“You haven’t heard of knocking,” Er’lav said. She made no effort to mask her irritation as she finished a text on her holo-comm.
“There is no time…the BA’s…they’ve released Morrigan, the Nameless One.” Karmack slammed the fake holocron Ken had found on the desk and leaned over using his height to the full to cast her in his shadow. “We need to put an end to this, expel them from the planet immediately…”

Er’lav finally put her holo-comm down. “I’m assuming you have proof of these sinister intentions?”
“Proof? I told you before they don’t leave proof! They have the means, motive and opportunity, and ever since I refused them the Ancient One they have done everything in their power to…”
“This may come as a surprise Karmack but the galaxy does not revolve around you and your little crystal…” her voice was not loud but firm, the edge of sarcasm cutting like a scalpel. “...and unlike Silman I am not going to indulge your barely coherent ravings and flights of fancy.” she leaned forward and pointed to the door. “On top of that, you are half a day late. Now go outside and wait to be summoned again Maenowan,”
“What…”
“Do I need to repeat myself Maenowan?”
Karmack stepped back from the Kage’s desk. “No you do not.” He gave half a bow and walked back out the door hissing closed behind him.
Karmack paced in the outer office, fuming. What is wrong with her! The greatest Dark Singer is on the loose, BA’s are desecrating our shrines, killing our best warriors and she is worried about protocol!
Do’Nal busied himself, being very careful not to look in Karmack’s direction until the beep on his console forced him to speak up.
“The…Kage will see you now Master Mack…”
Finally
He strode forward determined to pick up right where he had left off, but Er’lav cut him off as soon as his mouth opened and the door closed.
“I said three hours, it’s been twelve. Why were you late Maenowan?”
Karm bristled at being spoken to like an errant school boy
“Analysing the Crystal Aertemis tried to pervert took some time. It is a creation of Klu Xandir, called the Moonshadow a partner to the Ancient One and another crystal named the Starfire. It is used to cover the use of the Song. My initial assessment is that the Moonshadow has been working through the Force Nexus around the Temple for centuries, suppressing the Force…radiation for want of a better analogy… emanating from M’Tzigon. Anyone trying to sense centres of force power would feel M’Tzigon was only ‘average’ at best despite our presence here. It is critical that it be replaced as soon as possible.”
Er’lav barely had time to blink as Karmack spewed words out. “I’m sure Lens, Chillum and Kirk can corroborate your findings….”
Karmack shook his head, the irritation returning to his posture. “There is no time! It must be replaced. We can analyse it further later, once Artemis is gone and Morrigan found and destroyed….you must use your powers of veto to enforce their expulsion.”

“I must, must I…” Er’lav was hardly a stranger to people second guessing her, as Kage it was important someone did…but the tone Karmack used was not mere suggestion. This was an order, as though he, and not she, had been elected. She would not play his game nor argue on his preferred topics.
“I’ve read your reports very carefully - from Vyth to Geonosis to the Temple, I have also read those from Master Chillum, General Cliff and submissions from Aertemis Industries and the Rebel Commander Gingal and former thralls of Mendax, even Jaim’s reports on events in the deep core. I don’t deny there are some unusual things going on, but so far as the Mak’Tor are concerned all I see is Aertemis industries showing extreme restraint and undeserved charity despite repeated assaults of their staff, attempted thefts and wild accusations against them. So unless you have some new and compelling information beyond what you’ve already submitted ad nauseam, you can sit down and shut up”
The frustration was peaking. Karmacks fists clenched…why couldn’t anyone else see, or at least listen…unless…after so long with the Sons being near Black armour…was Er’lav compromised?
Er’Lav shook her head at his outward silence. “I thought not. Maenowan, in all these reports, all these instances of friction – not just with Aertemis but with the Men-at-Arms as well - there is one common denominator…and that’s you.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of flimsy
“Silman had agreed with the Council of Balance that it would be best if some distance was put between us all…so to that end…I am ordering you to commence investigations into and obtaining if possible the crystal termed the Starfire and by extension attempt to discern the location and find a hyperspace route to the planet of Ruusan. Should you find it you will then be in charge of establishing the archaeological efforts on that world…assuming it is safe to do so.”

The Starfire… Karmack thought as his breathing settled if I’m to have any chance at defeating these BA’s, let alone Morrigan…I’ll need every possible advantage. With the Starfire and the Ancient One…that could be enough to defeat them all…
Nodding to himself not Er’lav he rose up. “I will find the Starfire, fulfill Xandir’s legacy, and I will end the threats you won’t even acknowledge.”

<<<<>>>>

“Next one is up…” Aeresdottir said for the millionth time.

After the break Ry had tried another tactic to get something out of her – if she couldn’t get her respect being sociable, she would try by being capable, showing she was just a hard a worker and competent…of course after nine hours with a 90 minute break any attempt to sound intelligent in her responses to the coding sections was washing away with her stamina.

Aeresdottir meanwhile seemed…unchanged…as if she were a machine…maybe she’s an android…

“Well?”

“Oh, sorry…let’s see…looks alright but perhaps we can extend the precision to 12 decimal places instead of ten.”

“That will make the refresh time by 600 Plank seconds…”

“I think we can live with that,”

“It’s your droids I guess…” she said once more as if distancing herself from the imperfect changes being made to the droids.

“Well what would you suggest instead?”

“To not do this at all and revert to the default programming,”

“That wouldn’t solve the problem of Friend/Foe errors”

“The droids aren’t the problem, it’s the Men At Arms inability to record bio data on every citizen – we are not fixing the problem.”

Ry paused for a moment, she was impossible to argue with….but perhaps… “Well the problem isn’t a mechanical one, it’s a customer service one, your customer wants something different, and whether that is optimal in your opinion or not doesn’t matter, you’re solving the customer’s problem here within all the limitations of the customer’s imagination and capacity that entails.”

Aeresdottir looked up from her console and stared at her.

“That is true…they are their droids…”

“But they’re not are they…” Ry probed “You made them to protect your K’ihn, and you don’t like making them less than they can be for someone else,”

There was little more important to Chiss than K’ihn – family or clan.

“You are correct….”
Like the Chiss, Aeresdottir took great pride in her work, so long as it was dedicated to her K’ihn, being here and adjusting them was…annoying at best for her…which made Ry wonder what they hoped to gain by selling these droids to the Mak’Tor at the price of their own designers satisfaction.

“…perhaps it is time for another break…” Aeresdottir suggested.

<<<<>>>>

The café wasn’t exactly buzzing but it was still three quarters full as M’tziogn citizens did what they could to support businesses in the wake of the battle.

Even so Aeresdottir was true to her word- she did not drink the local water instead sipping from a metal tumbler that even across the table reeked of something so sickly sweet it made Ry want to gag every whiff she got.

“Why do you abandon your K’ihn to be with these…outsiders?” she asked bluntly

Ry nearly choked on her caf “cchhm…it's more complicated than that,”

“You’re not with the Ascendancy…you work for the humans…you even have sex with one…”

Ry could not tell with her quick high voice if there was any inflection of censure in her words or not.

“…sounds fairly simple to me”

“Perhaps...but…I guess I couldn’t be myself in the Ascendancy, here I have real choices, not having to do the family proud and the like…if I’d stay I would’ve…hurt my K’ihn more by being unhappy and underperforming.”

Aeresdottir seemed unconvinced “But are not your K’ihn and culture inextricably tied to your sense of self?”

Once more Ry realised how futile it was to argue with her “It’s true our K’ihn defines who we are in many ways, but that doesn’t mean we always agree with them or want to spend all our time with them.”

“Nor does that necessitate leaving them altogether…if you disconnect from them are you not disconnecting from yourself just as much…and if so how can you as you say ‘be yourself’”

Obviously Aeresdottir came from a culture with strong family ties like the Chiss and that coloured her responses…yet still she made a good point. Ry had not left things well with her family, and that was in a sense walking away from herself just as much as enabling other parts of herself freedom.

“That’s true…”

Too true…

Ry had some calls to make.

<<<<>>>>

Cha

“Oh my…” he looked at the guest standing in the doorway to his room of the Sierra Arms Hotel where he stayed on M’tzigon in the Bridal suite because…well why not.

“…I think there might’ve been some confusion with the Escort agency…I asked for big bosoms and dark hair…not big boots and dark scowl.”

Zearic ignored the jibe

“What can I do for you Mr. Vih’Torr…I must say though I can’t arrange meeting with my employers…” he wandered back into the room inviting Zearic in with a gesture

“I’m here to talk to you not Them”

“Really…little old me…” he slouched on the couch, the table covered in empty plates and trashy magazines while the holo-viewer played a soap opera in the background.

“..whatever for?”
“You were with the inquisition,”
“’Were’ being the operative word…I’m a lover not a fighter…” he looked over Zearic who remained standing in the door way.
“and long since retired…”

Without a word Zearic hurled the Tenebirs straight at his chest. In a flash Cha kicked up the table, rolled to the side and summoned a double bladed saber - black and gold - from seemingly nowhere as the Oblivion dagger sliced through the table and couch, the kitchen partition…then into the wall.

“I hope you can pay for that!” Cha trilled fingering the activator on his sabre
“I take what I want…but I always pay for it,” Zearic noted solemnly

“And what do you want from me and what are you willing to pay?”
Summoning back the Tenebris he put it into its sheath on his left hip, the Nocte on the right
“I want you to teach me how to fight like a dirty Inquisitor,”
“And in exchange?”

Zearic held up a thumb drive
“This contains data, intelligence and briefings the Vhal Dan were given by the Templar Order as a thank you for our support against the Revenant…I’m sure you’re well aware of who they both are.”

Cha made no motion
“While I doubt you care personally, I’m sure your employers would be interested.”
Cha mused on his options as he twirled his sabre unlit for the moment.

“That…and a comprehensive list of Vhal’Dan facilities and the security details as best you can recall at each one.”
Interesting they don’t already know that…

The thought ruminated in Zearics mind – handing over the thumb drive was on the knife edge of treason as it was - only justifiable in that it was intelligence that was from a third party so contained no explicit data on the Vhal’Dan themselves.

To give Cha that would be stepping in deep, when it was discovered, not if, there would be sanctions if not outright exile…especially considering the situation the Vhal’Dan were facing – on top of the Revenant threat elsewhere, the Imperial Remnants myriad factions and ex-Inquisitors like Mendax and Jerec they now had the ambiguity of the BA’s to deal with.

Yet how could Zearic protect his family against these and…Maker forbid…Karmack himself without new skills and abilities Cha could offer?

Zearic could live with himself if he were expelled, but if he came up short against an opponent because he had not taken every opportunity to grow his powers and abilities and D’Alyanna or Jorya paid the price for his weakness…that he could not live with.

His mind was already made up in coming here – whatever it took to become strong enough to protect his family – A call to Kage Oyuna Chan'dn to initiate Bellicose Protocols – the strict measures that had kept the Vhal’Dan alive during the Empires purges – would render all the details he gave to Cha worthless in mere hours any way.

Hours may be far more than BA’s need… he suddenly thought…

And what if he had already given over those details, the BA’s could’ve made him tell them anything in the Core and then make him forget just as easily…

It was a queer justification but Zearic could argue given that level of control they had over him those security details were already compromised, and a single BA warrior killing the Kage and crippling the Master of Blades and Balance of the Mak’tor in three minutes was more than enough justification for instituting Bellicose even without that slip of intelligence.

Cha’s expression had the hint of a winning smile, he already knew Zearic would agree – take what you want and pay for it

“Alright…” he held out his hand ”Deal”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 32 — Influence

Morrigan

An hour seemed insufficient considering how long since the last time…even so the water saver alarm beeped every few minutes.

She’d been nearly 2500 years without a shower, frankly a week in one wouldn’t be uncalled for.

Every sensation was as new as it was familiar, and she spent prolonged amounts of time just…re-experiencing all those things flesh and blood sentients took for granted.

Stepping out of the shower at last, the air blades soon had her dry and a quick spray of the abundant perfumes her benefactors had provided had her smelling divine.

Exactly why they considered her a Goddess she did not probe deeply, it was enough to have gotten out of the cave and off M’Tzigon…and into a galaxy in anarchy.

A dead Emperor, a civil war…bickering, backstabbing…

But Chaos, as they say, is a ladder…and she just had to work out how to climb it.

Throwing on one of the many outfits they had provided – all with the same curious label a stylised Senth and Aurek in the gaps between a three pointed star – she headed to the cockpit where M4 stood like a fortress, a cable linking him to the systems as he…or she…Morrigan was yet to decide what gender to allocate the droid…was too big for any of the seats.

“Goddess we are now reaching the Corellian Trade Route as instructed,”
Ah…so different yet so similar…
“What is your next destination?”

That is a good question….
She still needed time to fully recover her connection to the Force…only then could she even think of obtaining more Kyber crystals to…

She paused. To what? The last time she had pursued power and dominance she’d ended up trapped in a cage for centuries. Absently she ran her hand over her breast and stomach, just enjoying the sensation of having sensation…then lower as she recalled something she had not thought of for so long…yet now seemed worth more than anything else.

“Where is somewhere close…peaceful…quiet where I can enjoy myself a bit?”
M4’s vast red eyes blinked momentarily
“All Nearby Systems designated [Hostile Extremis – Outsider presence]”
“Outside of what?”
“Error: that information has been removed from this model. Apologies Goddess.”
“Are there any systems not Hostile Extremis?”
“Several Goddess…Fresia designated [Safe-Relative] – presence of Incom Corporation results in neither Empire nor Alliance desiring to inflict significant infrastructure damage nor interfere in Corporate politics.
Canto-Bite Designated [Safe Relative] – presence of Casino operation results in neither Empire nor Alliance desiring to inflict significant infrastructure damage nor interfere in Corporate politics
Spira Designated [Safe Relative] –Presence of luxury resorts attended by Upper class members of Core Worlds and Corporate sector results in neither Empire nor Alliance….”

“Desiring to inflict damage, I get it…” She snapped, she didn’t recall droids in her time being this repetitive…but then she rarely used them at all then…

Shuffling into the pilots chair she scooted in comfortably.

“Tell me about these luxury resorts on, Spida?”

“Spira Goddess. Spira is the sector capital of the Lytton sector. A popular tourist destination, it possesses 4,527 luxury hotels. It is a favoured holiday destination for the Imperial Upper class, boasting guess such as Moff Jerjerrod [Deceased], Moff Kadir [Unkown], Moff Tavira [deceased],”

“I’m not interested in how many dead…Moofs…have been there what is the weather like,”

“Temperate and Stable, consisting of several thousand small islands coastal winds render the temperature on land an average 29.4 degrees Celsius.”

“hmm warm…well compared to the top of an M’Tzigon mountain at least…how long to get there?”
“Estimate 101.2 Standard hours.”
“Very well set course…no I suppose I ought to re-learn how to do it…”
amongst other things

The Force was slowly flowing back to her, gaining in strength hour by hour. Her strength was not even half what she could remember, yet she could feel it blooming in her breast.
Soon…very soon…

<<<<>>>>

Orfa

He was finally here again, Old Elax Cliff.

She was 20 pirates down after the last riot, a further 15 down from just the regular fights that broke out from being caged together.

But she could still make an impression with the hundreds she still had.

As Cliff and his retinue of officers headed along the electro fence she had her thralls line up and bang covered hands causing the stun energies to ripple.

Already the Military Police began to signal for support, assembling on the catwalk to fire down on them. All of them now wore bulky power armour and moved in groups of three, and they had tripled the number of auto turrets.

The expense must be growing astronomically. Orfa smiled as she stalked behind the line of pirates following Cliff's progress, the Sword of Light guards around him keeping a nervous eye on her.

Across the fence she could see Nordas watching her as well, his troopers pacing beside him.

The curious parallel march continued to the corner of the fence, Pirates, Military Police and Imperials all in lock step.

None of the three groups wanted to be there, but none could determine a solution to get out.

“What are they doing now…” Cliff asked Colonel Ya’Rn who was in charge of the internment camps beside him.

“Most likely another riot is on the way…we should get you out before.”

“Another problem to deal with” he muttered looking over the disturbingly calm ranks of the pirates.

It was almost time Orfa smiled…almost time.

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

“Well this is unexpected,”

Cliff said standing as the Aertemis Industries Representative came through. Instead of the Usual Nimmin Cha, whom even Cliff at times struggled to stomach, it was the President herself in a smart black and white business suit that accentuated her dark hair and alabaster features even more.

“Please have a seat,” he offered.

Sophi glanced at the hand-carved wooden chair but quickly assessed it could not take her super-human weight - one of the many irritations of off world travel, frail humans simply didn’t make their utensils and furniture suitable for the physical strength and dense organs and bones of real People.

“I won’t be long,” she countered. “I wished to personally check to see you are satisfied with the upgrades to the Mark IV’s friend-foe designators,”

“Oh...I must admit I haven’t had time to read the latest updates, but colonel Ta’Re hasn’t raised any issues, specialist Ry’lack seems capable for the job,”

“I imagine there is much on your mind with the reconstruction...and the aftermath of the attack...the prisoners specifically.”

It was common knowledge, and indeed a growing media pressure regarding their presence and treatment, many commentators wondering why they were being housed on M’tzigon at all after being involved in the recent attack - some wanted them exiled on the next ship out, others a more forceful solution.

“We are still in a crisis situation, the battles over, but the peace is far from won,”

“Indeed which is why I would like to offer Aertemis assistance,” she leaned forward ever so slightly, yet it felt as if an enormous weight were towering over him more than able to crush him at a whim.

“We can arrange for the pirates to be gone in a day, and have the means to convince the Imperials to join you as auxiliaries and help with the refitting of the Requiem,”

How does she know about... he kept his lips tight, the depth of Aertemis claws through the military that he had allowed - in many respects to spite Karmack and Silman - was now coming back to bite him.

Hard.

“500 Imperials with extensive experience on the vessel you wish to turn into your systems defensive linchpin, it would save you considerable time and expense training your own as well as bolstering your forces instantly.”

Maker, he wanted to say yes, two problems solved with a simple word, so quickly, so easy and....

And at so very high a price.

“Your offer is appreciated, but these are matters the M’tzigon Government will see to ourselves,” he refused politely. He had made a mistake he now realised in letting Aertemis get in so deep.

He wouldn’t let them get in any further.

“As you wish General, the offer stands should you change your mind,”

He stood but by the time he was up she was already out of the office and halfway down the corridor eyes indifferently staring ahad, except to briefly glance at a janitor with a sonic-cleaner humming along.

“Anything?” Er’lav asked into Jaims ear-bud comm after the Aertemis girl had left.

“Nothing I could sense, in fact Cliff refused her offer of help,”

He paused at an especially stubborn patch on the hard floor where it seemed someone had spilled caf over night and left it to dry. of all the disguises…

“There is something not right about her in the Force, next time I’ll know what to look for better,”

<<<<>>>>

Er’Lav

The formal robes of the Kage’s office, Er’lav had to admit, were not flattering to her figure. Handed down for a few too many generations they had been loosened and tightened to accommodate a dozen different bodies. Worse, their previous occupant had been a muscular male Zabrack.

Taking them in to suit her more feminine and svelte figure had succeeded only in making her look like a walking curtain.

Mercifully during their trip from the Mountain Jaim had made no mention of it whatsoever.

He could hardly talk, his own formal robes were anachronistic at best, fashioned for Galtean high society 500 years ago.

The Hovercar pulled up in front of the Presidential Palace where the reception was being held, the President himself awarding a number of medals and Star’s of M’Tzigon for Bravery and Valour to Men-At-Arm’s during Mendax attack. It was also to be when the PResident was to meet and thank Sophi Neiraisdottir President of Artemis Industries.

A meeting Er’lav sincerely hoped did not end with The President wrapped around the business woman’s finger.

“Ready for this?” she asked the tall Vhal’dan who was smoothing back his hair.

“As I’ll ever be,”

With a tight breath she stepped out as the valet opened the vertical door, following the gentle yellow glow of the floor lights through the cream and white halls of the palace to the Ballroom. Palace was a misnomer, while it was the President's official residence most of the building was given over to offices of senior civilian officials, one wing was a dedicated museum on M’tzigon’s founding a Republican history, and various spaces for state functions.

The Ball room was large and airy, filled with Men-At-Arms in their formal dress with their wives, husbands or other family, General Cliff already there speaking with a handful of award recipients, others nibbled at the buffet tables along the walls, a number of wait staff circling taking empty glasses or refilling others.

“They’re not here yet…” Er’lav whispered, seeing no sign of the Aertemis girls...until she heard them.

Talia Cam had spent the last half an hour trying to calm her friends...exuberance. Of the Artemis girls she had befriended she knew that Sophi and Yara were the serious ones, Lysi and Vesi reasonable, and Mari and Kari, currently bickering over whose dress was prettier, were the ‘naughty’ ones. Added to them were their ‘cousin’ Alina who seemed far worse than the two troublemakers combined, intent on insulting every object she saw.

The jabbering and jousting drew all eyes and drowned out their official announcement, before the sight of the free food drew them in.

“Well to work,” Jaim said with a nod, moving out to try and get a read on what if any mental manipulations they intended.

“Lose your date so soon?” an oily voice nearly startled her at her side.

“Mister Cha,” she replied tightly

“Kage Racc,” he extended a hand as if to kiss hers, she didn’t move an inch. “My utter pleasure to meet you at last, may I congratulate you on you elevation, well deserved,”

“What a polite introduction,” she said, looking anywhere but at him, well aware of how he played people.

“I do my best to respect your august station.”

“No doubt…” relenting, she looked him up and down, sending out a gentle brush in the force. What she sensed from it caused her eyebrow to elevate. “Why Mister Cha! Is that a dagger in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He raised an echoing eyebrow in response.

“How did you get that past security?” she pressed

Cha smiled wickedly “Why the same way your little friend got his sabres and stun blaster through,” he gestured discreetly to Jaim.

“Tell me mister Cha,” she decided to make the most of this. “How does a failed inquisitor - so incompetent he could never even get off the mercenary lists let alone become a ‘Numbered Brother’ - end up the Vice President of a multi trillion credit corporation?”

“How does a woman traumatized by one interaction with an unusual being during a deep cover assignment become Kage of the illustrious Mak’Tor Knights?” he replied with his own question. Before she could call him out on the obfuscation he continued. “Determination, self belief, and making the most of our opportunities when they arrive perhaps?,”

His voice lowered as he leaned in, “Or more honestly, looking into the mirror and pitying what we saw, resolving never - ever - to present that face to the galaxy again.”

Having not yet mastered the ‘Kage’s Face’, Er’lav felt her mouth sag at the all too truthful words, memories of a time shortly after her disastrous cover operation and ‘rescue’ by the Sons of Kessel in their more ‘unrefined’ form recurring, locked back down only with the oaths she had made to herself to never be that person again.

“We’ve both climbed high Kage...so far as the galaxy sees us...but in our souls…”

He left the thought hanging.

A breath to steady her emotions she glanced at him, seeing, or perhaps imagining, something other than the slick haughty smile that was his mask. It was a face almost handsome on a man she could almost respect.

A gentle chime signalled the start of the awards ceremony, breaking her train of thought. It was replaced by something that had come up recently in a conversation she’d had with Tel’Owna. “I thought you were in the desert, training with Zearic Vih’Torr…”

Cha checked his watch, his mask back on, leaving Er’Lav wondering how many layers were beneath it. “Oh…I suppose I am, I’d best head off then before he realises I’m cheating on him,” he bowed gently then paused. “No kiss goodbye?”

She rolled her eyes “Get over yourself,”

“Perhaps next time,” he finished sliding into the crowd

Apart from the chattering and sniggering of Sophi’s entourage, the ceremony went off perfectly fine, Jaim across the room shrugging shoulders at the utter lack of action when Er’lav glanced at him.

The formal ceremony over the President with his attendants went to meet the Artemis representatives, oddly she couldn’t see Cha...anywhere...he seemed to have completely vanished.

Er’lav walked, as best as her robes allowed, discreetly nearby to overhear what she could of the conversation and hopefully dissuade any attempt to manipulate the President.

One of his security detail was a member of the Sword of Light, but given Arnor and her father had been inexplicably freed from one of their detention facilities she had some doubts about the special military branches true readiness - another symptom of the gap that had developed between the Knights and the Men-at-Arms.

Talia with her friends waited nervously as the President approached.

She had done her best to contain the rambunctious girls but their constant chittering and off humour was beginning to wear.

“Miss President and Vice President,” Jason Alvarez President of the M’Tzigon Confederation nodded to Sophi and Vesi. He was an average height human male with a mid-sized moustache, bowing appreciatively to the women. “Welcome to M’tzigon ladies, may I express on behalf of…”

“Mister Moustache!” Mari burst out

Unfazed Alvarez went on “…the People of M’Tzigon…”

“The moustaches of M’tzigon thank you Alina,” Kari chirped, Alina curtsied

“I’m honoured by the moustaches of M’tzigon!”

“…for your generous contributions to our recovery…”

“We should’ve donated some electric shavers…” Mari poked
“Didn’t he used to be in the Daring and the Devious and wear a monocle?” Kari inquired

“No…he’s much too ugly…” Alina explained

“…efforts and the defence of the planet…”

“We must protect OUR RIGHT to wear stupid moustaches!”

“You should let yours grow Mari!”

“I’ll transplant it straight off your legs!”

“oooh! Now you’ve done it you little woolmander,”

“Bring it on Bantha locks!”

President Alvarez stood mouth half open as the three girls started screaming insults at each other, then poking each other…then tugging each other’s hair.

Sophi simply ignored them

“Thank you Mr. President, we look forward to continuing a mutually profitable relationship with your system,”

“Bitch!” “furry as a wampa” “we’ll need an extra grav drive to get you home after all those pies you ate!” “At least I can fill out a bra!”

Talia could no longer tell who was saying what as all eyes turned on the scene, and the Force churned about them as their battle took on a bizarre metaphysical dimension.

Er’lav’s head tightened painfully as the Song was disrupted very deliberately. Jaim, less attuned to the Song, kepf his attention focused closely on Sophi as she spoke soothing and meaningless words of support to the President.

He could feel a web of sorts between the Artemis women, they were strongly connected mentally in the force, almost like a hive mind … but it wasn’t reaching out in any way he could sense.

“There is one thing we might ask in return,” Sophi went on gently, taking the President's arm. “An ancient piece of jewelry was uncovered during the excavation for the new Temple, a gem to be exact. As a symbol of our partnership we would very much like it if you could loan it us, the centerpiece of a display of M’Tzigon culture for our offices on Fresia, to show to our other clients.”

Jewelery? Er’lav wondered before it clicked - the crystal had to be the “Moonshadow” Karmack had spoken about so vociferously about keeping Artemis away from.

“I’m certain I can arrange that, we would greatly appreciate any promotion of our system as a business and tourism destination, especially in the current climate,” Alvarez replied. It was a perfectly reasonable response, especially for a President trying to keep a system going in the midst of civil war. It would be simple common sense to seek new trade partners by leveraging existing ones, but the crystal....

Damn it Karmack….

Er’lav gritted her teeth to intervene, but before she could reach the pair a figure swept in front of her. “Oh! You’re the new Kayee-gee! How wonderful! Such a shame about what happened to the last one, wrong place at the wrong time, but electing a woman! Perhaps there is some hope for this planet after all.” the brown-haired Artemis girl’s words streamed out of her with careless ease as she very consciously and deliberately blocked Er’Lav’s path.

Across the room Jaim could feel something building, elusive but distinct, whether it was a form of mind trick he wasn’t sure but the turmoil in the force caused by the girl's endless argument - which reached a new threshold as a glass of champagne was hurled, shattering on the ground - was keeping him from fixing on anything. Still, there was a thread there…

“You really shouldn’t snoop,” a sickly sweet feminine voice crooned in his ear from nowhere, Jaim almost jumping in surprise.

The Artemis girl, he couldn’t pick which one, smiled mischievously, “Oh look you dropped this, is it a bedroom toy?”

She held out his lightsaber to him, catching the eye of one of the many undercover Presidential bodyguards.

Jaim swallowed and suppressed the urge to snatch the saber back with the force. Even as he turned, fully to face her and the approaching bodyguard a part of him had to marvel: Just as he thought he had the scent it was whisked away, and a more immediate issue presented itself as he stood exposed staring at his own saber in an alabaster hand, about to be seriously questioned by security…

Er’lav’s gaze snapped between the President being drawn ever closer to Sophi, and Jaim being quietly asked to ‘step outside’ on the other...and then there was the girl blocking her.

“You know Kay-gee Rac, we really don’t need to be suspicious of each other,” Vesi said keeping her just entrapped in the conversation as the tumult between the other girls died down, Talia pushing them apart and apologising profusely, trying to explain their ‘cultural norms’ were substantively different.

“Perhaps it would help if we understood each others real motives,” Er’lav suggested growing slightly frustrated with the obfuscation - or perhaps more so that they’d so smoothly avoided her minor shadow op.

“The same as its always been Kay-Gee...but the difference now is You are in command, and Karmack is not here,”

Vesi glanced around, satisfied now that the President would deliver on their tiny demand and the Vhal’Dan’s attempt at analysing them frustrated by his foolish smuggling in of his saber.

“We always get our way in the end Kay-Gee, you know that from your time with the Sons” Vesi went on finally stepping aside now it was too late,

Er’lav nodded, she was well aware how they were the true masterminds behind that organisation. “And you know I won’t let that happen here without a fight,”

“Then let us hope we can bend in the same direction,” Vesi finished with a half smile. “Before one of us breaks,”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 33 Demands of the Singer

Karmack

Yes, my soul, find rest in the Maker! My hope comes from Him, truly my rock, my salvation! He is my fortress, I will not be shaken…

The old chant echoed in his mind for the third time to no avail. shaking head he tried another

The Maker is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Maker is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?....

Morrigan...Artemis...he answered ruefully.

Wait for the Maker; be strong and take heart….

No...no he could wait no longer.

Karmack shifted on the mat, unable to find a comfortable posture, his body reflecting the turbulent energy of his restless thoughts. He felt the intensity of it within himself, almost like a vibration, as he fixed his gaze on the ancient one sitting removed from his saber on the mat just in front of him.

He’d come here seeking solace, after wandering half aimlessly and issuing demands of Tel’Owna and Chillum to dig up what they could of the Starfire. The Chapel within the Mountain was obscure, the stone here quiet, the song little more than a peaceful bed of chords: few knew it was even here, and Karm had often come here to try and find some clarity and rest. Only after he arrived had he belatedly realized he hadn’t slept or eaten since his impromptu Force enhanced dash to the former Temple site. He’d almost left again to at least find food, but had instead used a variation on a healing motif to wash away the fatigue and instill new energy into his body. There is no time…[/]

The Book of the Way lay open beside him, old hymns and mantras of consolation and calm on the page he had just read from offering little comfort in the face of the desperate events that surrounded him. There is no time…[/]

He could wait no more. The Maker was silent. Even now the enemies of the Mak’Tor were moving with all the speed of darkness. Every day Artemis’ claws sunk deeper into M’Tzigon’s military and government, and Maker alone knew where Morrigan was - crafting hordes of Dark Crystals no doubt - and given the precedence of Mendax ably supported by a coterie of fanatics supplied by Artemis! He HAD to do something!

There is no time![/]

Mendax...damn Despite the accelerated healing afforded by the Ancient One he was still not fully recovered. His arms were still sore and weak, his side covered with tender pink patches where saber burns had healed over, a few bacta patches remained on his face.

He would have to speed that along too, he couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

Reaching out with the Force, his mind still far from calm, he lifted the Ancient One from the floor, pushing his mind's rhythms to align with those humming in the crystal seeking out the knowledge of the entities that live within it.

While never an ‘easy’ task it seemed harder for his unbalanced state of mind - but Maker, he did not have the time to calm himself! He pressed hard, fighting his way in, the shimmering lights and distant image of the Gazebo appearing hazy before him.

A little more… Karmack felt the bite of painful resistance as he pushed through the misalignment of song patterns with sheer force of will, finally bringing the crystal and his mind into tune.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the hazy image of Dorian said forcefully at the intrusive entry, voice staticy rather than clear.

The Ghosts of the Crystal had already suffered immeasurably saving Karmack from the Thought Bomb on Vyth: This clumsy entry wasn't helping them - for want of a better word to describe the complex processes of disembodied recorded essences - ‘reassemble’ their partially fragmented selves.

“I’m sorry, but there was no other option, I have urgent news,”

“There’s always another option,” Dorian replied with unconcealed censure. Kamrack winced at his acid tone, finally noticing he was the only one present. There is no time…

He steeled himself and pressed on. “Apologies, but you of all people will understand - Morrigan had escaped,”

That did give Dorian pause

“Escaped?”

“Yes. From the cavern on the high mountains you placed her in, by what means I don’t know, but I’m certain Artemis and their foul power is behind it.”

“She was still there...after all this time she never repented…” Dorian mused sadly, resting on one of the ‘benches’ “...I never imagined she would be so intransigent. Maker! All that time…perhaps I was wrong to do that…”

Karmack could barely contain his incredulity, but tried to speak respectfully.
“Master, regardless of the time, she is a danger to the Mak’tor, I need to know where she might go. I also need to know everything you and the others know of the last location of the Starfire. Where is Slo’ma?”

Dorian came more to himself feeling the anxiety leach off Karmack. “He’s still ...recuperating...from the thought bomb, as are the others. I’m not certain we’ll all fully recover in all honestly.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I need to know everything you can tell me right now,”

“You need it do you,” Dorain replied evenly, assessing him more thoroughly

“If I’m to destroy Morrigan and the Black Armoured parasites that have put a puppet in the Kages chair I’ll need to find the Starfire - and know how to use it! Can I speak with Klu? I’ve found the Moonshadow; if I can combine all three crystals, I’m sure none of my enemies will be able to stand against me.”

“Klu is the oldest of us and not easy to reach at the best of times, let alone after the bomb. With your...strained...connection… You need to take some time, gather information and calm yourself, re-tune yourself with the Song.”

Karm’s mouth twitched in the physical realm with irritation

“At any other time I would agree, but time is the one thing that we do not have.” he tried to be reasonable. No doubt these crystal entities in their centuries long existence had lost the sense of urgency that real life was replete with. “Every moment we delay the Nameless one and her Oblivion allies grow stronger,”

The image in his mind began to falter, the Song seeming to twist ever further out of tune. Gathering himself, Karmack used the raw energy of the Force to bend it back into alignment.

Dorian instantly sensed the coercive nature of the connection, and the once Master singer stared into the discordant mess of Karmacks soul: riven with fear, impatience, and anger - the seeds of hatred.

And Darkness.

“You do need help Karmack,” Dorian replied, Karmack at last feeling some relief, but that relief was instantly shattered as Dorian continued. “But I won’t offer you any. You need to return to and lean on the Maker, your Family, the Order … the Light itself in such times. Your fear and rage is smouldering,” Dorian’s luminous face was empathetic as his image laid his hand on Karmack’s chest to emphasize his point. “Pursuing the Starfire or Morrigan, or these Black Armours now will only add fuel to the fire and move you further into the dark,”

The words all washed passed Karmack except for the first handful: I won’t offer you any…

“You won’t help me?” Karmack snapped. “You can, but you won’t?!”

Dorian shook his head, and his voice was sad when he spoke. “Karmack, your emotions and your Song, are both unsettled. You’re forcing your connection to the Song, dictating its melody and harmony, but this isn’t your fight alone! Being a Singer means connecting with and joining your song to the greater Song and the sentients who contribute to it! Step back, share the burden!” Dorian implored.

“There just isn't time!” Karmack’s aura in the ethereal plane shook as he again tightened his grip on the connection that constantly felt as though it were slipping through his fingers. His only recourse was to grip tighter and push harder. “Tell me what you know!” he demanded as the image of the Gazebo began to fracture

Dorian just shook his head “I’ve told you what you need,” He released the tenuous bonds keeping Karmack connected from his end. Until Karm had steadied his song once more he would not be able to connect to them again. “Return to the Light,” he said as he faded from view.

Covered in sweat, aching all over from forcing the connection, candles around him long since burnt out Karmack fell back into the Chapel's darkness.

<<<<>>>>

His mood was already sour when he reached the small meeting room. He suspected it was not going to get any better as Tel’Owna and Chillum’s voices hushed as he entered.

“Any luck with the Crystal son?” the old man asked as Kamrack sat and replied with a stare that was all the answer needed.

“Well…” Tel’Owna spoke into the tension as she dimmed the lights so a holo unit in the table could project, showing the planets as she discussed them.

“From what we’ve pulled together on the Starfire there are two likely locations. As you know it was last recorded as being in Mak’Tor hands during the final Battle of Ruusan, just over a thousand years ago. After the Thought Bomb that ended the battle, and wiped out a large portion of the knights, the Mak’Tor survivors gathered what remains they could and took them to be buried in the Catacombs of the Mount on Coruscant. At that time, 400 years before the exile and break with the Temple Jedi, the Mak’tor could come and go as they pleased and still had access to the ancient burial caves.”

She clicked on a holo slide showing an old Mak’Tora Manuscript illuminated with several attendants fussing over a prone warrior laying down.

“According to the customs of the time, Knights were buried in full armour with their weapons, tools and other valued possessions. Our best hope is that the Starfire was simply taken to Coursant and buried with its owner and is still in the tomb…”

“Two problems with that,” Kamrack said quickly. “First, getting to Coruscant with the Empire clinging to it is nigh impossible. Second, a thousand years is a long time in which it could have been looted.”

Tel’Owna shrugged against Karmacks negativity. “True. Unfortunately, the second option isn’t much better. After the war on Ruusan a Jedi who fought there, Johun Othone, built the famous ‘Valley of the Jedi’ to honour the fallen. According to a few fragments Chillum dug up, during the construction of the Mausoleum they searched for any remaining bodies and found several hundred more. Again they buried them according to custom, so it’s equally possible that the Starfire was interred on Ruusan.”

Karmack’s jaw clenched, that was even worse - the location of Ruusan had been lost for - if he recalled - the better part of five hundred years.

“A thousand years is a long time to be lost.” Chillum said, “It could be anywhere in the galaxy if looters got to it,”

“I’ll find it.” Karmack said forcefully - not so much optimistic as arrogant to Chillum’s ears.
“The Maker guided me to the Ancient One, now the Moonshadow, He will guide me to the Starfire, and with all three I’ll have the power to destroy Morrigan and those Oblivion Monsters,”

Tel’Owna subtly leaned back from the Master Singer, the very air around him seemed to radiate a conviction that she found less inspirational than troubling.

Karmack closed his eyes trying to feel out the Rhythms of the Song, the flow of its verses to see where he should go. The Song however remained choppy, jagged and unstable. Directionless, he relied on his own best guess.

“Coruscant. Back to Corsucant, Maker knows how we’ll get through the Imperial blockades…”

“I may have someone who can help with that,” Tel’own smiled for the first time in hours.

<<<<>>>>

“Why can’t we take the Wayfarer?”

Tel’Owna shared a sheepish look with Arnor as they waited for the Head of intelligence's guest to arrive.

Arnor fielded the question. “I may have forgotten to mention it’s still impounded on Canto Bite…along with Mutt and Vegan…Talia said Vesi would try and buy it back from the seizure auction.”

Karmack didn’t bother to try and hide his annoyance at being even further embroiled with Vesi and her ilk….their manipulations were truly reaching pathological proportions.

“Moving right along…” Tel’Owna said as the door chimed. “…we’ve found an alternate courier to get you into and out of Coruscant with a proven track record of getting through Remnant blockades. They also have proven combat ability and were commended by Koawan Do'Na'Vann and Ja'Mason'Crin after a recent action."

Karmack regarded the young handsome couple that had entered the room. They were a human male and female in well worn but practical utility outfits, with nothing that met the eye to suggest they were anything but a typical pair of blockade runners. But Karmack instantly knew better.

“May I introduce Alex and Joanna Krin,”

He looked the man up and down, noting his paltry attempt to conceal his presence in the force – perhaps a lesser user would be fooled but with the Ancient One’s refining lens he could see through the attempt easily.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex said, taking a seat out for Joanna. Arnor couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the gesture, her own husband had barely spoken to her since his second race to the Temple. He’d then been all over the place in meetings and meditations without a single moment to even comm her where he was.

If Chillum hadn’t told her he was planning to leave M’Tzigon she doubted she would even know.

Alex reached out to shake hands. As soon as his hand touched Karmack’s he felt a static tingle up his back. The Force energies on this planet and the number of knights moving about so freely had been enough of a shock. The force presence of the more senior masters he had passed seemed invariably strong, on par with the strongest he had ever sensed..

But this Karmack guy...he just felt a whole other level of - intense.

“So what actual training have you had?” Karmack dispensed with any pleasantries, he needed to be sure whoever got him onto Coruscant could get him off.

“My master was J’Hadya Cunn, a Sentinel watchman,” Alex replied evenly despite the bluntness of the question.

“And what combat experience? Pirates and smugglers I’m guessing? How many Sith have you faced, real darksiders?”

Alex felt a slight flush on his face, realising for the first time just how ‘out of the storm’ he had been – sure he’d faced former inquisitors and darker force users here and there, yet something about the tone and hardness of Karmack’s voice made him feel he really hadn’t seen much at all.

“Well...I…”

“Just as I sensed…” Karm rounded on Tel’Owna before Alex could mutter another word. “I need real knights to serve me, not half trained smugglers.”

Arnor flinched slightly at the implications of the word serve me but assumed it was merely stress resulting in a poor choice of words.

“Hang on. Alex is more than capable. Have you read the reports from Do’Na and Ja’Mason on the whole Shard adventure with Opal?”

“The enemies we face are far more deadly than two-bit inquisitor drop outs,” Karm shook his head. “Dark singers, Senior Inquisitors, brought back to life by nefarious powers...and as for the BA’s, I’ve seen seasoned Knights, men and women I thought unbreakable simply wilt by standing near them” Karm could only sigh, he didn’t want to offend the young man, but Alex seemed to him still too boyish to face the kind of threats this quest would involve.

Maker knew only with the Ancient One was Karm himself able to keep up! He didn’t want to see this poor young couple on the receiving end of an Oblivion dagger.

“Unfortunately the Kage was clear this was your mission alone Karm,” Tel’Owna again tried to steer him back to something resembling neutral. “At the least Alex and Joanna can get you where you need to go, he has my full confidence,” she smiled at the young pair.

Begrudgingly Karm nodded, feeling once more the burden was his alone, but encouraged by the memory of Master Odjina’s ghost. He was a Master Singer now, there was no one else who could carry it.

“Alright...how soon before we can leave?”

<<<<>>>>

“What do you think?” Joanna leaned against the side of the Hope II as Alex tinkered with Zuzu. The short squat droid was perfectly functional, but some light tinkering always relaxed him.
“About what…” he said, half-heartedly looking around the Mak’Tor hangar. It was relatively quiet in the late evening, operations were apparently at an ebb with most of the Knights still recovering from the recent attack by this “Darth Mendax” person.

Joanna shrugged. “…This job…these Mak’Tor…this Karmack”

Alex sat back and wiped his brow, meeting his wife’s eyes. “I think… Jo, I think there’s a lot more going on than we know…and…” he flipped the access panel closed as Zuzu rebooted. “…I think the less we know right now the better. This Karmack guy…” he paused as Joanna handed him her flask to drink from. “He’s strong in the force…stronger than anyone I’ve ever felt…but something feels wrong about him like…a…”

Red flashed before his eyes as his stomach suddenly sunk, his legs trembling as something grew strange and twisted nearby.

“Alex…Alex what’s wrong?” Joanna quickly grasped him as he raised a finger toward one of the doors into the main Mak’Tor facility.

Across the hanger in the direction Alex indicated Joanna saw was a small group of people: A middle aged, firm looking woman; an older Mak’tor in robes, a Togruta and a Besalisk. The latter two were dressed in well worn but very functional light armour, the kind her uncle would point out as belonging to a ‘man who knows how to handle himself’.

Alex saw what she couldn’t. Behind them was a towering figure made consipcuous by its…absence in the force…dark and horrific to behold in his mind’s eye – not strong in the same way he had sensed from Karmack, rather a kind of force that seemed the opposite of everything he understood the Force to be – the effect of which was so strong it made him feel physically ill.

As they approached they overheard the conversation

“…the facilities are good but might benefit from a facelift, while your construction crews are on planet there seems no better time,” Er’Lav noted to Scrubber who nodded.

“We can always use more work, experience on military facilities is especially useful.”

“Indeed.” Er’Lav had developed a good working relationship with Scrubber and knew him well enough to know when he was being circumspect about something. “Are you planning further upgrades to Eurydice Base?”

A darting glance to his bodyguard told Er’Lav she had struck on what she had termed a ‘Dark point’ - something to do with Scrubbers deal with the BA’s he did not share with, well anyone

“Amongst other things,” he smiled

Er’Lav noted the unusual ship and the two humans beside it, vaguely recalling Tel’Owna speaking of a smuggler who had assisted two Knights on Nar’Shadda. The young man she faced however looked absolutely pallid, a woman comforting him.

Er’lav didn’t even need to ask why, the ‘Blank’ Presence of Black Armour behind Scrubber was something she, even after nearly a year with the Sons, was not used to, and likely never would be.

Alex simply stared at the thing as it walked past, Joanna less stunned noted the Togruta and woman pointing out various loading railings on the ceiling that could use replacement, and discussing defensive improvements, notably concerning vicious sounding traps, similar to some other base the Togruta had worked on or perhaps owned.

The unnervingly silent vast Abyssal black boots paused for a moment and the head turned to regard Alex. Instantly he felt a sudden urge to divest himself of his breakfast.

Something dark, something sharp Cut through him in less than a second, Alex’ knees wavered; his chest felt as if it were being opened on some sick dissection table, everything being analysed….

Then it was gone. Relief the likes of which he had never felt flooded through him and the figure was…inexplicably on the other side of the hangar….

Swallowing down half digested pancakes Alex turned to Joanna, “The sooner we get out of here, the better,”

<<<<>>>>>

The contrast could not be more clear.

There was Joanna and Alex, laughing, touching as they went about preflight checks, the bond between them palpable.

And then there was his Daughter, sitting on a crate to the side, her legs crossed, arms squeezed round her as if to keep warm from the cold indifference of her absent husband.

Du’an Chillum knew there were a lot of things on Karmacks mind, threats to be faced -real and possibly imagined...but still.

There was an agitation, and impatience in his son in law he hadn’t felt before, understandable given recent events, but that was a cause to pull people closer, not push them away.

“You all right love?” he asked of his daughter

“He’s getting worse dad, and…I don’t know how to help him, and this trip…” she looked warily toward the Hope “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Du’An rested a comforting hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Can’t disagree lass, things have been getting darker for a while now…just have to hold onto the Light at the end,”

Shaking off her own troubles briefly, Arnor smiled up at her father, laying her own hand over his. “Are you leaving with Ken soon?”

