The Gray and the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom

[Taegin Roan]

What a great chapter. Black Armor is quickly becoming one of those characters that you can't help feeling intrigued by, but at the same time can't stand. There is so much going on with everything, I am beginning to wonder what the end will be. I don't think that everything is going to go as smoothly as planned, especially since it already hasn't, but still, like LSG said, Black Armor knows exactly what Ken and Jorya are.

[Illyiss]

The more I read about Black Armor, the more and more I feel like he is Aethan, or related to them in some way...

[Karmack]

“Only truth will defuse the hatred.” Now that is a very interesting statement…

Interesting connection between Scrubbers view that his friends have better weapons then getting TIE Defenders…no one gives away ships like that UNLESS they have something better?

Also interesting Ken’s enthusiasm to fly the defenders so shortly after he got the Stare…was it a stare of warning, gratitude for his role in the attack…or perhaps something only the person behind the armour could understand….either way it’s fairly obvious BA knows exactly who Ken is and why he is there.

There is a curious irony through this chapter in that Ken – the Mak’Tor spy, is worried someone else is playing the Sons through their support…which in a way is exactly what he is doing….And then he’s faced with the issue, even if that is the case, so long as they are continuing to fulfil their mission of liberating slaves, does it really matter who’s helping them?

Ken and Jorya are, as you said, in an interesting place.  Ken in particular is worried about what might be coming beyond the Sons.  But at the same time, he's somewhat ashamed that Mak'Tor aren't doing more.  The Wookie pilots were a bit of a turning point for him.

At the same time, Jorya is starting to wonder about what is beyond, where she's been 100% all-in on the "freeing slaves - Good!" view... 

And Black Armor...  He's just a mystery at this point. 

And that's really the problem for Ken and Jorya. 

[Taegin Roan]

Loving the new sig Karm.

[Karmack]

I can't take credit for that.  Darth Scrub did it for me.  He did an amazing job, though.  :-)

[TheDutchman]

OK first off:

That was MAGNIFICENT!  Fantastic work Karm!  I particularly enjoyed the peek into Scrubber's mind, the determination, drive, and motivation behind his agenda...perfect 

It's amazing to see these details and how they translate flawlessly in your story; no odd feelings of "voice" when transitioning between chapters.  Wonderful characterizations; I feel like you've really given Ken, Jorya, Ry, Scrubber, even peripheral characters (!) the depth that make them unique and relatable.

You've taken us on a remarkable ride; I can only hope to succeed your awesome writing 

And your new sig ROCKS!  Absolutely love it!  I might have to steal your idea 

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to Karm: he provided a section of story that I've included almost verbatim  

So this chapter is dedicated to Karm  
**************************************************************************************
Chapter 8: Fallen Stars, Part I

“And it was about half the size of a Star Destroyer?” Jorya asked, carefully rotating her shoulder as she sat opposite Ken and R’ylak in his small receiving room.  Jorya was cross-legged on the soft chair that Ken had dragged from his bedroom, her orange toes flexing against the syncloth material.  Ken and Ry were sitting together on his couch, Ry’s feet tucked underneath her while Ken’s long legs were crossed in front of him.  “And made of the same materials as the smaller ship we saw in Rook Hanger?”  Jorya’s blue eyes were inquisitive, no hint of anger present.

Ken ran his right cybernetic hand through his hair as his left absently rubbed Ry’s leg.  “But it had no bridge, just like a giant...arrowhead.  And the readings that Two got were…disconcerting to say the least.  One moment it was as if the ship was part of the gas in the upper troposphere, next it was reflecting back signals as if it were a null-kyber.”  Ken shook his head in frustration.  “Even you have to admit that’s just…weird, Jorya.  I just don’t know…”

Jorya looked pensive, her red lips pursed.  “Or it could just mean that Black Armor’s people are assisting the Sons.  Think about it Ken: for the Sons to have the support of so many disparate races…well, that shows that they bring out the best in us, appealing to a mutual resolve to fight the evils of slavery.  And in this galaxy, having anyone agree on something is a miracle!”  But Jorya slowly, sheepishly smiled.  “But…I agree that it’s…odd, that ship.”  She leaned back in the chair, her arms bent as she rubbed her neck.  “…Maker my neck hurts…”

Ry gently elbowed Ken in his ribs.  “Hear that, probie?  Looks like another bit of ‘triage’ for you to get busy with.”  The humor in Ry’s voice made all of them smile, especially now that she knew Ken’s and Jorya’s secret: that they were Gray Jedi trying to ascertain the exact designs of the Sons and their motives.

When Ry had shown Ken his lightsaber the night before, he had told her who he was, about the Mak’Tor, and that he was a rare Singer.  However, he did not tell Ry about Jorya; he felt that it was the Togruta’s prerogative as to whether or not to bring Ry into her confidences.  That, and he would never betray a friend…his family.  Instead, Jorya had told Ry in the safety of the Wayfarer, trusting both the Chiss and Ken’s judgment concerning her.

But they still had many a disagreement about the Sons, the most recent of which was the question that was foremost in their minds: “What does the presence of the black alien ship mean?”  But there had been no hostility between the two Gray Knights, especially since Jorya had been released from sickbay almost completely healed despite the occasional ache and remaining bruise.

Stretching, Jorya leaned forward pulling her boots on.  “It’s late and I’ve got to write some coding for Kal’Estp in the morning.  Ry, glad that you’re ‘with us.’”  Ry clearly caught Jorya’s meaning, giving her a smile and nod.  “Ken…can you see me out real quick?  Please?”  

As Jorya moved towards the exit, Ken looked at Ry and shrugged askance.  Ry quickly pushed him up as she sat up on the couch while Ken joined Jorya in the hallway.  With a serious look on her face, Jorya placed her hand on Ken’s shoulder.  “Ken…I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ again.  This is the second time that you saved my life.  I…just want for you to know that…and that I’m really, really happy that you’ve found Ry.”  As she said the last, her hand unconsciously clasped a pendant hung around her neck, her thumb tenderly rubbing it.  “I’m sorry that we fought and I’m glad that we’re past that.  But I’m really concerned about what you told me about the Chiss and the Imperial requisitions.  There’s something else that just isn’t adding up.”  She paused, staring directly into Ken’s light hazel eyes.  “But we—I—need more, something concrete before…I just can’t think that Scrubber would be…or is…”  She trailed off, uncertain as to what she wanted to say.

Ken slowly nodded, putting a reassuring hand upon Jorya’s shoulder.  “It’s OK.  I get it.  And hey, maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe I’m just being extra paranoid.  But I would rather be certain myself…”  He left the sentence hanging, certain that—this time—they’d both heard one another.  

Jorya nodded, giving Ken a quick hug and then was off to her own quarters.  Ken let out a breath, again running his hand through his hair as he went back into his quarters and shut the door, locking it.  Looking around the room, Ry was no where to be seen.  But on the couch he saw that she’d left her hairpin.  And boots.  And clothes.  “Probie.  You owe me dessert.” Ry’s soft voice tickled from behind him.  Turning, he took her in his arms, kissing her deeply.

“Isn’t that my shirt?” He quietly teased, kissing her again as his hands caressed the small of her back.  As their lips briefly parted, Ry smiled looking up into his eyes.

“It is.  And if you want it back, you’d best follow me…” She playfully turned, grasping his fingers in hers as she disappeared into the bedroom.

            <<<<< >>>>>

The light of Teth III’s—Aestis Minor to the Sons—two moons cast a refracted illumination upon the waterfalls outside Scrubber’s office, the veins of kyber glowing eerily in contrast to the dark sediment.  And much like the moonlight shining upon the collected pools of water, the datapad that Scrubber held in his hand was just as enlightening.

“…Damn.  You’re sure?”  Scrubber’s yellow eyes glanced up at Black Armor, intent and raptorlike.  The Togruta’s other hand pulled on his remaining lekku as he absorbed the information.  “I’d had such high hopes given…”

Nodding his head as if in response to a voice that he alone could hear, Scrubber closed his eyes, putting down the datapad on his desk as he stood before the floor-to-ceiling transparisteel glass wall.  Inhaling he opened his eyes again, his shoulders squaring as if he had finally made a decision that had been put off for too long.