“He’s just off to grab Julwyyn and Balnard, not exactly sure what this Mission after Morrigan is meant to accomplish…apart from getting every Mack the Kage can off M’Tzigon.”

“Hopefully nothing comes of it at all,” Arnor replied ruefully as Karmack entered the far door, weapons slung over his shoulder, pushing a hoversled loaded with armour and explosive. Even from across the hanger she could make out the uncharacteristic gaunt look on his face and deepening eyes. Was it exhaustion from so much fighting and travelling? Or something far darker in his very soul manifesting physically?

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you,” Arnor asked Chillum referring to Ken, her eyes never leaving her husband. “IIf anything happens to us?”

Du’an breathed deeply, there was always a risk, every time they left. Even here at home they weren’t truly safe.. There was always that chance they wouldn’t come home … and he had never felt it more keenly than now.

Any other time he might have countered with something optimistic, ‘you’ll be back home before you know it’...it felt too asinine in the current climate.

“I will,” he promised.

<<<<>>>>

“How long until we reach Coruscant,” Karmack asked arms crossed tightly as his withering gaze inspected every corner of the Hope,

They hadn’t even left M’Tzigon yet.

“Avoiding known conflict zones and hyperlane blockades by the Alliance and Imperials, just over two days.”

That meant it would likely be a week or more. Kamarck seethed with impatience. Maker knew what Artemis could get up to in that time! Still the enforced period of inactivity gave him time to fully heal the remaining scratches and tears on his body..

“I will be in the hold,” Karmack replied, turning and beginning his healing meditations without delay … or informing anyone that was in fact his intention at all.

To Alex and Joanna it simply felt like an ungracious dismissal.

“I’m sorry,” Arnor, forgotten in the corner of the cockpit, apologised preemptively. “My husband has been…been suffering a lot recently, he feels like the galaxy is closing in against him sometimes…and recently it actually has been,”

Alex pursed his lips as he idly flicked some switches powering up the reuplsors to the ‘sweet spot’ of 80% charge before flipping the gravity inversion drives on for lift off. As they whined to life he shared a glance with his wife before turning to face Arnor. “We understand. We’ve seen the news and heard plenty of dock-side chatter about what happened to your planet and Temple during this Mendax’s invasion. You’ve all been through a lot.”

The couple returned to their work, bringing their ship fully online and getting her underway, while Arnor’s cheeks flamed at the unspoken implication: Yes, Karmack was under a lot of stress … but so was everyone else. So why was HE going off the deep end?

Arnor had no answer.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 34 Training with a Daemon

Day 1

M’Tzigon was generally an alpine world but even it had a few desert-like depressions of moisture sucking white sands where by force of geology rain didn’t reach in abundance.

As temperate winds blew across the high plateau, particles of gypsum pelted everything in its path: from the wind-blown dunes, to the sand-blasted rock strata jutting out sporadically from the desert floor, and finally the industrial machinery of mostly forgotten automated mining complexes. Mingling with the sound of the wind was the low droning of the mining equipment (at least, those that had not seized up as a result of the sand). Taken as a whole, it produced an eerie backdrop displaying the harsh beauty of the Osa Dormeondo Dunes.

Zearic would soon become intimately acquainted with the region.

Millions of years ago during a particularly geologically active time in M’Tzigon’s past, a large stretch of the Siccum Haranae Mountains had collapsed along perpendicular faults, the largest of which became the Solitudenum Rift, a high-altitude white sands desert nestled atop a tall plateau overlooking the western boundary of the S’can’Dere Ocean in M’Tzigon’s southern hemisphere. And with the lone exception of the before-mentioned automated machinery, the nearest habitation was hundreds of kilometers inland.

In other words: ideal for isolated training.

Cha had given him the location far from any of the cantons and off any transit route to train in private. Borrowing one of the Mak’Tor hovercars he’d made good time and was only 15 minutes from the destination when he was shot down in the middle of the Dunes.

Smashing into a white wall of searing sand he’d earned a gash to his head as the transpairsteel cracked from the sonic weapon that had downed him.

Covered in the Force he’d pushed out only to find a figure in light tan robes suited to the desert blasting the hovercar’s trunk, turning the food, water, and comms inside to molten chunks before vanishing into a less than natural storm of dust.

“I asked for training from an Inquisitor…and I got it…” Zearic seethed against the dry grainy winds.

First lesson was one Zearic knew well: never fight fair, hit your enemy when they don’t expect you, if they are stronger than you isolate them, attack, retreat, attack and retreat.

And that was exactly what Cha—or at least Zearic hoped it was him—was doing.

Heading toward the way marker using his hand-held comm’s GPS, he’d been attacked by the robed figure wielding a double bladed red sabre three times over the first day: once from behind some rocks, then buried beneath a dune, and finally appearing as if from nowhere right in front of his face.

There was no danger sense, no trickle of the Force…just empty silence of the desert plain before the blades struck at him, the hum of the sabre somehow suppressed.

The most disconcerting part of it was the way the Force “snapped” when Cha used it; while most knights tended to have a steady level of build-up—a pool as it were to draw from—Cha switched it on and off like a light switch, utterly cut off in between.

It was a method Zearic now tried to replicate, to keep his power depressed until the last possible moment.

Grimly, he understood the lesson: Karmack would rely on the Ancient One, and by extension a well spring of the Force…Zearic couldn’t beat him on those terms. And whatever minor physical advantages his ancestry gave him he did not have the Force strength to waste. And keeping himself open for longer than necessary would offer Karm too many opportunities to use his Song abilities to disrupt him…and overwhelm him.

Over the shimmering horizon he saw the brown outline of an old sand-ruined mining station, based on the tracker it was the waypoint he had been headed toward. Kneeling in the setting sun he wondered how he should proceed. Cha was no fool, he wanted Zearic to go there, to have his enemy come to him, the place likely riddled with traps…but he had nowhere else to go and there was nothing else in sight but endless seas of blinding white sands.

Perfect for an ambush.

Like a mirage Cha suddenly appeared, a savage cut from his lightsaber stopped only in the nick of time, Zearic’s face contorting in effort. And anger. …Bastard… He fumed. Zearic pushed hard against his opponent’s saber, bringing his shoto to bear as well. Back and forth the two men flowed, the dusk-time sands reflecting the light of their sabers. And after several more passes, Zearic knew that he was at a grave disadvantage. As if reading his mind, Cha smiled.

“You wanted to know how an Inquisitor fights? Well they don’t; a good Inquisitor is a murderer who gets someone else to do the dirty work then knifes them when they are asleep.” Cha casually offered during a bladelock. Zearic said nothing, working through his Water Forms.

Seeing an opening, Zearic scissored his two blades causing Cha to block high. With a flick of his wrist, he was able to disarm Cha of one of his sabers, the hilt flying away and seemingly lost in the darkening white sands. Grinning, Zearic thought he’d gained advantage. Until he saw the look on Cha’s face.

“You still fight like a knight! Unimaginative, restrained…Kazic should’ve taught you better!” The name struck harder than Cha’s blows, words immediately falling from the big man’s mouth.

“What do you know ab—” A palm to his throat choked the word back, an instant later Cha had him on the ground from a lightning-fast leg sweep, causing Zearic to land with a heavy thud. Summoning his sabre back to his hand, Cha’s face looked almost…disappointed(?)…but changed a split-second later looking bored, a ghost of contempt apparent on his lips.

“I know nothing of ‘Kazic’ other than you will be distracted by his mention.” He intoned, walking away, a shadow among shadows in the ever-darkening landscape.

Coughing as he rose, Zearic labored to get air past his wounded throat, all the while berating himself.

Cha’s words stuck doggedly with him, the hard truth of his admonishments echoing through the Gray Jedi’s skull. Once again, the whispered litany that had haunted him for as long as he could remember drifted across his mind.

…You will kill them, all of them…

The utter blackness of night fell around him, cold, dark, and lonely. But even as he shivered, all thoughts of food and drink forgotten, Zearic’s body felt nothing but numbness. As sleep took ahold, his mind raced with the events of the day and the lessons that he’d learned.

And Zearic avowed that he would not need to learn the same thing twice…

<<<<< >>>>>

Day 2

Zearic awoke before M’Tzigon’s sun peeked above the horizon, the pre-dawn gray washing out any and all geographical disparities amongst the sands. Which of course meant that Cha would use this to his advantage. He may have been hiding but the day’s training had begun.

Zearic knew that he’d have to keep up his strength. And without basic supplies like food and water, he would be at a further disadvantage. He chanced drawing upon the Force, searching out anything living in order to both hopefully draw Cha out as well as look for anything he could eat.

Unsurprisingly, he found neither. Shifting his focus, Zearic instead searched for one of the natural spring wells that dotted the Osa Dormeondo Dunes. It only took him about an hour and by that time the sun was already scorching, the sands of the desert an oven.

Coming upon the well, Zearic bent over the water, cupping his hands to drink meanwhile raptly paying attention from the corners of his eyes. There wasn’t enough water to satiate his thirst but it was at least something.

So it was then that Cha attacked. As with the day before, Cha’s presence in the Force wasn’t there until it suddenly was. With a split-second warning, Zearic ducked under a savage cut, rolling into a defensive position, both of his sabers ignited and ready…

…Only to face nothing but sand. But he wasn’t able to ponder on it for too long; a brutal kick from behind him sent the big maenowan crashing into the sand, Cha’s twin red blades burning holes in the desert as Zearic desperately fought to roll away. Knowing he needed to regain the initiative, he projected a powerful yet unfocused Force Push at Cha. Either the former Inquisitor had expected it or Zearic’s aim was off but it was enough to distract. Using the precious time that he’d won, Zearic performed a kip-up, which immediately brought his sabers to the ready. Only Cha was no longer in front of him…

And so it went throughout the day.

Had there been any witnesses, they would have seen two figures fighting opposite one another. Just as their sabers cast red, blue&silver hues across the desert, their boots and clothes were a stark contrast against the harsh white gypsum sand, both men as hard as the rock strata that stabbed through the desert sands. And while they were of a height, that was where the similarities ended. One had a slender yet muscled build, handsome tanned-skin face clean-shaven showing an easy, oily smile, clad in off-white robes, his tan boots seeming to hover just above the sand before disappearing like a mirage. The other was much wider, heavy shoulders and barrel chest beneath a bearded face sporadically peppered with white, his dark brown boots sinking into the desert floor as if the man weighed as much as the surrounding rock, intensely odd hazel eyes which bespoke of hardship…

And resolve.

But Zearic was on edge, careful to use his other senses—sight, smell, and hearing—to seek out his enemy…Cha was out there somewhere but he couldn’t discern where…and thirst was beginning to take hold. The noontime sun glared straight above, the unforgiving rays beating down upon him causing him to momentarily hallucinate. For…for a moment he thought he saw…D’Aylanna…? No, no that couldn’t be right… The big man castigated himself—Focus!—recalling his previous conversations with the former Inquisitor.

He needed to stop thinking like a knight.

It had been almost an hour since he’d last seen Cha but Zearic knew that the interim wouldn’t last. And it was then and there that he decided that he would no longer be the hunted but rather become the hunter…

Using only an iota of the Force, he wrapped himself in a Buried Presence technique…but not like how the Vhal’Dan had taught him.

No, like he’d seen Cha do, the former Inquisitor all but disappearing regardless of having been right in front of Zearic at the time. One moment there, then like that: Cha was gone, leaving no trace whatsoever. And he’d left no footprints in the sand either. Neat trick, that.

Zearic looked behind himself, more than a little pleased when he noticed that he too was no longer leaving any tracks. And just as he was about to mentally congratulate himself, he heard the quiet hum of an activated lightsaber blade swinging towards him…

Reacting by instinct, Zearic caught Cha’s invisible blade upon his silver shoto, meanwhile raising his icy-blue mainhand saber in a midguard…only to have Cha’s other saber hilt clobber him across his jaw.

Ignoring the pain, he spit blood from his mouth all the while wondering how in the hell Cha had seen him…

Squinting, Zearic shook his head to clear it. The entire desert floor seemed to…undulate and flow, the heat radiating from the sand creating multiple mirages…yet…

Yet one was remarkably like the shape and size of a body…

…A body that attacked! Once again, Zearic was able to block the incoming blades with his own sabers. More importantly, he thought that he could actually see the red of Cha’s lightsabers, although it appeared as if he were staring through clouded transparisteel. Parrying another quick succession of strikes, he knew that he could now make out minor details, even though it seemed as if he was engaged in combat against nothing but a mirage. But he didn’t stop…

…Yet another lesson learned. Dropping his Force Obfuscation, Cha’s face was affixed with the oily mask that he normally wore. But…but for at least a second or two, Zearic could swear that he saw…approval(?). Before the big maenowan could focus more, Cha laughed, running backwards towards a small island of rock strata erupting from the white sands. With a deft flip, he disappeared behind the rock, yet his voice could still be heard.

“Good. But you are still thinking like a Jedi.” His tone changed, no longer condescending. “The Jedi that got away were the ones willing to sacrifice others to save themselves, the ones who tried to still be knights died, cut down by Vader or mopped up by us.”

Zearic ran after him, only partly listening. Jumping up onto the rock face, he realized his mistake only after he’d committed: unable to see the full vantage from the bottom of the rock island, Zearic now saw that Cha was waiting for him, the trap closing fast upon him. Cha’s sabers were meant to bisect Zearic at the arc of his Jump, the Gray Jedi’s momentum his own downfall…

Frantic, Zearic drew fully upon the Force, Pushing down with all of his intent, allowing him to seemingly double-Jump in the air and narrowly avoiding Cha’s blades. When Zearic landed, it was all that he could do to keep the former Inquisitor’s blades from him. But the day’s lessons weren’t over.

Even as Zearic parried, Cha suddenly disengaged, teleported sand slamming into the larger man’s face, temporarily blinding him. Even before Zearic could clear his vision, Cha projected a Force Thorn at him. And while the maenowan thought he was prepared for the metaphysical assault, he did not expect Cha to suddenly be right in front of him. Before he could react, he felt Cha’s knee crash into his solar plexus, driving the wind from him. Simultaneously, a small rock hit him squarely on the crown of his head, causing him to see stars. But even before his body could register the pain, Zearic was thrown bodily up into the air. The Force Thorn hit home at the same time as his body hit the oncoming ground.

Around him, the growing shadows of dusk began to give way to the night.

Head spinning, waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm him, and the Force as far out of reach as the distant stars, it was all Zearic could do to try to regain his feet. Again, the look on Cha’s face seemed to be…expectant(?)…but almost immediately was replaced by his usual disinterest. As was his voice.

“Mack will fight with rhythm and pace, throw Chaos in his face.” Cha disappeared into the heat-mirage of the darkened desert.

As Zearic fought to stave off the effects of the Thorn, he collapsed in a heap upon the desert floor, exhaustion and blackness settling upon him.

And for a second night, Zearic’s body succumbed to the numbness of the day’s injuries…as well as his need for food and water. As he finally lost consciousness, he heard once again the whisper that continued to haunt him:

…You will kill them, all of them…

<<<<< >>>>>

Day 3

The following morning was even worse: Zearic was violently awakened by one of Cha’s metaphysical attacks, this time a potent Memory Walk. As thoughts of Gaetana were dredged up and replayed, Zearic instead desperately focused upon something tangible, anchoring him to the here-and-now.

The gnawing hunger within his stomach did the trick.

And none too soon: the Memory Walk was merely a feint. Suddenly the red glow of Cha’s twin blades dispelled what remained of dawn’s shadows. Working his sabers furiously, Zearic’s defenses were at least adequate through the morning…

Cha’s attacks were consistent in one regard: they were always inconsistent from one encounter to the next. From his dawn ambush to Force Illusions during noon to an unrelenting twin-pronged saber/Force-power offensive, Zearic continued to be beaten down, chipped away at, broken…and remolded. At least as far as his tactics and strategies were concerned.

But, he absorbed all of those hard taught lessons, never once falling for the same trick twice. Yet, if Zearic continued to learn, Cha had much to teach, his repertoire of seemingly unending attacks, tricks, and powers an endless repertory from which to choose from.
Where Cha had learned so much from, Zearic could at least guess…

Early in the afternoon, Zearic had reached another one of the many automated mining sites within the Osa Dormeondo Dunes. Even alert he was still surprised by Cha’s ambush. All along one of the metal walls Zearic suddenly felt as if gravity was shifting polarity. Rushing towards the wall as if he were falling towards the ground, the big maenowan attempted to slash directly at Cha’s Force weaves. Only partly successful, Zearic crashed into the metal, the wall exploding as a result of his momentum and the rusted, weakened state of the construct.

Covered in small lacerations, his left eye swelling from taking the brunt of the impact, Zearic was able to spy Cha with his Force-enhanced senses. Even now Cha chuckled, thinking the Gray Jedi unconscious. But he was wrong. Ignoring the pain, Zearic didn’t try anything fancy but instead Pulled.

With a suddenness that Cha had not expected, the former Inquisitor’s eyes widened comically as the stanchion beneath his feet gave way causing him to fall. His saberstaff was ripped from his grasp as it hit the metal railings reshaping itself, creating a crude if formidable cage. And within its center, when all of the commotion had ceased, lay Cha’s unmoving body…

Zearic rose to his feet unsteadily, half-limping over to where the cage now stood. A small grin played upon his lips…until he noticed that Cha was no longer breathing. Grimly, Zearic ran up to the metal’s perimeter, using the Force to pull the cage apart. Just as he reached his arm in intent on helping Cha, he suddenly heard a familiar chuckle. Turning his head, Zearic’s eyes widened in shock just as a thick metal beam plowed into him lengthwise. The air knocked out of him, Zearic struggled to regain his footing. Instead, the big man staggered before collapsing upon the ground.

Looking around, he saw Cha’s “body” disappear, the Force Projection having distracted Zearic completely.

Looking slowly about he saw the former Inquisitor appear from behind his Concealment, Cha stretching out his arm as he recalled the fallen saberstaff to him.

“You may have the blood of the Gods, but not enough compared to their blessings.” Holding his hand palm up Cha closed down his weapon, calling a halt. Exhaling, Zearic nodded.

The big maenowan dragged himself to a sitting position, putting both of his lightsabers back upon his belt. Zearic had gotten used to Cha’s attendant assertions. “They’re…not Gods.” He bit back through the moisture-eating sand in his throat.

“Are they not…would you say that to one of them while you kneel before them, unable to move a muscle?” Zearic couldn’t tell if Cha was being rhetorical or was genuinely asking.

But as worn as he was now, as heavy as his limbs were from the exertion, it was nothing compared to the effect they had had on him, Zearic had to concede. Yet…that did not make them divine.

Only powerful.

Cha continued. “There are no Gods Zearic, only very real monstrosities that play fast and bloody across the galaxy.” The former Inquisitor strode over toward a small pack tensing his unnaturally taught back muscles before taking a swig from his canteen.

“Pawns like us must merely choose which of the Titans we wish to serve, to sit under their shadow rather than be crushed by their feet…I chose the ones that offered what I desired most…”

Cha wiped the sweat from his brow, the tanned skin of his face flushed red and sprinkled by flecks of the profuse white sands.

“I once thought I desired power, strength, glory…respect, even honor…a young man’s foolishness that lead him to follow his brother into the Emperor’s service…”

Zearic slowly rose back up brushing off the rust, sweat stinging into small cuts on his arms and back. Listening intently, he was certain that Cha had dropped the façade he wore.

“But in the end I realized it was pleasure, youth, beauty I wanted most, and there was none of that in the Inquisition unless you were a sadist delighting in torturing the Jedi captives and beating down your inferiors…or an opportunist knifing your superiors…” An almost wistful expression hung to his face.

“And your new Gods gave you what you wanted.” There was no scorn in Zearic’s voice, no accusation…just a statement of fact.

“For a price…we have no say in who is greater than us, on who can rain down their patronage…and rarely can we even choose to whom we are indentured…” There was a fatalism to his thoughts, one similar to something Scrubber had said to Zearic:“We don’t get to choose who helps us when we need it Vih’Torr…keep that in mind…”

It was a pragmatism that Zearic could respect, if still begrudge the implications.

Cha peered into the now empty canteen, his tone shifting back to its foppish sharp highs that served as such an effective mask.
“No one keeps score, no one rewards the Just nor punishes the Wicked; take what you want and avoid paying for it if you can, and hopefully…” Sabrestaff igniting, he lit the shadowed ruins blood-red. “…Get some pleasure out of this wretched hive we call a galaxy.”

As the third night fell upon the desert, Zearic and Cha having fought almost continuously until the silver crescent of M’Tzigon’s largest moon was high upon the horizon, the former Inquisitor once again disappeared into the blackness of the sands.

Abruptly, Zearic crumpled upon the ground falling into sleep precisely where he fell. But as he did so the familiar, haunting whisper was the last thing that he heard…

…You will kill them, all of them…

<<<<< >>>>>

Day 4

By the fourth day, dehydrated, hungry, and sleep-deprived, Zearic struggled to maintain any cohesive defense; he could no longer attack with any facility. Cha’s relentless “instructions” had more than taken their own toll, and not just physically.

But…given what he’d learned…it was a price well worth paying.

Zearic’s silver-bladed shoto intercepted one of Cha’s red, only to fall through empty air as the former Inquisitor briefly deactivated the plasma blade, surging past Zearic’s shoto and reactivating a second later. The big maenowan was in danger of being bisected as Cha followed through with his saberstaff, only air and blowing sand between the red blade and Zearic’s thorax.

Using a momentary surge with the Force, Zearic’s reflexes became superhumanly fast, the icy-blue blade of his main lightsaber barely able to stop Cha’s attack.

But that was only physically. On the metaphysical level, Cha’s invasive Memory Walk once again threatened to overwhelm Zearic. Unlike yesterday’s effort at Memory Walking (or “Torture by chagrin” as Cha noted, his foppish tone a mnemonic that Zearic had come to despise…but heed at his own detriment) Cha attempted to recall ALL of his worst fears, embarrassments, and disappointments. But Cha still took it one further…

His Memory Walking attempted to recall it all simultaneously.

Dedicating a brief flash of Force Suppression, Zearic fought off the Memory Walking while also parrying a brutal assault from Cha’s saberstaff.

But the crux of Cha’s attacks were neither his blades nor the Memory Walking. As Zearic raised his blue lightsaber to parry, he felt a sudden inrush of air and a small sonic boom…and found himself empty-handed, bereft of his main weapon. Quickly bringing his shoto to bear, he stopped Cha’s saberstaff by mere centimeters.

Mentally castigating himself, Zearic knew that he’d been so focused on resisting the Memory Walking that he hadn’t thought to secure his defenses against Cha’s teleportation. Not that Cha could teleport anything of substantial mass nor very far, but clearly he felt that the great expenditure of Force energies would be worth the advantage, even if momentarily.

…Well, two can lay that sabacc hand down… Zearic thought even as he fought with renewed focus.

Cha’s attacks against his shoto had Zearic retreating, losing ground where his boots suddenly felt solid rock instead of soft sand. The anticline was precisely what he needed. Zearic made certain that Cha continued to press his attack, advancing as he did so, and when his right boot stood upon the solid rock anticline, the big maenowan readied himself.

Just as Cha advanced again, he took a step. Just as he brought his other boot down upon what he expected to be rock, Zearic acted. Again, opening himself to the Force, he drew on as much as he could; Zearic knew that he’d need it.

Even with his augmented Force Ability, what Zearic did took much from him. But it was a calculated risk…and he was close to utter exhaustion; the Gray Jedi could not hold out much longer.

When Cha planted his foot, he swung his saberstaff in a tight arc, intending on reversing the orbiting second red blade around Zearic’s shorter shoto. But before he could do so, he suddenly and unexpectedly slipped.

It was a minute stumble and one that Cha would normally recover from. But Zearic had anticipated—no, planned—on him doing such. So, dropping all pretense of defending Zearic focused entirely on his attack leaving himself entirely exposed.

Zearic felt his shoto hit home, Cha’s eyes widening with both surprise and as a result of the hit. The former Inquisitor’s face played between surprise, pain, and confusion.

But then, he broke out in a grin. “And now: I am dead.” His laugh had none of the foppish flippancy nor high tonality of before; it was genuine…or as sincere as Zearic had heard from Cha.

“For a change…” The big maenowan’s tired voice croaked, unconsciously spitting sand from dried, broken lips. Unceremoniously he collapsed in a heap, sitting hunched over on the desert sands, the sun at his back sinking towards the horizon.

With the lengthening sunlight of M’Tzigon’s sun marking the beginning of dusk, Cha walked over to where he’d stowed his supplies. Drinking deeply from his canteen he never once looked away from his opponent. And, with a move that surprised Zearic, he tossed his still-full canteen at him.

Hitting Zearic squarely in the chest, the big man greedily, clumsily uncapped the canteen and drank deeply from the water within. It was warm and metallic; it was refreshing and delicious.

Neither man spoke, dusk turning into night. While Zearic recovered his lightsaber hilt from the white sands, Cha made a small fire, sharing one of his rations. The former Inquisitor was surprisingly quiet and subdued. Which suited Zearic fine; he held no illusions about this man. He was neither an ally and certainly not a friend.

The thought inadvertently turned Zearic introspective, especially thinking of his friend Karmack. Of the time that they first met in the Mak’Tor Hall of Balance, inaugurating an evening of shared camaraderie. Of the time that they’d fought together at Geonosis, taking down Jennira’s Dark Singers. Of the time that Ken had saved Jorya from Mellichae. The big man gave a small, wistful smile. Karm certainly had raised the boy—man, Zearic had to admit—right.

True friends.

Zearic suddenly saw Cha looking at him, an intense look upon his face. And reality came crashing back upon him…and his reasons for being here…

“That was well done, teleporting that sand underfoot where I’d expected solid rock.” Cha’s face almost looked impressed. Almost.

Schooling his own, Zearic adopted an impassive tone. “I can’t teleport as much mass as you…and I was desperate.” …Like now… He thought. What else would you call a situation where one was actively seeking out training from an enemy…so as to ensure that a friend would not become likewise…

When next Zearic focused upon Cha, his mask was firmly affixed, the small almost-smile evident.

“Well then, lucky for me that we were using the low-power ‘practice’ settings.” He balled his robe up, laying down in the shallow depression he’d made in the sand as his bed. “Rest up, Vih’Torr. Tomorrow training resumes.” Zearic saw him smile toothily. “And I’ll no longer be holding back!”

Zearic had no idea if he was jesting. Nor did he care; he was here to learn absolutely everything that Cha could teach. Saying nothing, he followed Cha’s example knowing full well that as exhausted as he was, he’d be asleep in moments.

Yet surprisingly, he lay awake, restless. One thing kept sleep at bay, the very worry that saw him—even now—in the current predicament he found himself in.

Karm.

He was a true friend, proven time and again. But he was also stubborn and willfully obdurate to what the Ancient One represented. He remembered Kazic telling him once that “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” And there was the rub of it all.

How could he possibly reconcile the two facts that Karm—his friend—was undeniably a person of mass destruction? Zearic smiled sardonically, keenly aware of the irony of his own recent experiences. Arguably with his own augmentation, he’d become a powerful Jedi, closer to D’Aylanna, Kazic, and even Karm himself.

But with the Ancient One…

Zearic had already lived through the reign of one powerful tyrant, and Palpatine had subjugated the galaxy in short order after declaring himself…

What if…what if something happened and Karm did likewise? As far as Zearic knew, Karm was the only Jedi—the only person—that could use the artifact. And he was reminded, Karm had left Zearic behind to go after the Ancient One himself…

Now after Vyth…he’d only gotten stronger.

Zearic shut his eyes, doubt, duty, and determination roiling in his mind. But as usual, it came back to one thing for him: his family, D’Aylanna and Jorya. Opening his eyes, he reminded himself again about his motives for being here.

He—and he alone Zearic was convinced—could act as the stopgap measure…should it come to that. Feeling somewhat mollified, the big man closed his eyes, sleep finally claiming him. And for once he heard nothing of the whispered curse admonishing him of his future failure…

So it was that he failed to see Cha staring, eyes clear and alert, as if having read Zearic’s mind. And upon his lips was a broad smile, knowing and cruel.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 35 — Holiday — Part 1

Ken

It felt strange to be on the Gryphon without Ry. He was not alone of course, with his grandfather, Julwynn and Balnard Kohl along, but still… It had been strongly suggested by the new Kage that they all stay as far from Aertemis industries as possible after the Canto Bite disaster, which meant getting off-planet in the short term. The only ship available that could accommodate them all was Gryphon. Ken understood the logic, but this had been his and Ry’s ship…however difficult their first outing to Csilla was…it was still theirs. It was hard not feel like the others were interlopers … and he missed Ry. Terribly.

They floated at the edge of the system waiting for orbital control to upload their request of all jumps out of the system since the battle as well as a dump from the deep system sensors of all astrographic anomalies in the same time period. They hoped to correlate the two and determine approximately where Morrigan could have gone. It was a long shot but it was the best they could do to try and find her.

Ken was well aware that had Aertemis really taken her on one of their black ships…well there wouldn’t be much hope of tracing her at all. This was busy work to get the Mack’s and their friends off of M’tzigon and out of the Kage’s - and Artemis’ - hair…

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t put his all into the effort.

“Coming through now…” Chillum noted as R6 – Ricky – beeped with excitement to analyse the vast sums of data.

Ken checked the feed. “Ooof…600 Terabytes….that’ll keep you busy Ricky…” The blinking yellow on the droids main ‘eye’ indicated genuine excitement on his part. “Try and focus on gravity anomalies between M’tzigon and the moon. If I were trying to hide my approach and departure, that's the best place to do it.”

Their ships might be invisible to normal sensors – but they still had mass and that meant gravity, however small.

Ricky blinked and blurted away assessing the data as Ken idly scrolled through the records, huge lists of coordinates and estimates of mass…till he came across one

[12.667.881 < > ERROR READING < > 38,598,321 MT]

“What the…”

“Found something son?”

“An error…38 million metric tons of error…”

Ken brought up the logs associated with it from Orbital control…it had been deleted as an obviously erroneous reading, the sensor satellite that picked it up was now scheduled for repair and recalibration.

“Bal…” Ken called out

“Yep…yep here I am!”

“How much does a star destroyer weigh?”

“Eh…ooh Imp Class 1…about 40 million plus or minus,”

“So this satellite detected something with the same mass as a Star Destroyer which appeared for 2.1 seconds and then vanished…” Ken could understand why Control deleted the record as just being a bizarre error. In any other situation it would have been. But recalling the Black Dagger ship he had briefly seen while working with the Sons….

“Ricky…I want you to look for only gravity distortions with a mass of 30 million tons or larger…”

The droid booped with excitement.

“The only thing that big was the Requiem.” Balnard noted, “Pretty hard to miss something that huge.”

“Not necessarily…” Ken switched to Ricky’s feed. “Just because it weighs as much as a Star Destroyer doesn’t mean it’s as big as one…”

Chillum nodded in sudden understanding. “Ultradense materials…it could weigh just as much but be half, maybe even a third of the volume. A Star Destroyer sized object is hard to hide, a Frigate or Cruiser sized ship…?”

“Exactly…orbital control would write off the reading as an error because they can’t see a thing…but you can’t hide from gravity forever,”

Ricky tweeted and bounced on his legs as a summary scrolled up the screen

“Three instances…the one we just saw…another…”

“That was the day we came back from Canto Bite…” Chillum recognised.

“And the final one…about nine hours after the battle…on the other side of the system…they get around quiet in between, these signals must be when they make a Jump to hyperspace…the one in the middle was probably a micro jump to the edge of the system.”

Chillum clapped his hand on Ken’s shoulder
“Looks like you got em Son…we should forward this on to the Navy, have them keep their eyes open”

Ken considered it for a moment but thought against it.

“No…if too many people know it’ll get back to them and they’ll change tactics. Hiding is what they do best. We need to limit who knows, maybe just a few people, like my cousin Ellyn and Captain Nath for instance, to keep an eye out.”

“Loose lips sink ships eh,” Balanrd nodded “I agree…anyone who can cloak a ship that big – or rather heavy - is a lot smarter than M’Tzigon military intelligence or Naval firewalls…no offence”

“Only question is where they went from there…assuming Morrigan was even with them…”

“Best lead we have son,” Chillum added supportively.

“Ricky,” Ken asked

“What planets does Aertemis have a presence on…apart from Fresia and Canto Bite?”

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

The warmth and heat flowed all round her as she lay naked in the sands.

It had cost 500,000 of her 10 million credits to get even this mid tier accommodation on Spira – costs had peaked with the war it seemed – but it was worth it to feel sand, sun and sea breezes again.

She could hear the sounds of people chatting, laughing, living .

For a brief moment it was as if she had been her for a thousand years, listening to the surf…but the icy memory of her prison soon returned tingling down her back despite the heat of the white sands beneath her.

Her rest broken she stood and brushed the sand away heading to the umbrella’s surrounding the beach bar. M4 stood in a small section reserved for assistance droids, the enormous Dark Trooper dwarfing trembling protocol droids beside it.

The entire island was the property of the Luxury Hotel that towered in the centre of it, a subsidiary company of Aertemis Industries that M4 had chosen for her to stay at deeming it ‘safer’ than the others on the planet.

The hotel was a towering 50 storey building of deep blue glass with wide shaded balconies built atop an expired volcano in the forest centre of the island, small recreational buildings, bars, gymnasiums and such were dotted around connected by neat winding paths that light with gentle blue lights at night.

Sitting down she took a sip of the free iced waters, gazing across more living beings than she had seen in one place for centuries. Most were in bathing suits fitted to their species, a few like her completely undressed, the hotel seeming indifferent to the guests choice so long as the bill was paid.

Yet despite all these beings she still felt terribly alone, as if she were a mere observer in a holographic game of some kind…she could talk to the other characters if she liked…but none were truly real and soon she’d wake in her snow bound prison once more anyway.

They didn’t seem real because she still didn’t feel real.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“We have very clear and strict policies Sir” the nasally voiced docking officer explained

“And I will not breach them whatsoever,”

Balnard crossed his arms with a helpless sigh and looked back to Ken who was leaning on the wall behind him at the Spira Orbibtal Customs and Check-In station 33-1B.

Of the various planets Aertemis had a known presence on that were relatively short jumps from M’Tzigon – and not in contested space – this was the second they’d looked into, Chandrilla the first under the New Republics control had only, as it turned out, an Aertemis Industries Fashion house, that apart from – according to Julwyyn – an excellent rage of high end clothes – showed no signs of Black Armoured beings of even the Aertemis Girls being present.

“Come on…I know how this works,” Balnard leaned forward,
“500?”

“Sir! I must inform you that attempting to bribe an officer of the Spira Customs and Border Protection Department can result in a fine of 20,000 credits and expulsion from the system for 5 years!”

Well…I’m already banned from Canto Bite Balnard ruefully thought on the disastrous attempt to secure the Holocron of Soryu

“I think…you should just show us the records,” Ken said finally stepping up beside him.

“Sir I will most certainly no…..”

“…show us the records, you will most certainly show us the records,” Ken pressed, mind tricks were not his parituclar strong suit, and he did question the morality of them…but he could not deny their effectiveness.

The customs officer’s eyes appeared slightly glassy for a moment.

“Sir I will most certainly show us…I mean you…the records of arrivals over the last week…”

A few quick taps and then the officer spun his screen around – it was till behind protective transparisteel that divided the officers from the travellers but it was legible if only just.

Balanrd standing closer squinted as the list scrolled. He didn’t expect to see the name ‘Morrigan’ but he hoped for something out of the….

“That ain’t usual,”

“Got something,”

“Four days ago, ship docked on a station other side of the planet…Raider 2 Class Corvette, passenger and droid shuttled to Lysana Island Hotel…female human aged 30 named ‘Melinda Mo’ris,”

Ken chewed on it for a moment thinking back to the de-briefings after the battle of S'Kar'Yom…

“Zearics Bane…Mendax’s Raider 2 Class ship was never found was it,” Ken noted

“It just was,” Balnard smiled.

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

An ancient riddle, if a tree falls in a forest an no one is there to hear it does it make a sound. Sure it might cause displacement of air, a wave in the molecules…but is that a sound.

Applied to her own situation, if a person lives and there is no one to notice they live, do they exist? Had she existed for all those long years alone when no one spoke to her, saw her, even considered her?

Morrigan would not allow herself to be so vanished again, she needed to be seen, to be heard, to be…touched by more than the hulking grey form of M4.

Undoubtedly she could turn to the Aertemis girls that had released her, embodied her, provided for her…but they had their own agenda’s and if there was a second promise to herself she would make it was not to be part of anyone’s schemes or plans again.

She would find her own companions to prove her reality to herself.

Two hours in the hotel salon and a stop at the attached shop had her shining, blonde hair wafting seamlessly into the creamy silken dress as she strode into the hotel bar, lights only half dimmed, the well dressed upper class clientele blending seamlessly into the tastefully opulent furniture’s of dark leathers and hard woods.

She easily picked out the single human men among the crowd, how they flitted to and fro trying their luck with various women.

Anyone of them would do so long as she got something…it had been much too long.

Taking up a chair she tentatively opened herself to the Force, the connection still raw at the edges but firming in the core as it healed.

She could still remember all the Songs…dark songs Dorian had called them derisively…one in particular she would use…a ‘Siren’ song, one to lure beings in, a quick and entrancing melody on her lips tuned to the beats of energy she let slip.

A few bars was all that was needed and they would come to her.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

Mind Tricks can get a Gray very far…but not past a droid.

“…have a good day,” the unmoving face ‘smiled’ as they were beaten again.

To get to the Lysana Hotel one needed either a reservation…or to book a room.

They didn’t have the former and the latter…well Ken had a small budget for expenses…but not the 100,000 credits for the minimum stay, especially after the costs incurred on his Mothers mission to Canto Bite, and with the reconstruction on M’Tzigon there was no way Er’Lav would approve additional funds to see if Morrigan was there.

He turned back to Julwyyn defeated s the next in line a Nemoidian with a hat as tall as he was pushed up to the desk sneering at Ken in his out of place well worn travelling utilities.

“No luck….” He sighed,

Julwyyn shrugged

“I’m sure Bal with come up with something…he always does,”

“Taking my name in vain?” the older man said coming up from behind with Chillum

“Bal any luck?”

“Eh’ a bit, won’t be comfy…or nice…but we’ll get there…”

“An understatement…” Chillum noted “I suggest we take a change of clothes…”

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

Bodies warm and alive lay littered around her room in between discarded wrapper of confectionary worth more than most beings houses. Her own was flushed and hot, wet with sweat in the humid air.

Surrounded as she was by life, as fawned upon as she had been by the three lovers she had picked out and brought here, still she was cold and alone.

Stepping over the younger of the three – was that the Banker, gym junkie or the one who had defied his wealthy family to join the police but still lived like a billionaire, she couldn’t recall.

Three nights before she had listened to their words, how men loved to speak of themselves, as she worked her song – she hadn’t really needed to, as she entered the bathroom she saw the beauty of her body in the full length mirror that was more than enough to have one of the three, the Politician as she recalled, ditch his spouse to go with her.

The auto sense tap turning on she splashed water on her face to cool down.

Did she feel more alive for indulging in the most basic of a biological beings needs for the last three, now probably four, days?

Did she feel more ‘visible’ to the galaxy…more ‘real’.

In the screaming thrusting moments where sensation filled her advanced body from tip to toe she had…

But not now…

These men shells, disposable items to be used and discarded, their gaze didn’t validate her, their affection already boring for being too easily won.

<<<<>>>

Ken

“It’s never coming out is it?”

“No son…” Chillum said voice muffled behind a handkerchief across his face

“It won’t,”

The trip was not comfy, and they needed a change of clothes in a plas-sealed bag.

To get onto the Hotel island Bal had found a sufficiently inebriated transport flyer playing Pazaak in a bar on the orbital docks between shifts, Chillum had cheated him out of a few hands with the Force, and now the pilot owed Bal 3000 credits to be repaid by smuggling them to the surface.

Of course the flyer piloted one of the many Garbage transports that took rubbish from the hotels and resorts to a recycling plant on a barren planet closer to the sun, they got to enjoy the vast empty hold that stank like a rodians arm pit on the return journey.

As the ship lifted off they moved cautiously through the largely empty staff passage ways of the vast hotel complex. At this level they were populated only by droids that simply went about their programmed routines.

“Here!” Julwyyn whispered as they passed a large room full of hissing and spinning machines

“Laundry – staff uniforms…”

“Good…” Ken replied “Bal work out an exit but stay off the main floors,”

As convincing as Balnard could be his lack of the force meant he was a higher risk if caught out of place compared to the others who could suppress curiosity with the Force or mind trick if needed.

“The rest of us will spread out and look, we’ve got three slicers each for data nodes, use them sparingly,”

He checked his chrono

“We meet back here in 6 hours, remember Melinda Mo’ris,”

<<<<>>>

Chapter 35 — Holiday — Part 2

Julwyyn

She paused at the corner as three unshaven dazed looking men plodded past her, while many guests wandered around in bathers; these were in regular underwear and didn’t look like they had just returned from the beach.

Julwyyn shrugged and tapped her Housekeeping hover cart to move along.

After splitting up she’d made her way through the staff levels, following a woman of similar build she had hacked her locker open after her shift to take her staff pass and clothes, swiped one of the dozens of housekeeping sleds then checked the cleaning rota which was unfortunately absent of names, instead she squeezed behind a reception desk to slice through to get the room she needed.

She wandered carefully toward the door just as another opened.

“Oh there you are at last!” a worn rotund woman with a sunburnt face burst in front of her

“I’ve been waiting nearly two hours! Ridiculous, well get to it,” she turned to the open doorway

“Kids get moving!”

“uh I…”

“I want that refresher clean enough to eat off, And don’t expect a tip!” the woman complained pushing past her followed by a gaggle of pudgy children

Julwyyn didn’t move as the door further along that she was here to inspect opened a blonde woman stepping out.

“Well get moving, lazy staff I tell you…”

Little choice but to keep up her cover Julwyyn headed into the rotund woman’s room gloves on.

<<<<>>>

Ken

A string of beeps in Cantor- Code vibrated the comm in his pocket.
<Found – 14-52 – blonde cream dress – delayed – room check>

It was progress of a sort, Chillum had been waylaid by a Vordan couple insisting he inspect their creaking bed, his grandfather having worn a concierge’s outfit as cover now paying the price leaving only Ken to seek her out.

Walking round the airy colonnades of the ground floor that seamlessly connected the palm lined beaches and manicured jungle walks to the hotel on the look out for a blonde woman Ken began to wonder what he was even doing here.

The Nameless One, the most powerful Dark singer the Mak’tor had records of, enemy of Dorian a legendary Master singer, had been revived by powers unknown – though likely Aertemis as they had Mendax – for reasons obscure…

He should be feeling honoured to be sent to stop such a deadly and powerful enemy…

And yet…

Ken wasn’t chosen because the Kage had faith in his abilities to capture or confront Morrigan, only to get him off world because of the politics and problems his father had created.

My father…if anyone should be hunting down a Dark singer on the loose it should be him, the ‘Master Singer’…but no…he’s off to Coruscant chasing the shadows of his own paranoia….

All he’d received were increasingly troubling updates from mom by text over the last few days.

The bright sun of Spira seemed scorching as he stewed on his own resentment, blinking away the heat haze and humid air coming off the crowd wandering to and from the crystal blue waters he nearly missed the shimmer silk covered figure waft past him.

Somehow he knew…something about how she moved, how she carried herself, it was like Talia’s friends Vesi and Sophi, like the BA he had spoken to briefly on Csilla, it was elegant, beautiful, radiant…but so…

Inhuman, too perfect, like it’s by design, forced beauty…

Whatever the reason he was on this joke of a mission, he would see it through to the best of his ability.

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

Even as she approached the attendant at the Droid Locker trembled.

M4 had that effect on people, the hulking Phrik covered Dark Trooper was classified as her ‘Personal Assistant Droid’ and stored with the other domed astromechs and jittery protocol droids.

Pressing buttons the convey belt lurched and groaned under the weight as it was released to accompany her outside, droids being banned within the hotel itself expecting for species that required their assistance for locomotion or survival.

Strolling just outside M4 greeted her as usual
[Goddess how may this unit assist you]

“Just follow along while I go for swim…” she sighed hoping the salt water would wash the emptiness away.

<<<<>>>>

Now there was no doubt at all…a hulking Dark Trooper Mark IV parted the crowd before Morrigan terrifying children and making a number of beings nauseous by its mere presence.

Ken followed at a distance weaving behind the main wake of staggered holiday makers.

She headed through the airy colonnades to the jungle path at a leisurely pace, bare feet on the sandy path as the sun lit her hair even brighter.

Ken watched her moving from column to column, behind trees and umbrella’s wondering more every second

What in the Makers name am I doing here, why am I doing this at all…The Kage doesn’t care, Morrigan’s not doing anything evil or illegal even…

To fulfil the duty set by the Kage was the role of a knight – and yet when the Kage didn’t care, when there was no true meaning to the work assigned?

Finally coming to stop beside a small bar attended by a dusty looking droid he simply watched the incredibly beautiful Morrigan swim in the ocean, her hulking droid providing drinks and towels as she required.

As she towelled off salt water and sand she felt the eyes upon her, her Force powers regrowing day by day.

Ken quickly busied himself collecting empty glasses on the bar as she looked in his direction, until the serving droid aghast at its task being appropriated fought to wrest one off him.

“Like what you see?” a sweet honeyed voice crooned in his ear

Ken swallowed hard turning slowly to come face to face with the Nameless One – the Dark Singer, the unspeakably evil woman who had created demented song crystals, enthralled hundreds.

And she was Beautiful. Her look, her smell overthrew all resistance as he felt his mind melt into the sheer pleasure of being in her presence, a feeling he had never experienced except with Ry – the Chiss girl now a faded distant memory.

“Come boy…show me what kind of Man you are,”

<<<<>>>>

Chillum

Where is that boy?

In his ill-fitting suit he had gotten to where Ken had reported he had cited the woman, but he was nowhere to be found.

He tapped his wrist commlink in their variation on binary code

Location

There was no response. Breathing out he knew he had to trust his grandson. Ken would always be the tiny baby pressed to his weeping daughters breast to Du’an Chillum, but he was a grown man now able to handle himself, and importantly knew when to ask for help.

If only his father did too,

<<<<>>>>

Bedroom Dalliances

14-52 was a sizeable suite with one master bedroom, two living spaces, kitchen and large balcony.

There were various bags full of new clothes scattered on the lounge, the bedroom was an utter mess that held a familiar bodily scent…and in the Force Julwyyn could sense the remnants of Mating Ritual Arts as her Dathomiri heritage would term them.

Effective, but forceful they were used to subdue more aggressive males in her matriarchal society, it seemed Morrigan had her own version, somewhat more ‘lyrical’ in keeping with Mak’tor tendencies to use force songs.

What Julwyyn wasn’t certain of was if this was really enough of a use of the force to be considered incriminating. It was certainly domineering, but no more than a mind trick, and on her own home world perfectly acceptable.

She had found nothing else untoward, no dark crystals, no lightsabres or weapons…

A sudden click from behind signalled the arrival of Morrigan, soothing whispers growing louder as she approached.

Rancors eyes! her cleaning cart was in the hall, she quickly grabbed up some sheets left strewn on the floor, some still slightly moist.

“Housekeeping!” she yelled out as the bedroom door opened

Morrigan stood in her bathing suit, her arms draped over the tall muscular young man who had lost his shirt in the turbo lift as he frantically kissed her neck and shoulders.

“Ken!” the Housekeeper for all Morrigan knew burst out, the night sister sensing the sensual enchantment upon him

“Come back later,” Morrigan said dismissively irritated at the intrusion

Ken simply rolled his head in lazy circles staring at the shorter woman with unbridled lust.

For Julwyyn there was no point trying to maintain any cover.

“Let…let him go,”

Morrigan stared incredulously, why did the help care? Why was there a tension around her regarding her intended plaything…

No there is...deception…intrigue…

“Who are you really…” Morrigan said slowly, stepping forward, Ken following like an obedient Rancor pup.

“I...this boy is marked as mine, my apologies for…”

“Night Sister!” Morrigan sensed, if only her abilities were better recovered she’d have known sooner.

Julwyyn winced as the once powerful Dark singer probed her and Ken

“and Mak’tor!” Morrigan could curse her slow recovery

“Release him!” Julwyyn said confidently drawing her Arts into her body to prime for a counter spell

“Oh you don’t want to do that little witch!” Morrigan snapped – she might not have her finesses, but she had her fortitude of power.

“You couldn’t leave me alone could you…” Morrigan carefully stepped to the side giving Julwyyn a clean route to the door.
“…sanctimonious, puritanical sycophants, all these millennia and you’re still the same, pandering to your Makers ridiculous rules…now get out and leave me to my sport,”

“No, release him now,”

With a grin Morrigan struck.

The room lit with raw magicks, Julwyyn’s Light tempered powers and defensive charms sparking off Morrigans blasts of mental and telekinetic energy.

Pillows exploded and the bed crumpled in the cross fire. Ken remained oblivious with a dumb smile as Morrigan hummed a tune of battle on her lips and Julwyyn recited the strongest dispelling incantations she could.

The air glowed with runic talismans of Dathomir that Morrigna unwound expertly with counter tunes - two very different methods of wielding the force clashing and twisting around each other’s rules.

The sheets twisted as invisible winds lifted them, the trasnpaisteel of the window overlooking the wide sandy beached buckled outward, cupboard doors slammed open and shut.

Julwyyn couldn’t get an edge, her opponent lacked a certain precision but more than made up for it with raw power.

Morrigan pulsed out her song, it was inelegant, all deep bass notes of hammering intensity, but it did the job – one finally shattered the eldritch shield of the witch and slammed her backward, two more knocked her shoulders into the back of the wardrobe.

Leaping over the bed Morrigan used her meta-human bodies speed to slap the witch unconscious with a single hardened blow.

“Bitch…now you…”

With beckoning finger Ken wandered up to her. She pushed his chest hard as she could slamming him onto the bed.

“Tell…” she passed as the inebriated male kissed and caressed her oblivious to the ruined state of the suite.

“Me…” She slammed his arms above his head, pinning him down with her weight.

“Everything,”

<<<<>>>>>

“Hey what?” Balnard asked as he finally reached 14-52, having been held up by a very irritable Duro throuple asking for directions.

The door was wide open and there were clattering sounds inside.

He gingerly pulled his secreted hold-out blaster, crouching low he stalked into the main living area, a male voice speaking softly from another room.

As he neared careful to stick close to the walls a female voice briefly intruded as he peered around the doorway.

In nothing more than a two piece bathing outfit the woman sat astride the male who mercifully was clothed from the waist down still. He peered closely but couldn’t make out the man’s face.

The room was a mess, he glanced across the floor, the ruined bed legs to the wardrobe where…

Jul! she was unconscious, a small trickle of blood from her left nose.

Without hesitation he jumped up
“Parties over girly,”

Morrigan leapt astounded she hadn’t sensed anyone there revealing a groggy looking Ken.

“What ‘ta….what have ya done to him,”

She sneered

“What I’m about to do to….you….”

There was nothing there…not a trace…a Force blank…

Blanard saw the momentary look of confusion he had a dozen times before when a Force user came up empty against his Force Blindness.

He didn’t waste it. Firing he landed three quick stun bolts into her barely clothed chest, sending her writhing on the floor.

Rushing over he checked on Julwyyn,
“Lass…c’mon lass…”
A cough from her chapped lips as the most beautiful sound he had ever heard

“You alright Lass?”

“Huckkk….yes…but we need…Ken…get out…she’s too strong…”

Ken was sitting up staring at the still spasm filled Morrigan in a daze.

“Those bolts’ll keep out for…”

“unnnnggg….”

“Or not…” What Blanard had not anticipated was Morrigan’s new meta-human body being far more resilient than his stun setting allowed for.

An instinctive telekinetic blast slammed Balnard back into his wife before he could reach over to fire on Morrigan again.

“You….get….”

Two more bolts slammed into Morrigan from the side as Chillum entered.

“Grab Ken, Bal got an exit?”

“Yes’sir, taking her with us,”

Chillum with surprising strength for his age reached down and lifted her, needing the force to help given her weight.

“And hope we can….”

His spine froze in time with his rapid non-conscious movement. Chillum leapt to the side, the Force guiding him as the heavy fist of M4 sought to remove all threats from his Goddess.

“Oh frag….” Was all Balnard could say – there was no way just he and Chillum could take down one these darn ‘Kage Killer’ Mark IV’s without their regular armour and kit.

Fortunately M4 was only concerned with swiping up Morrigan in its arms and taking her to safety. Cradling her like the baby she was compared to the enormous machine that barely fit in the room, it smashed its way through the outer wall, its proton jets flaring.

Just lucid enough Julwyyn used the force to redirect the backwash of thrust to the far wall over Ken’s head as it escaped.

“Bal we need that exit fast!”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 36 — Home Fronts — Part 1

Karmack

The cabin once occupied by Knights Ja'Mason an Do’No’Van was musky and humid with the sweat of Karmacks exertions.

Fidgeting and restless he had rushed through his healing trance to work on more practical necessities - in this case twelve Kyber crystals floating around him, the Song resonating stronger in each orbit in front of him.

The monotony of the ‘tuning’ was getting to him, performing the same task on twelve Crystals in sequence, and worse making the same little mistake and then correction on all twelve was intensifying the itch behind his eyes.

But it would be worth it. The Crystal Choir he was forging would channel and magnify the power of the Ancient one which alone floated in place before him at all times.

Dorian and the Other entities within the crystal might not be accessible, indeed possible ven blocking him out as they stuck their metaphorical heads in the sand, disconnected ghosts that they were, regarding the imminent threats to the living - but the Power of the Ancient one to channel and strengthen the Song was if anything greater now than before…

No…the Crystal hasn’t changed Karmack realised as small flare of yellow sparked between the Ancient One and the Choir crystal
I’ve grown stronger…Odjina’s training, the Fight with Mendax…I can feel the change in me now more than ever…Ascendant…

So deep in his crafting he didn’t even realise Alex had been standing staring at him for the better part of ten minutes.

The Younger Jedi Sentinel holding the tray of fresh cooked food both fascinated and perplexed at the Mak’Tors incredible power. Alex had no clue what Karmack was doing, but by the Force it looked amazing and felt terrifying.

Finally Karmack opened his eyes returning from the depth of his own ascending song to the mundanity of the galaxy around him.

“Uh I ah hope I’m not interrupting…” Alex whispered

Karmack stretched out his hand, the ancient one settling back into the disassembled lightsbare that then locked together in perfect clicks and seals under his telekinetic control, the Crystals of the Choir settling in a small box.

“I’m finished for the moment, is that for me,” he pointed to the tray.

“Uh…yeah…” Alex tentatively set it down in front of the Master Singer.

Karm only just began to feel how hungry he was, grabbing the glass and gulping down the blue milk then devouring two pancakes.

“Thank you,” Karmack said belatedly as Alex continued to stare, less with his eyes than the force trying to puzzle out the strange confluence of energies.
“Was there something else you needed?”

Straightening a little Alex asked
“Well when we get to Coruscant, where exactly do you need to go? Tel’Owna was scant on the details said to ask you,”

Karmack sighed
“The Original Mountain, the Spire, deep beneath the Old Jedi Temple,”

“Jedi Temple I didn’t know there was one?” Alex asked eyes wide with naivety from Karmacks point of view.

“Of course you wouldn’t know, you’re too young…” he sighed once more “Beneath the Imperial Palace, but what we’re after is deeper, there are still ways to access it further out, we’ll need the very deepest, the Catacombs were dug beneath the mountain by the Mack of the Tor, the Kings of the Hill, before even the Republic…I only hope they haven’t caved in…”

“Wait hold up…beneath the Imperial Palace and beneath ground level!” Alex could hardly believe the near insane audacity of such a thing

“That’s…that’s crazy, everyone knows the further down you go the worse it gets, unstable mutants, crazed droids, the toxic wastes,noxious gases, radiation!”

“Just get me as close as you can, I’ll handle everything from there,” Karmack said forcefully
“Now unless there is something else you need….”

<<<<>>>>

“So…” Joanna drew out the vowel as she stacked the pots into the Sonic Cleaner
“Have you known Karmack long?” she asked Arnor who sat at the galleys small table shuffling the last few pieces of hydrated bantha steak around.

Arnors look was quizzical
“Known…oh we’re…I guess it never came up, he’s my husband, over twenty years now,”

“Oh!” Joanna startled in reply “Tel’Owna didn’t say…and I didn’t realize,”

“No…” Arnor said glumly “I don’t expect you would have…”
Karmack had not even spoken to her since the ship lifted off, only the strange fluxes of Force energy from the cabin were evidence he was even there - physically if not mentally.

Joanna brought her caf over shuffling the chair closer to the obviously hurting older woman.

“I guess things have been really hard, with your planet being invaded and all,” Joanna said not needing to spell out the problem that was obvious to them both.

“It’s part of it, but even before that…he was becoming distant, more involved in pursuing…power...I didn’t discourage it, Maker knows I supported him, with the threats we have faced, the threats we now face I can’t disagree with what he’s doing but…”

“It’s the way he’s doing it,” Joanna surmised

“It feels like he’s so focused on protecting us, he’s stopped caring about us, didn’t even speak to Ken before he left…”

“Ken?”
“Our son, a knight as well,”

“Oh that, that must be hard having your family all part of the Order, I know with Alex…we work together but I fear for him, just being able to feel the Force puts a target on your back.…I can’t imagine how you must feel for your husband and son…”

“My Father is a Knight too, I grew up knowing that each time he left it could be the last, and the Empire, the Inquisition, we could never control those things, just do what little we can to be ready to fight if they came…I stopped being afraid of what people will do to us because of the Force a long time ago” Arnor replied staring into the murky brown of the caf

“What I really fear,” she looked up through the wall to the cabin where Karmack sat engrossed in his Choir once more

“Is what the Force can do to us.”

<<<<>>>>

Er’Lav

Hand cradling her forehead after three too many meetings on Finance, Supply and an update on the Civil war, Er’Lav wanted nothing more to collapse into the frankly very comfortable chair of her new office.

She groaned when she saw who was currently occupying her chair.

“Maker, not you,”

Cha with finger pressed leaning back in the Kage’s chair had a slick smile that twisted into a faux sadness,
“That isn’t happiness to see me darling…”

She ignored that
“How did you even get in here, aren’t you on the other side of the planet with Zearic?”

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” he replied

“Tricks are all you seem to have…” she sighed, taking the chair opposite, forced to look across the table at Cha beneath the painting of Revan’s Fall.

“Sometimes I wonder if there is anything underneath, or are you just facade all the way down?” she went on recovering quickly,
“So to what do I owe the displeasure?”

“You wound me Kage, deeply…” He looked forlorn in a soap opera fashion
“I’m here to extend an invitation, President Sophi of Aertemis Industries would like to meet with you personally at her Hotel in six hours time,”

“You couldn’t just send a holo-mail?”

“I never miss a chance to spend a fleeting moment with a beautiful woman,” he said raising his hands as if helpless, Er’lav noticing a strange shimmer about his arms as if he were not quite fully there, and between his arm and torso the lack of any indent in her chair from his weight.

Not a hologram but perhaps some kind of astral projection - Maker knew how he could achieve such a feat without a crystal or…

Then she realised, there must be some kind of device in the Kage’s office acting as a receiver to let him project his image.

That explained many many things

“And here I was thinking you were keen on Arnor?” Er’lav replied, irascible as Cha was, she had to admit she found him entertaining.
“Or is that just to make Karmack see red?”

He offered a self satisfied grin that for the first time reached his eyes

“Beautiful and perceptive, the Mak’Tor have finally chosen their Kage wisely.”

“You truly hate him don’t you?” she said, taking a seat opposite the intruder.
“All because he killed your brother,”

Er’Lav had read Karmack and Arnor’s reports of their interaction with Namman Cha very thoroughly and recalled the more vile details of the pain Namman had inflicted on Arnor as she stared at Nimmin.

“You think I’m so cliche?” he asked

She raised an eyebrow with a withering gaze.

“And If I were?” he went on “If this is all a grand conspiracy as Karmack suspects...What would you do?” he leaned back with a victorious smile

She replied with a cold stare preferring to let him talk himself into a hole than rhetorically expose herself.

He let the silence drag on meeting her gaze with a self satisfied grin, until realizing she wouldn’t flinch he finally shifted.

“Well what reply shall I give Madame President?”

“I’ll meet with her,” Er’lav suppressing any hint of emotion he might try and latch onto for advantage.

Cha leaned forward, the oily expression he always wore slipping away revealing something almost sincere.

“This is a rare opportunity to reset another strained relationship Kage, make the most of it,”

If she didn’t know better, Cha almost seemed…concerned about improving the relationship…but then really what did she or anyone know of Cha.

“I’m willing to meet in the middle, if they are,” she added

“Sending Karmack offworld has already been interpreted as you taking a step toward that middle,” Cha assured her, his tone serious

“And choosing a woman as Kage, trivial as it may seem, carries a great intangible weight in dealing with my employers, if you give a little and personal assurances they will back off a lot,”

Er’lav took very careful note of his words, but even more of his posture, glossy and artificial as it was from the projection that was beginning to fade at the edges, whatever Force ability he used was not sustainable.

“Why are you being so helpful now, or is this another game,”

Cha shook his head.
“No game Kage, we both have a lot to lose if things sour further, your predecessor was never willing to bend on the Karmack issue so he…and too many others…broke. From what I’ve read, and what I’ve seen you won’t make that same mistake.” his eyes squinted slightly as if he was losing sight of her.

“And perhaps I’ve simply taken a fancy to you,” - the sliminess of his voice returned abruptly, as if someone unseen had peered in and he suddenly needed his ‘mask’ back on.
He ‘stood’ but was only a torso fading fast at this point.
“A token of my admiration, your colour I hope,” he finished gesturing to the seat he had just ‘vacated’.

Stepping round to her desk she found a small pink hued crystal on the seat, fastened in a pendant on a Glimmer-Silver chain, no doubt the Crystal he had used to project himself there.

Taking up the trinket in her hands she couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope his admiration was genuine.

<<<<>>>>

Orfa

With a dull flicker the overhead shield deactivated and lowered down the crate containing the water provision for the next three days.

The riots and clashes had become so numerous the M’Tzigon guards had stopped any direct contact with the Pirate prisoners, put a shield over the top of the enclosure and limited supply drops as much as possible

The bottom of the crate hit the ground with a dusty thud. Dozens of famished pirates stood motionless.

Guards on the catwalks above stood perplexed, usually there was an absolute frenzy to get at army surplus meal-sachets and hydration-pouches.

From the crowd six of the more muscled thugs approached surrounding the crate.

Lifting sticks from their belts and clothes wrapped in rags, lighters fashioned from scraps and lights set the make shift torches alight, they were then gently lowered onto the boxes of supplies.

The Plas-board was slow to light but inevitably began to catch, the plas-pouches starting to melt ruining the rations.

From within the crowd Orfa stepped out before the slow smouldering supply drop drop raising her arms and calling to their captors.

“Famine for Freedom!”

“Famine for Freedom” came the echo across the pirates, the echo of the latest protest spread fast and loud.

<<<<>>>>

Er’Lav

Er’lav had never been in the Sierra-Luxe before, the thirty storey hotel with its own private docking berths was perhaps the most expensive and opulently decorated building on M’Tzigon, showcasing the best of the planet natural materials in rich brown-red woods and soft tan marbles to offworld guests.

It would cost a year's salary to stay a week here.

Artemis had booked out the entirety of the top five floors - given the disruption to tourism caused by the Civil war - let alone the Artemis Girls…talents Er’lav suspected they had gotten a very good deal.

Security was tight after the Battle, she had to show her newly minted credentials to get through and do an ocular scan before entering the private turbo lift that gently chimed a soothing traditional M’tzigon Alpine melody as the lift ascended along a Transparisteel wall, Sierra receding beneath her as she rose, the scars from the battle covered in tiny workmen and dozens of high vis yellow and orange construction bots.

Even the new Temple's foundations could just be seen from here. A soft chime indicated the turbo lift had stopped, indeed it was so smooth she hadn’t felt the motion at all.

A restrained but still high end entrance room was behind a man in a neat suit he looked uncomfortable to be wearing waiting for her.

Without a word he directed her through past a few doors, behind which she could hear girlish giggles, another a hushed conversation, to the living room of one of the suites, sofas and lounge furniture moved aside to make space for a large desk that Sophi was sitting at.

Taller than Er’lav with her neck length brown-black hair swept in a business fashion, Sophi had troublingly clear blue eyes that seemed to cut like mining laser through everything they caught.

And yet if it weren’t for her stern expression Er’lav could picture Sophi as the model for a cosmetics brand or fashion label, her facial proportions all too perfect and blemish free - like she was the product of design rather than nature.

Her guide closing the door behind him Sophi gestured to the chair in front of her.

“Kage we are both busy women so I won’t waste your time with pleasantries.”

“I appreciate that,” Er’lav sat briefly noting as she did a few lines on the papers Sophi had been looking at, mostly invoices for building supplies, but a few bore M’tzigon Government Seals.

“The distrust and friction between Us and the Mak’Tor needs to end...with your elevation I feel we can finally take a step in that direction.”

“With my elevation?” Er’lav was quick to note.

“We respect ability, but prefer dealing with other women...after all we’re far less inclined to get into competitions over virility and size…”

Er’lav could see Sophi was trying to build rapport, put them on the same side - women against irrational men. Even more interestingly, Cha had been telling the truth.

“We accept there has been...inconsiderate behaviour...on both sides, I hope our recent assistance with your cities rebuilding is understood as a sign of our contrition,”

Both had red in their ledger Er’lav had to admit. Artemis' revival of Mendax, while unproven, was horrible - but still didn’t make them directly responsible for Mendax actions. On the other hand the Canto Bite fiasco was solely in the Mak’Tors court.

The catastrophe of the Driods firing on the Knights at the Temple and Silman’s subsequent death...well Er’lav was detached enough to know both situations were murky as to where responsibility lay.

The Military used the droids untested and too soon, but they arguably should have been better programmed, Silman had been obdurate against the Artemis agent ignoring valid credentials, but that Black Armour shouldn’t have been there in the first place. As for the Nameless Ones’ disappearance...well in some ways Er’lav considered that merciful compared to indefinite detention on that mountain top.

For the good of the Mak’Tor Er’lav couldn’t hold onto the lingering grudges.

“I’ll accept that, so what is your proposal going forward,”

“That we work together for the mutual defence of our Peoples against the threats that loom against us and our mutual allies,”

“Hard to do when we don’t know who your ‘People’ are or what they truly want,” Er’lav was quick to reply.

“Safety and prosperity, no different to you,”

“And Karmack?”

“Karmack is outside of this conversation, ever since he began taking steps into a ‘larger world’ he has stepped outside the remit of the Mak’tor and mundanities our truce covers,”

For a moment Er’lav didn’t understand till pieces began to fall into place.

“The Ancient One, his Mastery of the Song...you’re saying he’s above worrying about M’tzigon or even the Mak’tor,”

She could see Sophi suppressing an eye roll.

“It is not so simple, yet you’re correct. There is a point at which a being can reach a level of power in the Force where their role in it changes, their considerations become far wider and yet far narrower,”

“Well if that doesn’t feed his delusions of grandeur…” Er’lav chuckled as a defence trying to understand what Sophi meant, a vague concept forming.

Karmack had reached a new stage, his mastery of the Song let him see and understand things the majority could not, like a Seer of old he saw the world behind the world - it was a blessing and a burden.

“...what does that kind of power do to a person?” Er’lav asked mainly to herself.

“To a human? It exposes who they truly are,” Sophi replied to Er’lavs surprise,
“...and who they might be. Karmack is experiencing that now, and in consideration of that, we will no longer hold him as part of our dealings with the Mak’tor or M’tzigon anymore…”

“But by the same token,” Er’lav leaned in now comprehending, if not what was happening to Karmack, then at least the implications for the Mak’Tor

“You don’t want us to be bound to support him, or retaliate for what you might do to him...basically if I want to keep the peace with you, I have to cut him loose.”

“Kage...Er’lav...he’s already beyond your control unless he chooses to submit,” Sophi said, not with any sinister intent, but a simple, almost sympathetic, fact.

Er’lav couldn’t fault her. The Kage closed her eyes briefly, knowing that this was perhaps the most difficult decision she would ever face in her tenure, barely two weeks from her elevation.

And if that tenure was to last long enough to see a new Kage come after her...one choice remained.

“Alright...what happens between you and Karmack, stays between you and Karmack,” she said with a sigh, then firmed the condition.

“Up to and until he comes back to M’tzigon and reaffirms his Oaths to the Mak’Tor, M’Tzigon and above all the Maker...I can’t deny his recent behaviour shows he is tiptoeing the edge of breaking that faith...whatever new ‘level’ he’s operating on will either consume him or he’ll learn to control it, until then…”

She looked past Sophi to the dimming evening sky

“He’s on his own.”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 36 — Home Fronts — Part 2

Arnor

She stood unnoticed in the doorway at a man who looked like a stranger. In a sweat stained loosed shirt and shorts, floating a foot off the floor surrounded by Kyber crystals, Karmack appeared more like a fanatical mystic, cheeks gaunt, scars from the battle with Mednax still red and angry, than the husband, father and friend Arnor knew he was.

Was…Past tense

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked finally.

His mouth twitched, in annoyance or just exhaustion she couldn’t tell.

Blinking his eyes open he replied

“Check the seals on our Envirosuits and the personal shields are all charged, the Underlevels are merciless,”

“Alright,” she replied, turning away on the errand. Karm felt the antipathy spike.

“Arnor,” he staggered up body weak from pushing too hard, taking her arm
“I’m sorry, I’ve been…distracted…but…” he shook his head finally able to smell just how musty he had become after a few days without showering or changing clothes.
“The Choir, the Ancient One, I have to make sure everything is tuned as finely as possible, I don’t know what we will face on Coruscant…only that I need to have the Song as strong as I can possibly Sing it.”

“I…understand,” Arnor replied nodding
“but Karm…by the Maker you look exhausted…and you stink,”

He offered a half grin
“I’ll take a sonic shower and sleep until we reach Coruscant…I’ve done all I can for now,”

A sense of relief washed over Arnor, her husband was not ‘lost’ just, justifiably, buried in preparation.

“Good, Alex says we’ll need to make a few extra jumps, the Smuggler Alliance is reporting a build up of Alliance ships near Corellia so we have to take a detour, so you’ll have 5 or 6 extra hours sleep,”

“I certainly need it,”

“You do,” she gently cupped his face, kissing him on the cheek, his lips parched and breath far from fresh before dimming the lights and closing the door with a hiss to give him privacy.

Sweeping up a bottle he drank the contents in one gulp, he would shower quickly, but there was no time to sleep - and with the Song to sustain him he didn’t need it.

The Choir was ready but there was much more to do, new Notes and Chords of the song to open, and counter melodies to the Black Armours to devise.

Everyone else, even his wife, didn’t truly appreciate the threat like he did, didn’t have the knowledge or skill to even try to resist the enemy like he had…

Maker if only he had time to teach more, to explain more…

But he didn’t, Artemis wouldn't allow that he scowled

He was on his own.

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

Flanked by four Sword of Light Suppressors in matt black heavy armour, further surrounded by a circles of six Power Armour marines General Elax Cliff in his own armoured Winter fatigues, dull brass stars on his shoulder the only indication of rank, walked with determination born of the need to remove a nuisance as the pirates and merc parted around him.

The shimmering electro fence reactivated behind them sealing them in with the prisoners. Cliff would not leave until an agreement was struck.

A corridor of the wretched and damned formed by some natural process of freebooter ranking to lead him straight to the would be Queen of the prison.

She gazed down from a throne made of hunched over yinchorri and barabels, a visual sign of her dominance to use her crew as furniture.

“General,” she announced
“Welcome to my humble home, to what do I owe the pleasure,”

His escort stopped keenly eyeing the crowd about them that snarled, hissed and barked.

“We’re putting an end to this today,” was his demanding reply.

She cocked her head twirling the tip of her left lekku in her fingers

“Are we…why don’t you join me in my tent and we can discuss this further,” like a Queen of the damned she slid from her living throne as led the way to the largest of the tents, Cliff entered with two Sword of Light, his escort surrounding the tent.

“You want out and we want you gone,” he stated bluntly
“To that end I’ve chartered a private vessel, at significant cost I might add given your numbers, to transport you to Socorro, from there you can go wherever the hell you want,”

“Do your soldiers respect you, General?”

He was taken aback at the offtopic question.

“I...like to think so...but as I was saying the transport will arrive in three days to….”

She looked idly at her hand inspecting her finger nails

“I will never be respected, a female twi’leki never can be more than a pleasure toy for these thugs...if I am to be obeyed I must be feared, if I am to be feared I must be the most vicious and powerful person in the situation….”

One of the Suppressors hand moved to his holster, the other comm-clicked the guards outside in an unnecessary gesture, all ten of the escort were already on deadly alert.

“How long do you think it will be before I’m stabbed, mutilated and worse by one of the goons I’ve had to beat down and humiliate to protect myself by staying in control?”

Cliff felt his stomach sink, he couldn’t imagine life among pirates was easy for any woman, let alone a twi’leki with their stereotype of being submissive flesh trinkets.

“We can make a separate arrangement for yourself and a few others if needed,” he relented slightly intent on getting a deal.

“Oh general!” she laughed

“Do you think this conversation isn’t being overheard by the whole crew out there? There are half a dozen species with hearing and vibrational sensory organs to know every last word, If I make a special deal for myself now they’d turn on me in a flash - and yes even with your bodyguards here - I’ve done unpleasant things to stay in power, vengeance is never forgotten, only suppressed by fear of a painful failure.”

“General…” a Suppressor commed to his ear piece
“The crowd are getting closer, we should leave immediately,”

“Neither I nor the others will ever trust you not to shoot down whatever transport you put us on, or gas us in the hold - it’s what we would do after all...so to kill two mynoks with one blaster….”

The incident was short, sharp and vicious.

One Suppressor got off a shot that went slightly wide, the bolt bruning through the plas-cloth of the tent, Orfa used her force enhanced strength to pin the other. The Sword of Light activated their micro suppressors to deaden the force, but it was little use against the brute strength of the pirates that crashed in and around them.

The Marines servo powered fists, crackling with stun energy, smacked and knocked out over two dozen goons, but sheer numbers tore them down.

His own blaster free Cliff fired on the twi’leki who dodged effortlessly then snatched the weapon from his hand with the force.

Not missing a beat he pulled his stun baton as the second Suppressor took all her attention leaping at her stun cuffs at the ready.

She spun out and caught a baton hurled by one of her goons to take the blow the Suppressor was following up with as two more thuggish creatures with more tattoo than skin rushed in at Cliff.

With a grunting huff and weary thought he was too old for this dren, Elax managed to bloody ones nose and knee the other in the groin before numbers and youth overcame him.

Orfa duelling with the suppressor gave into her fear of being consumed by her own thralls, a surge of lighting blasting into the M’Tzigon soldiers chest sending him flying backward, clattering out of the spacious tent.

The ruckus had died down

“Join us!” she shouted across the divide between the camps.

Unmoved in their formation Nordas lifted his hand...then gilded it back down, 500 Imperial officers and troopers all sitting on his command.

He would not get involved.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 37 - Daemons Dilemma - Part 1

This Chapter is Contributed by theDutchman, another great display of his ability to paint visuals with words and keeps his main protagonist Zearic constantly evolving, oft fumbling(!), and developing into perhaps the most human of characters in the series, in all his flaws and virtues.

(https://i.ibb.co/xzZ6CmR/Zearic-vs-Cha-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/xzZ6CmR)
Day 6
As the powerful, salt-tinged ocean winds blew inwards from the S’can’Dere Ocean, large-powerful guls indigenous to M’Tzigon’s southern continental coasts soared upon them, their two-meter wingspan allowing them to glide for kilometers at a time.

As the winds continued inland, the guls flew across the southern continental divide and along the boundaries of the Solitudenum Rift, enormous peaks consisting of the renowned M’Tzigon granite jutting up high into the troposphere, lenticular clouds dotting the sky where the strong wind currents caused the air mass to rise above snowcapped mountain tops. Having lost much of the ocean moisture, the salty wind continued inwards towards the center of the high plateau, the granite giving way to white gypsum desert…one that covered great swaths of the plateau’s valleys. It was here that the winds deposited the last of their salt, adding to the environment’s seemingly endless white sands. Because of this, the guls continued to fly ever eastward, hunting and instinct having taught them that there was little-to-no food to be had here. After all, this was one of the driest places in all of M’Tzigon.

The Osa Dormeondo Dunes.

Yet, although the guls flew by, there was life in the desert. However, the difference here (and one that the guls themselves recognized as paramount) was that these particular lifeforms could hardly be considered “prey.” Besides: they were the only humanoids in a land stretching for hundreds of square kilometers.

Had there been any witnesses, they would have seen these two figures fighting opposite one another. Just as their sabers cast red, blue&silver hues across the desert, their boots and clothes were a stark contrast against the harsh white gypsum silt, both men as hard as the rock strata that stabbed through the desert sands. And while they were of a height, that was where the similarities ended.

One had a slender yet muscular build, handsome tanned-skin face clean-shaven showing an easy, oily smile clad in off-white robes that served to keep him cool, yet did nothing to hinder his movements, his tan boots seeming to hover just above the sand before disappearing yet again like a mirage.

The other was much wider, heavy shoulders and barrel chest beneath a bearded face sporadically peppered with white, his own salvaged ivory cotton wraps keeping the worst of the sun and heat from him, his dark brown boots sinking into the desert floor as if the man weighed as much as the surrounding rock, intensely odd hazel eyes which bespoke of hardship…

And resolve.

...She left you behind for a reason... The words of the Nocte were burned into his mind…right next to his self-indictment courtesy of his wife’s secrets. Ironically, both served to hone his emotions.

As they circled one another, the heat currents rising from the Dunes played many visual tricks upon the eyes, although they weren’t responsible for the dark, twisting shadows that orbited the larger of the two combatants. As their lightsabers clashed, the shadows seemed to move of their own accord, almost as if they were living contradictions to the light beating down upon the two men. …Apropos sentiments… The larger man thought. The two shadows seemed to drink in the light of M’Tzigon’s sun. Still, he could not afford any distractions; his opponent was too dangerous.

…Case in point… He told himself, his daggers automatically countering a Force Push meant to surprise him, while he furiously worked his sabers. Simultaneously, he focused part of his attention on the double shadows circling him, creating a barrier against his opponent’s superior saberskills. And when the time was right, those very shadows would be key in defeating his enemy.

All he had to do now was survive.

”Translating Force energy to Kinetic is known by all,” Cha's voice was no longer conversational like earlier; instead, his tone was almost...explanatory. Of course, he still often sounded pedantic, his speech dripping with unctuous overtones.

But not always.

“Your daggers turn the kinetic back into Force energy, that is why they appear immune from telekinesis, they switch enemy kinetic power back to the Force and only allow their owners power to move them.” He said as his saberstaff arced furiously through the heated air of the desert, the yellow-white sands a stark contrast to the light-eating, spinning daggers as they continued to orbit around Zearic's massive shoulders.

The big man didn't bother to respond.

Cha would often offer up a bit of trivia, most of which having to do with their "deal:" that he would train Zearic, from the ways of the Inquisitorious to Cha's more mysterious benefactors. And sometimes--not often, but still with sporadic frequency--the former Inquisitor would let slip something about said benefactors.

Like now.

"Your daggers will only respond to their rightful owner--in this case, you--while drawing upon some of your more...shall we say, "base" emotions?" He suddenly disappeared again, this time amidst a torrent of spinning sand that erupted underfoot, all but blinding Zearic. Careful of his lightsabers, he used the sleeve of his gray overtunic to clean the sand from his eyes, ears alert for any tell-tale sounds around him while he was temporarily blinded.

After a second, he reminded himself of how exposed he was. Almost instantly, he wrapped himself in a Buried Presence technique, but not precisely what the Vhal'Dan practiced. No, this was copied straight from Cha himself: it only used a trickle of the Force and allowed him to raise and drop it at leisure. The best part: he became virtually undetectable, even to powerful Force users. It was an advantage that Zearic knew would be absolutely necessary...because once Karm was empowered by the Ancient One...

Well, the large maenowan knew that the Master Singer was amongst the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy while he had the Ancient One in his command.

Giving his head a shake, Zearic moved swiftly yet silently, using the Force to subtly erase his tracks in the sand while extending his senses outward in an expanding passive awareness. While his face was impassive, his emotions were a roiling sea of turmoil beneath a calm veneer, specifically Fear, Aggression, & Doubt.

These emotions were what controlled his daggers, each eldritch blade innately eliciting the requisite feeling to help empower their owner...as well as acting as a trap for any other person who would be foolish enough to try to claim ownership.

And if the wide Vhal'Dan had any problems maintaining those, Cha's offensive was as frightening as it was feral.

With a flashing roar, the suddenness of the former Inquisitor's overhead attack surprised Zearic, his deafening yell causing the bigger man to backpedal. Luckily, somehow he'd insinuated his icy blue mainsaber blade between himself and the executioner's cut that would've ended him. But there was no time to celebrate or even think: Cha's saberstaff seemed to be in a dozen places at once, each strike turned away by a riposting blue-, silver-, or midnight-black blade.

Zearic knew that Cha's blitzkrieg was intended to overwhelm, to distract. In quick succession, several Force Pushes attempted to knock him from his feet, all but one intercepted and absorbed by the orbiting, spinning daggers. Unfortunately, the last attempt was able to surprise him, knocking the wind from his lungs as a result.

With jarring suddenness, he found himself on his back trying to regain his senses, his legs swept from under him as he tried in vain to gulp in air from his oxygen-deprived lungs. Before he could blink, a red plasma blade filled Zearic's vision, the tip hovering unwaveringly mere centimeters from his nose. Looking past the blade, he saw Cha's face break out in a wide, empty smile. "Oh, did you not mean to let that last one through? Well, I'm certain that you'll remember not to lose your focus next time." His teeth sparkled almost as brightly as the white sands of the desert.

...Bastard... Zearic thought, angry at Cha but moreso at himself.

Ignoring the proffered hand, Zearic slowly rose to his feet as he tried to get air into his lungs. After a moment, his breathing returned to normal, noticing that all the while Cha had affixed a bored look upon his face. Unceremoniously, Zearic bent over to pick up the twin black daggers that had crashed to the sand when he'd lost his concentration. Again. Cha kept insisting that he needn't worry, that the daggers would respond better to instinct than any actual focus, but Zearic kept having a gorog's time accomplishing it.

Not for the first time did the large maenowan grind his teeth in frustration, overwhelming annoyance and self-resentment at his failures an anchor that refused to give up the ghost. ...Shavit... He thought and not for the first time.

"You need to submit." Cha said quietly, suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. "Only then will the daggers act and respond with their full capacity." Silently, Zearic stared at the former Inquisitor. Gone was his smile or any hint of humor in his eyes, much less his tone.

"You are of their blood, no matter how diluted. You are the rightful owner of the blades." His face was blank but for the intense gaze from his eyes. Zearic had never seen the look on Cha. "Remember: it is you who are the weapon, not the daggers. They are merely extensions."

Zearic blinked, Cha's words sinking in, a moment of complete candor passing between the two men.

They were not friends. They were not comrades. They weren't even allies...but by either the decree of the Maker, the will of the Force, or by accident of circumstances, they both had similar goals: to train Zearic to maximize in the fullest to the best of his new abilities. The Vhal'Dan was motivated to ensure the safety of his family and friends.

He had absolutely no idea why Cha was doing what he was doing…but right here and now, whatever masks he hid behind, whatever barriers he'd erected, the former Inquisitor was stating the unvarnished truth.

Nodding slowly Zearic inhaled, thinking of his wife D'Aylanna and his daughter Jorya, of his father Kazic, of his friends Jaim and Arnor. And, as always, Karmack.

To help his friend, he must needs be the one to save him, even from himself.

"Again." Zearic's quiet voice was full of conviction. Without preamble, he tossed both daggers in the air, the twin black blades immediately taking up a close orbit around the wide man's shoulders, their razor edges a blur of motion. Cha's nod was almost imperceptible but the look on his voice was one almost bordering on...respect.

Zearic didn't care; he knew that one way or another he'd pay a steep price for this knowledge...but it was one that he knew to be absolutely vital. "Take what you want and pay for it." Kazic had told him years ago. If what he'd bought saved his family and his friends, then he was more than willing to pay the price.

...She left you behind for a reason...

Igniting his sabers, the icy blue and silver blades hummed softly against the backdrop of the Dunes' windy sun-swept silence. He vowed that he would not let his daggers drop, not again and not anymore.

Cha smiled, an obsequious and sickening mask firmly reestablished upon his face. "Of course." His voice was almost foppish with its flippancy. But his eyes...

The mirth of his tone was completely absent from his eyes. Instead, a dangerous look of furious resolve shone from within, a brief look through the keyhole into the true soul of the man beneath layers of obfuscation.

But it was a look that Zearic would not forget and--more importantly--would not underestimate.

<<<< >>>>

Chapter 37 - Daemons Dilemma - Part 2

Day 10
As the reddish-orange sky began to darken, the brightest stars began to appear in the heavens. Already Zearic could make out Orpheus' Lyre, the largest and most recognizable constellation in M'Tzigon's night sky. Jorya had been the one to teach him that, having learned it from time spent with Master Chillum. It was an errant thought, one that flitted across his consciousness.

However, that didn't mean that he was distracted.

Like a dark halo shadowing his brow and shoulders, his twin daggers spun in a tight orbit around Zearic, a deadly defense that he now no longer gave conscious thought to. It had been four days since they'd fallen from their place and during that time they'd never once touched the ground, even during his sporadic bouts of sleep. And now he was almost ready to test out his next discovery concerning the Oblivion weapons.

All that he waited for was Cha's next inevitable (and imminent) attack.

The last he'd seen of the former Inquisitor had been almost an hour before when, after a sustained offensive that had lasted almost 20 minutes, Cha had suddenly withdrawn...but not before he'd disabled Zearic's mainhand saber.

The big maenowan had been defending against the former Inquisitor's twin saber attack, intent on taking advantage of an opening in Cha's defense, when closed his trap, knocking his icy blue lightsaber wide and targeting the crystal furnace, his ruse only now evident. ...Damned fool... Zearic had castigated himself for falling for the ploy.

Cha's red blade hadn't destroyed the hilt--they were still using the "low-power" practice settings of their weapons--but the strike had managed to dislodge the kyber crystal from its housing, rendering the saber temporarily inoperable.

And so Zearic used this precious downtime to attempt to field-strip and, hopefully, fix the weapon. The only problem was that the crystal had to be aligned perfectly...or risk a catastrophic failure, one that would result in a violent explosion. Smiling mirthlessly, Zearic thought to avoid such at all costs; after all, he'd only just recently been given back his right hand. It had been as inexplicable as it was unexpected yet a miracle that he'd nevertheless determined not to squander.

Giving his head a mental shake, he focused on the problem at hand. It was only the latest in Cha's training: distract, regroup, surprise...always keep your opponent off-balance, never be predictable. ...Well, he's for being unpredictable... He mused, surreptitiously gathering the Force around him. What he attempted next was done as clandestinely as he could possibly manage.

...Slow is smooth and smooth is fast... He repeated like a litany, from one of the very first lessons that Kazic had taught him after finding him on Dalos IV. His daggers spun around him unnoticed, only an iota of awareness of their existence in the back of his mind. Using the Force, Zearic carefully opened the saber's furnace housing the crystal.

Sure enough, he could see even in the fading evening light that the crystal was misaligned, the permafrost kyber scintillating light from within. It would take several minutes to fix, during which time he'd be completely exposed. In other words: the perfect time for an ambush. ...Sometimes you've got to roll the hard twelve... He thought, a grim smile barely turning his lips.

Slowly, deliberately, Zearic used the Force to first withdraw the icy blue crystal from the hilt while simultaneously creating an invisible barrier ensuring that no sand or other foreign object would soil the lightsaber's furnace aperture.

Inspecting both the hilt and the kyber, he was satisfied that everything was as good as could be. Now came the hardest and most delicate part: reinserting the crystal correctly to ensure proper flow for the plasma blade. If done correctly, the weapon would function as intended; if not...

Well, if not then he'd have to get used to another less-than-perfect cybernetic replacement, one made all the more deficient by his body's innate rejection syndrome.

...Slow is smooth and smooth is fast... He breathed, the permafrost crystal hovered between the two contact points, the most delicate part of the process...

Which was precisely when Cha attacked.

With the former Inquisitor's Buried Presence sloughing off, he was already in mid-swing with both of his sabers--having separated his saberstaff for more flexibility--intent on catching Zearic preoccupied with his repairs.

Time seemed to slow, details revealed in crystal-clear acuity for both men: Zearic kneeling on the ground, his mainhand saber in front of him, Cha striking above him as both blades scythed through the air between them.

The plan had worked perfectly...for Zearic.

Release

The large maenowan's mental command took effect in-between the seconds of Cha's flawlessly timed attack, a commitment that even his Shatterpoint-enhanced body (again courtesy of his mysterious benefactors) could not disengage from. As the twin red blades arced through the air, Zearic's mainhand saber disappeared, or rather seemed to instantly move a meter above its original position. He hadn't teleported the saber; that would've taken too much of his reserves. It was another trick from Cha's own repertoire of powers that Zearic had learned, and now adapted.

Force Illusion.

But that had only been the bait. Having given the mental command, both of Zearic's daggers released their stored Force energy in a potent kinetic wave of Anger, Fear, and Doubt--all of their owner's "base" emotions--catching Cha completely unaware. Even for as swift as Cha's considerable defenses were, he was unable to block most of the wave's energy.

With the extra time afforded him courtesy of his surprise attack, Zearic was able to finally align the crystal within the furnace while simultaneously propelling himself forward after Cha, his silver shoto in one hand while catching the Nocte before it dropped to the desert floor in his other. Even as the Tenebrous fell impotent in the sand, Zearic had already covered the distance between himself and Cha, the former Inquisitor desperately trying to clear his head from both the kinetic wave as well as the antagonistic emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

In one smooth motion, Zearic tossed the Nocte back into the air, the deadly blade already beginning to spin around him again as it fed from his aggression, while his silver shoto arced through the air towards Cha's throat. Zearic allowed himself a grin as his mainhand saber fell into his open hand, allowing him to immediately ignite it. Stabbing the icy blue blade into the former Inquisitor's chest, the big man smiled widely...

...Only for his blade to pass through nothing but vacuum, leftover from Cha's Teleportation. Zearic knew that doing so required an incredible expenditure of Force energies, especially for an entire body. It was a desperate move: even though the former Inquisitor had shunted himself a single meter to the right, the big maenowan could see the strain evident on his face.

It took only a split second but Zearic knew that it was he himself who was now exposed. He acted.

With only centimeters to spare, he was able to instinctually block the red blade of Cha's saber, one that he'd somehow managed to hold onto. Moving again by instinct, Zearic flowed to the right, bringing both sabers to bear against his opponent. As an adept Jar-Kai practitioner, Zearic should've had a distinct advantage over the man and his single lightsaber.

But, try as he may, Cha's reflexes were even faster than his own newly restored body's, the former Inquisitor's strength greater than his own. He'd always been strong--especially as he'd needed to adapt to his cybernetics--and his restoration had only supplemented that strength further. Not that he'd have beaten a Wookie in an arm wrestling contest, but he'd always had a baseline higher than average...and with his new limbs and Force strength, his body had likewise been augmented.

Cha was somehow stronger still.

All of this went through Zearic's head in an instant. He knew that he could not overpower his opponent with brute force; he'd have to be smarter.

Wrapping himself in Buried Presence, he gambled. With that last move, Cha's Force reserves would probably be close to depleted, hopefully giving the large Vhal'Dan the edge he needed. Drawing as much of his own reservoir as he could, Zearic focused first on himself, then Cha. As the veil of his Buried Presence dropped, Cha was already in motion, his superior speed and strength powering his attacks, even knocking the Nocte away, an offensive that Zearic had no chance whatsoever of countering.

Which was why he hadn't even bothered trying.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, Cha's lips parted in foppish laughter, his saber blade arcing toward Zearic's head, stomach, and then shoulder believing that there was no way possible for the wide man to avoid or block the former Inquisitor's increasingly swift attacks. And Cha would've been precisely right...if Zearic had actually been there.

When the large maenowan had dropped his Buried Presence, he'd actually done so for the Illusion-double that he'd made of himself. While the effort had taken everything that he'd had--including the power stored in the Nocte--Zearic was able to maintain the ruse long enough to flank the former Inquisitor. As Cha delivered what he expected as the "killing blow," he felt two unexpected and unpleasant sensations: the first being that his saber blew through the Illusion absent any substance to halt his strike and, as a result of subsequently overextending himself, the second was when he felt Zearic's now visible blue blade tap the side of his neck.