Which it had, as evidenced by what Black Armor had just shown him.

Staring at the dark majestic waterfalls, Scrubber’s face had an introspective set about it.  “Yes, you’re right of course.  But not now.  We have to have ALL of our resources to take Myzm; he’s too dangerous.  Besides, even with the sacrifices think of the rewards, to say nothing of the possibility of possessing not one but two of them!  Then the Sons will truly be a force to be reckoned with!  No more having to rely solely on ‘hit-and-run’ tactics; we could just have the both of them present and let intimidation do the rest!”  Scrubber’s voice rang with conviction, his right hand a fist to emphasize his dreams attaining fruition.  “And then, then we can truly get to work freeing our sires and sirras!”  Scrubber’s eyes were focused, intent on the future that he could see, that was being realized by the planning of their most important operation.  And its objective as well as its rewards.

Scrubber’s voice was not that of the zealot, staring into the light of promised tomorrows.  No, his was the quiet voice of the realist, eyes turned into the darkness where things attempted to hide.  

And those that hid things would eventually be found under the scrutiny of justice.  And as Scrubber spoke, Black Armor nodded, a colossus wielding the literal sword that would dispense the Sons’ justice to all of the guilty, both far and near.

Far…and near.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Having left Kolanda Station after basic retrofitting and resupply, then rerouted from Syvris heading into Hutt space, Myzm III had finally taken possession of his pride and joy: his flagship, the Justicar.  He’d paid a Hutt’s weight in credits to one of the would-be Imperial admirals that had fancied himself a warlord…only to go bankrupt before he could enact any real offensive.  But the cost was assuredly worth it.  After all, who would think of attacking a Hutt Star Destroyer in Hutt space?  Only the insane and suicidal, or at least that was Myzm’s view.

So when the Justicar suddenly lurched out of hyperspace in a flurry of pseudomotion, Myzm thought that the ship must have come too near to one of the region’s collapsing protostar gravity wells.  But upon seeing—and confirming—that there was nothing but empty space, Myzm’s suspicions began to form.  And even as he commanded that the area be scanned, two items of note came into sensor range.

The first was a derelict Old Republic dreadnought, the gray hull exhibiting signs of dereliction and rust.  Centered along the fuselage was a pre-Interdictor gravity well projector, one that was still generating a planetary gravity shadow.  According to sensors, it had no life-signs aboard.

But the second…it was the second item that was even more mysterious.  A stripped Imperial Raider-class corvette was heading directly for them.  That in and of itself was not remarkable; the fact that the Justicar could get NO sensor readings was.

As Myzm wondered what that portended, the warning klaxons of the Justicar began to sound.  But even as the ship’s sensor technicians, communications officers, and scanning net attempted to locate the cause, they found nothing.  Nor would they…unless they happened to have a line of sight of the dark gray three-winged TIE Defender, the dark red trim the only color visible, and only just.  And there was only one as it was the only Defender equipped with a sensor-scattering cloaking net, albeit imperfect.  Still, it was enough for the task at hand.

“Thunderbolt to Unchained.  Ambient ion saturation is at maximum density.  Ready for the ‘fireship.’” Ken spoke over the channel, expertly piloting his Defender around the Justicar’s now-blind control tower.  No sooner had Ken confirmed than the Liberator’s engines ignited a continuous burn resulting in maximum thrust for the corvette.

All within the Justicar stared wide-eyed (if they possessed eyes) in horror at the oncoming ship, seemingly intent on ramming the Star Destroyer.  And even as the Justicar took evasive action, everyone aboard knew it to be a useless gesture.

However, just a half a kilometer from impact, the Liberator suddenly veered from its course while false bulkheads were jettisoned into space.  And from within the darkened hanger bays, quad-ion cannons opened up targeting the Justicar’s propulsion, navigation, ordnance, and communications systems, courtesy of Sons’s intel from the spies at Ord Trasi.