It was the first time in almost a week that Zearic had come out on top.

As Cha's eyes met his own, Zearic saw a flash of the man underneath the oily facade: a dangerous glint of sadistic fury tempered with shock and annoyance passed across his face. "Well now that was interesting." Even his voice lacked any of the characteristic effete tones that he often affected. Turning, he closed down his lightsaber, eyes weighing Zearic. "Stabbing a man in the back isn't very 'knightly' of you."

"No, it isn't." Was all that the larger man said as he extinguished his own sabers, hanging them on his belt while fetching both of the Oblivion daggers where they had fallen in the sand.

By the time Zearic had holstered both midnight black blades in the cross-carry belt, he was surprised to see that Cha had made a fire with two sets of rations and water arranged opposite one another. Without comment, Zearic sat by the comfortable blaze, tearing into the rations and canteen, all the while fixing the cotton wraps in order to help cover his head and shoulders. It was almost comic how small the head scarf looked on his broad, thick shoulders but it served its purpose.

With night falling in earnest, both men ate silently, taking measured drinks from their respective canteens. The stars shone brightly in the moonless M'Tzigon sky, giving Zearic the impression of a stargazing outing. Suddenly wistful, he closed his eyes, thinking of his wife and daughter. Wordlessly, he prayed to the Maker that they were safe, in good health, and that he would be able to see them soon. The silence of the night descended upon them like a blanket.

Only to be shattered a moment later.

"My brother loved astronomy and loved to teach it." Cha's sudden voice broke Zearic's reverie, despite being just above a whisper. "He taught me all of the constellations seen from Prakith: The Rancor, The Gualaar, The Maid & Knight-Errant... One every night, for 103 nights straight...one for every constellation." He reclined on his elbow, one boot easily balanced on the toe of the other.

Zearic blinked. Cha actually sounded nostalgic. It made the former Inquisitor sound almost...human. ...Don't be fooled...he's a gundark in a bantha's hide... He was forced to remind himself. Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "Your brother?" He said between bites, loosening his tunics, trying to relax strained muscles and aching limbs.

Cha nodded absently, his eyes seemingly lost in his memories "Namman was always looking towards the stars, always saying how he'd join the Empire and 'make a difference,' promising a 'better future.'" He barked a scoffing laugh. "Always reminded me of a COMPNOR recruitment holo-advert... 'Loyal? Prove it!'" He chuckled this time, shaking his head slowly. For a time silence pervaded camp, not even the desert fauna making any noise.

Quietly, Cha suddenly sighed, his face suddenly becoming hard. "He was such a kriffing pfassk. Always goading me...nothing I did was ever good enough." His hands were balled into fists. "He was always smarter, stronger, faster...better. And he never let me forget it. Not once, not ever. I hated him." He let a slow breath out through gritted teeth. "I loved him." The last came out as a whisper, so quiet that Zearic wasn't certain that he'd intended to be heard.

But he had.

Cha continued. "I followed him into the Inquisitorious, not because I wanted to but because I thought I should...Namman had done so; isn't that what a good brother was expected to do?" Staring into the sky, the firelight dancing across his face, Zearic could see that--for the first time since meeting him--Cha was absent all of his masks. Saying nothing, the big man listened. "We fought together, we fought each other. But we always were family, always together, always one... Not even when Lord Vader died, the Empire collapsing around us giving rise to pretend warlords and would-be conquerors, not even then did we leave one another..."

The muscles of Cha's jowls rippled in the firelight as he clenched his teeth hard. "And then, without any reason nor detail, I was informed that Namman was dead." Despite his even tone, Zearic could hear the fury in his voice. "It wasn't until I was serving my current employer that I even learned of the circumstances surrounding his death..."

With his curiosity piqued, Zearic asked, "Why Artemis?" There was so much more that he wanted to know, that he had to know(!), especially if he was to somehow keep his family safe.

...She left you behind for a reason...

Cha's gaze fell onto Zearic's face--and through Zearic--before he answered. "For two vows - they gave me everything that I'd ever wanted." He sounded honest enough but there was a sharp bitterness to his words one might interpret as regret.

Zearic thought about whether or not to ask just what those "two vows" could be, but decided against it: as if reading his mind, Cha's face suddenly changed, mask once again firmly in place. "Ah, but to live amongst the gods--even at their feet!-- is better than being in their way." His ingratiating tone dripped of glibness.

Zearic knew that the moment had passed. At least for now. "Right." He whispered, his trepidation for his family renewed. Finishing his ration, he put the other bars away in an inner pocket of his tunic, replacing his canteen in his pack.

He glanced towards Cha. He appeared fast asleep, his breathing slow and deep.

He'd learned much...but wanted--needed!--more. Casually, he threw both daggers up, giving into his instinct and unconscious control as they took up their protective orbit around his shoulders. Not for the first time, he rested his chin upon his broad chest, settling in for another night of sleeping upright. The last thoughts before sleep took him were of his family.

He would find a way to keep them safe.

Somehow.

<<<< >>>>

Chapter 37 - Daemons Dilemma - Part 3

Day 14
Under a cloudless azure noontime sky hot winds drove stinging sands in sporadic gales, blanketing the entirety of the Osa Dormeondo Dunes. Although not quite a sandstorm, these events were frequent enough so as to obfuscate the local area from the watchful eyes of the large scavenger birds that frequented them. However, that was not the primary reason why this particular area of the Dunes was home to many of the indigenous animals of the region; it was due to one almost universal necessity that most sentients throughout the galaxy needed, oftentimes fighting (and even dying) over.

The deep waters of the Y'Psilanti Oasis.

This far inland where water was increasingly scarce and that much more precious, was home to one of the main underground aquifers that finally breached the surface rock of M'Tzigon's notoriously hard and dense granite. The baking sun would heat the exposed granite fingers as they protruded from the desert floor, hot air radiating from them creating many a mirage.

However, unlike the phantom mirages of myth, the Oasis provided enough continuous water year-round for vegetation to take a hold, providing the local fauna with a plentiful source of flora bearing nutritious desert fruits.

Which, for Zearic, was absolutely Maker-sent.

He'd exhausted his store of rations three days before; he'd drank the last swallow of his canteen last night before last. For the hungry and thirsty Vhal'Dan, the Y'Psilanti Oasis was a literal paradise.

Still, he did not simply run out to the largest of the ponds nor did he indiscriminately grab at the bulbous, brilliant red fruit hanging from the mangrove trees straddling the waters. He knew that Cha would've set traps for just that reason. No, he needed to think smarter.

Apropos of such, he stood motionless, all but invisible within the shroud of his Buried Presence, his ever-present unseen Oblivion daggers silently orbiting above his head. Much like Cha, Zearic was now able to "pulse" his Force consumption, making the most of his increased strength and stamina...which was all for the good since Cha was still somewhat stronger.

Yet next to Karm and the Ancient One, even his newfound strength would not be near enough.

The only way to even attempt to match the Master Singer would be to utilize his daggers to the best of their--and his--abilities. He hoped that they would be able to mitigate most of the power that the Ancient One provided Karm. With that done, then their strength would be almost equal. So controlling his emotions would be more important than ever, ensuring his full focus to power his Oblivion weapons...but his mastery still wasn't perfect.

He would have to change that if he hoped to ever face Karm and live.

But first, he had to take care of the needs of his body. Extending his Force Senses outward, Zearic passively scanned the Oasis. Aside from a few birds and small desert rodents, he could detect no other living things, even those that may hide amongst the blowing sands. Grateful for the layered cotton wraps and headscarves, he was able to breathe through even the worst of the gales, to say nothing of the oppressive heat of the sun overhead or the blast-furnace that was the desert proper. Also thankfully, his tunics kept the worst of the heat at bay, the hardy synth-cloth able to resist both the harsh heat of the day and the chilling cold of the night.

For a verdant, beautiful alpine world, M'Tzigon's Osa Dormeondo Dunes were as deadly as any Tatooine summer during the day or Hoth winter at night.

And unfortunately he still required water.

Dropping his Buried Presence, Zearic made careful his approach to the Oasis' waters, discerning gaze trying to see everything around him. Even with the blowing winds subsiding, it was still difficult to see anything beyond a few meters. Besides, he still didn't sense anything larger than a rada-cat around the Oasis. ...Nothing ventured, nothing gained... He thought to himself as he carefully waded into the largest of the ponds to his waist, the water cool and inviting.

Maintaining his due diligence, he grabbed his canteen and submerged it into the large pond. As the water filled the canteen, internal filters purified it, making it immediately potable. Before it was even half-full, Zearic's immense thirst got the better of him. Upending the canteen he took a long, gulping drink, pulling as much water through the neck of the container.

The water was both delicious and refreshing, slaking his thirst with each swallow. Thankful to finally be able to refill his canteen, he submerged it again while keeping a watchful eye around the Oasis, the mangrove trees too sparse to hide anything larger than a rodent. Certainly not enough for Cha to u--

Something suddenly grabbed his arms, viselike grip making escape impossible. Before he could act, Zearic was pulled down into the deceptively deep water, the cool pond rushing in over his head as he sank downward. Fingers of durasteel encircled his throat, his broad back finally hitting the pond's silty bottom as underwater sand churned the blue waters murky. Panic crushed down upon him, all cognitive thought forgotten, claustrophobic silence save for the muted currents that his boots made as he sank further downward as Cha continued to squeeze.

His sight began to shrink, first around the edges but soon becoming a tunnel, the light at the far end growing ever further away.

...Stop...!...Think...!...Act...!... A voice in the back of his mind--one that vacillated between sounding like D'Aylanna's and Kazic's--cut through the panic. As blackness continued to compress down upon his consciousness, his coherent mind was shunted aside, the instinct of his ancestors rushing to the forefront as an intended survival mechanism, one fabricated by genehancement ...my daggers... It wasn't so much a deliberate command but rather the cognitive interpretation of primal intent.

He sensed more than heard or saw that Cha's body shook as if impacted by something, his fingers finally releasing their quadranium-like grip as the former Inquisitor disappeared from the water. Lungs burning, Zearic desperately pulled his booted feet under him and, with a powerful explosion of his legs, propelled himself towards the pond's surface. As his head broke through the water's top, he inhaled deeply, sweet, clean, blessed air rushing in. Thankfully the wind had stopped blowing so fiercely leaving only a cool breeze.

Trudging over towards the edge, coughing and gulping air, the big maenowan grabbed one of the head scarves floating on the surface before collapsing into a crumpled mass, half in the water, half in the sand. For long moments he did not stir, save for his ragged breathing.

"Get up." Cha's tone was stoic and pitiless with an undercurrent of pain. "Now." He hit Zearic's hip with his boot, not hard but certainly not gentle. He wanted nothing more than to just lie there but something deep within him drove him to rise.

Coughing, Zearic slowly stood on his feet, still shaking and unsteady. "Frell you." His voice was vehement and quiet. "You almost drowned me, you bastard." He coughed again as if to punctuate the event. But he continued to stand.

"And now you'll be more careful of traps, maybe you'll be more creative in planning them yourself." Even though Cha's words were flippant, his tone was dangerous.

"Are you kriffing kidding me?" The Vhal'Dan spat on the ground. "I'm barely standing..." The anger in his voice burned hot as he stared blaster bolts at the thinner man.

To no effect.

"If you're not dead, you fight." Cha stood rigidly looking unconcerned. "If you can't use your legs, use your hands; if you can't use your hands, use your teeth." Yellow eyes bored into hazel as Cha stepped forward, a half-meter separating the two men. "If you can't use the Force, use your head; if you can't use your head, use your instincts." As if to emphasize his point he turned around, showing Zearic his back...

(https://i.ibb.co/x2JsFy1/Nocte-Pugione.png) (https://ibb.co/x2JsFy1)

...Where, blade buried halfway, the Nocte protruded from his shoulder. "Which is a lesson that I'd say that you've learned well enough." There was no anger in his tone nor any hint of accusation, to say nothing of his characteristic foppishness. If he had to guess, this was Cha completely absent all of his masks.

Zearic had to admit that whatever else Cha affected, it was his dispassionate apathy that he found the most disconcerting.

Without a word, he grabbed the Nocte by the hilt, carefully withdrawing the deadly blade, blood beginning to pour forth. While his own abilities with Force Healing weren't as bad as his father Kazic's had been, he was still far from adept, less so any sort of expertise. Nevertheless, Zearic directed what meager Healing he was capable of into the gaping wound. After a moment with the blood staunched, he took out one of the strips of poly-bacta he'd recovered from his tunic's inner pockets and applied it to the wound.

(https://i.ibb.co/YXCv71n/Tenebris-Pugione.jpg) (https://ibb.co/YXCv71n)

That done, Zearic looked around, "feeling" for the Tenebris. He was unsurprised that the larger dagger hadn't readily responded to his commands; unlike the Nocte, the weapon hadn't been specifically given to him. Still, after these last few weeks of training, he'd mastered the dagger more than any of its previous owners, no doubt courtesy of his heritage no matter how diluted. After several seconds, he sensed the dagger towards the edge of the pond. Lightly coughing, he reached into the water, withdrawing the midnight-black Oblivion weapon, the twin edges dulling even the daytime brightness.

It was then he found himself face down in the wet sand, angry and confused. That bastard Cha had attacked him! He was lucky that he hadn't landed on the Tenebris when he'd fell.

With growing fury and indignation he jumped to his feet, assuming one of the advanced Vhal'Dan Pankration katas. From this position he could either defend or attack, both from a position of power...

But as his eyes fell upon his opponent, he paused. Cha sat in the sand, casually straightening his damp robes, an expectant, serious look upon his face. With his guard still up, Zearic stared at the former Inquisitor, waiting. Cha did not disappoint.

"Never drop your guard around your enemy. Never turn your back to your enemy...to anyone." Anger and another emotion that Zearic couldn't identify distorted his entire face. "Never, ever assume that anything short of crushing your foe entirely will be the end of any contest..." His eyes shone brightly. "...Even if they be your 'friend.'" He practically spat that last part.

While his anger cooled, Zearic no longer saw red when he looked upon Cha. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he had a valid point.

Saying nothing, he retrieved his canteen, filling it to the brim, all the while keeping Cha in sight. Taking a place opposite the former Inquisitor--several meters between them--Zearic picked two of the largest desert pears from the mangrove branches. Taking a seat, he indifferently tossed one of the fruits to Cha. Even though he easily caught it, Zearic saw Cha's eyes widen almost imperceptibly in surprise. "You're right." He admitted. Cha then nodded as if he'd been told that water was wet. ...Kriffing bastard...

As Zearic ate the pear, he was reminded of an Anzati anecdote that Kazic had once told him: "The tempered sword is grateful for the strengthening fires of the forge but not necessarily happy with them." He finally knew what his adoptive father had been talking about.

As well as the obverse: he needn't be happy for a harsh lesson learned. Chewing the fibrous flesh of the pear, Zearic stared at Cha, the former Inquisitor's face completely blank. A harsh lesson indeed...

But learn it he had.

By the time that he was ready to move on, the hot sun had completely dried his clothes. Taking several of the shriveled, sun-dried fruit for later, Zearic stored them within the deep, inner pouches lining his tunics while continuing to eat more of the just-ripened pears from the trees. Rewrapping the scarves around his head and shoulders, he noticed two things: the first was that the sand gales were beginning again.

The second was that Cha was nowhere to be seen.

...Of course... Zearic sighed. His father's words echoed in his mind. Grateful...but he need not be happy about it. He thought of D'Aylanna, of Jorya... By the Maker, he even thought of Karm; no...especially Karmack.

And he would do anything to keep his family safe.

...She left you behind for a reason...

Zearic's eyes scanned the sands around him, several blasted rocky granite anticlines stabbing up through the desert floor, the blowing sands both concealing and exposing.

...Bring it on you bastard... He thought, his hard face etched with conviction. Anything for his family.

Anything.

<<<< >>>>

Chapter 38 - Flight or Fight - Part 1

Morrigan

Her hand hovered above the Qixoni crystal on the workshop desk, surrounded by various polished pieces that could build a lightsaber in a variety of configurations.

The crystal held potency and power…raw anger denied satisfaction from the previous owner, mingling despair turned to sadism in the owner before that…a storied thing that one day she could create something spectacular with…

But she was still not yet recovered enough to do so even if she had the time….she needed Dark Crystals to protect herself from the Mak’tor…

After M4 had whisked her off there had followed a cacophony of errors as the Hotel managers tried to work out what had happened. She had explained her room was invaded by four people dressed as staff, all of whom had been waived through by a guard claiming to head to the hospital – none had arrived of course.

There followed copious apologies, a full refund and vouchers for a years stay in one of the most opulent suites…but the brief holiday was over, spoiled by the Mak’Tor sniffing.

And so she stood before the Qixoni gift of her benefactors contemplating all the little boy had told her once suitably ‘inspired’

”my father, Karmack is the Master Singer wielding the Ancient One…he’s looking for the Starfire, he was so angry when he heard you escaped….”

She vaguely remembered Karmack from her time as a shade, less explicit details than a sense of a puritanical certainty about him - exactly the kind of man who would inevitably come for her - and she was far from ready – yes her abilities were recovering but still not enough.

She needed Dark Crystals fast - the Qixoni would be perfect for such if only she were strong enough - better even than the ones she had made so long ago before Dorian had defeated her and destroyed them…

Or would he…

Dorian’s greatest failing was his belief that people needed to be and in their ‘hearts sought redemption in the eyes of the Maker’

She sneered in incredulity…might he have kept her crystals in ‘hope’ she would turn from her ways…that was why he trapped her for millennia…though she doubted he had intended it to last that long.

“Of course you would keep them wouldn’t you…you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy me, you wouldn’t destroy them…but where would you hide them…”

She hopped into the work chair leaning back thinking out loud

“Not Coruscant…not M’tzigon….where would you bury the belongings of a ghost old Fool…”

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“…on….son….”

Eyes heavy as lead in deep water threatening to sink him further Ken struggled to rise himself to the surface.

“Son…” there was genuine worry mingled with exhaustion in Chillum’s voice. The escape from Spira had been a messy affair – the chaos of a Mark IV dark Trooper punching through wall had distracted security for the most part, between them Balnard and he had been able to shuffle out with Julwyyn and Ken, with a little Force suggestion to the first Security guard to arrive Chillum had told them they were injured in the blast and were taking them to the onsite hospital.

The Guard had no reason to doubt it and let them pass, then followed a rapid backtrack to their gear and out the way they came….

That familiar smell, more than his will, broke through to wake Ken up.

“gah….that….”

“Thank the Maker Son!” Chillum sighed trying not to breath too much of the garbage about them in.

From his check with the force Ken seemed fine physically, his mind simply befuddled by Morrigan's powers.

Ken sat up quickly placing his shirt over his face for some protection from the fumes in the dark cramped garbage hold. Balnard and Julwyyn in the other corner.

“What do you remember son? Anything?” Chillum asked after giving him a drink.

“Everything…the beach…she came up to me and…”
“Julwyyn said you were in a trance, not your fault son,”

Ken stared into the empty black about him. This was not the first time he’d had his mind toyed with…used…by someone for their own purposes. Bitter experience meant this second time was easier for him to deal with.

“I know…the things I did…felt like doing with her…” Ken shook it off…fortunately it didn’t go too far before Julwyyn arrived…at least not in a way that would betray Ry…no, he had betrayed the whole Order under the compulsion.

“…things I told her…when she realised I was Mak’Tor she wanted to know everything and, and I told her – who the Kage is, how many knights, why I was here, and…Morrigan wanted to know about the master singer…my father…”

Chillum was not surprised by the information delve, nor that Ken had yielded the information so readily, Morrigan was the most powerful Dark Singer in Mak’Tor history, even Chillum could not have resisted her enthrallment.

He felt a wave of regret sweep off Ken – yet not related to his disclosures…his grandson sat silently intensely thinking as the ship shuddered, no doubt hitting the gravity break point.

“What is it son?”

“I think…no…I know we’ve made things worse – Morrigan didn’t control me because I was Mak’Tor – she just wanted a boy toy for the afternoon – I don’t think she had any intention of making any moves against the Mak’Tor at all to be honest…but now…”

He shook his head so as to not curse his father in that moment.

“I told her about Dad…about how he went off in a frenzy to find the Starfire to destroy her and Artemis…I think telling her that is what will make her justifiably paranoid…Maker…Pa - we should’ve left well enough alone…”

Chillum leaned back contemplating. What Morrigan’s intentions were before, power, revenge – well that was exactly what Er’Lav had nominally sent them to discover…but now in the process of observing the situation they had changed it, and not for the better.

He nodded proud at Ken’s deduction and clear thinking even after such a heavy mind altering experience.

“I’m afraid you’re right…”

<<<<>>>>

“Ossus…” Ken said looking over his grandfathers should as they read through the Testament and Teaching of Do’Ri’An’Xandir looking for any clues on where Morrigan might head next.

While they had not detected Zearic’s Bane leaving the system they knew it was only a matter of time.

On Ossus Dorian had, according to legend hidden away the Nameless One’s dark crystals after her defeat in the hopes one day she would reclaim them in service to the Maker…

Now it was more likely than not she would try and reclaim them to protect herself from Karmack. The problem was the location of Ossus had been lost of the better part of the last Millennia.

Ken stood back arms crossed as he thought

“We need to get a tracker on her ship before she leaves…that means getting to the orbital she docked and getting to her bay…given she’s seen – and sensed - all three of us on Spira…Bal….”

Balnard gave a wry smile

“Righto I’ll get the job done, might need to borrow Ricky though”

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

Clean was the best way to describe them…too clean.

The Spira Trade Guild Orbital station featured an impressive, and surprising array or Bodyguard and Private Security services, all with slick holo-ads in front of their shop showing heavily armed star ships blasting ragged pirate ships apart, mannequins dressed in clean lined polished armour to show off their wears, display cabinets full of weaponry, and framed photos of founders listing military records for the ‘Empire’, ‘Republic’, ‘Confederacy; various other companies and independent sectors, one for a Feeorin even noted experience stretching back to the New Sith Wars.

Strolling along she curiously observed the clientele – dressed in upmarket and fashionable outfits they chatted to receptionists and sales people about ‘protection while on holiday’ or need to ‘secure transport of my stock trapped Taris’

For these people the galactic war between the Alliance and Empire was an inconvenience to their privileged lives that required them to pay extra to go about their jet setting lifestyle, and the crisp commandos for coin provided the lubrication needed to ensure they weren’t ‘put out’

Lost in her wandering she only just realised she felt the heat of eyes on her, glancing about carefully she noted a man in dusty grey armour with a scowl instead of a face unkempt rough dark brown hair and stubble but unusually light and soft looking skin that bore none of the scars that covered the armour.

She ignored him for now, she’d been getting stares from men all over in her new body…the flattery was beginning to wear off.

A brush against her shoulder that she could not ignore stopped her in her tracks.

The man was right beside her, had somehow rapidly snuck up and was leaning down his bulky dusky armour over her to intimidate with his height as he sniffed actually just sniffed her

“What Are you?” he asked with a voice otherwise appealing marred by gravelly anger.

She pushed him off

“Get away from me Freak!” her voice shrill with irritation gaining the attention of those nearby, the polished armoured commando’s of the Blue Suns and Vorta Vanguard taking notice.

The Freak eyed them, sniffed once more then stepped back and headed in the opposite direction.

If this was the attention her feminine beauty would attract she might just need more than M4 to look after her, the bulky droid behind her spun its head a full 180 to follow the Freak as he left.

Returning to her reason for being here he continued window shopping security services popping in at the most likely looking ones.

As impressive as they sounded, as welcoming – if not toadying – the receptionists and salesmen were none impressed her at all.

She already had five Dark Trooper Phase 4’s newly pressed for her imminent protection, and none of these ‘corporate warriors’ seemed the type to be able to tangle with Mak’Tor if it came down to it, let alone help her reach somewhere as distant and likely still wild as Ossus.

That and there was never enough credits to make a man willing to die for you – she needed someone who wanted to fight and die for the sake of it, for whom the credit were just an added bonus.

Mandalorians.

If they were still as they were when she was alive –the first time – then they should suffice.

The crusty old woman in battered beskar was sitting staid and posed waiting for prey it seemed.

Morrigan was not intimidated – she had seen under that armour in her prior life more than once and knew how they bled when a dark song pulsed and widened their veins.

“What is the target”

“No target, escort, to Ossus”

The woman paused no doubt consulting a data search in her helmet

“Ossus…that system is not known to us…”

Strange… Morrigna thought, it was a well known location in her day…and was on Zearic’s Bane Navicomputer

“I know the way,”

“Very well…what is the opposition,”

She shrugged

“No Idea, last I knew Ossus was a wasteland long since ravaged by Exar Kun,”

The Mandoa’s head tilted not knowing the history, Morrigan sighed

“Unknown, but at the very least I am having trouble with Gray Jedi,”

“Jedi…Jedi are expensive…” the Mando’a paused

“You need a Jedi Hunter or ex-Inquisitor…” she paused again consulting something in her helmet

“I can provide recommendations,”

Morrigan’s lips twitched in irritation

“Very well, who is your top recommendation…”

The Mando’s provided an uplink on the datapad -apparently a necessity in this day and age – and she headed out…

…right into a wall of dusky grey armour.

“What do you want Freak?”

“You want help getting to Ossus, and problem with Gray Jedi…” the mad creature that had sniffed her before leaned over her in a paltry attempt to intimidate her ignoring M4’s looming bulk…that in itself was…unusual…even the Gray Jedi had recoiled from M4 however unconsciously.

“You need me, these others the Mando’a suggested are inferior beings…”

“Inferior beings?” she crossed her arms in incredulity…and perhaps a little defensiveness, he had a strong force presence…but…twisted, violent and unstable, exciting…

“Mere humans and a Sephi…” he paused very intentionally and reach his armoured hand toward her cheek

She rapidly flung her hand up to slap his hand away,
In a flash he caught her wrist.

“Unlike Us” he leered as she shook her arm in his grip

“Let go…” she insisted backing her words with a mid strength Siren Song.

He dropped her hand, she felt the red sting of his grip linger.

“Go talk to these fools…then I will see you again…”

With a hard turn he put his back to her and strode down the concourse, pushing through a group of trandoshans…one hissed at him - then dropped to the floor gagging, its nest mates pulling the reptile back up as the Freak seemed to vanish from sight.

“M4…next time you see that Freak…blast him.”

<<<<>>>>

Balnard

“Frell…ooops!”
It had been a while since an expletive slipped through, Julwyyn increasingly disapproved, but if any situation warranted it…

Zearic’s Bane was on the other side of the ventilation grate he had bribed a bored Ugnaught cleaner to get access to so he could place a tracker on the hull…

What he hadn’t known was it was being patrolled by two Dark Trooper Mark IV’s...if they needed any proof Morrigan was in league with Aertemis this was it…of course they could claim she simply bought the droids – but where does – as Bal understood it – a 3000 year old ghost get the credits for that.

Regardless it made things difficult, he needed to get that tracker on there…without those damn droids seeing…

If he had the force he could levitate the little round tracer with a magnetized lock to the hull…but he didn’t and had to be more creative for it.

Cracking his knuckles out of habit he got to work moving further through the ducts. Bereft of his usual modified Mandalorian style armour plating due to the cramped confines he still had the under suit on a harness packed with dozens of useful little tools decades of experience told him would come in handy.

The first he used were micro-magnetic clamps on hands and feet in combination with a localised sound suppressor to climb up the emergency ventilation shaft that were far larger than normal to deal with the heavy fumes ships this size could potentially leak if damaged.

Second he used a micro slicer and a laser prism to get through the off the shelf motion detectors at the top of the shaft before crawling along further to the next open grate.

He was now above the Raider 2 ship, it still looked near on brand new, only the odd bit of Jump burn and carbon scouring on the TIE like fins and upper hull plating.

Now it was time to be slow and steady.

With a small lever he pried the grate open a little at the side…then checked…still too small for the tracer he….

Vrrrmmmm…

…Waited

The Hulking Dark Troopers were moving in helix like patterns around the ships entire axis using their proton jetpacks, one sweeping under him is hellfire red eyes sweeping out a plane of energy that bounced back to its sensors to detect changes in the the room, he snapped back away from the grate until it passed.

Flipping out a small hand mirror he’d taken from Julwyns toiletries bag he glanced in it to check it was…

FRELL

The hulking machine was hovering on blue jets staring straight up at the great.

[ANOMALY DETECTED] Its bass voice beat out [INVESTIGATING]

Fast as his old bones could manage he scrambled away from the grate barely reach the edge of the vent he had just climbed as red laser light poured through the grate.

[STRUCTURAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED. ANALYSING…..]

Then the obvious struck him.

He let go and tensed for the fall, the sound suppressor masking the loudest of the clatter as he hit the bottom, the ferroctrete between he vent and the hangar hopefully masking the vibration, he rolled to the grate on the ground floor and flicked the tracer on, immediately feeling the magnet try and lock onto the vent wall.

As suspected both Droids were hovering at the top of the ship. One hand keeping the tracer from flying off he rapidly pried the grate open and trusted his good arm

Catch it…

The universe slowed as the tracer flew across the line markers floor and the Mark IV’s swept down at their faster than human speed. For a brief heart stilling moment he feared they would do just that, catch the tracer and blast him to warm fragments.

Relief flooded his body as they went to the smaller side door where a figure in dusky grey armour strode in, the Droids confronting him out of Balnards hearing, then letting him pass just as the trace clicked onto the ships underside and shimmered invisible as the cloak activated.

The feeling of accomplishment was short lived as the Dusky Grey armoured soldier dragged in headless corpses.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 38 - Flight or Fight - Part 2

Morrigan

Hiring a mercenary, at Spira at least, seemed to involve a copious amount of paper work.

She’d spoken to all three ‘Jedi hunters’ the Mando’a had recommended, two humans and a Sephi, each expounding their talents, one showing two ‘genuine lightsabre trophies’ and providing various contract documents that M4’s oversized fists could hardly hold should she agree to their terms.

Only the Sephi, an elder of that species with a touch of Force power and a grizzled look seemed appealing.

Shaking her head in annoyance at the overdrawn process she slid the key card into the side door to return to Zearic’s Bane….

And there sitting on a crate at the foot of the ship's ramp was the Freak from before…in his dusty grey armour…beside him three poles.

On each pole was a head, eyes wide open, mouths agape in terror and surprise as fresh blood dripped down in gluggy globs.

And each head belonged to one of the ‘Jedi Hunters’ she had just visited. None had been weak, they were all capable mercenaries…now they were all just so much meat.

“Inferior…” his voice was a whisper but it carried across the distance between them as maintenance droids went about their business checking her ships fuel lines and gas exchangers as if nothing untoward was occurring.

“Kill him,” she ordered M4.

The droid didn’t move.

“Hmmm….” He smiled viciously

“M4 kill this Freak!”

[Error…Target Designated [Person] Unable to comply.]

She scowled at the droid, by the time she turned around the Freak was right in front of her,

“Your toy soldier can’t hurt me, It knows what I am, just like I know what you are…even if I don’t know why They made you,”

The word They was spat with bilious hatred the way she would speak of Dorian.

“But you don’t want to belong to Them, to be Their Pawn,” the hatred was palpable…she revelled in experiencing it vicariously, but needed to keep her focus.

“So what do you propose?” she replied keeping his gaze

“What are you looking for on Ossus?”

“None of your business,”

He sneered “Something you think will keep you safe from these Gray Jedi?...hmm what kind are they, Templars, Vhal’Dan, Mak’tor…”

She didn’t even reply the micro expression was enough

“Ah…Mak’tor…we’ll need Force pattern disturbance Orbs…break the ‘Song’ flows they use, how many?”

“At least two”

“Rank?”

“Young knight and old man, a woman who seemed more…primal than the others”

“Recon for a larger force?”

“Possibly,”

“No matter, you have four droids plus that one, and I’m worth at least six of them,”

“Six!” she broke out incredulous

“Is that not evidence enough,” he thumbed the heads

“No it isn’t,” she said clearly the shock of his appearance wearing out more with every passing second

“And what do you want for your Superior assistance,”

He leaned forward and sniffed at her again, before she could stop him his hand reached round to grip her rear and drag her close, his scent was a mix of armour polish, fresh charges power cells and a firm musty scent.

“I want you…”

“I’m not a prostitute,”

“I’m putting my body on the line for you,” he countered “and in a much less pleasurable way,”

She couldn’t deny there was an attraction, she could only imagine what he looked like beneath that armour, the strength to wear it alone.

She’d barely spoken to him five minutes and she could tell he was a brute, a psychopathic sadist…and yet far more fascinating than any of the boy toys on Spira, she could feel tingles of excitement near him mingled with the terror that he might kill her…

It made her feel for the first time in Millenia truly Alive

“After I get what I want, not before,” she replied, not bothering to argue his other point – it wouldn’t make any difference – once she had her crystals back she could control this fool like a puppet…he would make an excellent enforcer….

“Agreed…but I get the trophies and the bodies of any Mak’tor…now what is you name…your real name…Partner”

“Morrigan, and yours?”

“Aydyn”.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 39 Caverns of Unconscionable Depth - Part 1

Coruscant

He could almost hear the pounding Imperial March as Star Destroyers huddled within shells of escort ships passed across the sub-light lanes at the edge of the Coruscant system.

Red and yellow buoys blinked angrily as the vast vessels ignored them on their patrols.

Ysanne Isard had fortified the system well, but her grip was brittle, rumours of an imminent Alliance ‘liberation’ were already spreading, from what Alex had heard on the Smugglers Networks the Imperials were sticking tight to their garrisons on the planet as the streets outside the highest levels and upper society areas became ungovernable.

Sliding out a hidden tray featuring a number of bland looking unlabelled toggles of his own design Alex clicked on the IFF for the Gabriel, a trader of Hapan Dark Opals for Maascheriin Luxury Jewelry with all necessary clearances paid for and approved.

“Here goes…” he sighed as they came to the next in line at the heavily patrolled entry point, dozens of probe dorid circling as TIEs cruised past with bulky scanning equipment. Boarding the thousands of ships that came everyday was impractical, and Coruscant absent any natural resources needed constant supplies of food anyway - algal vat produced slurries were not to everyone's taste.

“Freighter Gabriel transmit your credential on channel 551.302,” the curt demand came over the comm.

“Transmitting,” Alex replied, exuding as boring a sense as he could across the Force around him as possible - while the Corvette housing the officer was too far out of range to affect it was still good practice.

Just any other job he reminded himself as another Star Destroyer passed over head.

There wouldn’t be any Inquisitors, he was certain…well…hopeful…Ysanne Isard they said had no time for the loony religious fanatics and had turfed out the few on Coruscant as soon as she could, he doubted that policy had changed.

“Gabriel your credentials are invalid, permission expired 12 solar days ago, proceed to exit 17-B to be escorted to out bound jump point.”

It was of course just then that Karmack walked in.

“Uh those credentials were valid though, we were delayed in getting here by two weeks due to the war, damn rebs cut holonet access across half the Corellian run, nowhere to renew the authorisation before it expired…” Alex replied with just enough exasperation to play the role of a small time delivery freighter caught short.
Damn second hand sellers Alex cursed he’d paid a lot of good credits for those credentials as he scrambled through some flimsi for another document.
“...It’s not my fault, I’ll renew as soon as I get in range of the in-system holo net,”

“I repeat proceed to exit 17-B…”

“...wait hold up my landing authorisation is still valid for ten days, makes no sense right, I mean I’m allowed to land but not enter the system,” Alex half joked at the bureaucratic bungle
“Permission to land does not translate to permission to enter the system,” was the cold reply
“Hang on but what’s the point in being able to land if I can’t…”

Karmacks eyes were fixed on the corvette intently, irritation at the fumbling delay building like pot bubbling about to boil over behind him.

“I have it under control,” Alex whispered
“If you can just patch me through to your commanding officer I’m sure we can…”

“I have no time,” Karmakc leaned over him pushing his will through the ancient one and across the void.
“...the landing permission is fine, Freighter Gabriel may proceed,”

On the Imperial corvette a junior officer sat bolt upright, eyes watering as she spoke

“The landing permission is fine, Freighter Gabriel may proceed…” from the autonomous reflex of hundreds of such permissions given he keyed the downing of the small shield barrier and ticked the associated IFF to conditional approval.

Alex bit back any response as he accelerated forward

<<<<>>>>

Coruscant was a city under martial law - or the upper levels at least.

Stormtroopers patrolled the walkways, anxious and apathetic at the same time. Anxious about when the Rebel invasion would come, apathetic about their ability to do anything to resist it. Some of the more fanatical or duty bound would certainly resist, many more would vanish into the streets.

Their permissions required them to dock at a mid level bourgeois zone nominally to deliver the Hapan Dark Opals, Zu-zu would coordinate the delivery dorid to make that appear to happen, on the off chance anyone even cared, as the found humans headed to the Factory district through ghostly empty mag rails and turbo lifts.

“Feels like the invasion could come at any minute,” Joanna said as they descended ever further into the murky orange haze of the Factory levels, the tip of the Imperial Palace just visible in the distance as the fluor level numbers zipped passed by the dozen.

“Let’s hope we get out of here before it does,” Alex agreed hand resting on his saber beneath the heavy travel cloak that concealed their Envrio-sealed armour.

Their progress was smooth, all things considered, but long. Arnor, Alex and Joanna simple followed Karmack who strode ahead of them like a man possessed.

“Must be focusing on the Force to guide him,” Alex noted to Joanna with more hope than evidence.

Karmack stretched his senses through the ancient one an half a dozen crystals of his choir, amplifying the tunes of the ancient Mak’Tor into a beacon in his mind that he instinctively followed.

The mundanities of the walk and occasional rail line were ignored or sneered at as necessities. Every moment he was away from M’Tizigon Artemis would be digging their claw in deeper, of that he was utterly certain.

Level by level, section by section on their diagonal descent the temperature rose, the aesthetics degraded, and the number of beings out an about increased, here they began to enter sections that had likely never even heard of the Empire, entire civilizations for whom the ‘top worlders’ conflicts and cares were an irrelevance.

The clang and smoke of automated factories that stuffed their nostrils and stained their faces gave way to the salty sweaty tang of manual workshops where the subsistence denizens toiled, astonishingly cheaper than robots or droids.

Local gangs eyed or ignored the four wanderers, Alex’s suppressive field backed by Arnor diverting attention away from them.

The temperature was rising a degree with each level, there was now an endless hum of long forgotten generators and moisture harvesters that fed into plumbing networks. The thickness of the metal walls couldn’t hide the orange glow of molten heat seeping through.

The air became too thick with toxins, their masks quickly on, hissing seals keeping out the worst.

“We’ll use filters for now…but it's getting bad fast, we’ll have to switch to oxygen pods soon,” Joanna commented, they had about six hours of air each if they needed it in the miniaturized pods.

“How close are we?”

His suit sealed Karmack was already marching ahead

“Hey!” the three raced to catch him
“How much further do you think?” she insisted, he paid her no attention.

Karmack’s mind was focused on the Song he was following. It was a tentative thing…the echoes of millenia past, even with the choir it was nigh on impossible to hold onto.

And above all that he had to follow it in a circuitous manner, the labyrinth of tunnels and caverns was complex, he trusted in the Song to guide him on the right path.

“Karm!” Arnor gabbed his arm breaking the spell.
“Nggh, What!” he snapped as he nearly lost the thread he had been struggling to hold
“Are we getting close,”

He rolled his eyes beneath the helmet
“We were, now I have to retune, this isn’t easy to find, the path isn’t straight, I need to fully concentrate - without interruption,”

Giving him the benefit of the doubt they continued on.

The populace began to thin as the heat rose and the tunnel narrowed, many more rust than metal, graffiti on ferrocrete became more sparse as they reached areas fewer beings visited. Joanna warily eyes the grates and vents along the sagging cracked walls, half flashes of tentacle and fungal growths slithering in between but always vanishing out of sight.

Light became scarce, they switched to night vision suffusing the area in a green haze, off bones clustered in small piles here and there of unknown species who had stumbled too far away from the factories and the ghettos never to return.

Duracrete paths gave way to rickety grated metal, they passed on swaying bridges over cavernous depths that glowed red, artificial volcanoes to power the vast towers overhead.
Even the half spied mutants began to thin out, mechanical clanks and grinding was a perpetual orchestra attending every cautious step.

“I can’t sense anything ahead…” Alex said over the suits comms
“Nothing alive at any rate…” he had never been to the underlevels before the enormity of the place was still astonishing, a barely 4 hour trip and they were in an entirely different world.

Crossing over another vast humming generator, a valley of metal on either side, they came to a large wall that stretched up out of sight and down into yellow tinged depths below. Dozens of sealed doors each wide enough for the Hope II were along it, archaic aurebesh signs printed with faded warnings.

Karmack slowly approached each one in turn feeling out which would lead him to the Mount and the Catacombs beneath.

Danger, Do not Enter without escort and authority from Coruscant Geoengineering. the one legible sign read.

“This one…” Karmack said his hand hovering over the door.

“Alright,” Alex stepped up looking at the door and the various pipes, cables and sealed maintenance boxes around it.
“Shouldn't be too hard to find an override, old tech a standard hot wire should…”

With a blink Karmack swept the vast sheets of metal aside with a telekinetic pulse, a wall of pitch black lit by tiny lights that resemble stars stared back at them.

“Or that…”

Without a second thought Karmack plunged into the darkness to save the Light.

<<<<>>>>

Er’Lav

“The captives will remain unharmed and be brought with us on the promised transport to Socorro in three days time,” The very well spoken Weequay announced to the negotiators behind a wall of riot shields, his escort of two growling Shistavanens a reminder of the feral death the general could expect if their demands were not met.

“Once we reach our destination they will be released, but not a minute before, my Lady suggests we wait for the arrival of the transport amicably and peacefully.”

“We’ll need proof they are still alive….” the negotiator's voice trailed off as the holo recording volume was turned down by President Alvarez himself.

“What are our options?” he asked the assembled Emergency Council, consisting for three Generals, the Mak’Tor Kage and ministers around the main table, aides and asides on chairs or standing behind in the large conference room in the under levels of the Presidential Palace.

The one figure Er’lav found noxiously out of place was Nimmin Cha.

He was not a citizen of M’Tzigon, let alone a member of the Security Council. His presence, on the Presidents invitation, showed disturbingly how much Artemis had integrated themselves.

“I suppose it bears no repeating we cannot allow the hostages to board those transports, once they hit hyperspace they are good as dead, even in the unlikely event they actually go to Socorro they will most likely be sold or shot,” General Kor’Lin’Masst who held position of acting Joint Chief of Staff while General Cliff was captive said

This was met with murmurs of agreement.

“We have anaesthetic gases and stun nets ready to deploy, however the variety of species among the prisoners means not all will be effected at the same rate, there is a moderate chance a few of the reptilian species will be able to harm the captives before the tranquilizers take effect and our troops can get in range,” he brought up a schematic based on orbital scans of the camp.

The pirates were surprisingly well organized, the arrangement of patrols, lookouts and troops diffused enough to ensure they could detect and respond to an attempt from any direction, the only option would be to encircle and hit all sides at once.

The risk was they would activate the Electrofences and seal an attacking force - however temporarily - inside until the control booth could be retaken.

The fences were on a fixed line circuit, no connection to holonet or any wireless receivers so they can’t be hacked remotely,

“There is also the issue of the Imperials, so far they remain in their...sit in...but are taking up manpower to keep an eye on.”

Alvarez turned to the new Kage
“Can your knights perform a more subtle extraction?”

Er’Lav had to shake her head,
“Too many remain injured after the battle with Mendax, and at any rate against those numbers…”

It was not auspicious to be refusing the president in her first crisis meeting.

“Understandable…” Alvarez sighed well aware of the damage the Knights had taken in the Temple District when the droid went haywire….

Yet that very resource provided and opportunity, he turned to Masst

“Those new droids, could we use them now the IFF’s have been corrected?”

“Colonel,” Masst addressed Ta’Re who stepped forward.

“The Friend Foes software has been amended and the Men-At-Arms loaded in as friends but again, there have been no field tests as of yet, much like last time I would consider it too early to risk using them,”

“And you Mr. Cha, are you confident your droids are up to the task?”

“Undoubtedly Mr. President, though there may be some minimal collateral damage, the Droids, after all, are designed for more...blunt...operations. Whilst I have the utmost confidence in our programming, as the Colonel said it is untested.”

Er’lav found herself surprised by Cha’s caution, she was expecting him to wax lyrical.

Alvarez chewed on the reply as competing requirements tousled in his mind.

He could not negotiate or give into the prisoners demands, but nor could he risk any more lives in a rescue - wounds from the Battle were still raw enough as it was without this getting out of hand damaging public confidence in the military when it was needed the most.

“We have spent a very, very large sum of money on those droids. Cliffs reports said they worked damn well in the orbital battle close confines when they breached ships, this isn’t so different surely - just take their guns off, who cares if they break a few bones of the scum we are holding in that damn camp. So unless anyone can come up with a better solution I want them in the air within an hour, Masst can you make it happen?”

“Mr. President with all due respect we don’t need to hurry,” Er’Lav spoke up

“You trust the word of desperate known pirates already involved in one attempted invasion of our world not to harm the hostages they’ve taken?”

She couldn’t say she did. She looked to Masst in case he had any alternatives.

“We’ll gas them first, tranquiliser and smoke, time it so they hit just before the droids, limiting resistance and casualties…”

“Very well, clock is ticking, let’s get our people out and safe.”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 39 Caverns of Unconscionable Depth - Part 2

Foot taping on the ground, Ry's eyes darted from the screen to the clock in the same anxious pattern for the last fifteen minutes since receiving the order.

All 20 Dark Trooper Mark IV’s were on the ferrocrete landing pad just outside the main base, their bulky grey form still intimidating despite the lack of their Assault cannon, and empty missile launchers. In twenty minutes they would launch, arriving mere seconds after the first smoke bombs hit the camp.

“Are we good?” a nervous Lieutenant with a comm straight to General Masst asked.

“As good as I can tell, the identifiers for all the hostages are loaded, I’ve checked them one by one,” with only 11 hostages she had personally checked each entry in the Droids Friend Database was up to date after being given the list of names.

“There is no need to worry,” Aeresdottir chimed in spinning on her chair

“The extraction software will work perfectly, my aunt wrote it . They will use thermal and infra-red to locate the hostages and extract them in minutes.”

There was no concern for the droids themselves, their armour was more than capable of handling the shiv’s and appropriated weapons designed for crowd control not armour penetration.

“Then...we’re good,” Ry said a feeling of dread in her stomach and the Lieutenant relayed the confirmation and she overheard Maast give the order.

As soon as she saw the Droid lift on Proton streams she knew they had made a mistake.

<<<<>>>>

Coruscant

(https://i.ibb.co/PYYZFBL/Droids.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Limbs of every length, sparking with wires, spinning serrated blades or simply clawing with broken digits sought her out.

It had started as a trickle, now it was a tsunami.

Deep beneath the Factory districts on the incline toward the old Temple was a dumping ground for ancient droids, primitive self preservation routines caused those retaining functionality to seek power sources and self repair, over centuries feeding off the Coruscant power grid and harvesting components from more and more dorids tossed into the depths.

Everyone of them was an abomination of different components, shambling and clawing at anything it regarded as useful for its repair, in her case she assumed, her Envirsuit.

“Down!” Joanna called firing off another clip from her blaster rifle, the bespoke weapon able to fire in an arc to slice dozens of the machines apart as Alex and Arnor defended her with saber and Force.

It bought them only a few seconds as more filled the void drawn to the concentration of energy and light so otherwise absent in the hellish depths.

Nearly three meters wide Arnor made out the figure of a vast shambling droid its front like a wall of durasteel, she tensed ready to hurl it backward telekinetically when a wave of energy nearly knocked her off her feet.

Alex braced Joanna from falling as Karmack struck, six Kyber crystals floating in a ring around his head like a halo of an angel the Song reverberated with vicious sheer power that smashed the machines like a wrecking ball into sparking chunks.

Not even looking his Saber was moving through the droids that closed in on him, hissing limbs and protrusions dropping to the floor before he blasted a group into a nearby tunnel, his fist twisting up to send the huge droid into the opening to block it up, sparks flying as the balled body scraped the durasteel.

“Come on, we’re getting closer,” he spun and quickly moved ahead.

It had been nearly seven hours, they were already tired, now they were reaching the point of exhaustion. Karmack raced like a beacon of yellow ahead, pausing only to ‘rescue’ them when they became overwhelmed, seeming to resent the impediment to his progress.

Arnor ruefully thought it might have been better had he gone alone…

Rolling under a buzzing saw she rose to slice through the mercifully brittle and easily cut metal, the rot and rust down here at least made the ravenous hordes easy to cut through.

To the side a blue white flare erupted as Joanna tossed the second of their three Electro-grenades down a hatch, Alex then using the force to dump a pile of bodies on top to stop them climbing up if the explosion wasn’t enough.

The tunnels were narrowing as they went further, the heat and concentrated gases rising, it must surely mean they were getting close.

The thvump of Joanna’s rifle echoes beside the humm of sabers, Arnor switching to her Dl-44 guided by the Force to save saber energy and keep the tide at a manageable distance, Alex taking up the idea firing a fragmentation grenade on the underside of his own rifle into the dark behind them.

A satisfying whining smash of metal and bouncing pieces of droid chassis was their reward as they looked to see Karmack out of sight once more, their suit auto-map showing he’d rounded a corner.

“It's such a waste,” Alex huffed with humour
“Who knows what unique models are down here, how many rare parts!”

“Do you ever stop thinking with your spanner!” Joanna snapped at her gearhead husband.

Feigning hurt they pressed on, idly slicing or shooting the droids that shambled after them, finding Karmack had clogged up a number of tunnels, hatches and vents on the way.

When they finally caught up he was standing in front of a jagged wall

“This is it…” he pressed his hand against the uneven surface
“This isn’t ferrocrete, this is actual rock…the Mountain, the Tor…”

Impossible to tell the difference using just night vision, they took his word for it as he walked round it through the narrow dark path, idly blasting a handful of droids to pieces with a kinetic wave.

“There must be an entrance somewhere…”

“Hopefully none of those droids are in there, we really need to hunker down and rest…” Alex complained
“I don’t know how we’re gonna make it back up if we keep going at this rate,” his thoughts were firmly fixed on Joanna, unlike the Knights she couldn't draw on the force to supplement her energy.

Karmack kept looking, content they could handle themselves while he searched - it seemed as if a vast structure had been built around this section of the mountain, and based on the very shallow curve of the path he must be near the base.

Arnors saber back on he slashed through three dorids, spinning round to hurl a blast of energy to send four more flying then retreated behind Alex who took the rearguard. If anything Donovan had understate the young couples skills, and they had easily settled into a rhythm together fighting the droids off.

“Here…” Karmack finally found something unnatural, a sport jammed into the side, his and followed it to a welded door frame in the mountain side, switching on his light for a better view a metal plaque on the Front identified it is as ‘Hanna Institute of Antiquities - Coruscant Expedition 4-Esk 15th Year of His Highness Emperor Palpatine’.

His heart sank at the thought of Palpatine having already plundered the ancient Catacombs…if Imperial sympathizers had taken the Starfire it could truly be anywhere…

Even so he might at least be able to find some clues as to its next owner inside.

Yellow saber hissing on he cut through the welded joints, a gust of musty air escaping as the door was loosed.

Just as he took a tentative step in he recalled the other.

“In here!”

Almost buried beneath another wave of the frantic machines they couldn’t hear him, saber spinning and blasters pumping they were surrounded by piles of crackling machinery when Karmack arrived, his Crystal choir blasting the hordes back.

The Force flowed through the ancient one to the Master Singer, his will imprinted upon it in sonorous chords of rhythmic intent then channeled out through the Crystal choir and the Ancient one once more as incredible telekinetic power that tore the durasteel as easily as paper.

Joanna had seen her share of Force powers, illusions, energy blasts, in that sense what Karmack was doing was nothing new. What made her gasp was the ease with which he was doing it, Alex had always said using too much power for too long would cause a kind of ‘burn’, Karmack seemed to be immune to it.

If Joanna was astonished, Alex was terrified. He could hear the echoes of Karmacks use of the Force clearly, felt the ripple of the Song wash over him without even trying, the intensity was beyond anything he had experienced…the only comparison he had was that sickening moment seeing the Oblivion creature on M’tzigon which the dark antithesis of Karmacks shining power.

A glowing hand lifted Arnor from a staggered crouch, her husbands touch strangely cold and distant as he released his saber that spun like a circular saw down the path severing droids by the dozens before he led them away.

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

For the umpteenth time he tried to loosen the bonds.

But once more succeeded only in getting an angry grunt from the burly guards.

Slumping backward he sighed out hard, the Pirate Queen wandering back in.

“You’ll never get off this planet alive now, you know that,” he said to her

Cliff was kept in Orfa’s tent, tied to the unconscious near naked forms of his bodyguard, their armor and weapons stripped.

She made no response as she stared out the flap over her ‘domain’.

“I understand why you didn’t take the deal,” he said, he had nothing but time to think after finding no obvious escape, one of the Suppressors had managed a quick break, only to be brought back sporting a number of painful purple bruises.

“It has to be your deal, you need to be in total control or these creatures will turn more rabid, you’ve got the nexu by the tail.”

“I was never getting out of this life alive,” she replied with eerie calm.

“Traded between Capitan and Mercenary commanders, a talent for witchcraft, all that stood between me and death...I tried to make my own way, but every time...I just can’t get out of this cycle, it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“I can protect you, get you out alone, just let me contact…”

“It’s too late, general,” Orfa replied grimly as the first missiles struck.

<<<<<>>>>

Ex Machina

Twelve pressurized canister exploded overhead, raining anaesthetic gases over the camp in a white mist through which dozens of stun nets were lobbed, the energised weapons spread in a scatter pattern aimed at the hovels sparked and crackled as they hit, the handful of pirates hit writhing into unconscious slumber.

In the War Room satellite images were switched to thermal as the gases obscured everything, the oxide mix filling the respiratory system of the dozens of species that comprised the pirate crew, they staggered and dropped as their limbs became unresponsive.

Not every species was affected, gand and other non-oxygen breathers reacted in one of three ways, they either raced toward the Mak’Tor prisoners to enact the promised kills, resigned themselves to surrender, or gave into wild panic.

A trandoshan guarding a Marine who had already fallen unconscious from the gas had only just drawn his shiv to end the flesh things life when the countdown on Ry’s timer reached zero and the Mark IV Dark Troopers arrived.

Prioritising [Conscious - Motile] targets based on complex thermal and electromagnetic scans the enormous Droids struck without pause or mercy.

through the gas haze a fist of Phrik overlaid on a Duranium alloy skeleton gripped the trandoshans muzzle and crushed, the immediate threat eliminated it grabbed the [Friend] unit and slung it over its shoulder, before proceeding to eliminate all remaining nearby [Hostiles]

[Hostage 1 Secured]
[Hostage 3 Secured]
[Hostage 7 Secured]
[Hostage 2 Secured]

The feed on the War Rooms large display was overwhelming positive, tiny blips showed the first five Dark Troopers jetting out of the mist, carrying 5 Marines and one Sword of Light out to the nearby Men-At-Arms redoubt, leaving only General cliff, one Marine and three sword of Light to rescue.

The Mission timer ticked over the first minute.

“Brilliant” President Alvarez boomed as another hostage was secured
“This will be over in five minutes!”

Er’Lav and General Maast were not so certain,
“The Bio-Electrical impulse signatures…what is happening with those…” Maast asked a nearby technician pointing to a cluster near the latest rescue ping.
“Likely just unconscious sir but…”

“No,” Er’Lav disagreed dread filling her breast

From the camp opposite, mouth covered against the gas Lieutenant Nordas spied what was happening in the form of two barabels racing to the electro fence that largely contained the gas. They thrashed and clawed impotently to escape as a vast shadow in the mist walked casually behind them, enormous hands pulled them back.

He squinted to see more in the haze. A reptilian body bloody and broken slammed into the shield.

20 Dark Troopers had deployed to liberate 11 hostages, 10 were rescued, but the other Dark Troopers did not leave, systematically eliminating the mostly unconscious [Hostiles] by stomping them.

“Frell it we have to stop them!” Ry yelled, jumping onto the Control console for the shut down override.

“It won’t work,” Aeresdottir said disinterestedly “The President was very clear, the operation isn’t over till all the hostages were rescued there is still one left…”

Her breath stilled and calm to keep out the gas Illiv Orfa stood ready to face her death. The Entire tent was torn off in a single swift motion, three giants surrounded her - red eyes somehow cold the only feature she could make out in the pure white particles.

Half awake Cliff looked up to see the crackling flare of an abused woman’s anger at a life of suffering pour as blue white lighting into the vast uncaring forms of the Mark IVs he had purchased to spite Silman. The Force Lighting twisted to the Troopers Blackstone core that served as a sink for just this purpose- a Kage Killer indeed - a droid made by Force users to kill force users.

With indifference the nearest one grabbed her by the neck and squeezed as cold hands larger than his Troso lifted him up.

Winds began to sweep the gases clear as the President's glee turned to horror as bodies cooled and the evidence of the massacre became clear as the day that was just breaking.

[Hostage 11 Secured] scrolling across the feed was cold comfort as the murder continued unabated.

The Mission finally accomplished, Ry slammed the override feeling exhausted despite having barely moved a muscle.

Of just under five hundred pirates nearly 400 were dead.

“An unmitigated success,” Cha smiled to the President and his Generals, Er’lav too horrified to react

“All hostages safe and sound, and the problem of these unwanted guests all but dealt with…I’m so glad our collaboration has expanded the Droids areas of operations to search and rescue successfully.”

He was met with only stunned silence as the enormity of what had happened sunk in, 400 unarmed, many unconscious beings murdered by machines sent to rescue a handful.

“This wasn’t meant to happen…” Maast finally spoke
“The identifiers…”

“Worked perfectly,” Cha grinned “All M’tzigon military personnel were rescued…of course the droids had to make sure they were safe from any threat,”

He was right, the identifiers were working, but that was the problem: anyone not a member of the M’tzigon military was a Hostile, and treated as such. Taking the Mark IV’s plasma rifles off them made no difference, they were still 3.5 meter walking dreadnoughts able to punch through doonium.

“I don’t know why you’re upset,” Aeresdottir sighed in the Droid Control Centre as Ry fought back tears for her complicity, wondering what she had gotten wrong in the programming.

“They did what we programmed them to do,”

She strode over behind the young Chiss women looking at the readouts.
“Inefficient though, still 92 alive…you should finish them off,”

Ry stared silently at the screen for a minute longer
“Don’t you have any empathy…a shred of mercy…they might’ve been pirates, but they were unarmed, unconscious!”

Aeresdottir had no understanding of what point the Chiss woman was trying to make.

“That just made them easier to eliminate,” was her factual reply

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 39 Caverns of Unconscionable Depth - Part 3

Coruscant

(https://i.ibb.co/0BCTKZ0/KArm.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

With a pile of droids and the Hanna Institute door flash welded by Alex’s hand-fuser they had a reasonable barrier between them and the droids outside. Unable to bash the barrier down the droids soon gave up and began scavenging from the hundreds they had torn to pieces.

The tunnel walls were smooth, columns for decoration carved into the rock, old Mak-Tora Runes running elegantly along the sides, a few words Arnor could make out indicated they were likely passages from the Proto-Courscanti-Book of the Way.

“I can’t believe this place hasn’t collapsed under the weight of everything above it…” Alex huffed slumped in a corner with Joanna
“According to my map we're almost directly under the Imperial Palace…”

“And the Jedi Temple it was built upon…” Karmack added reaching down at the far end of the entrance tunnel, foot prints six or seven years old still in the dust from the Hanna Institute Expedition.

The tunnels ahead were narrow and low.

“Stay here,” he ordered
“I’ll go on alone,”

Arnor almost argued, but her wobbly weary legs pre-empted her.

“Stay safe,” she called as her husband vanished into the darkness.

Karmack drew in deep breaths of his own recycled air, pushing his mind ‘back’ as he had on Geonosis as he hummed a rhythm in tune with the Force around him. The Catacombs Song was a mix of grief, nobility, celebration, despair, stoicism and Hope, all the emotions clustered around the dead and grieving, but also those of the many pilgrims who had come here to pay respects.

As he passed a narrow intersection he caught movements from the corner of his eyes, Robe figures without legs holding Candles in a procession, six men bearing a casket upon their back before vanishing into Time.

The Crystal Choir sung sharply and painfully in his head, the Flow Sight was hard to sustain even with the Ancient One. He turned the corner following the ghostly procession down well worn steps, past dozens of niches where ossuaries sat quietly in family grouping, plates and cups from ancient practices of leaving offerings to the dead beside some of the oldest, Urns of valuables near others.

The Solemn procession went on, the Robed Mak’Tor of old carrying bodies by the Dozen, the loads seemingly heavy, Warriors interred in their full armour after embalming. Wall niches and ossuaries gave way to larger sarcophagi as practices and times changed, the carvings of the occupants peaceful as if asleep, some so real he could almost imagine them waking at the sound of his footsteps.

He came to an arch carved into the Mountain, Mak-Tora Runes announced the ‘Honoured Warriors of the Great War’, the Ancient Ones echoes of generations allowing him to read the archaic script easy as he had when he found the Moonshadow on M’Tzigon just 12 days earlier.

His heart beating faster with expectation he entered the tomb, rows of burials lined the walls, sarcophagi heavy with age but in remarkable condition, the prayers etched on the sides clear.

There were dozens, the flower of a generation of Knights lost at Ruusan in the New Sith Wars.

Releasing the Flow Sight at last he felt a sense of relief as he focused on seeking out the Star Fire.

His helmet light began to sputter, damaged by a droid somehow, he lit his saber instead.

Under the yellow light of his blade he carefully read the names and tales on small plaques on beneath each of the sarcophagi, tales of heroism, dedication and camaraderie, legends of a time long forgotten, warriors who knew what the Light was, knew to fight the Dark not ignore it as too many of Mak’Tor did now…but by the same token Knights who would’ve marched to their deaths against the Empires vast resources had they been transplanted to more recent times.

The Mak’Tor and the galaxy had changed much.

Heading toward the far end of the tomb he stopped dead at an empty hollow.

Empty.

He looked toward the end, behind him, up and down…This couldn’t be intentional, at the end of the Tomb was an Altar to the Maker, uneven weathering on the wall where a Triptych had been removed.

He counted 12 in all, the twelve Knights interred nearest the altar were all gone, and whatever had been behind the altar vanished too.

His heart now beat with fury. The sweep of his saber light caught aglint on the rocky floor beside the altar, something plastic and reflective.

It was a plas-tag ‘HIoA_C15_sr0003391’, the kind that would be affixed to artefacts found on a dig site.

HIoA. Hanna Institute of Antiquities

The hilt of his saber dug into his palm as he squeezed it tightly trying to contain his rage at the despicable looting of these hallowed ruins, and the resultant delay to his attaining the Starfire, at the very moment the Order needed a Knight like those of old to Rise again and cast down the Darkness of Morrigan and Artemis!

Sneering angrily he gave the room a last look over then headed out. As he wound his way back a gust of air carrying whispers passed him, drawing his attention.

Turning his blade he heard faint footsteps

“Arnor? Alex?”

Whispers?

No an argument…

“Arnor?” he strode forth determined his sbaer now in a defensive stance providing light and protection in equal measure.

“...what I had to do…” that was no mere breeze, no ghostly echo - he heard that.

Running now the voices grew louder

”...let her go!...” A second voice, male for certain
“Arnor!” he called to the black as he followed the sound, skidding and shimmying through narrow gaps in the rock.

Rounding a final corner he saw three figures in soft candle light vanish as his saber lit the small annex fully.

There was no one there, just a few dozen small niches with ossuaries, two niches empty.

“A vision…” Karmack wondered out loud, he hadn’t been intentionally Flow Gazing…this had to be the Makers guidance.

Peering around his suspicion was confirmed, every name on the ossuaries ended in ‘Xandir’, and there in the upper left corner was the ancient MAster himself, the maker of the Sunfire that would pass down named the ‘Ancient One’, the Genius who crafted the Moonshadow os recently uncovered that had shielded M’Tizgon for centuries, and the polymath who had, if not founded, then established full the tradition of attuning crystals to the Song among the Mak;’Tor.

“Klu Xandir!” Karmack gasped,
“What did you wish me to see…” he wondered running his fingers along the stone near the ossuary an unseen force guided his hand down to the empty niche beneath
“Kar Xandir…what became of you…” next to this was another empty niche for ‘Jem Xandir’ and below those two…

”What have you done!” shock and disgust in the old mans voice
““I’ve given her time…a chance to be a mother like she always wanted…not just to one child to…something better…something greater than anything we could’ve imagined…”
“What did you do to her body Kar!”

Maker, what happened here! Karmack thought as the loose threads of forgotten words spoken millenia before trickled in his ears.

His hand went further to the next Ossuary…’Kay Xandir’ - the sister no one remembered, the one Klu had made the Moonshadow crystal for - the sequence was becoming clearer to Karmack, three Crystals for three siblings! Klu, Kar and Kay Xandir, the Ancient One, the Star Fire, and the Moonshadow…but what had befallen them, what had caused the argument he was hearing as whispers, what did Kar do and to whose body?

The box containing Kay’s remains was carefully etched in a feminine script, oddly the deal around the lid was extra thick, a shadow in the yellow light of Karms saber obscuring the first few words of the writing.

Yet as he leaned his saber across the shadow didn’t fade but expanded and defined itself, a rough cylinder that seemed to absorb the light.

A Flare of the Force Karmack intensified the energy through the Ancient One and into the saber blade to illuminate the object.

Its resolution disgusted him even more than the Hanna Institutes desecration.

The image was of three women back to back, arms looped together in a column like statuette of Oblivion material, each female slightly different, one appeared to be a scholar, the other a warrior and the last covered in flowers, all were shown in partial states of undress.

He knew this figure from the description Julwyyn had given of a similar totem on Canto Bite, this was Artemis idol, placed in the Mak’Tor Catacombs consecrated to the Maker. Its presence was an abomination and an insult…Worse it implied they had been here first, they had come to this sacred place of the Mak’Tor and done…Maker only knew with their natural law defying powers!

“Everywhere I look…Everywhere I go…” Karmacks voice was a wrathful whisper barely above the humm of his saber,
“No one else sees it, no one else believes it…”
Yet there it was evidence the Artemis hatred of the Mak’tor descended to desecrating their most ancient tombs- the effort to even get here just to perform his sacrilege!

The Black Armours were truly pathological in their hatred of everything the Gray Order stood for.

The eyes of the statue looked at him, one with curiosity another guarded suspicion, and the third with lustful enticement. He gripped the heavy thing in his hand, he would not let this edifice to barbarity remain.

The Song beat heavy and fast, pulsing with the angry beat of his heart, his face contorting in anger matched by the changing expressions of the statue that seemed to despise him just as much.

Days of frustration, weeks of exhaustion, months of stress poured from his soul through the Ancient one and into the statue, the Oblivion Stone creasing and cracking from the overflow, the squealing of the substance as it broke apart like the shriek of a banshee till it finally exploded into micro-fragments with a flare of yellow that lit the entire tomb.

<<<<>>>>

“Karm…Maker…Karm what happ…” He simply strode past Arnor to the sealed doorway.

“There is nothing here, Artemis has taken it all.”

“Wait, Artemis, what are you talking about?”

“They were here…” he seethed staring at the ground
“They defiled the tombs with their Idols, and the Hanna Institute, probably working with them, stole a dozen bodies and other artefacts…I will make them both answer for this desecration - whether they have the Starfire or not.”

Even Joanna was able to feel the rage radiating off of the Master Singer, instinctively leaning as far away as the cavern wall would let her.

Without even asking if they were ready he sent the barricade flying into the Droids snooping behind it smashing them to fragments.

Front the depths of the Caverns of Coruscant Karmack raged like a whirlwind of Tuned destruction through the droids back to the surface, his countenance darkening as the closer they came to the light of day.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 39 - Fools Errands — Part 1

Morrigan

She sat once more at the work shop desk the Qixoni behind her awaiting a proper tuning as he fidgeted about with a vibro knife from the small but adequately equipped armour of ‘Imperial’ weapons.

M4 had summarised this ‘empires’ history for her, but it was one of dozens that had come and gone during her imprisonment and held no true interest apart from the immediacy of its collapse affecting her ability to travel safely.

Sliding the knife under the belt of her form fitting white flight suit she stood as she sensed the Freak…or Aydyn…approaching.

Checking her golden locks despite herself she wandered to the ramp where her two DT-IV guards simply ignored him…yes she still recalled that non compliance M4 stated the Freak was a ‘Person’ – she hoped an atypical example thereof.

“What is that for?”

Her nose scrunched with disgust as he dumped a bag full of viscera onto the floor of the hold.

“Trade…Ossus is populated by small techno barbarian tribes, meat is a valuable commodity,” Aydyn replied “With this we can pay off whatever tribes are near…wherever you need to go to stay out of our way,”

“It’s not easier to just decapitate them,” she barbed against his violent nature,

He sneered “It takes too long compared to this and draws too much attention…do you know where on Ossus your trinkets are,”

“I’ll know when I get there,”

“You better,”

In more formal talks after initial agreement she’d explained, partially, what she sought and the terms of the agreement, after arriving at Ossus she had ten days to get what she needed, Aydyn would provide security and act as a local guide. After that ten days though…he would take his payment in full whether she liked it or not.

Many things about him disgusted and repelled her, made her wish to run as far as possible…but just as many made her curious..

“How do you know so much about Ossus, you have been there I presume?”

She asked, leaning against the wall, arms folded protectively across her breast.

“Presume all you like,”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“This conversation is irrelevant,” he sliced down with clipped tones that betrayed an accent she couldn’t pick and he wanted to hide.

She strolled closer as he secured the load with straps.

“It is not irrelevant if you know something that can speed my search…”

She was just out of arm's reach

“The faster I find what I need the faster you get…your reward…”

“Nothing that can help you with your task…whatever that is,” he stood and stepped toward her again leering over her with his height and weight

“I’ll smooth your path…and keep your body safe…” his hands moved swiftly one to her hip and one to her back as his filthy smiled widened,

Just as quickly her free hand pulled the vibro knife from her belt and thrust it up to his exposed neck beneath what could’ve been a handsome face were it not twisted by hate.

(https://i.ibb.co/rMmNkGm/86t-M9g-TCmjn3-X61n3d-E0-4-x5ojv.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

“Go on…press as hard as you can,”

She did, both with the knife and with the force trying to feel him out, understand why…

“…you want…no, need something only I can provide….” Her words soft as she probed deeper and his mental resistance grew, the knife pressing against the skin but unable to penetrate the genetically engineered dense keratin

“Get out of my head schutta….” He growled

“Something you can’t take by force…or you already would have…” He was more than strong and fast enough physically, and while his primitive aura made comparison difficult she suspected he was almost as strong as she was at her best in the Force…which she was far from for the moment..

More barriers came down but Morrigan pressed harder, the blade beginning to pinch in as they leaned every closer to each other, whether in spite of or in response to the tension their head leaning and lips almost brushing in mistrust filled excitement .

“Something you need…and you hate that you need it, abhor what it’s cost you pursuing it…disgusted by the power it has over you…but you still just have to have it…”

“You don’t know anything…” he spat into her face.

“I have to be willing…something…something more than just physical....”

With a burst of fury he hurled her off sending her banging into M4’s bulk. Aydyn gripped his head, blood rapidly sealing dry on his neck where in the push her knife had finally found purchases and cut through

“Ever try that again tralk and I might just see if I can force it…”

She wasted no time snapping back

“And what is it, certainly not love…”

“You’ll work it out…” the voice more animalistic growl than coherent words

“But know this…no one, no woman will EVER control me! If I have to trade for it, so be it, but I will never be a slave like They would make every male…”

He left with a trail of bitter rage…and disturbing excitement for being so close to each other…in his wake.

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

“Chandrilla…The Hanna Institute is still based on Chandrilla,” Alex confirmed consulting the Holonet on the Hope still keeping a wide berth from Karmack.

The Master singer had dark patches round his eyes as if he hadn’t slept for a month, yet in their ascent to the surface he seemed fit and sprite as a Padawan and powerful as Palpatine himself, shredding the feral droids like reeds under the scythe of his yellow saber.

Chandrilla was still officially neutral in the civil war, but really was Alliance as could be, no Imperial presence and several reports of ‘Rebel’ ships passing through.

“It shouldn’t be hard to get to, but the landing fees are steep….” Alex glanced to Karmack
“Not that that seems to bother you…”
“All on the tab I guess,” Joanna whispered

“Get us there quickly, we’ve wasted enough time as is, Artemis is getting stronger with every passing moment,”

Sweeping out Joanna waited till the door slid shut of its own accord leaving her alone with her husband in the cockpit.

“Is it just me or is he getting worse by the hour?”
Alex nodded
“It’s worse…I don’t know what kind of power he’s tapped but…in the Force it’s like…he’s just become a flame of energy, I can’t tell where he starts and the Power ends, and it's all…anger, desperation, fear…”

“Isn’t that like the Dark side?” Joanna asked, she knew a little of the Jedi Lore

“Usually yes but this is…I don’t know,” Alex leaned back, closing his eyes trying to find the right way to describe the indecipherable sense of another being's soul.

“He’s driven by a need to protect, to defend, to fight the Darkness...which is the Light side…but it's so intense it's like…so bright it's dark…”

<<<<>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/3rT40VF/download-2023-05-01-T082758-849.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

“Did you need any…” Arnor’s offer of more food was negated by the untouched state of that she had left on the bunk beside her husband before she had gone to wash.

“Karm you need to eat!”

Meditating once more he waved the concern away.

“I’m fine,”

That was the last straw.

“No you’re not,” She replied firmly arms crossed over her light clothes hair still misted from the sonic steam spray removing the oils from the Coruscant low level air,
“You’re not eating, you’re rampaging around leaving us behind, barely explaining what is going on, and when was the last time you even slept?”

Slept He couldn’t remember…it didn’t matter, the Maker provided all his needs through the Force.

“It doesn’t matter, stopping Artemis is all we should be focused on…” his face creased in frustration
“Everywhere I go there they are, Vyth, Geonosis, now Coruscant…let alone M’Tzigon…they’ve been planning this for years, doing everything they can to stop me getting the Starfire and trying to force me to use the Ancient One so they can study it…”

How much of that was true and how much was paranoia Arnor could not tell, in truth it was a mix of both, she couldn’t deny Artemis was pulling many strings - Mendax, Cliff…but still Karms response was becoming increasingly irrational.

“Well you can’t stop them if you’re not healthy,” she pleaded, kneeling down in front of him.
“Karm please, you’re really scaring me…using the Force so deeply for such a long time, the Crystals…”

“I know what I’m doing, I’m a Master Singer,” he replied with uncharacteristic hubris
“In the Catacombs I destroyed their Oblivion Idol, a little more refinement and I should be able to use the same technique to breach their armour…then they will have no advantage over us anymore and we can drive them from M’Tziogn, by force if necessary,”

“Karm…are you hearing yourself? Taking on the BA’s, the Kage would never agree to that, they could turn those Maker forsaken droids on us by the thousand,”

“The Kage…” Karm sneered his thoughts bubbling “Er’lav is an Artemis pawn, as soon as I have the Starfire….”

Seeing the distress on his wife face he stopped the darker train of thoughts as to what might be required to get rid of Artemis completely.

“Arnor…I wish I could show you what I see,” he said more sympathetically “There is an entire Web of darkness in the Song underlying all of this…every discovery we make it grows larger and more complex…their influence over the government, power to revive the dead, manipulation of the Sons, freeing Morrigan…and now desecrating our tombs…the only way to stop them from choking us in their web is to slice straight through it, and for that I need the starfire…the only thing they fear is Me...”

He gripped his saber tightly, the energy flow between himself and the Ancient One strong as his resolve.

“That’s why they tried to tempt me on Commenor, sent Mendax to destroy me, and now have done all they can to keep the Starfire from me. Once in my possession I’ll be stronger than Odjina or Dorian ever was,”

That was precisely what she was afraid of.

<<<<>>>>

Er’lav

(https://i.ibb.co/8K30wvy/AEJw-G9-Uf91p4-Fc-Ta-Ht-JD-4-f1nl7.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Meetings and briefings passed with taciturn nods and grunts of assent, the ripples of the disaster of a successful rescue weighty on them all.

Whispers of the President preparing his resignation were growing, a full investigation into the crime a certainty.

They may have been pirates, they may have taken hostages, but they were still in the custody of the M’tzigon government, and they had still been slaughtered unarmed, a war crime under their own codes.

Closing the door to her still barely furnished apartments, the official residence of the Kage, Er’lav wished for nothing more than to vanish into the darkness of the room.

A chime at the door roused her, idly wondering what new disaster was about to unfold.

“Oh Maker, I don’t have the energy for this,” she sighed seeing her visitor.

Nimmin Cha stood in a newly pressed suit with an opulent bag under his arm.

“I thought you might appreciate some company…” he reached in and pulled out a bottle of Lorrdian Vodka
“...and a distraction,”

“What makes you think I would want to spend any more time with you than I absolutely have to?”

“Because dear Kage, I’m all that is on offer fo the time being,”

With a resigned shrug she walked to the lone couch slumping down but leaving the door open, resistance seemed futile.

“I love what you’ve done with the place…minimalist…” he said cheerily, heading to the kitchen for cups and a plate for his box of confectionary, noting the marks where furniture belonging to Silman had so recently been removed.

He offered the plas cup, disconcertingly cheap for the expensive vodka and the plate, Er’lav taking only a few of the handcrafted Glucose melts to suck on.

“I must say I’m surprised, your predecessor would surely have placed the blame squarely at my feet.”

Er’lav leaned back staring at the ceiling

“You’re a temptation we gave into, Cliff bought your droids, Alvarez decided to use them despite the disaster last time, you’re just an arms dealer,”

“How quaint,” he smiled at being reduced to a mere salesman.

Er’lav had no desire to speak about all that though, with nothing in the blank room to distract her except Cha, she turned her curiosity on him.

“Why do you work for them?” she asked, slamming down another three lollies.
“Artemis?”

“You’re surprised they would lower themselves to employ such a cad?” he offered a self deprecating smile

“The opposite,” she replied
“I wonder why a capable man such as yourself would willingly surrender your freedom to a gang of petulant teenage girls,”

“Capable do you really think so,” he batted his eyes in a mocking fashion

“Come on, I know this…persona…is all an act – a damn good one I’ll grant you, but you can’t have survived this long and risen this high walking that talk.”

With an oily smirk he settled on the floor at her feet.

“What makes you think I’ve risen from anywhere? Perhaps like an Angel I’ve fallen from a greater height,”

Anyone else would give up, irritated at Cha’s verbose obfuscations, Er’lav knew there was something deeper to find and digging here kept thoughts of the fallout of the prisoner murders at bay.

“Because what little intel we had on you showed a cad, a lazy one at that, taking his brother's scraps…”

There was the slightest twitch in his eyes at the mention of his brother.

“What do you think Kage, what is your ‘read’”

“What I think...you followed your brother into the Inquisition but couldn’t keep up, made too many enemies, needed an out Artemis gave you that and more - all the selfish dreams you had as a young man come true. You took it, you indulged in it.
Then it came time to pay, you were fine with that for a while, but now, a decade later, you regret it, you’ve grown up, you got all the easy women, cheap thrills and gaudy clothes you could have asked for and you still feel empty, because none of it lasts, none of it is real.”
She leaned down toward him
“Grief changes a person,” Er’lav went on,
“Loss breaks us, but it remakes us, that’s what the Mak’Tor believe, and you lost the last person who genuinely had any affection for you when your brother died - slim as that affection was -…I think that woke you up, and now…you want to get out of Artemis control but they will never let you leave.”

Cha remained silent for several beats in which he would usually toss around meaningless quips and faux flirtation.

“The Mak’Tor…chose their Kage well this time,”

He slowly stood up, taking the plas-cup, filling it to the brim with vodka and downing it in one deep swallow.

“Sleep well Kage, all our problems will still be there in the morning…and more besides,”

Cha left without another word, Er’lav still on the couch, he was right, her problems weren’t gone, but at least in Cha himself she now had something else to think about till exhaustion took her.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“Just like you said pa…” Ken confirmed as he watched Zearic’s Bane jump to hyperspace on the long range scanner

“A heading consistent with where we believe Ossus is located…”

No one fully knew the location, but a Mak’Tor Archaeological mission had recovered fragmentary evidence that narrowed it to a few sectors…further investigation was stymied by the outbreak of the Clone Wars.

“…and the signal is strong…or was till they jumped,” Ken turned to thumbs up Balnard.

“Now we just wait till they drop out again and leap frog behind them…and then…”

Ken leaned forward uncertain at what the next step even was.

“...if nothing else at least we find Ossuss.”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 39 - Fools Errands — Part 2

Chandrilla

(https://i.ibb.co/HPkttg2/download-2023-05-01-T085358-552.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Elegant white towers and gentle curving promenades along the ocean greeted the Hope as it settled onto the peaceful world, the last remnants of faux allegiance to the Empire in the form of banners and statues quietly packed away as soon as word of Palptaines death had been verified.

“Finally,” Karmack huffed once more standing like an angry gargoyle to frighten off enemies above an ancient city states gate.

Closing his eyes he reached in and pulled the threads of the Song together seeking what he needed to protect the Mak’Tor and vindicate himself.

“Yes…we’ll find something here, guidance direction…”

<<<<>>>>

Swirling Killik reliefs, incomprehensible Gree tableaus that appeared like a tide moulded sea shore, the sharp glyphs of the Kwa pressed by sharpened bird bones into clay.

All these floated in enviro-sealed displays ensconced within the pillars of he Hanna Institute of Antiquities lobby beneath a vast fresco of the Triumph of the Dawn Goddess held by micro repulsors on the ceiling, painstakingly reconstructed from its fragmented state found in the Burial Chamber of Contispex VIII of the Pius Dea Era.

Karmack brushed passed these and dozens of other priceless artifacts without a second glance, if his eyes flickered above him to the image of Contispex offering the Wealth of the Impure - nonhuman races - to the Goddess as tribute it was only to idly wonder in some back corner of his mind if the Artemis Goddess statues weren’t somehow related to the ancient Xenophobic Theoracy of the Pius Dea Era.

Arnor struggled to keep pace with his forceful strides that echoed on the marhl-granite floors, small groups of visitors and academics giving him a wide berth.

His face was drawn and gaunt, eyes dark from Force powered insomnia, hands twitching still from endless hours tweaking his crystal choir. This alone would cause people to leer away, the intensity of his aura in the Force made them all but cower.

An oblivious young volunteer attendant, barely old enough to have a speeder license at the spacious Wroshyr desk was his target.

His knuckles pushed into the table as he used his height to overwhelm the teenage girl.

“Coruscant Expedition 4-Esk, where are the artefacts,”

Her lips quivered and hands rattled as she typed in the request without replying, two security officers in sky blue garb already approaching from the side to intercept the mad robed figure Arnors husband had become.

“Sir would you…” before the officer could even finish his sentence he stopped dead still as if frozen in time.

“I don’t have time for this…” Karmack huffed
“The artefacts…”

“I don’t know…it says Dr. Lysshi Tojul is the contact,”

“Where is she?”

“Level 8 but you need…” he was already heading to the turbo lift
“...an appointment…”

Once more Arnor was chasing his steps barely catching him before the Turbo lift doors closed.

“Karm, that was downright rude and unnecessary,” she snapped her annoyance at his arrogance growing by the minute.

his mouth curled in indignation
“I’m not in the mood to negotiate with grave robbers,”

The implicit tit for tat was ugly as it was hard to argue against when Karmack seemed to be thinking in increasingly black and white terms.

Before Arnor could even conjure a response the doors opened and Karmack swept out into the long curved corridor, frosted glass doors and bone white walls dividing it from spacious offices.

Guided by some invisible impulse he headed straight for Dr. Tojuls office, the door unlocked he strode in to a stunned middle aged woman in the middle of a holo call.

“...I’ll have to call you back J’un…” she said clicking the small image of a reclining Ikotchi off.

Karmack didn’t even look at her. His eyes were drawn behind her desk to the right, where next to a book case, in one of the ubiquitous suspended animation fields that held antiques from across the galaxy was a large carved mural.

Made of a blue-grey stone it showed a sequence in three parts, the bottom third dozens of knights engaged in combat against enemy knight, the middle a large tar like symbol in the centre spreading rays that struck the knights dead, their faces wailing in terror, the top the Knights whole and hearty once more, bowing in all reverence before the Seat of the Maker - an archaic device in ancient Mak’tor manuscripts - indicating their acceptance into the After life as the Honoured Dead.

“You have no shame do you,” Karmack said with quiet disgust, Arnor would’ve much preferred him to yell compared to the sinister low tone he adopted.

“You don’t just desecrate our tombs, you put the artefacts you stole on open display,”

Around the image Arnor recognised Mak’Tora runes, all the symbology used was distinctly Mak’Tor pre-exile in origin, she’d flicked through enough of her fathers papers and books to know it corresponded exactly with the imagery used shortly after the war on Ruusan.

“I’m sorry who are…” once more a voice was stopped dead by Karmacks anger.

“Where are the rest of the artefacts, was a crystal, like this one. among them?,” he held the blazing Ancient One before her, the Kyber glowing with the intensity of its masters power, painful to look at.

“Karm!” Arnor grabbed his arm, he shrugged her off, his complete focus on the thief before him

“The…they…are in the Vaults…crystals…one for each body…none like that…but I don’t know…they’re gone…”

Karmacks burning gaze doubled in heat

“Gone, where?”

“Sold…”

Arnors grip on his arm loosened as she knew, just knew what he would ask and what the answer would be.

“Sold to whom,” he demanded utterly certain of the words that would pass Tojuls lips

“Artemis Industries,”

<<<<<>>>>>

“Everything is fine,” Karmack insisted with cold restraint as they passed the guard behind Tojul into the Basement 23 vault.

Arnor followed them deeper through the climate and gravity controlled chambers housing relics, like herself half forgotten.

Her husband was right, at every turn, there was Artemis, they had a decade long - at the very least - head start on them, the evidence they were after the Ancient One, and now the Starfire, overwhelming.

His anger, frustration, anxiety and fear were all completely rational -these were beings who had revived Mendax for, what they could only comprehend as a way to either assassinate Karmack without getting their own hands dirty, or failing that force Karm to use the Ancient One so they could learn more about it. Artemis, their Black Armoured thugs and Grey plated Mark IV droids were an existential threat to the Mak’Tor, physically and more than that spiritually.

He was trying to protect them, She could see that, she could feel that - her Husband wanted to find the tools he needed to fight off the darkness…but by the Maker the How of his crusade was was changing him and not for the better.

Arnor was afraid in defeating Artemis Kamrack would lose himself.

“This one,” he snapped already knowing before the bulky vault door
“Correct,” was the swaying doctors reply, the Force Compulsion absolute on her mind

Karmack was already slipping.

Lights within blinked on, shimmering force shields blinked on dividing the walkway down the vault interior from the artefacts themselves so they were not tainted anymore than they had been.

Karmack strode in with silent reverence for the ancient bodies floating suspended upright in their full armour, still dented and cut from the battlefields of Ruusan, sabers grasped in their hands at eternal vigil, but he could feel the absence in each one, the lack of any crystal at the sabers heart.

This was not a dead end, his senses sharper than he could ever had imagined he was able to feel the traces of the Crystals, their ‘imprint’ upon the sabers, the Force flowing through it so much in life, and held so tightly within in death for centuries it could not help but leave an echo.

It was these echoes he listened to, the soft stirrings of the song last sung a millenia ago. Determination, desperation, hope, and horror, all the leavings of crystals that had seen the worst of the fighting on the muddy plains and the harrowing devastation of the Thought Bomb that ended the war.

These were warriors who knew the Light, and the Dark, and did not flinch to fight it, real Knights, not the bureaucratic fops and political pieces so many had become cowering from the Empire…

I should have fought harder, more openly… he chastised his younger self, so weak, so unskilled, if he had unlocked the Ancient One earlier, mastered the Song he could’ve led the Rebellion himself, faced down the Inquisitors, Vader even, been a beacon of hope the Jedi- Temple and Gray - in hiding.

No more he promised himself, as Master Singer it was his Maker given duty to oppose Evil, and today that evil was Artemis.

One by one he found no song echoes of any similarity to the Ancient One within the fallen nights sabers, he almost felt relief, it meant, most likely the Starfire had never left Ruusan.

Artemis he realized must first have purchased the crystals from the Hanna institute hoping to obtain it easily, -when they realized it wasn’t there they went to Coruscant themselves, planting their blasphemous idol but finding nothing else.

Finally for the first time since that first mention of the Black Armours in a briefing with Silman on the Sons of Kessel seemingly a lifetime ago he felt he had finally caught up to them, his forceful approach to obtaining this intelligence vindicated by results.

“It’s not here…it never was…” he said out loud

“Then it's still on Ruusan,” Arnor deduced “Now we just have to find the system….”

“We already have…” Karmack interrupted walking to the far end where the Triptych that once stood at the far end of the Crypt on Coruscant was held lit from below giving it an ominous looming presence.

It featured more details than the summary plinth in the doctor's office, the stories of individual Knights recorded beneath small single reliefs that showed their profile, their faces always turned to the Makers Throne in the Center of the large carving.

Karmack ran his hand over the Triptych feeling the static of the force shield that protected it, past Lord Galen Chillum, and the Sage and bearer of the Ancient One Slo’Ma’Mack his ancestor to the seeming innocuous image of Gel’I’Xandir - the last known descendant of the Xandir Clan.

“Silver Gel’I’Xandir, Honoured of the Maker, Slew the Dark Jedi Tjjun Raav, carrier of the Crystal of the Xandir Clan, fell in the Fifth Battle of Ruusan. Kal’an’Cam offer his Endless Gratitude to Gel’I’Xandir for saving him from the Mortars of Veesh Ridge.” Karmack recited from the Triptych entry all the while staring at the carved image that captured the likeness of a middle aged woman whose features were sharp and defined, eyes focused but weary of the war she had the misfortune to live at the time of.

Arnor stared but couldn't make out the ancient Mak’Tor Runes apart from the odd word or title, the Ancient Ones Power allowing the Master Singer to comprehend the most ancient of Mak’Tor writing since the time of its creation as easily as Basic.

“And Here…” he belt before the Triptych, at the base were odd symbols, lines cutting through circles and ellipses seemingly a decorative motif in the border of the main carving.

“This is no decoration, this is a star map to Ruusan for Coruscant…” taking out his Datapad from his pack he began taking picts, but int ruth he was etching the symbols in his mind, with this and a regular star map he could easily find, if not the exact location, the approximate sector zone 1000 years prior, with a Star chart backdated to that time the calculator of its location would be simple astronavigation.

Now…now he had an edge on Artemis.

“She died in the Fifth Battle, weeks before the final Seventh, she would’ve had a field burial in a cave or hollow - something must’ve prevented them from repatriating her to Coruscant at the time…the Starfire, the Crystal of Xandir must still be with her,”

He stood at last with a sense of hope.

There was of course still the Doctor to deal with.

“Now you…” he sneered turing to Tojul, power flaring through him, his Will an avalanche of stone upon the reedlike weakness of the academic.
“...You will arrange for all Mak’Tor artefacts to be shipped to M’tzigon at your own expense, never again will you defile the heritage of our Order…if you don’t…”

The words were simple, direct, yet devastating, Tojul blinked a handful of times, then flopped down, Arnor barely catching her.

Karmack marched out.

<<<<>>>>

She said nothing, she did nothing but follow her husband back to the star port.

The image of what they left behind at the Hanna Institute reflects in her mind's eye, Doctor Tojul being carted away by first aid officers, the security guards withering under Karmacks gaze into stupors of inaction.

As they waited for the doors to open she stared at his face from the side and more than ever saw fully what he was becoming.

She had tried to be patient, given him the benefit of the doubt time and again, she understood his fears, knew his worries…but she couldn’t do nothing any more.

Over the ferrocrete and grated durasteel, Alex’s droid Zuzu whirring away from his path Karmack walked straight past the Jedi Sentinel and his young wife up the boarding ramp.

“We’re going to Ruusan,”

The order delivered without elaboration or justification.

“Wait a second, we never agreed to that!” Alex protested
“Tel’Owna contracted us to take you to Coruscant and back, we’ve already done more than that covering you in the underlevels and taking you here, we’re not Mak’tor you can order around,”

“We don’t have time for this,” Karmack replied insistently

“You might not, but we have all the time in the galaxy,” Joanna snapped
“Now get off my ship!”

Up till then Karmack had been halfway up the ramp staring into the ship, now he slowly turned round, energy building in the ancient one Alex and Arnor could both sense,

Fists on her hips oblivious to the Force energy build up Joanna stood defiant.

“I am trying to save M’Tzigon, the Galaxy itself, from a seditious faction of necromancers and dark siders who already have armies of Kage Killer Droids, trillions of credits and superhuman soldiers.
Only I can find the Starfire and drive them away, and I will not be delayed a minute longer by the ignorance of a forceless child blind to the threats all around us!”