Meanwhile, the remaining TIE Defenders, Avengers, and Interceptors began attack runs, their mission priority…unorthodox.  As the Justicar listed from the ion barrage, the small TIE armada sped to key locations along the hull of the Star Destroyer, hovering while their respective payloads were activated.  From the underside of each spherical cockpit, a featureless black cylinder was dropped, fastening itself to the Justicar’s hull.  Once an atmospheric seal had been achieved, a bolt shot out a circular hole through the bulkheads.  Then gas erupted from the cylinders—a gas indigenous only to Teth VII—that rendered any and all biologics within the ship…inert.  It was not lethal but it would knock unconscious any and all species aboard the ship for several hours.

Which was all the time that Scrubber would need.

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 8: Fallen Stars, Part II

“Why didn’t we do that when we assaulted the Imperius…I mean, the Unchained?” Jorya asked, her eyes still staring amazed at what she’d witnessed.

As Ziac’ch was about to talk, it was Scrubber’s voice that drown out all.  “Two reasons, my dear sirra.  Firstly, that gas is damned near impossible to collect, much less process and especially in that quantity.  Second…those canisters are a ‘one-and-done’ strategy.”  The Togruta smiled at Jorya.  “As with the Ion-Net, I have no more of those nor is it possible to…’order up’ anymore.  At least not for some time…”  Scrubber’s voice faded, his eyes assuming the raptor-like gaze that he sometimes assumed.  “But, this was one of my—the Sons’—main objectives.  I gladly use such scarce resources for this prize.  You see, Jorya, not only does that Star Destroyer have within its bowels thousands of slaves but also…” Scrubber’s face twisted into a full grin.  “…Also Myzm III himself is on that ship.”

With that, Scrubber turned towards the turbolift, Ziac’ch and, of course, Black Armor following him.  And Jorya could only smile as Scrubber’s very words—thousands of slaves—ran through her head along with the fact that they would be free.  And as she unashamedly cried, she focused again on why she knew—knew—that the Sons were good.  Scrubber had said they would be free.

Free.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Within a short time, technicians had flushed the remaining gas, venting it into the vacuum of space.  And, good to his word, Scrubber ensured that all slaves aboard—almost three thousand of them—were freed.  

The crew was not so lucky.  As slavers, they were rounded up, detained in the airlocks, and spaced.  And as members of the Sons boarded, taking over now vacant departments to get the ship up and running again, Scrubber called for a general assembly in the main hanger bay.  Former slaves were invited to attend but they had the option and the right to decide otherwise.

To a being, every single former slave gathered in the hanger bay.

Facing the crowd, a simple podium stood atop a raised platform.  Slowly walking through the former slaves, Scrubber stopped often to talk to one, shake hands with another, or simply embrace one of them.  Finally at the edge of the crowd, Scrubber took to the raised dais and held up his hands amidst an uproar of cheers.  After a lengthy time, he indicated for silence, a fatherly smile upon his face.

During his walk through the crowd, Ken, Jorya, and Ry had joined together off to the side, congratulating each other for the fairly bloodless success of taking the Justicar. And as Ken hugged Ry she gave him a quick brush of her dark blue lips, her glowing red eyes full of love and pride, both for Ken.  Then Scrubber began to speak.

His voice rang true within the hanger, loud, clear, and full of conviction.  “Sires!  Sirras!  I am heartened by all of you gathered here!  Know that you are now one of us!  One of the Sons of Kessel and we are all your brothers!”  A deafening roar reverberated throughout the bulkheads of the ship.  After a short time, again Scrubber motioned for silence.  “I promise you: so long as the Sons live, no slaver is safe!  Anyone who endorses slavery will feel the justice of the people and answer for their tyranny!  Anyone who engages in such treacherous actions against the Sons will be subject to our righteousness!”  Again, the gathered crowd erupted in applause and exhilaration.

This time, Scrubber allowed it to continue for awhile until, a smile upon his face, he motioned for calm.  “Sires, sirras.  Know that my words are not the empty promises full of the hollow clang of politicians.  Justice you were promised.  And justice…you shall have!”  Punctuating his last word, Scrubber pointed to the side of the hanger where a large blast door was opening.