Alex leapt in between Karmack and Joanna,

“Don’t you ever speak to my wife like that again!” Alex yelled “Feeling the Force doesn’t make you any better than anyone else!”

The Master singer shook his head at the younger man's foolishness,

“You can’t even comprehend the powers involved, the danger you're in, I am taking this ship to Ruusan with or without you,”

“The hell you…” Alex had barely lifted his foot from the ground when a wave of force energy sent him flying across the hangar, clattering into empty shipping containers.

Joanna felt her hand pinned mid air reaching for her pistol.

Arnor stared at the man who had once been her husband knowing he was now beyond reach.

Karmack walked into he ship, Joanna staggering as his telekinetic grip released into Arnor’s arms, Joanna’s muscles aching from the unnatural stasis as Alex rushed to help.

(https://i.ibb.co/nbJkcw4/download-2023-05-01-T082938-062-1.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

“I..I can’t stop him,” Alex stammered

“I know,” Arnor finally spoke, “None of us can…for now we do what he says, but find a way to stop off somewhere quiet and unpopulated - I’ll contact someone who can.”

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan

The storm-wracked orange crescent of Ossus appeared from the depths of black as Zearics Bane cruised closer.

Already she could feel echoes of her own song on a world she had never been. Yes Dorian had hidden her crystals here, the fool.

“Told you I knew the way,” another fool behind her growled.

Aydyn was more animal than man, a predatory hunch to his posture as if perpetually ready to leap onto some unfortunate creature and tear its throat open with his teeth.

She would have to be very careful in how she dealt with him…until she had her Crystals…and then…

What a fine Pet he would make.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 40 - Confessions to a Daemon - Part 1

****Thanks to Dutch for these great chapters, concepts and Characters******

Zearic

Day 19

(https://i.ibb.co/CP87m9j/Zearic-Desert.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Flaming winds of scathing sand beat against the granite faces of the Maruunos Valleys.

Like the fingers of Celestial giants, hardened granite of M’Tzigon’s crust reached into sky, the last remnants of the southern Siccum Haranae Mountains that had long ago collapsed into the dunes, the grinding gypsum on the air whittling down what had once been vast edifice of slated rock into hundreds of sharpened hoodoos ranging from a few meters to several stories in height.

Stratified at 45 degrees to the horizon with blue, brown, and blacks that glittered with shimmering quartz fragments, and - as the occasional rusted ruin of an old excavators reminded him - so called ‘"Sand Kyber" - a harsh crystal even the Singers of the Mak’Tor had never worked into a usable form for lightsabers.

Squinting against the noon sun Zearic was astonished he’d come this far, being herded by Cha’s incessant attacks and vague hints at the next drop of supplies to this place.

The sands here were thinner, harsh vine-like cacti clinging to life in the shaded nooks of the Maruunos Monuments as the eco-tourism branded the jagged columns of eroding rock.

There was little to cover Zearic now, his bands and rags worn down, his skin would certainly require hydrational balms when - if - he ever left this place.

Only the clawing hunger of his stomach was harsher than the moisture sucking heat as his feet treaded carefully, senses altered for even the slightest incongruity as the worn soles of his boots proved no protection to the searing heat pulsing off the increasingly rocky ground as he moved forward.

Only to suddenly collapse a moment later.

As his legs sagged down the stun-spike stabbed into both his upped arms, the same nerve-freeze spreading down his arms and across his back and torso.

Before it reached his neck a band of iron encircled it, squeezing the air from his throat. Dazed, his daggers suddenly dropped from the tight orbits they'd encircled around his shoulders, sticking blade-first in the white sands.

“We’re going to play a game of truth or Death,” Cha whispered in the larger but utterly impotent man’s ear, seeming to step out of thin air.

“Tell me why you came to me for training?” he emphasized the question with a squeeze round his neck that didn’t loosen.

Zearic coughed and gaped for air that Cha wouldn’t allow; he had to answer.

“Learn to use my new body, daggers…”

“No…” Cha tightened the grip “the Truth.”

“ready…in case Karm…goes too far…”

“Closer but not quite,” Cha squeezed tighter, Zearic’s eyes beginning to bulge as his thoughts began to bob up and down in the nascent stages of loss of consciousness.

“Protect…everyone from him…my family…even himself...”

“Will you die lying to me and yourself!” Cha snapped completely cutting off the Vhal’Dan’s air.

His face was bulging with trapped blood, body starting to tremble in oxygen starved convulsions, but Cha kept his grip firm.

“Admit what you really want to do!” The Inquisitor demanded.

“Beat him!” Zearic heaved out, an instant later the pressure was relieved and his lung reflectively filled with a huge guttural gasp inward, caring nothing for the sand and grit that filled his mouth, but the durasteel lock was still round his neck.

Zearic knew it wouldn’t be removed until every last despicable desire was vomited forth.

“I want to beat him, show him up for always being better than me…stronger…nobler…I hate him for it…”

Cha’s grip release fully and Zearic crashed forward to the sand, with an idle kick Cha put the disabled man onto his side so he could breath.

“He’s always been the hero, he had it so easy, raised on M’Tzigon in peace and harmony while I starved and begged on Dalos IV, advancing by leaps and bounds while I struggled with cybernetic rejection, he was fighting, Mendax and Mellichae, while I wrestled with nightmares…he gets the Ancient One full of boons, I get these cursed daggers…even my renewal…”

Sensation slowly coming back he raised his so recently regenerated arms to block out at the sun. “...Comes with so many chains I feel like I’m being dragged to hell while he keeps stepping toward the heavens…I’m petty, I’m jealous, and I know I shouldn’t be, but frell it I can’t help it, and I hate myself for it…”

Pushing himself up he pressed on the fallen Nocte, eyes tracing the strange script along the blade.

“'She left you behind for a reason'…I keep telling myself it’s true, that it isn’t just a mind game, that I have a role to play, that maybe I’m the chosen one, raised up from less than nothing to something grand, a Knight who will save the galaxy, to kill the ‘Mad Singer?’."

His head felt hot, having more to do with the blood rushing to his face as he spoke of things that he'd tried to bury deep.

"I should be too old for it but I’m not… Even if I have to fight him, and even if I beat him it won’t satisfy me, it won’t change a thing - I’ll still be the Runt from Dalos IV… A knight because my adoptive father made sure I became one, my name from a wife I do not deserve and cannot protect, a daughter from despair and convenience not my own blood, Power gifted by Gods - never earned, weapons stolen from the dead.”

He shook his head as his words ran dry along with his throat, sensation had returned to his limbs, heat and pain with it.

“I’m a fraud who thinks if he can win against a real Knight he might earn his place as one…” Zearic's hazel eyes blazed red, suddenly speechless as if having spoken the truth had left him empty.

“And that is why you came to me,” Cha’s voice held no levity only resonant sincerity of an empathetic friend.

“We’re not good men Zearic, we can never escape what we are underneath the façade - you the violent nascent gang-knifer of Dalos, I the vindictive sadistic Inquisitor - murderers, criminals, first and always. You have Karmack, I had my Brother…role models we can never live up to - so we hope to them tear down to our level.”

Picking Up Zearic’s forgotten sabers Cha came round in front of him, extending his hand.

Zearic instantly suspected a trap and held the Nocte ready to cut that hand off at the wrist.

“You’ve finally re-learned what you are,” Cha smiled, tossing the sabers at him.

Zearic understood now, why Cha had agreed to train him - not for the paltry Templar data and Vhal’Dan security details his masters could, sooner or later, obtain themselves - but because Cha was an Inquisitor who wanted Karmack dead - and the best way to do that - always - was have some other idiot murder him for you.

Zearic was that idiot.

<<<< >>>>

Chapter 40 - Confessions to a Daemon - Part 2

Day 26

With the whine of unlubricated equipment a constant backdrop against which the blowing wind nullified any other sounds, Zearic had a difficult time trying to distinguish anything unnatural or amiss. Even with his senses enhanced with a trickle of the Force, he could make out nothing else. But he knew that he was in the right place: amongst the abandoned droid outpost would be supplies that he desperately needed.

Or so Cha had claimed.

As unseen eyes scrutinized the surrounding white sand dunes, the jutting rock anticlines, and the dilapidated automated machinery from the large, empty manufactory, the clear blue skies of the Oso Dormeando Dunes seemed to ripple as the hot, arid air further obfuscated the area. Noiselessly, twin black daggers orbited invisibly as Zearic continued to survey what he knew to be his objective.

It had been an eventful week since Cha had ambushed him at the Sand Kyber excavators, drawing out his own inner daemons.

Within that time, he'd honed the tricks that he'd learned, gaining a level of expertise that surprised even him. Every day since, he'd fought the former Inquisitor multiple times each day, each time progressing more, now almost matching Cha's unrelenting and savage power if not precisely his treacherous nature. He'd more than learned the importance of fighting dirty.

Zearic had tapped into the Survival instinct that he'd all but buried and forgotten from his youth, the way of looking at everything through the Cold Equation.

He'd taken Cha's words to heart: he would be what he was, what he'd learned--lived--on Dalos IV. He was both predator and prey, every advantage that could be had would be used.

And he would feel what he felt, jealousy, bitterness, even hatred - instead of wasting energy hiding those emotions he would draw power from them.

But he refused to subscribe to Cha's nihilism. Maker knew that Zearic was no saint, but if his time with his family had taught him, a man could change and learn from his actions, his experiences...

...His mistakes.

Zearic knew that he'd need all said advantages possible if he were to actually fight Karm while he channeled the Ancient One. No, not "fight." He would have to win; anything less and the Mak'Tor Sage would crush him. As a result, he had several contingencies planned for just that reason. …You're a bastard... He admonished himself, although the thought seemed smaller now, a hollow thing compared to the self-hatred he'd first felt speaking the unvarnished truth of yesterweek.

But uncertainty remained, his stark admission drawn out by Cha loud in his ears, the raw emotion of his deepest thoughts, doubts...desires...ripped from within him now echoing in his mind. Speaking of it had given it a weight that he'd up until then ignored.

Karmack was a friend, a man whom he'd fought with side-by-side, a man that he'd come to trust implicitly...just as Karm had trusted Zearic. Both men had saved one another on more than one occasion...

He felt shame...but not as much as he'd worried he would. And that was the worst of it.

...Because... Zearic thought, once again looking at the Cold Equation. ...Karm is too powerful, too obstinate...he listens to no one, not even Arnor...

It was the same answer every time. Moreover, Zearic knew that Kage Er'Lav would only send someone else had he refused. Yes...he'd finally accepted that he was a bastard. At least this way, he could do everything possible to try to stop Karm, make him listen to reason, to show his friend which way he was headed...and the danger that he was putting himself and his family in. And perhaps--just perhaps--Zearic would be able to feel worthy of his wife's respect, of his daughter's adoration, of his father's pride.

Or so he hoped.

...She left you for a reason...

He'd always had to deal with adversity: from the deadly streets of Dalos IV to the fact that he'd always ranked amongst the last in the Order--at least in raw power--Zearic's entire life had been a constant struggle.

But then Kazic had found him. From then on, he'd had people--a family!--with which he could rely upon, friends that he could count on to watch his back. He was no longer alone. Only now, he had something else

With his renewal, he was no longer the weakling in the Force that he'd been his entire life. With the month's training, he'd learned how best to use the gifts he'd been given. Now, in addition to his daggers, he knew that he was no longer the helpless gutter-rat on the mean streets of Kavila forced to fight over discarded scraps. For all intents and purposes, he should be happy with those facts.

And, but for three caveats, he was. But what a trio they were...

First, even with his enhanced physiology, his increased strength in the Force, and his two Oblivion daggers, he couldn't possibly withstand Karm's powerful mental assaults, not when powered by the Ancient One. At least he had an idea about how to counter that; Zearic just hoped that Jaim would agree. The second was the fact that Cha had shown him the darkness within himself, holding up a mirror that blocked the Light that being around his family had made him forget...but, as Cha had demonstrated, it was most certainly a part of him. Zearic had used the last seven days to embrace that darkness again.

Besides, if he could accept the reality of his motives then he could live with the results if it meant keeping his family safe.

But the third...well, he would have to deal with his seeming unmitigated subservience to the Black Armors after everything with Karmack. If he still lived, that is. ...So much from keeping D'Aylanna and Jorya safe... He cursed silently. ...Especially when I cannot even trust myself...

But right now he couldn't afford to worry about that. His objective--and Cha--awaited.

Wrapped in the advanced form of Buried Presence that he'd mastered from Cha, Zearic made no sound nor any mark in the sand to show his passing, the gentle winds that buffeted the Dunes kicking up more of the white gypsum sand. It bothered the large Vhal'Dan not in the least, and not because the head scarves wrapped around his head protected him from sand and sun nor that his ragged tunics keeping the worst of the weather from slowing him.

Zearic was One with the Force, with his sabers, even his daggers; he was One with himself, Dark and Light. Just as Cha had pointed out to him.

Silently, he made his way down to the automated manufactory, ancient large doors hanging from old, rusted hinges in danger of falling off in the next sandstorm. Incredibly, some of the machinery still worked, several of the assembly line parts going through their automated programming despite the fact that there was no raw material to work on. But that wasn't important; Zearic finally saw what he was so desperately looking for.

A large backpack full of supplies sitting upright on the floor between two clunking conveyor belts, several large droid arms moving about as if they still worked on...whatever it was that the manufactory had been built for.

Completely invisible while wrapped in Buried Presence, Zearic controlled his breathing, silencing even his pulse beating in his ears. Even his spinning daggers made no sound, the two black blades acting as silent sentinels protecting him from Force attacks.

The problem with that though was that Cha knew of the daggers' abilities.

That only meant that Zearic had to continue thinking outside the box. Scanning the large manufactory floor, Zearic knew that Cha would never make something so easy as a seemingly unprotected supply pack easy treasure. Pulsing his Force ability, Zearic took control of one of the droid arms, moving it towards the backpack to see if he couldn't use its rusting jaws to grab the supplies.

He felt no surprise as the arm moved through the backpack, dispelling the Illusion. Nevertheless, the trap had been sprung; Cha would've felt the Force energies momentarily spike.

And that's when he struck.
(https://i.ibb.co/vcMqr3c/Zearic-vs-Cha-2.jpg) (https://ibb.co/vcMqr3c)
With only a half-second's warning, Cha's twin red blades erupted from thin air, his own Force Concealment dropping as he attacked. Stealth no longer needed, Zearic dispelled his own Buried Presence, his icy-blue mainhand saber parrying one red blade while his silver shoto blocked the other. But Cha never wavered with his offensive.

Around the ruined manufactory floor the two men fought, flashes of crimson, silver, and sapphire illuminating the shadowed interior against the sporadic golden rays of M'Tzigon's sun as daylight burst through the many holes and cracks in the dilapidated ceiling. Up, down, and around rusting gantries, ramps, and platforms, the two men fought as the flow of battle passed from one to the other, each adopting a different lightsaber Form accordingly. As if the sunlight would burn his skin, Cha danced away within the enormous interior, Zearic now pursuing him.

Both men seemed oblivious of the automated machinery around them. But this time, instead of silence, Zearic tried a new tactic, one that Cha had been using almost constantly on him since the very first ambush almost four weeks ago.

"For all your talk, you run like a coward." Zearic growled, carefully drawing upon his Force reserves to prolong his stamina.

Cha smiled as a missile of broken stanchion flew past him intent on bowling Zearic over, only for it to be deflected by one of the daggers flying around the bigger man. "A coward is someone who survives." His red lightsabers battered against Zearic's blue&silver in a blur of plasma. "A hero is someone who is dead."

Zearic nodded mentally. "So only heroes die?" With this, the Vhal'Dan flowed from Soresu into Juyo, taking up the offensive and pushing Cha back. Unconsciously, his daggers absorbed the Force Pushes that Cha tried to strike from all around, all to no effect.

"And fools." He barked a flippant laugh, face unconcerned that it was now Zearic that controlled the rhythm of the fight. He projected a Phantasm toward Zearic, one that instantly dissolved as the daggers fed upon the Force energies. Cha retreated back towards the manufactory floor where the conveyors were.

Zearic did not show the smile he felt. "Like your brother?" He asked as they reached the center of the two main conveyors, readying himself by subtly shifting back to Soresu.

For once, Cha faltered, his mask falling to expose the man beneath. "Namman...?" He whispered unintentionally, his lightsabers faltering for a split second, giving Zearic the opening he needed.

"I heard that when Karm killed him, he squealed like an emasculated gamorrean tralk..." He suddenly twisted his wrist, striking hard with his blue blade and sending one of Cha's lightsabers flailing through the shadows. Simultaneously he attacked low with his shoto as Cha momentarily found himself exposed. But the former Inquisitor did not run; instead anger clouded his face as pure rage enveloped him.

Just as Cha had studied Zearic, he too had carefully watched the former Inquisitor. He was good, very good, with guarding his emotions. But over those seven days, little things began to add up. Taken with what Zearic had noticed from before, it had given him better insight of his opponent.

And how best to exploit such.

"Namman deserved better than that!" Uncharacteristic spittle flew from gritted teeth as Cha furiously attacked. So savage was it that Zearic was forced on the defensive, hard-pressed regardless that he still had both of his sabers. This time the big man gave ground, backing towards the conveyor belt with the droid arms. "That Mak'Tor pfassk...his self-righteous piety...lies! LIES!!" Cha's enraged speech became all but incoherent as white-hot fury erupted from him. He hammered away at Zearic's defenses, the blue and silver blades barely able to turn away Cha's brutal attack.

Which was precisely what Zearic wanted him focused on.

Cha's eyes widened suddenly as he was pulled bodily up in the air, first by two droid arms, then four, and finally six pinning his arms at his side as they grabbed him, the former Inquisitor's remaining lightsaber dropping to the floor. Zearic gambled that would not be the end of it.

The sound of twisting metal reverberated through the manufactory as droid arms were wrenched from their moorings, sparks, wires, and metal limbs crushed by Cha's Telekinesis. Having extricated himself from the trap, Cha landed lightly on his feet and was already calling his saber back to his outstretched hand, his momentary shock giving way to anger again.

But Zearic was already in motion, both in body and mind.

Release

Zearic's mental command coincided with him quickly extinguishing both of his lightsabers, clipping them to his belt, and catching his falling daggers in one swift action. Meanwhile, the collected Force energies of the daggers burst forth, a bludgeoning wave that sped towards Cha even as he stretched his hand forth to catch his lightsaber. In the same motion, Zearic threw both of his daggers, their midnight blades dulling the golden sunlight around them as they flew with uncanny accuracy at their target.

Nimmin Cha.

The destructive Force avalanche crashed into Cha at the same time as both of Zearic's daggers sank into the man's outstretched forearms, sending him flying through the far conveyor and against a nearby durasteel bulkhead. With a sickening crunch, the former Inquisitor hit the wall, arms pinned at his side as the Oblivion daggers sank deep into his flesh and the durasteel underneath, holding him several centimeters above the floor. Before the clouds of dust, dirt, and rust had even settled, Zearic's ignited main hand lightsaber was mere millimeters from Cha's neck, the steadfast blue blade casting a sepulchral pall upon both mens' faces. They could not have been more dissimilar...yet now they seemed so alike.

Zearic's face was contorted in an angry grimace; Cha's was affixed with furious intensity. Both sets of eyes stared unwaveringly at the other, neither man moving except for their breathing.

"Do it."

Cha's voice was quiet, his tone unidentifiable; Zearic couldn't decide if it was goading or pleading. The big man continued to stare at his opponent, everything that the former Inquisitor had ever said to him ringing in his ears. And stronger than anything was an impulse, something that Zearic should've shied away from...but he didn't. In fact, he hadn't felt this calm in some time.

Kill him

Nothing changed on Zearic's face but Cha reacted as if he could read the Vhal'Dan's thoughts. He smiled, unafraid and absent any mask, his yellow eyes inviting. "Do it." He said, slightly louder this time.

Kill him

Zearic thought of D'Aylanna and Jorya. What would they say if they knew what he'd done? Would they condone his decision as judge, jury, and executioner? Would they castigate him while turning their eyes away from a murderer?

“Do it,” the demand echoed on the rusted metal.

Kill him

Ultimately, Zearic knew he had to do what only he could do. He would make the hard decision, to protect those he loved and cared for. …This man is dangerous...a villain and a murder besides... He thought.

“DO IT!” Cha shouted now, a fevered spasm rippling across his pinned body,

Kill him

His arms moved before he'd even realized that the choice had been made.
Perhaps he had not been the one to make it.

Zearic's icy-blue blade stabbing straight and deep into the durasteel bulkhead, the metal offering no more resistance than water. He heard the weighty clattering of what he knew to be his daggers as they hit the ferrocrete floor, the Oblivion weapons cracking the stone underneath while air rushed into the void in front of him.

Cha had disappeared, using the last of his strength to Teleport.

Zearic turned, unsurprised to see that the former Inquisitor was standing behind him, both of his ignited lightsabers in his hands, Cha's face impassive. When he lowered his swords, each red blade disappeared as he closed down the weapon while blood began to trickle from the wounds in his forearms.

Yet, nothing showed upon his face: not pain, not surprise, not betrayal, not hatred, so blank as to make Zearic wonder if Cha's rage had been just another mask put on to test him. He clipped his saber hilts to his belt, taking measured steps towards Zearic before stopping two meters from the big man.

And he smiled.

Cha spoke, saying three words. Zearic blinked, his mind in a daze. Deliberately, he closed down his own weapons before attaching them to his own belt before retrieving his two daggers, never once taking his eyes off of Cha. He wasn't certain but the man had sounded...respectful?

With a gesture, Cha led Zearic through and outside the manufactory, revealing his small airship. There was barely enough space for Zearic to fit in the passenger seat but he rode all the way back to the Mak'Tor Temple in complete silence. Even when he exited the ship, neither man spoke, Zearic's thoughts a raging storm.

Walking into the Temple without even a backwards glance, Zearic heard Cha's ship speed away, not even bothering to look to see which direction he went or even if he debarked into space. By rote, the big man trudged through the welcoming hallways, seeing none of the beauty of the indigenous granite or the lush, verdant alpine flora carefully arranged throughout the temple.

He spoke to no one, which was for the best; after one glance, most people hurried away from him and not just because of his worn clothes, unkempt hair, and wind-blown appearance.

One look of his haunted hazel eyes made all but the most stern of individuals turn in the opposite direction.

After finally returning to the apartments the Mak'Tor had given to him during his time on-planet, Zearic unceremoniously stripped, leaving the clothes where they fell as he entered the sonic shower. As the soft, therapeutic pulses cleaned and relieved aching limbs, muscles, and skin, he caught himself from falling with large, calloused hands against the wall. As the pulses cleaned the dirt, sweat, and sand from his body, the multitude of criss-crossing scars across his back seemed to become more pronounced.

Finally, he exited the shower and stared into the full-length reflection that gazed back at him, uncertain how he should feel. Zearic could only scrutinize his renewed hand, legs, and eye, the skin of which looked new and unblemished when compared to the multiple burns, lacerations, and dozens of scars that covered the rest of his body; even the thick hair on his chest could not obfuscate them.

He should have felt energized, powerful, whole. Instead, he could only feel numb. Even as he meditated, he could not shake the ennui that had infected him. He'd attempted to sleep but it was as elusive as water on Tatooine, so he hoped that the open atrium of his apartments facing the M'Skigon Mountains would help. It had not.

Sitting cross-legged, he sought the peace of the Force and the grace of the Maker...all for naught.

But what he replayed again and again through his mind were Cha's final three words, as damning as they were loathsome:

"Now you're ready."

<<<< >>>>

Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 1

M’Tzigon

He had sat on the gurney watching the Men-At-Arms passing one after the other with the bodies.

The Medic checked him over, scanned him up and down, poked and prodded, but General Cliff was focused completely on the ceaseless parade of bodies, some still twitching, all ruined by the brute force of the Mark IV droids.

It never seemed to end, time and again he saw the same Ment-At-Arms go back and forth burning more and more bodies. Only later did he find, by the end, 412 had been killed by the machines sent on an extraction mission.

The Friend Foe identifiers that had caused so much carnage on S’Kar’Yom eve had worked, according to Artemis, perfectly, Cliff and the Sword of Light body guard had been plucked gently out. But every other being in the vicinity not designated a member of the M’tzigon military was mercilessly slaughtered until the mission was complete.

It would be easy to blame the programming once more, but Cliff wouldn’t take that path again.

This was on Him

He had bought them, primarily, to take a jab at Silman and a counter to the Mad Singer Karmack, the droid's combat effectiveness, undeniable, made it that much easier to justify.

Now he sat in his darkened office, memorabilia and awards for outstanding service seemingly tarnished by his very presence.

What had he done? Who had he become to even contemplate bringing these monstrosities to M’Tzigon in the first place?

Rationally he could argue they were damn good deterrents and absolutely vicious hammers to slam into any invading force on land or in space…but there was something wrong about the whole thing he hadn’t even contemplated before - something dark in the willingness to outsource his killing to machines, to rely on algorithms controlled by a distant company rather than trusting the judgement - and yes all the attendant faults and follies- of the man on the ground.

Regrets, rebukes and recriminations swirled round his head in endless cycles that all came back to those bodies being taken one by one to a mass cremation, vacant gazes from shattered skulls asking him Why.

Because he’d given in, because he’d let personal antipathy to Silman and Karmack cloud his judgement, because he’d hidden behind his rank to get at them - and hundreds of other beings paid the price.

Perhaps this was the path to the darkside the Knights were always more afraid of that outright hate, to be led unknowingly by your biases into the shadows claiming all the while you were doing the right thing - to hell along the path of good intentions

He shouldn’t care, they were pirates, rapists and murderers all, but he did.

Perhaps that alone, he thought darkly as the room he sat in, was the last redeeming quality he had left.

<<<<>>>>

Ossus

(https://i.ibb.co/tb78CGr/WYLB-Ossus.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Harsh winds swept across the desolate plains before the vast craggy rock faces of Ossus.

Ancient statues carved into the raw orange stone had long since faded under the withering storms of the ruined world.

She followed a path written in time and Song, thin and wispy as the scarf that covered her face from the dust, her companion stalking ahead of her, but always looking backward with possessive hate in his eyes.

For all Aydyns many faults she couldn’t deny his aptitude.

He was right about the raw meat he had brought impressing the local Ysanna tribes, buying them permission to move freely in their ancestral lands, and he knew the paths and patterns of the scattered but vicious fauna here - not it seemed from being a native himself, but rather a primal understanding of how such harsh landscapes worked etched in his genes.

“Found it yet?” he hissed, impatient as ever.

They had reached Ossus in record time compared to the estimate on the Nav Computer, his diversions using uncharted hyperspace routes shaving off nearly 6 hours emphasising the urgency with which he sought his ‘reward’.

The orange hued planet wracked by electrical storms ever since the Cron Clusters destruction aeons ago in the War of Exar Kun, filled the screen of Zearic’s Bane brightly lit by its star Adega.

Morrgian basked in the distantly imparted warmth for a brief moment before he interrupted.

“Where are your toys,” Aydyn snapped again, his dust gray armour never removed the whole 18 hour trip that she had seen.

“A moment,” she bit back trying to relax and allow the sweet dark melodies to fill her mind once more, the rhythms of the dark that fed and formed from the lust, rage and fear that coalesced like oil in the depths of every soul…

And how they combined, how they brought each other to new heights! The pounding percussion of the Rage, the sharp scratch of the Fear, and the soothing mellow chimes of the Lust!

How she had missed it, her strength recovered at least enough to touch those basic notes and rhymes and find their counterparts if they still remained.

Dorian - such a waste, the music we could’ve made together if only you’d let yourself indulge…

She had loved him, though he frustrated and imprisoned her. Not in a romantic, or familial way, but as a fellow Singer must love another - for only they could understand the beauty of each other's Songs, appreciate the richness of the cosmic harmonies - yes the love of a Kindred- if opposed - Spirit.

A monotonous grind of durasteel on concrete was the only sound her peripheral senses heard from her current companion.

Aydyn seemed, in the Song, even more dead than M4, a single cold focus that lacked true emotion - a creature of pure instinct whose undoubtedly vicious genius of a mind was a tool no more valued than his hands in acquiring the necessities of his survival.

It was not lust that drove him to her she realized - it was a biomechanical need.

A useful little fact she mused as she sought the harmony of the planet.

It took time out of mind, but finally a whispered soft timbre that tried to match her own call, but was nearly drowned by the blotted stain of the Jedi holocaust from millenia ago, and the more recent, but gradually fading, counter measures Dorian had put in place.

A wry smile came to her face, to think her Dark crystals would’ve outlasted Dorians Song Lock.

A belated victory, but still a win to be sure.

Finally she returned fully to herself, a renewed strength coursing through her limbs.

“I know the way,”

<<<<>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/48BgfPn/WYLB-Ken.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

This was not the EV suits intended purpose, but short of going back to M’Tzigon for desert gear they would have to do.

The arid planet was devoid of any technology or orbital traffic making it exceedingly simple to find the ion trails of Zerics Bane.

Morrigan's vessel was landed in the open a few kilometers from the vast escarpments covered in faded sculpture, her Mark IV droids patrolling it.

Setting down 10 kms away Ken led the party out into the shimmering dusk. Hot winds filled with electrostatic charged dust relentlessly pushed into their faces as they followed the quickly vanishing foot prints.

All this was ephemera.

Ken just didn’t know, when he found Morrigan, what he was going to do, or say. He certainly couldn’t fight her, was unlikely to be able to sneak up on her…so what was he doing.

“You’ll know son,” Chillum half yelled over the howl of the wind
“Trust in the Maker and you’ll know,”

Ken nodded, he may not know why he was here, but he felt a deep certainty he was meant to be here.

They marched on toward the escarpment, the looming rock weighty in the sky as the night stars began to twinkle bright absent artificial light pollution and the winds mercifully calmed.

A kilometer from the mountainous rocks themselves they were in a field of jagged boulders and fist sized rocks, small shrubs peeking between them, tiny lizards that hunted in the cooler hours darting in between hiding places after even smaller rodents.

“Trails gone cold,” Balnard in the lead finally said, kneeling down, his Mandalorian armour caked in the orange dust.

“Grounds too rocky for tracks, but I’m guessing they went in,” he pointed to a narrow canyon barely 2 meters wide between the edifices of stone ahead, a black gash between orange rock that had a purple hue beneath the early night sky.

Chillum stared at the canyon seeking the thinnest traces of anything in the Song.

“Is this what they sent!” a voice boomed from on high.

All four looked around but couldn’t find the sources, it seemed to come from the canyon itself but how deep it was impossible to tell.

“A Geriatric Jedi, a Boy, Force Blank Spaarti Clone and a Little Witch…how the Mak’Tor have fallen, why They are afraid of you I have no idea,”

Sabers were quickly in hand, Balnard’s helmet Auspex array already tracing the sound waves back to the source, the green lines on the HUD converging on a vacant point a few hundred meters into the Canyon.

“That ain’t natural shouting…” he whispered to Julwyyn.
“A Voice projection…” she confirmed reaching into the Force to try and find their potential enemy

“Little Witch…” the voice was no longer booming, but a far more intimidating whisper just behind their ears
“...I’ve Known your spells for three of your lifetimes.” the voice continued in warning
“The Alliance of Alwyn the Just will keep You safe, even I won’t cross that line,”

Chillum and Ken had no idea what the male voice spoke of, even Balnard only knew the name Alwyn from some story of Old Dathomir Julwyyn had once told him.

“The Rest of you,” Now the voice was normal, and emanating from a figure barely 20 meters ahead of them in heavily plated armour the grey of ferrocrete dust that seemed stippled, in his right hand he had a sword of the same material, on the left arm was a slithering serpent like creature, a slim proton jet pack on his back behind a helmet with a single visor, a bloody maw painted on its otherwise black canvas.

“Will be an example to any other Mak’Tor not to follow my ’mistress’” he spat the last word with an ironic laugh only he understood.

In perfect time to the crackle of the electrical storms overhead Aydyn struck.

<<<<>>>>

Grip over grip she climbed the jagged time worn face of the cliff, the dry harsh air should be draining her more, but once more her ‘new’ body proved inhumanly resilient.

Far easier than Dorian over a thousand years before she found the cavern, drawn less by her own Dark Crystals echo than by the Song Web Dorian had constructed to contain them.

Crawling into the opening she set down her flood light. The cavern was too collapsed in to even stand upright, she had to crawl through the wreckage of walls and rock, whatever this place had been in the past it was now beyond all recognition.

She smiled at that thought, in many ways so was she.

Shuffling and scraping through she reached a larger chamber, in the two thousand years since Dorians visit it had degraded to the point of utter ruin, half of it was collapsed in, the only additions were a scattering of bones and soot from where a native hunter had once taken shelter from an Static Storm.

But there it still was, a chest utterly out of place with the faded aesthetics of the rest, the only object in the whole area with any semblance of Force energy, a Song Lock tightly bound around it.

He had done well, but never expected it to last this long. Song webs in the Force like all things changed over time, tiny shifts in the currents caused by the use of the Force or changes in the energies half a galaxy away all worked to slowly, ever so slowly, wear it down.

Even the Song laced Crystals within the rocks of the Canyon of Ossus changed over time. A decade, century even it would have had no meaningful effect, but twenty times that and the cracks were just large enough to slip a crowbar in.

Her hair and face covered in the ancient dust she had disturbed from its centennial slumber she tentatively reached toward the Chest, feeling already the force-equivalent of a high-decibel sonic cannon about to trigger and blast her backward physically and mentally.

“Damn you Dorian…” she sneered, she had hoped it would have degraded more than that by now.

Sitting before the Chest as best she could in the cramped dry cavern she began weaving a Song Web of her Own.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 2

Ossus

Julwyyns saber nearly took the top off Ken’s head as he tried to slash into Aydyn’s chest as they and Chillum tried their best to keep the Mercenary at bay.

The initial charge had been brutal, a kinetic wave that floored Balnard, followed by three daggers Chillum barely deflected or diverted, and a mag-train heavy blow Ken caught on his saber that buckled his knees and had almost certainly torn his left calf muscle.

Their response was fast and coordinated, knocking him back, gaining room, trying to keep his sword and hissing snake-like weapon occupied, while Balnard used his jet pack to get air and range on him.

It hadn't worked, Aydyn had gripped the Mando armoured agent with the Force and slammed him into a rocky outcrop before he could fire a shot.

Now they were just fighting for survival, and Aydyn seemed to be playing, testing their limits and skills before deciding which to end first.

The storm of sabers was incredibly fast, but somehow he was faster, any attempts to take advantage of the few opening they made were denied by the pressing need to keep the serpent like creature away from them.

With a chitinous scale body, it hissed with venom dripping fangs, alternatively flexible as a gold wire then rigid as a spear, regardless Ken did not want to be on the receiving end of its bite.

The Song was pulsing between the three, guiding them, Julwyyns light whip finally managed to score a scratch on the shoulder, Ken pressuring the other side as Chillum held the center.

Aydyn’s vast array of beyond human sensory organs felt the thermal flare and mass motion of Balnard getting up. Inferior as the Outsiders were, the full four of them could cause an injury.

His Phrik shatter-sword doubled its speed in an instant, Aydyn finally relenting to drawing on the aether for speed in addition to meta-human reflexes.

The instantaneous change in pace left the slow humans behind, he sliced at the witches legs drawing blood, then through to the boys chest breaking through the envirosuit forcing them both back - only the Old Human, still younger than Aydyn, kept pace with his greater experience.

Chillum went low to avoid the vicious sweeps of the sword and springing snares of the snake, painful as it was at his age to try and topple the enemy with a shoulder.

The Old man simply bounced off the heavy warrior, Aydyn pulsing a blast into Ken causing him to skid back once more, then a brutal strike Julwyyn barely parried that lost her footing.

“Nice try young man,” Aydyn sneered at Chillum with a smile to a joke only he understood.
Aydyn kicked out, Chillum rose up with a high slash, the serpent coiled round the Mak’Tors arms suddenly constricting him, Aydyn sliding to the side to elbow Chillum in the exposed sternum.

“PA!” Ken yelled as Chillum fell back, the breath torn from him.

Julwyyn locked eyes with her husband, drawing the deeper powers to her.
+Ken Get Down+ her voice was more in his mind than ears.

He went low as Julwyyn went high, a burst of light as glowing symbols in a circle formed around Julwyyns hands - this was old Runic magic of Dathomir - a Biding Circle she unleashed with a grunt of effort, using the Old Spells away from Dathomir and its Ichor was a hard effort.

The spiral of luminous green struck Aydyn front on just as Balnard came overhead, his combi-rifle set to automatic fire pounding into the warrior’s back, Ken rose up from beneath the Rune blast as ephemeral chains of energy wrapped round Aydyn’s arms and legs pulling him to the ground.

Bolts slammed into Aydyns helmet, rattling his skull and denting and cracking the phirk armour.

Ken’s Blue saber rushing toward the warriors neck for a brief moment it felt as if they had him.

A Burst of pure instinctive rage, lacking any finesse or poise, blasted the eldritch chains apart and hurled Ken backward.

Aydyn spun and threw his Vong-amphistaff into the damn Spaarti clone, Balnard suddenly wrestling with the viper trying to sink its teeth into his neck. With single bound Aydyn leapt the 8 meters into the air and grabbed Balnard. Far faster reflexes battered the Mak’Tor agent into submission before Aydyn delivered a double fisted below to send him crashing into the ground.

“Inferior…” he sneered as he landed into a run straight at Julwyyn.

Her kinetic barriers were knocked aside, her whip and saber shrugged off as Aydyn swept her feet from under her then slammed the back of her head with his swords pommel putting her in an unconscious stupor.

Aydyn was no longer playing.

Ken swallowed hard as the gravel bit into his scratches. He was alone, on an empty plain of dead sand beneath the shadow of a cliff about to fight a mountain of a man who all four of them together couldn’t defeat.

He firmed his stance and tightened his grip on his saber.

(https://i.ibb.co/8swW3Y9/MYLB-Aydyn.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

“Come on ‘knight’…try it…” Aydyn spread his arms and legs offering his armoured chest

“TRY IT!” he yelled, ripping off the dented helmet and tossing it to the ground with a thud too heavy to be real, revealing a face that showed pure rage on unnaturally youthful and refined features, as if an airbrushed holo-drama actors pict came to life.

More than that it was the same face he had seen from the Black Armour on Csilla, the same face he imagined lay behind the Black Armour of the Sons and the Black Armour that had killed Silman and crippled much of the council of balance, the artificial beauty marred by rage and world weariness. The face of their supposed enemy.

“Come on BOY, kill me, make the old man proud!”

Ken wanted to…wanted to so badly….his father would - this man was in the same league as Mendax for power and skill, just as mentally deranged, and allied to a Dark Singer…

Aydyn stepped within striking distance, arms still spread, weapons cast aside, even the vicious serpent kept docile.

The tip of Ken’s saber hovered at Aydyn’s nose, all Ken had to do was push left or right and it would be through his eye into the brain.

The moment lasted a month as all the events since his mind was torn like pages from a Book during the Drumhead with the Sons flooded back, the rage he felt on Csilla, the arguments with Ry, interned just for being a Mack, the battle on Orbital 3, this whole pointless pursuit of Morrigan to get the Macks offworld again.

He’d bounced through each event, either trying to bludgeon his way through, or meekly going with the flow, never fixing on what kind of man, what kind of knight he should be.

He still hadn’t worked out just who he was, but he knew at a least a few things he wasn’t.

“I won’t kill an unarmed man,” Ken replied, wondering if Aydyn didn’t genuinely want to be killed, or it was an elaborate trick,

“Thought not,” Aydyn sneered, effortlessly batting the saber aside with his bare hand and taking Ken by the neck an instant later, the mercenary never having been in real danger.

The young Mak’Tor resisted, but the fallen meta-humans strength was far too great, he stared into Aydyn’s dead eyes, the lack of anything resembling reason or conscience a memory Ken would always remember as his head swirled from oxygen depravation.

His legs and back crunched as he hit the ground, a howl of frustration in Ken’s ears and a twisted sickly sweet resonance in the Force, sinister as it was seductive.

<<<<>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/CKwf5TZ/WYLB-Morrigan.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

The intricate laces of her delicate song were at last ready, the ephemeral creation had taken far less time than she anticipated, again her new body's faster rate of neuron firing accelerated the process.

In the gentle fabric of the Song Web she had woven barbs to spike into the gaps erosion had caused in Dorians harmonic layers to penetrate down through the layers and come up beneath the outer layers to unwind them all the faster.

As ingenious as her creation was there was no guarantee it would work, but from the sparks of violent pulses in the Force she felt nearby there might be no time to test it.

With a deep exhale she layered her Song web upon the song lock, vibrations and waves in the force locking together, twisting in a deep screech as counter harmonies were off key.

She worked quickly, sweat pouring off her to tweak the web where she could, some failed, sending softened but still painful spikes into her mind as traps were sprung.

But piece by piece the lock unwound, at a third of the progress she could feel her Crystals beneath more strongly than mere whispers, was able to even draw on them for assistance. Like Dorians own harmonizing of the Crystals within the rock the Dark Crystals had faded and been distorted over the millennia but enough of the essence was there for her to grasp.

Working from without and within she sung the sibilant sensual notes that undercut the restrained dignified tones Dorian had imparted, the slick sounds weakening the firm but dry song lock by weakening its mortar.

With a gasp more of exhaustion than triumph the box opened.

<<<<>>>>

His body rebelled as tendrils of Darkness enveloped Aydyn’s aura.

Morrigan had returned just in time to see her mercenary about to snap the neck of the little toy boy.

“What is this…” Aydyn hissed out, unable to control his own limbs, his mind fighting back but the elegant flow of energy from Morrigan locking him in place and weaving its compulsion through him.

It was not easy, his rabid instinctive mind was hard to control, but he had let slip too much in his demand for ‘physical favours’ in return for his labour. She knew he wanted her, needed her, and she had more than enough experience in using that to her advantage that it took only a short amount of time to tweak her Seduction Song to his unique biology.

Yet interestingly it did not seem to reach his conscious mind.

“Let me .g…”

“Silence,” she ordered, the flesh obeying where the Will would not.

Ken rose groggily, coughing harsh sand to see Morrigan, a dark radiance around her as five crystals glowed with anti light, three across her collar, one at each hand.

They had failed, she had her Dark Crystals…but had they lost?

Julwyyn, Chillum and Balnard were alive, injured but still breathing, as Morrigan walked past Aydyn, patting the chained warrior in a patronizing manner.

“Well Young Knight, have you come to slay the Dark Singer?” she asked with a confident flourish of her flowing blonde hair.

“To take me back to my prison?”

Standing best he could, Ken was well aware he had no chance against her thrall, let alone her.

But there were other ways to resolve a conflict and end this pointless engagement.

“No…there is nothing to be gained for either of us,” he stated bluntly
“Whatever reasons Dorian had for imprisoning you…you’ve paid for that over hundreds of years…maybe you were using Force compulsion on Spira, but not in a way that was killing anyone…we brought the fight to you.”

Morrigan lifted her gaze, truly looking upon the young man in detail for the first time, seeing something perhaps Ken was yet to see in himself. .

“You’ve seen enough then, to know what I want now?” she asked

Ken nodded

“To live, to enjoy life, and…” he glanced at the tiny box in her hand, “…keep yourself safe”

Morrigan smiled, the boy understood, still she would not let him return to his likely less pragmatic superiors without a warning.

Allowing her grip to loosen Aydyn barked like a feral nexu, frothing at Morrigan and Ken, causing the Koawan to flinch back.

“How many of your knights would die trying to kill this…Freak” Morrigan asked

Ken looked at the wretched thing once more struggling like an animal in its invisible cage

“Even one would be too many…” he said, slightly surprised at his own deadpan tone.
“But that animal needs to be put down,”

“Agreed,” Morrigan replied as Chillum rolled in time to overhear the last of the conversation.

“But for now I hold his leash…and I promise you this, if I sense any Mak’tor watching me, following me, or in any way interfering with my new life, I’ll let him off of it somewhere it will hurt.”

Ken slowly nodded his assent, her deal was only fair, death was the only reward for continued antipathy and after millenia trapped she just wanted freedom, not power.

Convincing the Kage would be easy enough given Er’Lav’s indifference, convincing his father…Ken would manage that when the time came.

Nothing more to say Morrigan led the internally raging Aydyn into the dusts of Ossus dusk.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 3

M’Tzigon

Palms sweaty, he gripped the hand written document as he headed toward the President's office, a path he’d taken so many times he had lost count, knowing only this would be his last.

Today General Elax Cliff would hand in his resignation.

In a strict sense he had done nothing wrong, every action, every order, every purchase could be justified as in keeping with his Oaths, never had he exceeded his authority or acted recklessly.

In his own judgement of proprietary, Cliff had acted with vanity, spite and selfishness.

Mechanically he went through the additional security in place since Mendax’ attack, checking his credentials before the double dark blue doors.

A beeping confirmation and nod and the doors opened to an utterly unprecedented scene.

“...I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and that I will obey the Orders of the President of the Free system of M’tzigon, and the orders of the officers appointed over me according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice,”

The young officer did not add the usual ‘So help me Maker’ as he stood hand raised before the President, other officials in attendance, including General Maast who was still acting as Chief of Staff following Cliff's imprisonment.

What was shocking was the officer was the Imperial Lieutenant Nordas who had previously steadfastly refused to assist with anything but manual labour, let alone swearing allegiance to M’Tzigon. Behind a few other Former imperial officers was, no doubt the reason for this change of heart, President Sophi of Artemis Industries.

“General you just missed the Oaths,” Alvarez commented, taking his seat behind the large wooden desk, the President had a heaviness about him, the recent disasters weighing him down.

“You’re dismissed men,” he added, the new members of the Men At Arms saluting in the Imperial fashion before heading past Cliff who caught Nordas.

“All of you are swapping allegiance?” he asked stunned
“Not all,” the unflappable Nordas replied “A few dozen opted to take an Artemis vessel back to Imperial territory,”
“I don’t understand? Why join us, you were set in your allegiance to the Empire?”
Nordas nodded with a slight reluctance showing.
“President Sophi got us in touch with the nearest Imperial command at last, their proposals were…unbecoming of what the Empire should be and… it seemed staying here and making a life was a better option…and after the incident at the pirates camp…”

If Cliff didn’t think he could feel any worse he was just proved wrong, had several hundred former Imperials opted to swear allegiance to M’Tzigon rather than risk the Phirk fists of Mark IV Dark troopers?

“We hope to be assigned to the Requiem,” Nordas added “We can be of most use there, getting your…our…fellow officers and soldiers up to speed, General,” he finished swiftly saltuting, the other officials leaving till only the President, Sophi, Cliff and Maast remained.

“Election is next year…” Alvarez said
“I’m announcing my retirement at the end of the week…after all this…well…the buck stops with me”

“Mr. President, with all respect to Ms. Sophi should you be discussing such issues with her present,” Maast cautioned

“Considering her company is all but bank rolling our recovery…and now owns an unseemly percentage of our debt bonds…” there was unconcealed bitterness in his voice

Another vornskr I let into the pen… Cliff bitterly thought waiting for the never right time to announce he was resigning.

“We’re saddened to hear that,” Sophi finally spoke stepping round toward Cliff
“But we remain excited to work with our partners in the M’tzigon military, and continue our relationships…”

She moved uncomfortably close, putting herself right up to Cliff so the others couldn’t see as she swiftly swiped the resignation letter from his hand

“Especially General Cliff, whom we consider a friend to the company, an integral and trusted contact,”

Maast looked quizzically not sure what was happening, Alvarez had ‘checked out’ long since mired in his own regrets.

Cliff tried and failed to meet Sophi’s gaze, he had never been this close to one of the notorious ‘Artemis girls’ - her presence was like a mountain looming over him, but he held on as long as he could.

Would hold on as long as he could.

The pall of doubt, if not dispelled, cleared significantly, Cliffs best way to wrest back control of his army and his beloved M’tzigon from Artemis was by staying within the system not jumping out.

“I look forward to it as well,” was his steely reply.

He had made this mess, he would clean it up.

“Enjoy your retirement Mr. President,”

<<<<>>>>

Ossus

The Gryphon was near silent, Julwyyn nursed her husband’s wounds, his grandfather sat in the co-pilots chair staring into the vortex of hyperspace, a bacta drip affixed to his arm along with bandages around his midriff..

Finally, after some hours Chillum spoke

“You made a difficult choice back there son…a very difficult choice,”

Ken noted his grandfather did not say the right choice, and would never say the wrong even if he felt it.

Chillum stood up, old limbs stiff from being in place too long, he placed his hand on Ken’s shoulder

“Your Pa wouldn’t have made that choice were he here…” Chillum paused for a moment, his sentence perhaps not thought out before he’d begun.

“I’m glad he wasn’t.”

Left alone in the cockpit Ken put it all, everything to do with Black Armoured creatures, pirate queens, Dark Singers and mad Freaks behind him where it belonged, and looked forward to seeing Ry again.

<<<<>>>>

Hyperspace

“You sure about this?” Jaim asked uncomfortable in what was usually Arnor’s chair on the Wayfarer as they approached the rendezvous.

The ship had only just been shipped back from Canto Bite after being impounded - like Zearic beside him, another ‘rescue’ by Artemis.

“No,” the broader man answered honestly,
“Yes,” he added just as honestly before deciding on his final answer -
“It doesn’t matter,”

Zearic drew the Tenebris, its loathsome nightmare and paranoia inducing power tickling at the edge of his mind but seeming to grudgingly respect his ‘revitalised’ form and sharpened experience using it, the blade as tamed as it ever could be in his hands.

“It’s what has to be done,”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 1
Binos

“The weaponized potential of the Ancient One and the Starfire combined is extreme, and we both know it. Your pursuit of the knowledge to make use them is the equivalent of designing a personal Death Star.”

Words from so long ago rattled in his mind as he stared into the Song, eyes itching and dry in the recycled air of the Hope

“And we do not want to be on the receiving end of its fury…so instead we offer you our assistance in obtaining it with a view to vaccinating ourselves against it.”

Andisdottirs offer on Commenor as an agent of the Athena Society, another front for Artemis, which was itself a front for the Cabal of powerful beings who sought to undermine M’Tzigon and obtain vast power, militarily, financially and most of all in the Force.

"They're afraid of me..." he had spoken out loud, the only thing Artemis feared was him, a True Master Singer, taught by Odjina, Chosen of the Maker. He had refused them, they had let him leave, but not left him alone - unable to convince him they revived Mendax to end him.

Karmacks gaunt face twisted in a smile, their plan had backfired dramatically. It forced him to become the very thing they feared, ensured he would rise victorious and stronger in the Song than any Mak’Tor since time immemorial, the Moonshadow found, Ancient One Unlocked and soon the Starfire would be his.

Nothing would stand in his way then.

“you are probably the only person alive who can properly harness the Ancient One. You have already become a 'walking weapon of mass destruction'." Zearic had stood taking a step towards Karmack. "You decide unilaterally how to employ that weapon. We are at the mercy of what you consider to be the moral use of it.”

The thinnest doubt from the recalled words cracked the edges of his Will, but Karmack clamped down harder.

He could not doubt, not be dissuaded, after all Zearics submission after the battle had proven he was an Artemis spy.

“in all the reports, all these instances of friction – not just with Aertemis but with the Men-at-Arms as well there is one common denominator…and that’s you..”

Er’lav’s voice this time broke into his Melody of Focus, the so called Kage another plant in the slow take over of M’Tzigon, they had started with General Cliff through the Droids contract, now the Kage, the President was probably under their thrall through recovery donations by now too.

Karmack felt the bitter emptiness of isolation, knowing he was alone in this fight, the only one who could comprehend the threat or do anything about it - the others were all too blind to the Song, too weak in the Force.

But he would bear that burden for them, they would all see, he would be welcomed as a liberator when he drove Artemis out, cut the slimy Cha’s head from his neck, threw those damn droids into molten fire, then retook the Mak’tor from the puppet Er’lav.

He may well have to remove Cliff and the President as well if they had fallen too far.

...rm…arm…Karm… which voice was this?

“Karm,” Arnor shook him. His eyes were wide open as he sat shirtless in the cabin but he seemed to be looking into some ephemeral plane.

“Karm you need to listen, you’re not yourself, the Ancient One, the Song…I know you mean well, but it’s changing you, you’re hurting people, hurting yourself…” her head hung down
“Hurting me…”

Is this another Artemis trick he wondered, had they gotten to Arnor?

“You can’t go on like this, you’re leaving me and everyone else behind, I barely understand where you’re headed or why anymore…” she leaned forward kneeling before his seated pose.

“As your wife, as someone who loves you more than myself, I’m asking you to stop. Put the Crystal away, sleep for once, rest, pray, anything else but this constant marching forward.”

They have her too…ever since Commenor they have been trying to stop me, there is no level they won’t sink to…if they can revive Mendax and free Morrigan they can manipulate my wife against me - the logic was sound.

“Please,” tears welled in her eyes as he slowly shook his head.

“I will save you and M’Tzigon from Artemis, with the Starfire and the Ancient One I’ll free everyone from their power, then with the Moonshadow my power will be complete.”

He gripped her arms tightly his hands felt cold and bony
“I won’t let them stop me, I will protect you Arnor, even from yourself.”

Arnor backed away,

“I wish I could do the same for you,” she replied as the ship shuddered as it dropped out of hyperspace.

“What is happening, why are we stopping?”

“Gas and fuel exchange,” Arnor said offhandedly as possible

Karmack shook his head at the obvious lie, disappointed it had come to this.

“No, everything was done on Chandrilla,” he leapt up sprightly despite his body seeming too thin and face drawn with exhaustion.

Swiftly he went to the cockpit where Alex and Joanna were waiting, the dusty red orb of a small moon beside a cream gas giant ahead.

“We’re heading to Binos, a little smugglers port to get suppl…aaacckkk…”

“ALEX!” Jonanna squealed as Kamrakc choked him without lifting a finger
“Set course for Ruusan, this charade is over,” the Master Singer demanded.

Alex began to chuckle amidst the coughing

“I don’t conn..control the ship…Zu..zu does…” Karmack released his grip as Alex spoke glancing at the small droid.
“Can’t Force Compel a droid Master Singer,” Alex added with out of character spite that he paid dearly for as Karmack pressed on his mind.

“What is the Override,” he pushed hard, Alex felt his skull tighten a pressure he desperately wanted to relive by answering

“There isn’t one….”

“Stop, you’re going to kill him!” Joanna shrieked reaching again for her pistol only to be pinned in place

“...Safeguard against mind control!” Alex spat “It's all Zuzu,”

Karmack released his grip, frustration boiling as he stared at the tiny droid that beeped angrily at him.

“You’ve delayed me for the last time, I’ll find another ship planet side,”

“No you won’t you bastard,” Joanna snapped impotent to do anything but speak
“Zuzu’s last order before was to land on the far side of the Moon then keep the ship locked down until it's just the two of us on board. Even you can’t walk 10,000 kilometers.”

Karm shook his head
“You’ve tried and tried again to stop me Artemis, you won’t succeed this time either,”

<<<<>>>>

Karmack had to appreciate the twisted skill of his enemies.

There across the dusty empty Red Plain of Binos was the Wayfarer, last he had heard impounded on Canto Bite.

In front of the vessel was possibly the largest human Alex had ever seen, while Karmack was certainly not small and half a head taller, this ‘Zearic’ was far wider.

The Vhal’Dan wore a thick hardy cloak over his armour concealing the array of weapons from sight - two sabers, two sheaths holding blades that churned the Force about them unnaturally, various pistols, grenades and stun weapons.

“Zearic,” Arnor gasped out almost as a prayer of salvation.

Zearic and the Wayfarer had been waiting for them for just over two hours.

“Karm, it's time to come home,” Zearic called as the spiced winds gusted between them.

“Cowards,” was the snide remake Karmack directed not to Zearic, but through him

“First Mendax, now Zearic, afraid to meet me face to face,”

All looked quizzically for a moment, it was Joanna who realized first, whispering to Alex
“He’s talking to those Black Soldiers…”

Eyes narrowing Zearic’s straightened slightly

“Er’Lav sent me, not the BA’s. Karm that crystal, its destroying your thinking, making you paranoid,”

He pointed fixedly at the saber on Karms' belt.

“Give me the Ancient One, you need some time apart from it to get your head straight,”

Karm shook his head

“Now the truth comes out. The same demand you made on Commenor,” he could only sigh at their persistence and obvious desperation.

Karmack could see so clearly the Black tendrils in the Song that slithered around Zearic, the sickly taint of Cha especially strong, the looming Shadow behind that.

“If you think using Zearic’s face will somehow stay my hand you are wrong,”

Zearic swallowed hard.

“If you don’t want to trust me, fine, give the Crystal to Arnor and let her take it back to M’tzigon on the Wayfarer alone,” the water warrior replied, realising just how deeply Karmack had fallen in so few weeks.

Karmack didn’t see Zearic as a person, only a puppet, and was addressing himself to - whom he considered - the puppeteers.

“You know I’ll never relinquish the one weapon that you’re afraid of,” Karm replied, eyes narrowing as he too felt out his opponent. Zearic had taken yet another leap forward in his strength.

The ‘Revival’ in the deep Core had granted him raw power, but in the intervening weeks Zearic had clearly been sharpened and refined by his new overlords.

Yet all that was still insignificant compared to the power of the Ancient One that flowed like luminous blood through his body.

What did give the Mak’tor pause were the two daggers the Vhal’Dan thrall wielded.

“I see you’ve finished remaking him,” Karm went on

“We’ve both changed Karm...not for the better.” Zearic conceded
“More than ever we need all our strength to hold onto who we are, what we love…” he looked behind Karmack.

“Maker, look at Arnor, she’s terrified, Karm I know you don’t want to make your wife feel unsafe, just remove the crystal, clear your head,”

“And D’Alyanna would be so safe with you? The husk of a good man turned to a slave,”

Karm shook his head sadly
“Zearic was a good man...I will miss him...I know his family will,”

That stung Zearic deeply. The Truth always did.

“I’m sorry I have to do this Arnor,” Zearic apologized

“Don’t be,” she replied.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 2

(https://i.ibb.co/HFv88L9/WYLB-Zearic.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)(https://i.ibb.co/QJ1g156/WYLB-Karm.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Karmack drew his saber,strong deep battle rhythms pulsing through the Ancient One into his body, the blade hissing active with a deep yellow that somehow lit his face darkly.

Karmack’s feet flew from the ground as Zearic keyed his gauntlet.

Harsh sprays of gas jetted from buried spider mines that leapt from beneath the red dirt, Karmack pulsed the Force to batter the cheap tricks aside, but it bought Zearic time to light his own Icy Blue and Frosted Silver Sabers, his Oblivion Daggers darting from their sheaths to spin round his shoulders in a defensive orbit.

With a dismissive open palm Karmack hurled an intense blast of kinetite at the Vhal’Dan, more than double what he had floored Alex and the droids so effortlessly with.

Responding to pure defensive instinct the two Oblivion dagger crossed paths in the heart of the blast ahead of Zearic, the energy soaked up

”Translating Force energy to Kinetic is known by all,” Cha had instructed in between vicious spins of his saber staff in the deep desert heat, sun so bright the yellow sands were white.
“Your daggers turn the kinetic back into Force energy, that is why they appear immune from telekinesis, they switch enemy kinetic power back to the Force and only allow their owners power to move them,”

This was in full effect now as each of Karmacks blasts was hungrily eaten up by the daggers, the power they absorbed reducing the effort Zearic needed to keep them flying.

In a match of Force Power to Force Power Zearic knew he would be thrashed, he had to work nastier not harder.

Frustrated at the nefarious daggers Karmack strode forward saber swinging as Zearic keyed another button - a hidden laser cannon on the Wayfarer popping from under the hull to fire at its own, the Master Singers Yellow blades beat back the shots till Karmack twisted the weapon into curls of metal with his mind.

It gave Zearic time to charge forward, zigging and zagging, falling into and out of a Buried Presence with every three, then four, then two steps to keep his tactics befuddling, avoiding any pattern to upset the harmonics Mak’Tor so often sought to scry.

Before he could reach him Karmack formed his stance and glared into Zearics Mind, the Ancient One flaring hot with the power of the Metaphysical attack.

The Mental Thorn crashed against a wall but not of Zearic’s making.

Cross legged in the Wayfarer Jaim, one of the Vhal’Dan’s pre-eminent experts in mind control and metaphysical warfare erected a barrier around Zearics and his own mind, pure indomitable cliffs of Fortitude.

Karmack grunted somewhat impressed at the foresight the brute Vhal’Dan had shown.

He was even surprised when he suddenly lost his footing. A vast effort Zearic repeated a trick he’d used on Cha in the instant before he reached Karmack, teleporting just a half a handful of sand from under the Mak’Tors feet, causing him to stumble for the briefest second as the Water Warriors twin sabers came crashing down.

Silver and Ice Blue crashed into the Sentinel Yellow blade, the Oblivion daggers racing to find joints, Karmack twisting uncomfortably to ensure they only grazed his armor before coming round again.

Zearic had to work nasty and fast, pushing his strength and speed to the full he rained down blows on the Master Singer, trusting in his greater physical strength to batter the Mak’Tor down.

Karmacks saber work guided by the Force was like poetry, deftly countering the rapid heavy strikes of Zearics Death Metal rhythm.

The Mak’Tor hurled balls of kinetic power, sent out micro tugs at ligaments, the Oblivion daggers diverted from attack to defence to soak up the energy and protect their current master - Karmack wondering just how much energy the eldritch things could possibly absorb before they ‘cracked’ but unable to test it to the full.

Zearics saber work was intense, sweat pooling at the small of his back, the moisture less air rough with every deep breath taken in time with his swings.

“You’re failing, Karm!” Zearic grunted more than spoke
“Your son’s been captured by Morrigan, the droids are running loose on M’tzigon,”
Everything he said had enough partial truth to prevent Karmack sensing a lie.

Zearic had to work Nastier, Faster and most importantly of all crueller, even he didn’t know how long the daggers, Jaims mental wall, and his own revitalized strength could keep up with the Singers vastly superior Force strength, only that a weakness in any one of the three pillars would see the whole crash down.

Karmack ignored the irrelevant words as his hands moved his blade in a flurry of motion making his saber a wall of light pressing the darkness back further and further, Zearic taking every chance he could to counter the perfection of Karms battlesong with random discordant blows.

“I’ll bring your skull to my masters,” Zearic grinned like a maniac, talking to keep himself from crying as pain in his muscles began to bite, his sabers doubled down to lock then push out of a barrage of blows gaining him a moment's reprieve.

“You were right Karm, their Song is in me…I wanted it, I begged for it, if I deliver you and the Ancient One the True Gods will ascend me even further!”

Zearic fed Karm’s Paranoia and the suspicions he already had regarding Zearics healing by the BA’s so perfectly the Mak’Tor would want to believe it.

“I knew it, you couldn’t hide the Song from a Master Singer!” Karmack seethed through gritted teeth.

“I told them where to find Mendax, told them you were looking into the Ancient One,” Zearic continued his efforts to destabilise his friend further.
“I have served the Goddesses for Years!” he ended with a triumphant thrust forward, once more connecting white hot with Karm’s blade.

The last statement rankled Karmack, he could believe Zearic had switched allegiance for power and healing, but for years? Could he have been so blind?

But of course…

“You’ve always been jealous of me!” Karm realized, and Zearic didn’t hide that itching honest emotion any - he drew on it for strength as their sabers sputtered and shook against each other, muscles starting to tremble as they locked in strained extensions.

Hard pressed as Zearic was, the clash was no easier for Karmack.

The Oblivion blades were constant threats, he couldn’t hurl them away, he was forced to use telekinetic attacks to ensure they remained in a ‘defensive’ posture as their extreme density would cut into his armour easily, worse with two for them he couldn’t concentrate his power to shatter them as he had the blasphemous idol on Coruscant.

Jaims Mental Wall could turn into a lance at his own mind at any moment, and Karm could feel the hot eyes of Alex on his back, the young so-called Jedi might try something stupid, or more likely his trigger-happy wife Joanna would.

Karmack was not fighting Zearic alone, and the Vhal’Dan knew it and had planned on the very fact, pouring distraction upon distraction to divide the Singer's attention and prevent him concentrating his focus on a single point.

To Karmack’s frustration it was working, his energy intense as it was was divided, Zearic revitalized admittedly possessed greater mechanical power than his own unsupplemented strength forcing Karmack to use an Infusion Hymn to bring his physical capacity up to par, Zearics annoying use of Buried Presence at random intervals ensured Karm also had to keep his senses tighter than usual.

It was still unsustainable, with every crackling saber lock, with every blunted elbow, and shin stinging kick Zearic was wearing down his Force stamina much faster.

Alex could only just keep pace with the fight, his hand itching to light his own saber and throw it into Kamracks leg to give the large stranger an advantage, but worried the Master Singer would turn it to his own benefit, let alone the repercussions he and Joanna might suffer if Karmack then won.

Arnor felt the ebbing of Zearics Force stamina, the increasing reliance on his greater brute strength, but for all that she was still amazed Zearic was keeping pace with the fury cloaked in golden self righteous energy her husband had become.

They spun.

They Crashed,

They rammed each other.

Zearic dropped one saber to quickly spring a shiv from his gauntlet stabbing Karm in the side, poison on the blade burnt away by the Chords of Purification on the Singers lips, the low tactic ill befitting a knight - just what Zearic had hoped.

He followed the stab by unclasping a stun grenade from his belt and kicking it up with a clump of dirt into Karmacks face.

The Mak’Tor brushed it aside but the aftershocks of the electrical blast numbed the skin on his face and hand, the Vhal’Dan took the break to slash down on his arm, Songsteel screeching as the ice blue blade cut it before Karmack could push off.

The Singer quickly followed with a brutal overhand strike forcing Zearic to a knee, then kicking with his own leg straight into the Water Warriors face.

Zearic sniffed the blood of a broken nose down his throat, tasting the iron as he pushed the daggers forward, each one overloaded with energy and unable to absorb more, he thought a single word to the tainted weapons gifted to him by ambiguous daemons.

Release

The Tenebris Pugione unloaded the charge it had stored with an Emotional shockwave of Paranoia and Blood lust, the Nocte with self doubt and self destructive ideation.

The hideous wave buffeted Karmack mentally and physically, a discordant cord ripping through the Song, he pulsed his Will strongly through the Ancient One to counter the wave as the daggers dropped to the ground.

Zearic pushed from his crouch into a flurry of blades, Karmacks Force power temporarily fully occupied he would never have a better chance.

The Permafrost ice blue came down, the silver shorter blade up, Karmack was ‘reduced’ to his native skill with a saber struggling against intense Jar-Kai backed by Zearic true physical potential, the dilute legacy of one ancestor's DemiGod blood pulsing through him.

Pivoting his stance mid slash the Vhal’Dan took the Mak’Tor by surprise once more, the Silver blade locking and pushing the Yellow saber wide, the Permafrost blue crashing down the center cutting down into Karmack’s chin then through a deep molten groove in the Song steel breastplate.

Zearic pulled up and back twirling into a crouch to slash at the legs to diminish Karmacks Height advantage, then rise up with both blades at the arms.

Each blow connected on Songsteel, cutting in and through, cold-burning the skin, muscle then bone beneath on Karmacks right shin and left forearm, Zearic head butted forward as the Mak’Tor staggered, hunched and open, Karmack turning just in time to save his nose, but the impact cracking his left cheek, his eye feeling wobbly and losing vision for precious seconds.

Arnor’s teeth were clenched, breath held tight as Zearic hammered down onto her husbands shoulders, aiming to cripple his limbs, the pauldrons hissing as the sabers cut through, Karmacks head still swimming till the Song realigned and his eyes refocused.

The Daggers nefarious powers at last exhausted Kamrack struck back just as Zearic thought he had the edge, slashing straight into the big man’s chest, then weaving the full force of a BattleSong into a tapestry of saber work that dissected he Vhal’Dans guard.

His silver saber was lost first to a twirling riposte, the blue blown out of his hand by a kinetic wave that nearly shattered the bones in Zearic hand.

He’d fought well with his Oblivion Weapons, Kamrack had to concede, but all said Zearic was a scrappy ganger from Dalos facing the might of a Master Singer.

Drawing a Tremor-Dagger Zearic tried to fight on, Karmack using the tip of his blade to cut into gaps between armour plates, flash boiling skin, and at last tumbling the Vhal’Dan to the ground.

Defiance in his eyes Zearic flicked a micro-hold out pistol out firing a single overcharged blast from his prone position.

Karmack deflected with ease, the yellow blade slicing through the tiny weapon, then on the back swing the pommel of the saber - whose song steel was near melting front the intensity of the energy pouring through it - slammed into the side of Zearics head, a concussion ringing in his head, eyes rolling up.

Without pause, doubt or concern Karmack swept his blade toward his former friend's neck…

Then stopped as a body flung itself around Zearic’s head and torso pushing him down.

“NO!” Arnor screamed, staring up at her husband, his saber barrely a millimeter from her forehead, the slightest motion and he would cut her.

Her eyes were wet stinging in the dry air misted by the red dust they had kicked up that swirled like a bloody storm around them.

(https://i.ibb.co/rGzLmYW/Arnor-Hurt.png) (https://imgbb.com/)

In the glassy mirror of her eyes he saw himself at last.

A muscle jarring snarl of hatred on a gaunt face holding a saber blazing with pounding Battlesong rhythms at his own wife and friend.

He didn’t recognize it, the dissonance between the twisted creature he was and the noble knight believed himself to be too great to reconcile.

He staggered back feeling the Force slip away, the parabolic fluctuations of the energy blade no longer balanced his saber became unwieldy.

He stared at the hilt, the Song Steel Corroded by extreme use of the Force to the point he could see the Ancient One within plusing yellow.

Rocking back and forth with the turmoil of his own actions Karm stared into the bright heart of Crystal, he felt the ceaseless purity of how it could amplify and enhance the Song that flowed from him, and he heard the Song it was voluminously enhancing and felt the sickness seep into his stomach.

He hurled the saber as far as he could before crashing to his knees.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 3

A thermal blanket wrapped around him Zearic drank what he could from the canteen, dribbling most of it, head still rolling, bacta patches applied by Arnor on the injuries she could see under the shade of the Wayfarer

Jaim and Alex stood on the upturned patch of sand they had fought on, neither game to lift either the Oblivion daggers, or Karmacks Saber. A few hundred meters away Karmack knelt staring into the hot sky.

No one knew what to do.

Karmack didn’t feel the blistering heat of the gas giant as it consumed the sky, the choking sand as the winds picked up.

His lips simply moved in half formed sentences of mournful thoughts that tried to articulate and express his regret.

His mind felt heavy, slow, spread out…it had been so focused, confined to a singular goal for so long, channelled through the Ancient One…

(https://i.ibb.co/DR2s1gp/Karm-Wander.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

The Crystal wasn’t the problem…no it was an amplifier and mirror, reflecting back Karmacks own paranoia, fear and frustration over and over, an echo chamber in which his own Song was all he could hear, everything outside a discordant abomination to be corrected.

So engrossed in his own righteousness he couldn't see the saber at his own wife's throat..

The How, the Why, the When of his fall, none of this mattered, the Fact of it, the itching reality of turning into that which he despised was all that meant anything.

“Maker forgive me…Maker forgive me…Maker Forgive me…” he repeated the mantra over and over and over until his mouth ran dry stuffed with sand, still his lips moved in penance, dehydration sapped the last fluid from his body leaving him unable to even sweat in the heat of the Moons Light cycle.

“Should someone go out to him?” Alex asked “He’ll die of dehydration out there,”
Jaim didn’t reply. During the fight he had felt the intensity of Karmacks zealous thoughts behind the mental attacks, if even a speck of that dogmatic insanity remained it might be better if he stayed out here.

“Come on,” Joanna called to Alex
“Let’s get out of here,”

As the couple began to turn back to the Hope Arnor walked past them.

Fearlessly she picked up Karms discarded saber as everyone watched.

She could feel the echoes of his BattleSong still in the Ancient One, the overprotective self assured madness, her husband had not fallen because of some temptation or in response to grief, but because he had locked himself in his own echo chamber of Righteous belief, convinced himself he was the only one who could see the threats and the only one who could stop them, interpreting every event in that light.

It wasn’t Mendax, Morrigan, Artemis, or Cha that had driven him to the point of violence against his own friends and family, it was his zealous belief that being the last Master Singer made him, by virtue of his powers, more knowledgeable, better and holier than them.

Only now did Karmack understand that, only now did he see just how far the depths of his self aggrandizement plunged, Hubris, Spite, Superiority, things he assumed that as a Maenowan he had long since ‘outgrown’ - a blind spot? No. Simple arrogance.

Pleading forgiveness rasping from his lips the shadow of Arnor fell across Karmack, he blinked up as she looked down.

After all the years, all the losses, injuries and trials she had never seen him so weak and lost.

Kneeling before him she felt the despairing horror he felt at what he had done, how far and how easily he had fallen, the cringe inducing depths of his contrition.

This wretched thing was no more her husband than the self important fiend that had barely an hour before held a saber to her.

But at least this person she felt was sincere, humbled - broken but capable of repair.

Maker help me help him she prayed silently pushing against her instinct to abandon him to his self pity.

With empathy and forgiveness, more for herself than anyone else she held his saber out to him.

He stared at the inert object as though it were the source of all his misery, for a brief moment she feared she had made an error.

But no…the crystal was not the source of any of his fall, it was all him.

“I’m Sorry,” he whispered throat wretched from the dust.

“I know,” she replied.

<<<<<>>>>>

“Zearic I…,” Karmack bowed his head near to the deck kneeling before the large man who sat propped on the main bed in the Wayfarer.

“Thank You…I’m Sorry…You were right to try and stop me…”

Jaim kept a guarded stance nearby. Zearic had agreed to speak with Karm only on condition the Ancient One be placed by Alex in a sealed box with the two Oblivion Daggers - a task Alex had certainly not relished, but feeling the nefarious power of the Tenebirs and Nocte realised if anything could keep Karmacks crystal subdued it was certainly them.

“I became…I am…everything you feared I would be…”

There was little Zearic could say, feeling the unnatural itch of his muscles and wounds restitching at a moderately faster pace than they should.

Zearic was all too aware of what it was to be the object of your own fears.

He’d suffered too many nightmare visions of harming his own family and friends not to empathize in some way. Yet - so far - he had at least never acted on it, though given the BA’s ability to control him….

“Nothing that has happened to either of us recently has been for the better,” was his gruff pragmatic reply, delivered with no sympathy and less forgiveness.

The undercurrent of tension between the pair, obvious since their meeting mere hours before Mendax attack seemed if anything sharpened by the fight, Karmacks apology providing no balm.

Sitting up straighter Zearic got straight to the point.

“What will you do now?”

“I…need to…prove myself worthy of forgiveness…rebalance, retune myself to the True Song, not my willful distortion of it,”

“You’ve little time for introspection,” Jaim cautioned sternly
“You haven’t heard but things have not gone well on M’Tzigon, the Pirate prisoners from the Battle of S’Kar’Yom took General Cliff prisoner, they sent in the Mark IV droids…”

With each word Karmacks stomach sank further

“412 dead. Your son has a lead on this Morrikan(?) but was briefly captured by her, and the Artemis executives are cosying up closer to the civilian politicians of your world,”

Mere hours before such information would’ve sent Karmack into a flying rage, now…now he knew he was not the center of these events, or the only protagonist capable of acting to oppose them, if indeed that was even the right thing to do.

For long moments the room remained silent except for the occasional beep of the heart monitors on Zearic’s board chest.

“Going back now would only make things worse,” Arnor finally spoke
No one could disagree, Karmack's mere presence was divisive at this point.

“Then where,” Karmack croaked, dust still stuck in his throat.

“Finish what you started, we find Ruusan and the Starfire, that plan was never the problem - none of us wants to see more power in Artemis hands - it was how you were going about it,”

“Rediscovering the location of Ruusan would be of great value to the Vhal’Dan, it was the bloody birthplace of the modern Order,” Jaim offered

Karmack opened his mouth, started to say something, but then stopped.

He simply nodded. “Then Ruusan it is.”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 43 - Song and Shadow - Part 1

Ruusan

“Smaller than I thought…” Zearic said of the world that loomed so large in Vhal’Dan history, peering out the view screen, upright despite the tense pains rippling across his limbs, thankful at least this time they were limbs of flesh not metal..

Even with the information from the Triptych it had still been hard to pinpoint Ruusan, shifting Nebulae of the Teraab Sector in which it was located had long since cut off hyperspace lanes used in ancient time, a series of micro jumps was needed to reach it.

This was largely accomplished by Alex and Joanna on the Hope it’s ‘smuggler grade’ sensor and navigation system far better than the Wayfarer.

They had agreed to continue with them, albeit alone on the Hope, not giving a reason, perhaps it was simply curiosity.

Arnor hoped it gave them a chance to see at least a glimmer of the man her husband could be.

“Nothing on the scans, no signals, a few bits of wreckage, clone wars era…looks like an old outpost.” Jaim explained checking the read outs

“We’ll have to let the force guide us,” Arnor concluded, feeling out the planet below. It was musty with age, a deep iron taste in the rockier zones, verdant and lush elsewhere with a sense of fresh life undistributed by technology or the war that had once marred its surface.

She pointed to a deep gash in the topographic scan
“There…where it feels like old blood,”

<<<<>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/0f09RCb/ruusan1.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

“Bigger than I thought,” Zearic grunted.

Built to honour the fallen of the last war in a thousand year darkness they stood at the entrance to the Valley of the Jedi, two vast statues mossy around the feet with age, once sharp sculpting of their hoods softened by wind and rain of a millenia.

Beyond that into the orange and red Valley were dozens more Statues, many built of minerals native to the home worlds of the Jedi they represented.

Deeper in, their fly over had detected various structures, a meditation complex, and dozens of entrances to below ground chambers.

“This will take decades to explore and excavate.” Jaim said looking round behind them where the Valley rocks gave way to a small rocky clearing before the low height forests, still not fully recovered from the war, began.

Every few seconds Alex thought he caught a glimpse of one of the fabled ‘Bouncers’ fluffy green floating creatures of legend, but if they were real he doubted they would approach them.

“Kind of peaceful here,” Joanna noted as Zuzu tramped about on uneven ground performing post flight checks.

“It’s here…” Karmack whispered “I can hear it…” staring between the two vast guardians of the Valley.

“Do you know where?” Arnor asked

He shook his head
“Not precisely not without the…”

She knew he meant the Ancient One.

“One thing you were right about is we don’t really have time to lose, Alex…the box…” she called
“Are you sure,” the young knight asked, still keeping his distance from them.

She looked hard at her husband, scrutinizing his every emotion. He opened himself fully to the inquisition, bearing no ill feeling, he had broken her trust, everyone's trust, that would take a lot of work to repair.

“Yes,” she replied.

It took a few minutes before Alex reappeared from the Hope, hurriedly handing the box over to Jaim.
“I don’t ever want those things on our ship again,”

Zearic nodded drawing his daggers out,
“You wo….” he paused as he sheathed the Nocte, a sudden instinctual need to Submit his wretched self to the Pure Ones washing over him.

“Zearic?” Jaim asked noticing the pause
“Karm whatever you have to do…hurry…They’re here…”

Karmack nodded tentatively, taking his saber up, the Ancient One silent and empty of any lingering trace of the emotions he had poured into it.

“Stay with the ships,” he said
“It’s me they want, and only me…I need to resolve this,” he looked back at them, the drawn look on his face showed this was not an arrogant attempt to play the hero or sacrifice himself, but mere grim fact that the Master Singer himself resented.

“If I’m not back in a day - leave,”

Arnor stepped toward him, squeezing his hand, and motioning but then deciding not to kiss his cheek, a sting Kamrack felt in his heart.

“Be safe,” she said as he turned to the Valley and into the shadow of Knights he could never measure up to.

<<<<>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/5MW1qFg/Ruusan2.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

He walked for nearly an hour before he even thought to touch the Ancient One with the Force, only when he reached a junction in the Valley, a large Plinth inscribed in Old Aurebesh listing names and battles, the Lament of Lord Hoth in italicized script beneath.

“Where to from here…” He breathed deeply afraid the moment he drew the Force through the Crystal he would become that Monster instantly.

His injuries from the fight with Zearic were still biting, endurable but grating. With the Ancient One he could, if not restore himself fully, at least take the sharper edges off.

With teeth set firm, eyes closed he did so.

It was the same sensation, the same expansion and sharpening of his senses, pulsing vigour in his body, rapidity of mind…he had forgotten how ‘dull’ and ‘limited’ he was without this power.

A power he had embraced too much believing he and he alone could and should bear it. How isolated that made him now.

The Song here was deep and sorrowful, notes of grief, and sacrifice, tones of tragic loss and questionable gain. It was all the sharper for what Karmack knew had happened in the thousand years since the War, yes there had been times of Prosperity, the glory of the High Republic…but never peace, only slow decay into the Clone Wars and now, another Sith Empire falling slowly, taking so much with it.

It seemed a cycle they could not escape from. A cycle of desire, greed, and the fear that provoked in others, the violence to take or resist…how much had he contributed to that?

“The cycle has to be broken…” he said aloud as he walked the overgrown paths, old tiles covered in accumulated dirt, weeds breaching through the gaps.

For what was this place but a monument to the folly of that cycle of war and loss, a marker left behind in stone and Song of the price to be paid for ambition, greed, self righteousness, irrational belief in one's own truths.

Why had he not heeded the warnings?

And could he ever be forgiven?

He walked with the infusing energy of the Ancient One trickling repair across his cells until the Sun vanished behind the Valley walls, past dozens of the Sentinel Jedi, the red dusts of the natural rock covering him from head to toe as he breathed gritty dry air.

At last he came to a row of half buried Mortuaries, Seals on the Doors astonishingly untampered with, on each differing Symbols carved in the native stones. He vaguely recognized one as similar to an Old Vhal’Dan Crest, the others he didn’t know, except one.

A Simplistic symbol of a Book before crossed swords, on the book pages Mak’Tora, Runes that spelled ‘To the Maker I Commit them’.

This…this was the place.

Gingerly he approached the only seeming entrance, filled long since with dirt blown from over the Valley edge that even now appeared a mist rain in the purple dusk light. Without any digging equipment he drew on the Fore to scoop the dirt from the stairwell that led deep underground.

At the far end was a rounded sealed door with no obvious entry mechanisms, but faded by time around the edge were musical notations. With a sad smile he traced his fingers along them, reading the Rhythms.

With a calm sigh he sat and disassembled his saber enough to remove the Ancient one, then, in perfect accord with the carving, began to Sing.

<<<<>>>>

Beautiful as it was sorrowful the Song echoed through the Valley to the small camp in the rocky clearing where the ships sat.

The Force itself seemed to still and bow in contemplation of the losses so long ago.

Arnor sat staring at the blue and red stars grieving the loss of something far nearer, a trust, a hope, a belief she feared had been lost. She wanted to trust, to love Karmack again, but could she? The vows she had made so many years before had never felt such a burden as these last weeks, the thought of years of such was too much to bear.

Alex contemplated his own lost Master Cunn, and what he could or should’ve done these past few days. There were moments he certainly could’ve done more, but so used to hiding his powers for safety from the Inquisition he had instinctively held back. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered, Karmack with his Crystal was beyond anything he had ever sensed but still, he couldn't shake the feeling he could’ve done a lot more.

Even Joanna could feel the mournful flow of the life-giving energy field even if she couldn’t explain its origin, to her it was a dour feeling settling over the camp as she switched on the Glo-Lumen and warmed pre-packed meals for them.

She hadn’t said anything to Alex but the more they got involved with these Jedi sects the more afraid she was becoming - her eyes were being opened to a larger galaxy, and frankly one she wished she didn’t know about. She felt naked compared to the other Force users, unable to see what they did, stumbling blindly, their conversations about things she couldn’t comprehend.

An outsider status Zearic could empathize with as he knelt at the edge of the forest staring into the blackness, breathing in the cool evening air in deep gulps, wondering if he could, or should ever go home?

As he gazed into the black of the forest the darkness began to stare back.

With a deep gulp he slowly stood and walked to the makeshift camp.

“Everyone, put your weapons on the ground and step away from them,” he said in slow measured tones breaking them from the spell of the Dirge Karmack sung kilometers away.

Before anyone could ask why the passing of a cloud from in front of the Third Sister Moon revealed the two vast Shadows that had followed Zearic from the darkness.

<<<<>>>>

The Song completed the Seal rolled away revealing a deep blackness.

Lighting his one small Glow stick Karmack entered tentatively, cautious with every step in direct contrast to the frantic rush of the last weeks.

There would not be many bodies, most would’ve been taken to Coruscant, those that could not probably left more due to limited resources than choice.

Compared to Coruscant there was a paucity of decoration, only the barest inscriptions on solid walls where bodies never found in the butchered aftermath of battle were honoured, the very occasional urn or rust eaten piece of armour.

The Tomb was built as a downward curve toward what Karmack deduced was a central room that joined all six of the mortuaries he had seen at ground level.

The light stick flickered and once more, he begrudgingly lit his saber, the yellow light and flow of the Ancient one sharpening the sense of direction.

But unlike the last month or more this time he felt the nascent presence of the Entities within the Crystal once more, a subtle presence but undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to them as he stepped slowly
“I…I thought myself right, and righteous, I used what you gave me without consideration for others…I know I need to repent, to reconcile…I know I don’t deserve it, but please, trust and aid me on this final stretch. I realise now I cannot, and should never have tried, to do this alone.”

He felt nothing in response either way as the tunnel widened into a large chamber a light shining from the center.

There beneath the carved faces of dozens of Jedi that held the vaulted ceiling on their carved backs was a vast crystal, unlikely to be the fabled Adegan at the Center of Johun Othones creation, this was a smaller conduit to the Force Nexus of the planet.

Arranged around it, heads resting against the base of the Crystal, were sarcophagi with faded paintings bearing a likeness to the faces carved above.

The crystal glimmered a soft white, enough light that he could switch his saber off as he was drawn to one burial.

Brushing off the light red dust of the natural rock of the cavern was the name he had searched for - Jar’Es’Kinsler.

The son of the last to bear the Clan name, the others of the Xandir bloodline having long since married into other Clans, here was the last bearer of the Starfire.

“Jar’Es’Kinsler, son of Gel’I’Xandir-Kinsler…” He read the words in old Aurebesh rather than Mak’Tora Runes, indicating she had been interred sometime after the Mak’Tor had left, perhaps only one remaining to seal their Mortuaries entrance after.

“...Of the 100…”
The 100 who had died in the Thought Bomb…that made more sense, there was no body to bury and inscribe with the sacred Runes. But…then the Starfire…

“Could it survive a thought bomb?,” he wondered aloud, the Ancient One had - but at extreme cost to the entities within.

Feeling assured there was no body to disturb he gently used the force to pry the Sarcophagi lid, a spray of sealed air hissing out dry and stale.

Lighting his saber he cast it over the remains.

A few pieces of ancient armour, scraps of a Cloak and a cylindrical bundle wrapped in linen.

Gingerly he lifted it out, feeling some of the fabric flake away with age, unwrapping slowly the archaic saber, damaged and burnt out, barely had it been revealed when the crystal dropped, lifeless and black.

“Gone,” he sighed, disappointed but not surprised the Thought Bomb had destroyed it.

The power he had once lusted for to destroy Artemis had never existed in his lifetime at all. He could scarcely imagine the rage he would’ve felt had he found it in his mania.

His emotions burnt out he simply stared calmly at its blankness before placing it back as carefully as he could.

Turning away he reached the tunnel exit, switching on his saber for light once more.

*****

What?

He switched the blade off…then on again ******

“It's reacting, to the Ancient One!” perhaps, perhaps it wasn’t destroyed just…Hibernating, or closed off.

Rushing back he removed the crystal once again, it flickered with small lights from within as he brought the Ancient One near it. Removing his own crystal he sat beneath the Adegan Nexus Channel and began to Sing through the Ancient One a Song of Awakening into the Starfire.

<<<<>>>>

“Alex…I really really don’t like this…” Joanna stammered as she dropped her pistol to the ground,

“We’re safe, if we don’t attack they won’t hurt us…” Zearic insisted under their thrall.

There were three Oblivion Warriors that they could see, given how pitch black everything was around the camp, likely more remained hidden.

Alex gripped his saber tight, Zeaic fixed him with a stare

“Don’t do anything rash…If they get what they want then we all get to leave,” Zearic continued, the words barely his own. The Pure Ones did not speak to him - his tainted blood made him unworthy of such a boon - yet he knew their Will as a compressive fist wrapped around his own consciousness leaving him a passenger in a body that moved and spoke of its own accord to their voiceless needs.

“And if they don’t?” Alex asked mentally calculating how fast he could sweep Joanna up and make for the Hope

Zearic, or rather the Compulsion that controlled him had no answer.

For the first time one of the Shadows stepped past Zearic toward Alex. It pointed a silent finger at his saber, then the ground.

“Lipnucks…” Alex whispered in preference to a stronger expletive, finally relenting.

Barely had the saber touched the ground than a mist of black swept it from his sight along with every other weapon.

Zearic calmly lowered his hands indicating they should sit.

“Now we just wait,”

“For what?” Jaim asked this time.

“For Karm,” Arnor said, staring at the most distant of the BA’s partially concealed at the Forest's edge, the one she somehow knew was the leader.

“Maker help him,”

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 43 - Song and Shadow - Part 2

Shadow and Song

Spark by spark the Starfire awoke in his hand. The first few lights were tenuous, resentful of being pulled from its self inflicted silence, but now it was gathering pace, a Song of Energy, of Vigour and Strength, far more so than the Contemplative tones of the Ancient One.

If the Ancient One was the Crystal of Sages and Force powers, the MoonShadow of stealth and concealment, then the Starfire was a boisterous bellicose warriors crystal, implacable in its attack, indomitable in its defence.

The Crystal drew from him and the Adegan Nexus nearby renewing its connection to the Song with joyous bluster, a weaving subtune between it and the Ancient One almost made him laugh, it had the tone of a bickering brother asking ’What took you so long!’

Moment by moment it awakened further into full glowing luminosity, as bright as the Ancient One, a complement and contrast, equal but different.

He held the Crystals up side by side, revelling in the reunion, and not at all his own part in it.
He had to remind himself he was not The Master Singer, simply A Master Singer, in a different Era Odjina or Dorian would’ve done exactly the same.

His elation paused as he looked at Jar’Es empty Coffin.

“Jar’Es…I…Thank You…May you find your rest in the Maker.” he bowed with due reverence then turned.

Straight into a wall of Oblivion.

His eyes widened as he took the sight in, a silhouette of a large armoured being blacking out the light around it such that his eyes couldn’t quite discern the edges.

There was no point wondering how they found him, how he got in unseen and unheard or how long he had even been there, the BA’s just Were.

And unlike the meeting with Andisdottir, Karmack knew this time there would be no bargaining, no discussion.

It was Submission or Death.

“You had to wait didn’t you,” Karmack said scoping out the situation
“You couldn’t reawaken the StarFire yourself or you would’ve slit my throat ages ago. I understand now, you had to drive me here, Mendax, Morrigan, the Droids, Cha, all threats to force me to come looking for this…” he held the Starfire lightly in his fingers

“I rejected you on Commenor, so you created this elaborate sequence of threats…my…my darker moments…you didn’t plan that…you probably hoped I’d still be panicked, threatened, angry,” he shook his head
“I could barely face Zearic in that state, you’d end me in a moment…”

Irritated at the talking, the Oblivion Warrior simply stretched out his hand demanding Tribute from the lesser species.

“Andisdottir told me on Commenor, with the Ancient One, I was like a walking death star…a rhetorical stab of course, but a certain truth, these can make me incredibly powerful, and as Zearic warned I decide unilaterally how to use them…or I did…I won’t anymore,” Karmack straightened his posture.

“I will use these Crystals to Serve the Maker, in accordance with the Book of the Way and the guidance of my Kage, I will Craft the Song to Protect the Innocent, I will pass on the Knowledge I have and will gain, and gratefully hand over these crystals to the next generation. but I Will not…”

He glared into an Abyss that stared back ravenously

“I will not submit or surrender them to any who have proven acts of evil to their credit. I will never pretend to perfection, I have fallen harder and farther than I imagined, but I will be damned before I let these fall into the hands of those who do not reveal their faces, fears or intentions,”

Spreading his arms the Force guided the Ancient One back into his saber, a dozen crystals of his Choir spread from within his robes, the Starfire took its place first among them.

Resolved to take the Crystals at any Cost the Oblivion Warrior Struck without warning.

The Ancient One Channeled through the Starfire hit first with a power that warped reality and consciousness into a mirror of itself.

(https://i.ibb.co/0c0rzw8/Karm-Defence.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

<<<<>>>>

A place that was not a place, a time that was not a time resolved into what once human minds could comprehend as a vast dark grey plain of infinite by nonexistent dimension in which they stood.

All of the Crystal Entities, echoes of their Living Forms stood in a line, Dorian, Slo’Ma,Ci’Lus, Vi’rys, Lan’dir, Shiv’Dir and finally Ho’Li and Ha’Ona.