There walked out Black Armor, in his right fist he held a huge black sword while in his left he grasped a durasteel chain.  And as he walked forward, the chain finally revealed what it was attached to on the other end: it had been looped around Myzm’s enormous, fleshy neck, the metal biting deep but not enough to cut off his breathing.  But even as he tried to resist, the Hutt was dragged by the chain held by Black Armor.

Once he’d dragged Myzm up upon the raised platform, Black Armor stepped back, chain and sword still in hand.  Scrubber approached Myzm, the latter shrinking before the former despite the disparity in size.  It was if the Togruta stood five meters tall, looking down upon an insignificant worm, slightly shaking his head as he gazed upon the prisoner.  And as Scrubber took a step towards, Myzm spoke.

His voice a deep bass, the Hutt’s mouth formed the words, halting but understandable Basic booming throughout the hanger.  “Please.  You.  No.  Kill.  Me.”  It was testament to his fear that Myzm didn’t even speak in Huttese or perhaps he knew that to do so would further incense the crowd.  Either way everyone heard his plea.

Silence reigned.  And when Scrubber spoke, it was not in a loud, bombastic pronouncing yell but rather a soft, sleek, calm tone.  “I will not kill you; that is not my way.”  When Jorya heard that, she turned to Ken, a proud smile upon her face.

“See Ken?  The Sons stand for and believe in justice.” She said without malice.  Her hand reached out to rest upon Ken’s shoulder.  “Now do you understand?  The Sons are not monsters.”  She squeezed his shoulder in commiseration.

But Ken wasn’t so sure.  His eyes squinted in expectation, Ken wordlessly pointed back towards the scene taking place upon the platform.  Jorya turned her head just as Scrubber continued.  This time when he spoke, his voice carried throughout the hanger even though he did not yell.

“No Myzm, you mistake me.  Unlike you, I believe in the agencies of democracy and justice.  And I would never be one to take that which does not belong to me.”  With that said, Scrubber turned and faced the crowd.  “Sires!  Sirras!  It is to you that that responsibility belongs!  It is to you that must decide his fate!  It is to you that I now ask: what would do with this…slaver?!”  He practically spat out the last word.

After a second of absolute and utter silence, a lone voice yelled.  “Hang him!”  And the crowd exploded, the collective voices of every single former slave echoing throughout the hanger, each reinforcing the other until the cacophony became one voice, repeating over and over: “Hang him!  HANG HIM!!  HANG HIM!!!”

Looking around like a caged vermin, Myzm attempted to flee…but was stopped short as Black Armor tugged once on the chain, forcibly pulling the Hutt back onto the platform.  Meanwhile, Ziac’ch, Ornil, Tu-Tu, Ixui, Ringo, and even Kal’Estp all exited the side blast door, each carrying a length of stanchon.  It soon became apparent as to what they were constructing: a reinforced gallows.

“…By the Maker…” Ken quietly intoned, at a loss for what to do.  Beside him Ry stared, her red eyes full of horror.

Jorya turned to Ken, her hand claw-like digging into his shoulder.  “…Ken…what can we do?  This…this isn’t…right.”  She looked onward, sometimes glancing aside at the howling mob the surged in time with every pronouncement of “Hang him!”  Jorya had fought in many battles, had known the fear and terror from such uncertainty and violence.  But this…this was different.  “This…this isn’t justice.” Her voice sounded so small even to herself.  And Ken nodded, his light hazel eyes staring shocked.  There was no justice here.

Only a summary indictment and execution.

As soon as the metal scaffold was completed, Black Armor threw the chain over the uprights and around the crosspiece.  And, with seemingly no effort at all, he began to hoist the Hutt above the platform, the chain digging into the folds of flesh as it became taut.  Arm over arm, Black Armor pulled until Myzm hung suspended a meter in the air above the platform, his tail flailing as he asphyxiated.  A wet gurgling sound came from Myzm’s throat, his stubby arms digging into his neck in an attempt to gain some slack on the chain but to no avail.