Light beamed from their hands a vast formless mass of black mist above them, compressing it, forcing it to take form on Their plane.

Finally unable to resist the pull the tendrils of shadow smoke formed into a body of a man in black, his face would’ve been handsome without the grim countenance it bore like a shield.

“It can’t be…” Ha’Ona gasped

“You know him?” Dorian asked

“That is…Valens…the man who killed Odjina…”

(https://i.ibb.co/GvDZTyh/Valens-Mist.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

They all knew those memories, the terror, the power this being had wielded 600 years before enough to kill a Master Singer and half a dozen knights besides, in one battle.

“Well…” Slo’Ma ‘patted’ Dorian on the back
“Got get him Master Singer Extraordinaire,”

Dorian ‘rolled’ his eyes as Valens stared at the interlopers who had dragged some of his multiple consciousnesses into their little Holocron-like prison realm.

They were eight, he was one. But they were ghosts of humans. He was People. And this was far from his first time fighting such a battle.

Rising up in the nowhere realm where physics didn’t apply Valens twisted into a form of dozens of blade tipped shadow smoke tendrils and struck, the Crystal entities responded transforming into luminous balls of energy clashing in mirror blasts to counter his attack that sought to ‘pierce’ them and spill their energy across the void.

The Crystal entities sought only to contain and divert him as best as they could, for Maker knew, Karmack needed the help.

<<<<>>>>

A bastion of Light, the very Embodiment of the Song, his body a perfect conduit for the harmonies that undergird the universe, amplified in their breath in and breath out through the two Crystals of Xandir and the Choir - Karmack parried the Oblivion blade with clean precision, sliding past the follow through punch, leaping over the low sweeping kick, blocking the blade.

Channelling the Counter-Rhythm to the Oblivion material he had learned on Coruscant through the Starfire into the Ancient one and through his saber blade Karmack struck back, his blade slicing into the Oblivion Warriors helmet.

Yellow glowing ravines cracked along the Oblivion piece before exploding it outward into pebble sized fragments, the Oblivion blade coming through to push Karm off.

Karmack felt for a brief moment the elation of success, staring at the shadowed face of his opponent now exposed, a familiarity to it he couldn’t quite pick.

What he didn’t realise at that moment was that the Oblivion Warrior was fending off the initial thrust of the Crystal Entities unprecedented metaphysical strike.

Seven seconds into the fight Valens had adapted and re-allocated his cognitive resources for maximum effect.

On the Eighth second he struck back.

Pillars of Darkness crashed upon Karmacks Yellow blade, the rock beneath his feet cracking under the impacts that rumbled through his bones, Valens sword working with speed and sheer brutal strength beyond what Karmack thought possible even with the Force without liquefying one's own skeleton.

Releasing one hand on his grip Valens sent bolts of Kine-Lighting into the Crystals of the Choir, the Shatterpoint attuned blasts disintegrating four of the twelve Choir crystals in an instant, Karmack felt immediately the Flow of the Force through his body drop precipitously.

The Master Singer rose in a strong Riposte, blasting forward with a whirlwind of kinetic energy that was dismissively buffeted aside. Karmack did what he could to fortify the remaining Choir Crystals integrity, assured his opponent would not destroy the Crystals of Xandir at least, but it diverted precious energies from the fight.

His body twisted in furious defence, muscles and ligaments quickly straining as the Oblivion Warriors inhuman dexterity delivered resounding blows from every possible angle, tri-jointed elbows and shoulders allowed contortionist like feats of maneuverability Karmack could only keep up with by fuelling his sheer speed.

The Mak’tor felt out of control, running at 100 kmph on slippery ice, liable to fall and crack his skull open at any instant, the Force flowing through him at a rate which, without the Choir to channel it, would certainly be physically damaging.

Valens centuries of experience and training gave him vastly superior technique, the Battle Song flowing it seemed from the Maker itself guiding Karmacks body was all that stood in its way.

The Saber slammed over and over against the Oblivion Blade, the power cell burning up, the blade began to flicker with each clash as the sheer force was too much to counteract.

Worry trickled up Karmacks twisting spine like ice, if his blade died, so did he.

On the Metaphysical Plain the Crystal entities in luminous spheres spun, connected and divided trying to trap and distract the shadow smoke fingers that sought to stab them. Few of the Mak’Tor in life had engaged in such combat before, struggling with the mutli-dimensional nature, for in the realm of the mind space and time were an irrelevance.

Valens quickly deduced the Crystal entities greatest weakness - as shades of living beings they were, to a large degree ‘fixed’ - they could imitate the living but could not ‘learn’ or ‘adapt’ only reflect the tactics and demeanour of the humans they were once ‘copied’ from.

They were - eventually - completely predictable, unable to truly innovate, only attempting to swap and mix up existing finite skill sets, using this to his advantage he isolated and began to stab into two of the dimmer lights, scattering their coalesced consciousness once more.

Karmack fell back further and further, getting ever closer to the vast adegan crystal of the Mortuary, the Oblivion sword relentless and controlled, bashing his body down, Valens taking every short break to fire another blast of Kine-Lighting with Shatterpoint precision to blast another of the Crystal Choir apart - Karmacks fortifying of the Crystals increased their resilience - even so Valens had shattered two more leaving Karmack with half his starting tally.

The power cell finally failed, Karack rolled to the side avoiding a sweep that surely would’ve taken his head, they as a follow through blow came down another of the Crystal choir acted as a shield, the Kyber crystal ‘blocking; the Oblivion sword, shattering in the process but saving Karmacks limbs from certain detachment.

The connection with the Ancient One and StarFire surged knowledge unknown into his mind as he scrambled to gain distance, fumbling, desperate and not even in control of his action he tore out the power cell and threw it at Valens who brushed it aside with a sneer - then Karmack without thinking rammed the Starfire where it had been.

Now Valens was taken aback.

A blazing beam of Pure Force Energy erupted into magnificent light - the Song through Karmack, Amplified in the Starfires martial facets and channelled by the precise reflection of the Ancient One turned into a new blade.

It crashed into the Oblivion sword causing it to flicker with a Red Purple luminosity - the Pure Force Weapon attacking the Traditional Aethan Enchantments directly.

(https://i.ibb.co/DVFGPvK/Karm-Ascendant.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Over many centuries and countless wars Valens had seen, and indeed used such weapons of pure Aether, they were rare, deadly - and utterly draining even for People - he wondered if the Mak’Tor truly appreciated what he was even doing, if Valens did not kill the Mak’Tor, using such intense power for any length of time certainly would.

The flare of energy as the Crystals of Xandir perfectly combined spread to the Metaphysical battle, three of their number scattered the remaining Entities gained a measure of reinforcement, their bright aura’s burning the tips of half a dozen Valens bladed tendrils, a break that allowed Kamrack on the Physical plain to stage a fight back.

The Song-Blade was light, almost pure air, its weight was only in the Force where it scythed off more and more of the Oblivion Weapons Eldritch powers - Valens only response was another blast at the Crystal Choir, breaking two more.

The Master singers lips and body hummed incessantly to the point of physical pain as the BattleSong animated his every action, driving the Shadow back further and further, the Song-blade extinguishing the charge of the Oblivion sword.

The Abyssal weapons eldritch energy depleted Karm cut straight through it into the chest plate behind, again crackling on a wall of Enchanted Aether Energy, the yellow sparking against the Dark purple in crimson flares.

Pushing back with kinetic waves Karmack pressed on, slicing everywhere he could, delivering shallow but numerous cuts to the fragmenting Oblivion Armour, the Singer frustrated by the disparity in dexterity, reflex speed and experience that enabled the Aethan to avoid any serious blow.

Pushed back, Valens finally had his fill of this pointless joust.

The Song trembled as the Force rocked with a voracious, primal consumptive draw on its power, an animalistic connection that understood no limits or restraint, before the sensation had even settled into Karmack’s senses a cascade of lighting poured over his opponent.

On the metaphysical plane the Shadow smoke crackled with lighting that added a virulent threat to any of the Entities that approached, catching them in a net of crackling burning fire that shook the luminous spheres so violently their fragmented memories of who they were began to break apart within rendering all but Dorian and Slo’Ma confused inert jumbles of memories.

Slashing forward Valens caught the Song-Blade on his Aether powered lighting shield, Karmacks eyes widened in the white hot screeching clash.

He saw the blow coming - but his human body could not physically move fast enough to stop it.

Valens elbow slammed into Karmacks right forearm with a wet crack, the Aethans fist following through to his shoulder popping it out. Karmacks grip gave way and the Oblivion fists crashed through the gap.

In five seconds half a dozen crippling blows struck Karmacks comparatively weak human frame, shattering bone and ruining muscle beyond the Song’s ability to resist or repair, crushing the Mak’tor’s wrists in one hand Valens pulled Karmack forward then kneed him hard in the sternum.

Karmacks grip released as the air rushed from his body, the Saber falling, his back smashing into the vast Adegan Crystal.

The Saber clattered to the ground, the blade dying - Pain the Force had been suppressing erupted across Karmacks body in tormenting fire.

Disconnected from the Singers Living Connection to the Force the Crystal Entities last resistance faded, Valens full mind finally free as his body.

Quickly reaching out the Aethan summoned the Saber to his hand - the faster than sound launch suddenly stopped by the Singer.

Physical pain and moral failing translated in Karmacks soul to an utter determination not to allow the Oblivion Monster to take the Crystals. He had done so much wrong in recent months, this at least he could do right.

The Saber vibrated mid air, the Songsteel already brittle from the sheer enormity of the Force energies flowing through it began to slowly tear apart.

Irritated Valens free hand flicked up, red piercing wisps flying from each finger tip, ephemeral needles that pierced Karmacks body, a Life Drain attack sucking the energy from the Mak’tor.

Karmack pushed back with a Song of resistance of defiance, their energies swirled and coalesced round the focal point of the Crystals.

Invisible to both was the connection between the Ancient One and the Star Fire flared in newfound intensity as both recognised the familiar notes of a long buried tune deep within their ancestral connections to the Force.

A sudden flare of white erupted from within the saber, both combatants thinking the other had launched some kind of desperate destructive attack.

The pulsing shock wave floored them both.

(https://i.ibb.co/G3QvLKv/Acinet-One.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

<<<<<>>>>>

Chapter 43 - Song and Shadow - Part 3

Through His Eyes

His eyes opened to a verdant world of greens and blues gauzy and indistinct that slowly resolved into clearer images.

A River, Forests, fields, small wooden houses.

Karmack looked around him, taking in the view of the Rural Idyll seemingly realised from the imagination of a pastoral poet.

He was absent any physical form, seemingly just eyes and ears floating freely down the Valley, watching, listening to the occupants go about simple lives.

They were all so similar, their build, facial features, all as if close cousins or siblings, not quite human, their proportions too exact and symmetrical, muscles and skeletal structures streamlined into something built for fast brutal war, but here turned to ploughing, writing, sewing…

His gaze was constantly on one young man who looked so familiar, light brown hair, uncertainty and hope in his eyes.

Like a dream, the scene shifted by unconscious connections – everyone was gathered together as young men and women in a row held hands, lighting flaring across their bodies, binding the couples…amongst them was ….Valens?…

The sky darkened and the gathering dispersed. Panic and terror spread as Trolls, Goblins and demons attacked the People from flying metal carts with lighting weapons. Karmack recognised the species…gamorrean, twi’lek, rodian…yet also did not…they had never been here before.

Amongst the panicked crowd a few struck back, lighting and flame pouring from their fingertips…swords spinning through goblin after goblin…the flying carts downed by their fists and feet…yet one after the other the strange lighting struck them down.

Valens was among them hammering into the carts queer panel filled with glowing bugs that didn’t move, bolts struck him from behind…Valens couldn’t understand…the weapons looked like a concentrated form of aetheric lighting…and he tried to absorb and reflect it…yet he couldn’t it wasn’t right…wasn’t natural….

‘It’s not Force Lighting!’ Karmack screamed through sealed lips trying to warn him ‘It’s a blasterbolt…its…’

Too late, the flying cart crashed as Valens fell to the unnatural blasts of energy he couldn’t adapt to fast enough.

The whole society Karmack had glimpsed was destroyed, those not killed taken away, fear and technology overcoming their natural prowess. Valens awoke battered to a destroyed village littered with the dead.

Alone, confused, enraged…Valens struggled up as Karmack watched him, the Singer helpless to intervene once more.

The dream shifted as Karmack was made to watch second by painful second a time in Valens life he had shared with no one.

One by one he walked through the streets collecting his fallen People – men, women, children the slavers had killed. One by One Valens lifted them on his shoulders and took them to the burial caverns….One by One he performed the rituals that were meant to be reserved for a Priestess to intone over them.

Valens didn’t stop to eat, drink nor rest, for days he lifted and carried body after body after body. With each of his kin Valens face hardened further, their deaths taken into him in a way Karmack could not comprehend. Each time Valens trod the same path under his burdens past the corpses of the Outsiders he was reminded that they had done this, the Outsiders had attacked them for no reason, ruined their civilization for profit and greed.

The conclusion was simple befitting a simple society – there were People, always victims, always good and innocent - and Outsiders – always evil, always guilty and rapacious toward People.

Karmack could not disagree with the conclusion, each body Valens carried on his back, Valens refusing to even touch the Force to aid him, stood silent witness to innocence shattered, peace obliterated, there were no arguments nor alternate points of view that could ever match the visceral horror of what had occurred here.

The sky roared as another ship descended…the Outsiders returning to finish what they began? Who could guess at their insane violent intentions? Yet on that ship was not a slaver, but a Jedi Master.

Yoda, young…very young…It made no difference to Valens…the dichotomy was established – if this outsider tried to use words instead of weapons to attack People let him, Valens would not be fooled…he would seek others if they survived…and punish the Outsiders until none were left.

The images drained back leaving Karmack in a shadowy limbo between reality and vision he felt the horrible backwash of all he had seen.

A new light flared, hot, violent on a world of metal and machine, a face Karmack felt he knew, burning with Dark hatred…a…a Mack?

Jo’Set’Mack vicious and hate filled pursued Valens across the Galaxy to avenge the massacre on Vyth - a slaughter Valens barely even recalled, a simple mission in his larger game with the Jedi.

A final confrontation on Ord Mirit, their blades clashed, Jo fell, an order from a Female prevented Jo’s death…He saw him again under the thrall of a Witch years later, but surely Valens thought that desire for revenge was there.

The face of Jo in the midst of a battle of Rancors and feathered warriors morphed to Karmacks own, his pursuit of the Ancient One, resetting the Crystals…interpreted as…as a drive to accumulate power, to enact a Blood Feud Generations old.

‘No…It’s not…I didn’t even know!’ Kamrack tried to plead, he had no awareness of any of it until Vyth, even then it was 600 years, why would he pursue such a vendetta…

‘But you've lived those 600 years…’ Kamrack thought out loud, a being who lived centuries would certainly interpret events differently, and from a Tribal society where blood ties and intergenerational bonds and feuds were norms…

‘I Understand you…I understand…’ Karmack sighed breathless

But there was more to see, he had witnessed the Past, the Present and now…

The Future.

(https://i.ibb.co/Y7NL52b/PostVong.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Magma fire rained from the sky of world that had suffered two genoicdes in as many decades, vast chitinous constructs plied across a wretched landscape overgrown with vines and spiked urchin-like creatures.

Battle-Mechs smoked as X wings of a make Karmack had never seen crashed to the ground, over head a strange looking Star Destroyer was torn apart by a spiral ship the colour of sea shells.

Three men in Oblivion Armour ran through the hellscape, injured, hunted, firing Hades red bolts at an unseen enemy behind them.

The Galaxy, and their Home was already lost, they were killing for the sake of killing. It was all they had left.

The Sorcerers had been defeated - eventually - but it left the New Republic and Remnant too weak to repel what came next….

The Sorcerers? Who are the Sorcerers? Karm asked of a war already over by the time the eventuality he now witnessed came to pass.

An Oblivion Dagger, a vast ship, fallen to the surface in a lost battle months before was their target, within a final spiteful suicidal act detonating a bomb of incredible power.

But the Oblivion Trinity was intercepted by beings of hideous aspect, bodies covered in rotten mollusc shells, writhing maggots crawling between the gap of the loosely humanoid form in sick symbiosis, clicking crustacean like claws in the place of arms, hoofed feet and snake like chitinous creatures that served as weapons.

‘Who…What are they?’ Karm asked the Oblivion figures as they struggled against the hideous amalgams of undreamt of biotechnology

“Vong,” the yell echoed in the Mak’Tors Mind as everything turned black.

<<<<>>>>

His ‘face’ or the closest equivalent on an ephemeral plane twisted in irritation as Valens struggled against the Visions presented to him.

***

"Excellent construction, son. Well done." the older man extended the hilt pommel first.

The boy beamed, clipping the hilt on the right, the proper place for a Knight as his father grinned
“"Karm, you're young. Too young for me to take you formally as my Teidowan. But your mother and I have noticed your ... strong connection to the song. This, as well as your demonstration of your skills, warrants special training….”

The voice drained into a matra repeated over and over through tears - Dad’s never coming home, Dad’s never coming home.

****

Loss, Valens knew loss. The limited emotional scope of his species prevented any semblance of sympathy from emerging. For the Aethan this was mere illusion and trickery.

****

“....I do not recognize you, are you part of the new Jedi Order?"

Arnor drifted back to his side, cutting a nervous glance, but while the counter-point was fading it was not falling into opposition or chaos, just settling into a peaceful harmony. "We are not. Our Master, Chillum, was long the guardian of this planet and has taught us the way of the force, but we are not Jedi."

"We are Gray."

****

Another vignette, Karmack in younger years, firming his role as a Gray Jedi, a moniker with little meaning to most People, though a few had some interest. He watched with cold indifference as Karmack Reset the Crystals of Balance on Coruscant, pursued Mendax

***

"Cha. Release her."
tempered rage boiled in the Mak’Tor. Valens could understand that, the need to protect and avenge his mate.
On the screen, Arnor, visibly bloody from at least one wound, was already nearly naked as the troopers stripped her of anything that might be used as a weapon.
"Even if I could, I would not….” the Other Cha had replied…to his fatal error.
Karm continued to block the rain of blows, but reached into Cha's left knee and found a nexus. With a savage yell he pulled...

Cha cried out as his knee collapsed, spilling him onto the ground. The Mak’Tor’s saber orbit never faltered as I dipped the cut a bit - and severed his right arm just above the elbow. The next orbit cut his left saber in half - and severed his hand at the palm. And the last orbit took the top of his head off, just at the level of his ears and nose.

****

Karmack Fought with the Controlled focus of one under the hormonally induced Aephordaea’s Grace, cold and precise.
A worthy warrior indeed, Valens had never realised how worthy.

****

“Ken! No!! NO!!!” And after a second of silence, Karm began to Sing.
When Mendax and even Jennira had Sang, they were drawing strength from the river that was the Force.
Karm was the river. No, he was an ocean.
As Karm Sang, the Rur crystal began to glow, becoming a radiance that began to outshine a thousand suns. Waves of pure energy washed over all present, healing the Gray Jedi while hammering against Mellichae, propelling him against the wall, knocking him insensate.
And still Karm Sang.
Ken’s chest reformed itself to its natural state, the skin, muscle, and organs regenerating completely as if nothing had occurred. And, slowly, his arm began to grow back, first from the shoulder…and then his bicep and tricep…and then his elbow.
And all the while, Karm began to shine as brilliantly as the Rur crystal then - the abruptness of the silence was deafening. Karm’s his eyes rolled up into his head. He was in a deep coma.

****

An impressive feat for a mere human, but Valens had seen better. Still the Aethan couldn’t help but feel some kinship in the fanatical dedication to protecting his child.

****

“Might I introduce the representative of Aertemis Industries, Mister…” The man, dressed in a red and black business jacket turned around.
“Cha…” Karm finished his hand instantly dropping to his saber in time with the surge in his heart rate.
He saw the Peoples Servant through the eyes of the Singer, felt the twitch of danger sense with every word that passed between them as the watched Silman face a Mark IV Droid.

Tension and worry rising through the Master Singer with every moment.

*****

“The weaponized potential of the Ancient One and the Starfire combined is extreme, and we both know it. Your pursuit of the knowledge to make use them is the equivalent of designing a personal Death Star.”

Valens stared through Karmacks eyes at his own daughter on Commenor, their first attempt to engage with him, convince him to submit to the will of the People from a position of strength.

Yet he didn’t sense Karmack feeling intimidated, or submissive, if anything he was suspicious, defiant…why? Why wouldn’t the petty human simply submit.

******

“I don’t think this Karmack or Zearic will appreciate our charity toward this particular individual…” the female noted, her attenuated voice still transmitting the ghost of a smile.

Even more disorienting Valens saw via Karmack himself on Geonosis as they recovered the body of Mendax

He heard his own voice through Karmacks ears

“Mendax is a problem for you. I can make it go away. Obviously I can’t undo what you have seen her do already, the Force would balk at such a paradox...”

When Valens had spoken those words he had considered it an extremely generous concession to the Outsider, a benevolent action undeserved by the wretched human…but now…

Having seen so much more of how Karmack Saw the events leading to this point…

It was not a bargain to the Mak’Tor but coercion.

****
The scene twisted into one of righteous anger aimed as a glowing saber at the face of his wife…no not His, Karmacks.

Everywhere he looked he saw Artemis trying to undermine and stop, trying to destroy what he loved most, he could only trust himself, everyone else was tainted, or blind…

This was what Karmack felt, falling into a self righteous echo chamber to the point even his friends and wife were suspect enough to raise his saber against.

The contrast to the scene moments ago where he had slain Cha in vengeance for mistreating Arnor was stark. The cause of the shift obvious.

They had done this to him.

Every effort they had made to obtain the Crystals was premised on the belief that Karmack intended, ultimately, to use them for revenge against the People for the massacre at Vyth.

They had fundamentally failed to appreciate how Karmack had interpreted their actions. In trying to make themselves appear a powerful potential ally whose value exceeded the drive for ancestral revenge, they had made themselves into a looming existential threat in Karmacks mind.

Their mercy toward the attempted theft on Canto Bite, and generous donations to M’Tzigon were seen as manipulations, Droids and Oblivion Warriors intimidations, restoring Zearic Vih’Torr as a means of re-establishing a link with the Vhal’Dan was considered part of a grander scheme.

Trying to hide their motive and goals they had concealed too much, driving Karmack to become what they feared he already was.

Darkness enfolded Valens as he pondered the insanities and complexities of the Outsider mind.

<<<<>>>>

Both men returned to themselves shaking, staring at the luminous form project from the Starfire and Ancient One in between them.

The Man was serene, calm, a hand stretched toward each linking their experiences for a moment.

Neither had ever seen him, yet both knew his identity.

Klu Xandir.

Or rather the essential features of the long Dead Mak’Tor existing in fragments within the Ancient One and StarFire at last reunited enough to coalesce into a semi-sentient whole.

There was so much he wanted to say to both. So much that needed to be explained….but his energy was spent bridging their minds in the hope of building at least a moment of understanding between the two.

The first step, Klu hoped, in healing a fraternal division millenia old.

The pair fully came round as Klu’s image faded.

Karmack felt the life slowly ebbing out from him, the injuries certainly fatal without immediate treatment - somehow the Ancient One was in his hand.

Valens felt the Starfire in his own palm, wrapping his fist tightly around it as he stared at the human he had broken an instant and a lifetime before.

Karmack released the Ancient One, rolling it best he could along the floor.

“Take it…” he wheezed
“It’s yours…I..I understand why you can’t trust me…or anyone…but I know…the Vong are coming…use it to fight them…”

The Vong? How…of course the Crystals showed him my memories as I saw his… Valens realised disgusted an Outsider had seen anything of his mind.

Yet was not this lack of understanding what had led them to a bloody confrontation neither had wanted?

Valens strode forward, sweeping up the Ancient One, balancing the two crystals one in each hand.

Looming over the Mak’tor, Karm closed his eyes expecting the superhuman strength of Valens boot to crush his skull.

Kneeling Valens pressed the crystals Karmacks chest, the Singer grunting in pain, his sternum and upper ribs broken and stabbing into his organs.

“Heal yourself,” Valens said, standing up, “My kind cannot repair lesser species…only change them.”

Karm shook his head, he didn’t have the energy left

Realising the human had surpassed his limit Valens relented to assist as best he could, drawing on the vast Adegan crystal that had watched over the their battle, he channeled the Energy of the Force Nexus of Ruusan into the Starfire that seemed completely open to his will, as if his Aetheric aura was a key to a lock within the Crystal.

This chained into the Ancient One as Pure Force Energy - untainted by Aetheric patterns so mutating to Outsiders - for Karmack to use.

With a gasp Kamack filled his body with healing energy, lips mouthing a wordless song of revival, he felt his bones snapback, muscles bind, tissues restitch…

But it was brief, just enough to stave off the worst before he could do no more.

The last he saw was a vast hand reaching down to close his eyelids.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 44 - Resolutions - Part 1

Return

The trip to M’Tzigon was undergird by a mix of relief and anticipation.

Everyone wanted to know what had happened on Ruusan, yet no one wanted to disrupt Arnor caring for Karm in the small med-bay of the Wayfarer.

Zearic sat alone in the co-pilots seat simply staring into the void. The utter capitulation to the BA’s demands was so instant, so complete…so natural that…

That there was nothing he could ever do about it. He had only to hope their use of him was infrequent and ‘benevolent’ so far as any concept as limited as morality could be ascribed to such beings.

He had a life to live, a wife a daughter, and Order. Whatever they thought of his new body, his new…state…he could do nothing about it.

He resolved then and there to go back and tell them as soon as he could, and bear whatever consequences he must.

“Still nothing,” Joanna would note at each break jump, trying to find any trace of how the BA’s had been following them.

“I doubt we’ll ever find anything,” Alex sighed, most likely it was whatever control they had over this Zearic fellow, Alex still intended to do a very full sweep of the ship for tracking devices.

Arnor watched as her husband slept, the gentle beep of monitors indicating everything was fine.

Physically at least.

Arnor couldn't look at him the same way, not any more. She had stayed silent, kept being supportive right till that very moment when she was forced to throw herself in his sabers path to save Zearic.

It had stopped Karmack, made him realise his error, but it didn’t undo the fact he had gotten there in the first place.

Artemis, the Ancient One, fatigue, fear, human frailty, all these were factors, but when boiled down, Karmack had still shown a side of himself she had never seen before, and now when she looked at him she saw that difference - had it always been there, ha she never noticed?

Regardless he was not the same and nor was she.

What that meant for her, and their marriage.

Time would tell.

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

His days passed in the quiet of a secure convalescence room in the Mountain, a padded cell in fact - designed for patients that required ‘extra’ security.

Chillum and Ken were the first to visit, a few hours after the Doctors had given the all clear for Karmack to receive them.

He sat quietly and listened to their debrief of the pursuit of Morrigan, farcas on Spira and the skirmish on Ossus.

“Then…she left…I couldn’t have stopped her and I didn't want to” Ken finished.

A month ago Karmack would’ve raged at the decision, Silman would’ve been apoplectic…
But it was a different Kage and a different Karmack that listened to Ken’s report.
Ken looked older to Karms eyes, perhaps not fully sure of himself yet, but at least confident he was on the path that was uniquely his.

Karmack held his doubts about whether Morrigan would stay ‘quiet’ and was about to say so…

No… he stopped himself assuming he was right – assuming he was Righteous
…I won’t go down that path again, Ken is a man, a Knight I will trust his judgement,

Karm smiled instead
“I’m proud of you,”

Ken smiled, but there was something held back in it.

He left shortly after leaving Chillum alone.

“What happened to the Crystal?” he asked, seated on the small visitors chair.
“I gave it to them…I finally understood that…they’re not the enemy - or at least…not today - and I need some time away from it,”

Chillum nodded
“A good idea son,” he patted him on the shoulder.
“You rest up,”

His next visitor was a complete surprise. General Cliff.

“I suppose you’ve heard,” the General in full uniform said gruffly, cap under his arm.
“About the ‘rescue’...” he shook his head, to Karm’s eyes he had aged ten years since last he saw him
“You're wrong about a lot of things Singer, but you were right about Artemis,” he conceded
“They need to go,”

Karmack smiled at the reversal of positions
“One day, yes,” he agreed
“But for now, with the War, better to have those Droids than not, the more credits we owe them the more interest they have in keeping the system safe.”

He held off mentioning the Vong threat in the future, Cliff already thought he was mad after all.

“Huh…use that against them,” Cliff grunted, pausing to think for a minute.

“Well…get well soon Mack, then go on a long trip somewhere else,” was his coarse goodbye.

Later that night was a visitor he had not been looking forward to seeing.

Zearic crammed through the doorway, face still ruddy from treatment and a lurch in his steps.

“You look like dren,” the barrel chested Vhal’Dan grunted
“I feel like it,” Karm replied, trying to inject some levity, but a yawning gap between former friends remained.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Zearic added, offering no details about where or why, not that he needed to explain, but still.

“May the Force be with you Zearic,” Karmack extended his hand.

Zearic regarded the hand for a moment.

Then took it.

The grip was steely and cold. He left without another word, leaving Karmack with yet another bridge he needed to mend.

The lights dimmed for the night and he had a fitful sleep as the bacta itched.

Early in the morning a shadow lengthened over him in the room.

He didn’t bother to ask how Valens got this deep into the Mak’Tor’s base of operations, most likely Valens was not physically present at all, a Force projection such as Cha had shown an affinity for using.

“All three of Xandir’s crystals are with our most knowledgeable Enchantresses, it won’t take them long to discern the crystals means of construction and abilities…” The more he spoke the more Valens seemed to struggle with the words, out of practice speaking slowly enough for humans to understand.

“...till then this should speed your recovery…” he placed a Kyber crystal that sparkled pink in Karmack hand
“It replicates the Ancient Ones restorative channels, a lesser but similar effect,”

Karmack nodded his thanks trying to work out which of his many questions to ask first. He chose the most dread inspiring.

“The Vong, what are they?”

“Extragalactic species, absent in the Force, biotechnological base, fanatical hatred of the artificial. We encountered a scout party over five hundred years ago, when and where they will arrive we don’t know - “

Kamrack well knew it wouldn’t be for lack of trying

“ - but the time is closing in, our Seeresses have confidence sometime in the next 100 years. And they will come in their billions,”

“What have you done to prepare?”

“Stockpiles of Biological, Nuclear and Unconventional weapons, hidden defensive redoubts and bolt holes across uninhabited systems in the Deep Core, vast stockpiles of raw materials, now Droids as you’ve seen. The time has come to seek more allies and increase our production capacity.”

Karmack looked puzzled
“You said you knew for centuries, why only now?”
“Would you believe they existed if you hadn’t seen it in my memories?”
“I suppose not,”
“That and history itself, there was no point building droids and weapons 500 years ago, that technology is obsolete today. And what good would an alliance with say, Alderaan, or the Republic have done?”

Karmack nodded understanding his points, time was an advantage, but also an unknown, allies could fall away or quarrel over such a vast period, nation states rose and fell in mere decades, Palpatine’s Empire within Karm’s own lifetime. Regimes changed, technology advanced, dedicating resources to preparation too early would be a waste.

“Above all else…our numbers, were - and remain - too few,” Valens admitted
“Your population has never recovered from the Devastation the Hutt slavers inflicted…” Karmack deduced, he had seen the near total collapse, it was astonishing Valens kind had survived at all.

Valens didn’t confirm it, he didn’t need to

“We have credits, comparatively advanced technology, unique materials, centuries of martial experience, advanced ‘Force’ Powers. It won’t be enough. Neither we, nor you, or the Templars and Vhal’Dan can provide the core force to fight this war or even divert it - that will be left to whoever wins - the Empire or Republic - or both. We can use our combined skills to bleed the Vong, hit and run attacks, sabotage behind the lines, assassination, liberation,”
“Liberation?”
“The Vong will need indigenous workers and allies to succeed,”

“The Sons of Kessel…a military state primed and motivated to free slaves behind the lines - it's all about preparing” Karmack realised ever more pieces falling into place.

“Not all,” Valens noted without further elaboration, standing and pacing toward the far wall as if he intended to walk through it.

“And Morrigan? Why ‘resurrect’ her?” Karm asked leaning forward worried the capricious Valens would simply vanish.
‘Aethan’ - as Karm now knew from Valens memories the People were called - social customs did not gel well with most human ones, and the ‘People’ were not one to offer accommodations easily. Regardless Valens was frank and detailed in his reply.

“Principally, to prove we could. Secondly the Women of my People disliked how she was being treated, and Morrigan has talents we wish to learn. She will not bother you, we have her under control,”

Karm wondered if that was true, powerful though Artemis might be, a Dark Singer was hardly someone to assume you could ‘control’ in any way. But that was a discussion for another time.

“In my vision of the Vong I felt I knew something else…” Karmack added
“I don’t know what or who it was…but we had ‘fought’ someone else before the Vong and it left the galaxy weak - and I think, it was made all the worse as we didn’t work together to stop it. It was only fleeting but I got the impression it was some kind of cult of Mages or Sorcerers…but not Darksiders as I understand it,”

Valens expression was blank until the word ‘Sorcerers’ was uttered, the Aethans eyes narrowing, seeming to weigh Karm’s words very carefully.

“You know something?” Karm asked in the pause

“Not for certain, and a vision filtered through your lesser mind will suffer distortion - but I will have our Seers investigate further where they can…”

A curious mix of dismissive insult and practical assistance, Karm felt he would have to get used to that to deal with the Aethans.

“For now our Droids and credits will help keep M’Tzigon secure from the Civil War. Whatever deals are made between Artemis and the Government are mere formalities, a true alliance, a Concordant between us, the Sons, and Gray orders will need to be established,” Valens added.

Karm nodded understanding more and more, by the time he moved to speak Valens was gone.

<<<<>>>>

This had to be his first stop. As soon as he was allowed to leave his bed, assisted by Arnor he headed straight to the Kages office.

The Crystal copy Valens had provided acted as promised, almost a perfect replication of the Ancient Ones Healing Channels, pure and untainted by Aethan meddling.

It had accelerated Karms recovery by several days - but it had not lasted long.

Energy flows degraded the lattice quickly leaving it little more than a paperweight after a few hours. Regardless, such healing crystals, even if single use, could be invaluable to Knights in the field and hinted at the boons co-operating could yet bring.

Arnor’s touch felt restrained as she guided him, but still warm, in that there was hope.

Do’Nal looked up from the reception desk as he arrived, one of many odd looks he had gotten since his return. Everyone could sense something had happened, but up till now he had not told the full details to anyone.

Indeed Karm could not. Valens was right about the Vong, no one would believe him, and after Karms recent reputation for paranoid ranting - well he didn’t need more people thinking he was a Crazed Wizard than already did.
“I’ve come to brief the Kage,” Karmack said
Do’Nal remembering his last visit looked anxious

“She’s busy at the moment…”
“We’ll wait,” Karmack said taking a seat.
After a half an hour the door opened, Er’lav unreadable.

Karm stood, then took a knee.
“Kage, I have fallen from the path, failed in my walk, broken my Oath of Obedience in spirit if not in outright action, I pledge myself once more to submit to the Maker first and your authority second. I surrender myself, gladly, to your judgement,”
Erl’av raised an eyebrow, looking at Arnor who was just as surprised.
“Well this is a change, if I knew Black Armour’s beat humility into people I could’ve suggested a few more to educate…” the Kage said only half satirically, then blew out.

“You found the Starfire and Ruusan as asked, Ken even turned up old Ossus…But the report from Alex Krin on how you did it was damning, you’re suspended from active duty Maenowan, I’ll consider your exact penance later, first I want to hear everything that happened.”

With a deep breath Kamrack followed her in and began at last to tell everything that had occurred from his point of view, Er’lav remaining remarkably neutral throughout speaking only to ask calm clarifying questions, often prying motives Karm did not enjoy revealing.

Arnor winced at some moments she had borne the brunt of.

Finally when finished he waited silently for Er’Lav’s reply.

“I don’t know if these ‘Vong’ are real or not, either way it seems there is nothing we can do about it. I’m more concerned with the fact Artemis intentions are, however clumsy, not completely malign in intention…” she seemed distracted by something

“And they got the crystal in the end, so I wonder what use all this was,” she added more harshly
“Next time someone asks for a relic, you refer them to the Office of the Kage, you don’t refuse them under your own dubious authority, is that clear,”

Karm nodded, chastised and repentant.

“Good, I’ll take your renewed Oath at face value Karmack, that’s the chance I’m giving you - next time you start to deviate though…” she leaned forward for the first time he saw genuine violent intent in her eyes.

It communicated more than words ever could.

<<<<>>>>

Chapter 44 - Resolutions - Part 2

Arnor

The heated pulses of the sani-steam ended only when the door chimed incessantly the third time.

Arnor had hoped they would just go away but they seemed insistent.

She’d been spending ages in the sani-steamer as if all the ugliness of the last few weeks could be pressure pulsed off. But however much she temporarily lost herself in the steam she found her problem waiting outside as she visited her often sleeping husband.

Hair still damp and in comfortable training slacks her face scrunched at the sight of the guest through the camera.

“Who are..?”

Arnor opened the door and her visitor started talking immediately,

“One of those days huh? or decades ha!”
The woman had rich black hair and piercing blue eyes, something all too symmetrical about her face, wearing a smart Black and White business outfit, and she pushed straight past Arnor.

“Hmmm could do with some more gold or something to break up the white and greys but not bad,” the woman said, appraising their living room.

“I’m sorry, who are you and what do you want?” Arnor said annoyed.

“I really should’ve come earlier, but I was held up, and then there was the whole thing on Ruusan…men and their sabers - though I hear your husband has a crystal fetish…”

Arnor didn’t know whether to laugh, run, or call the Sword of Light.

“Do I know you?” Arnor demanded.

“No, but you tried to pinch this off my daughters at Canto Bite…” the black haired woman produced the Holocron of Soryu from her handbag, the teal glow shimmering brightly around it to the point Arnor had to squint.

The stranger adopted a more serious tone.

“You can have it now, there was nothing incriminating on there,”
Sofa Neirai gently placed the Holocron on the caf table, its light dimming in the absence of a Force user's touch.

Looking Arnor up and down she stepped closer, the Mak’Tor Knight guarded.

“Take some time for yourself,” she nodded to the Holocron, the object of so much travail just sitting on a table,

“He gives great advice…It was nice to see him again, if only a memory of him…well gotta go, I’m sure you don’t want us around any longer than we have to be,”

Arnor stared perplexed several minutes after the woman left, then slumped into the couch staring at the holocron.

“Some time for myself,” she repeated.

<<<<>>>>

Ken

“M’tzigon is nice but…” Ry sighed as she twirled her fingers through Kens hair that had grown a bit too long, he hadn’t cut it since leaving for Csilla so long ago.

She kind of liked the roguish look, so different from his usually clean cut father.

“I just don’t feel like I belong here, or Csilla…” she went on
she shook her head, near black hair fluttering free over lighter blue skin

“It’s Weird but I feel most at home in a TIE cockpit…”

Ken looked down with a hurt expression

“When I’m not in your arms!” she quickly qualified with a smile

“I know what you mean,” he replied, holding her tightly, his hands firm on her blue skin.
“I was born here, my families here, but…I can’t be myself here, I’m always going to be Ken Son of Karmack, everything I do is in his shadow, and everything he does reflects back on me.”

The solution, the place where both could have their wish, Ken space to be his own man, and Ry the chance to fly all the fighters she wanted struck them both at once.

“You think if I called Scrubber…” Ken suggested, Ry was already moving
“I’ll race you to it!”

<<<<<>>>>>

Cliff

It looked like a technician's warzone.

Dozens of cables, panels open, consoles missing, people rummaging about, sparks from micro welders flying, incessant beeping from voltage monitors.

The Bridge of the Requiem was undergoing as many changes as the rest of the Clone Wars era Destroyer, not only bringing it up to speed with modern tech, but adding a definitive M’Tzigon character.

General Cliff strode the long elevated walkway, workers busy on every side, Men-At-Arms technicians including those recently joined from the imperial Prisoners, Nordas doing a fine job keeping everyone on task, an example of what the professionalism of the Imperial Navy should have been.

Indeed so much so Cliff had to insist he take shore leave.

It would take a lot of hard work…and a lot of credits borrowed from Artemis…he stopped at the transparisteel, a flight of Mark IV droids flying past on training runs…he had the gundark by the ear he recalled.

But he now had time, and space, and this he swore - the next time anyone tried to strike against M’Tzigon they would be singing their own Requiem.

<<<<>>>

Talia

It felt lonely in her apartment. idly checking her datapad every few minutes and seeing no new messages.

Everyone seemed to have left Talia behind. All her friends from Artemis had left recently, they would return but for now their ‘business was elsewhere’.

Julwyyn and Balnard had stopped by the day before, each sporting more than a few bruises from, by all accounts, an absolute animalistic creature they encountered on Ossus, that seemed so long ago.

Wandering the small rooms she had once shared with Illian she paused at the chest containing the few effects of his she still kept, her hand gliding over wondering whether to delve into that past again.

The door buzzed.

“Who could that be?” she wondered heading toward it. checking the Holocam she didn’t recognise the figure, but opened the door.

“Yes?”

A tall dark haired man with an upright military posture bowed to her.

“My Apologies for disturbing you Ma’am, President Sophi of Artemis Industries suggested that, should I have any time I should make an effort to check in on a Miss Talia Cam, is that you,”

“It is,” Talia said intrigued
“Who are you,”

“Oh sorry, Lieutenant Nordas, 15th Imp…Ah M’Tzigon Men At-Arms,”

“Sophi sent you,” Talia repeated that wickedly clever woman she thought

“She encouraged me to check up on you, ensure you were doing well…is there anything I can do to assist you Ma’am”

“First,” Talia raised a finger “You can stop calling me Ma’am, and second…why don’t you come in for a drink?”

<<<<>>>

Aydyn

A Woman.

He was in the thrall of a Woman.

The very thing he had sworn never to be, had been exiled from his People for insisting he would not submit to….

Aydyn could only curse his foolishness, he had thought she was a solution, an easily usable object to satiate his biological needs, the excitement of the opportunity had blinded him to Morrigan’s powers.

He was hunched in the hold of Zearics Bane staring at the inactive Mark IV Dark Troopers, just like Morrigan one of his People creations, guided by the vicious Matriarchy that considered men no more than weapons and breeding stock.

Freedom was all he had wanted, freedom from the social and religious chains, freedom from the genetic bonds that kept males of the People enslaved to the women, controlled by a cocktail of culture and pheromone.

Twenty years of exile and he had nothing but more chains.

“What are you thinking?” the sultry voice of his captor called. Each day her power grew and grew, her Dark Crystals refined and stronger - there must be a limit to her power, but where it sat he could not yet tell.

“How to escape from your clutches bitch,” he sneered

She spiked a dagger of what should be wrenching pain in his gut.

He cried out in faux excruciation - she still hadn’t learned his People could not feel pain as Outsiders did, an awareness of damage, but no visceral sensation.

His one edge was her power was over his body only, not his mind.

Striding over Morrigan gently stroked his face
“There, there…now why would you ever want to leave, when we could have so much fun together?”
she cradled his face as if to kiss him.
“You wanted me once, why not now?”
“Not on your terms…” he hissed “Not as a slave!”
“Typical,” Morrigan huffed amused

He held back any response, she thought him a typical male of so many patriarchal cultures in the former Republic, how little she truly understood.

She dismissed it for the moment, reasserting her control with a Tune of Constriction.

“Tell me, where can a Force wielder have some fun in this galaxy.”

<<<<>>>>

Zearic

The message was short as it was profound.
[Father, Come Quickly - Love Jorya]

He sat in only his undersuit in the hold of Dualisms Soul as Jaim piloted them off M’tzigon.

Before him were laid his sabers, daggers, and an accumulation of other blasters, mines and knives available on M’tzigon. Some of Cha’s other equipment recommendations would require a trip to some of the blackest markets in the Corporate sector.

A lot was not being said, by Jorya, and by D’Alyanna, he hadn’t received anything at all from her in weeks.

But nor had he been forthcoming with what had, what was happening to him.

That had to change.

Rising up he began to dress and arm himself, timing how long it took, every moment could count.

Piece by piece his full suit of gear was assembled, the last the Nocte Pugione, the inscription upon it - She Left you behind for a Reason - seeming to take on new meaning every time he read it.

Maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t, who even was ‘she’? He thought of the mother he barely knew when he read ‘She’, or rather the one he imagined, a Saintly figure reality could never measure up to.

Perhaps the inscription was just a psychological game to tease such hidden motives and desires.

He didn’t want, or need to think about it anymore. His family needed him, and by the Maker he needed them.

His psyche was still raw from everything that had happened, not just with Karm, but the brutal truths Cha had forced him to admit about himself. There would be a time and place to feel those vulnerabilities, to parse out what it all meant.

He gripped the Nocte overtightly in one hand, the Tenebris in the other.

For now though - he promised - he would be Whatever his Family needed him to be - be that Protector or Aggressor, Warrior or Murderer, no self delusions of being ‘good’ or ‘knightly’ would hold him back any more. For His Wife and Daughter - anything.

***Zearics Story continues in ‘Retreival - http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=41678.0 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=41678.0)***

<<<<>>>>

Karmack

The sunset in deep shades of purple and orange far to the west of Sierra as he stood on the outlook atop the Mountain, taking in all the fresh air he could.

There was so much he had to do, so many people he needed to prove his trustworthiness to once more, not the least of which himself.

“Well isn’t this romantic,” a spill of oil soiled his ears.

“Just the two of us, Sierra, the moon, the stars,” Cha approached in his red and black business suit, the same one he had worn the first time they met, he stood beside Karm looking over the same sunset.

“I’ve been so looking forward to catching up with you, I must say I’m impressed, you managed to convince my employers not to ‘remove’ you from the equation…” there was nothing genuine in his voice

“Or perhaps they are keeping their promise to me…” Cha’s voice went low and sinister, he turned to face Karm, the Singer remained definitely staring over the vista.

Cha leaned toward him, grinding his words through clenched teeth.

“I loved my brother Karmack, I despised how he treated me, I hated his choices, cursed his damn ambition - but I loved him. Remember that.”

Karm exhaled deeply but continued to refuse to meet the Inquisitor's gaze or concede the slightest recognition.

Cha stalked away, his revenge delayed.

Only delayed.

<<<<>>>>

>>>>THE END<<<<

What You Leave Behind - by Karmack, theDutchman and Lord_S_Gray

My Thanks to my Fellow Authors for their ideas, characters and encouragement and the great enjoyment of bringing together the Forumverse more completely than ever.

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Saber Forum

General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: Karmack on May 05, 2018, 10:55:15 PM