Ken, Jorya, and Ry were no strangers to death nor were they afraid to kill.  But only when the need was warranted.  This…mockery of justice disgusted them.  A single, tiny island amidst a sea of maddening emotions bent on only revenge, the three of them soberly looked on and lamented what they were seeing.

After several minutes, Myzm’s writhing body shuddered its last, a choked exhale escaping from the Hutt’s open mouth as his bloated tongue hung loose and his eyes glassed over.  Myzm III the Hutt, crime lord, gangster, and slaver was no more than a hanging sack of meat for all the life left in him.

And as Ken, Jorya, and Ry quietly walked away, the noise from the former slaves became absolutely deafening, unintelligible despite all of the minds present.  Yet despite the uproar and chaos, two people noticed those that left and made note of it.

            <<<<< >>>>>

They came in the dead of night as Ken and Ry slept.

The door burst open, brilliant light spilling into the room.  Ken snapped awake, the Force flooding his senses, the danger and urgency of the Song jarring in his ears... Ry spilled out of the bed, crouching, looking for a target, only to be enveloped by the arms of one of Zaic'ch's hand-picked security officers.  Known affectionately as "The Brute Squad" the unit were all very large, very strong, and very loyal.  Ry struggled but she didn't stand a chance against the massive man who held her.

But Ken... He launched into battle Song and hurled a savage push at the two Brutes standing in the doorway.  With a gut-wrenching crunch they hit the far wall and crumpled, alive but out of the fight.  Ken turned and used the Force to hammer the brachial plexus in the arms of the Brute holding Ry.  With a gasp the massive guard's arms dropped and intense pain flooded him.

Ken called his lightsaber to his hand and turned, igniting the blade and bringing the hilt around...

...and froze.  Zaic'ch stood in the doorway, more squad members flanking him.  Behind him were Ornil and Kal'Estp.  And each one had an identical look of fear on their faces.  No, not fear; abject terror.  What are you going to do, Ken, hack your way through...your friends?!

Ken took a deep breath, retracted the blade, and relaxed his stance.  "No.  Not like this."  He turned to say something to Ry...

The stun bolt surprised everyone, fired by one of the Brute Squad.  Ken collapsed, his saber hilt thudded to the floor.

"Take him away." Zaic'ch said.  He looked at Ry, the scar tissue in his face distorting as he stared into her eyes.  "Did you know?"

Ry stooped and picked up the saber.  "I knew he was a Gray.   But then, so did you."  She leveled her gaze at him, immodest despite the sole article of clothing she wore: Ken’s shirt.  "What now?"

Zaic'ch reached out and took the saber from her.  "That's up to you R'Lyak.  You...and Scrubber."

[Karmack]

AWESOME!  That was incredible.  :-)  Amazing set-up, Myzm III is DONE!  Scrubber has a FLEET for maker's sake...

And Ken ... is about to experience vigilante justice from close-up.

I'm thinking this might have some small effect on his report back to the Mak'Tor.  ;-)

[Illyiss]

Excellent use of double meaning to set the reader's mind reaching to a conclusion, only to have it seemingly assuaged by giving it the other meaning, realized.  Now the Sons have two Star Destroyers, and while they show a certainly noble aim, there feel to be others, unseen and perhaps less noble, moving in the shadows behind the command, and an easily corrupted sense of justice.  I wonder what Ry can accomplish with Scrubber, her own life alone, that of her lover as well, or will she suffer the fate of the spy with our Gray subjects.  I feel like these questions echo in my head as though the narrator at the end of an episode of Batman voices them with excitement and enticement, leaving the me hungering, salivating for the answers, perhaps in the next exciting installment of this well played story.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Amazing, every chapter gets better.  There were some fantastic visual and narrative scenes, as well as the obvious Hanging scene and the capture of the Justicar, one of the best was Scrubber at the water fall, the darkness of the scene at night perfectly reflecting the darkness of his intent, the realism with which he knows he has to act

“No, his was the quiet voice of the realist, eyes turned into the darkness where things attempted to hide.  “

Just amazing. 

And the execution...brutal yet conflicting…let’s assume they gave him a trial on a New Republic world that had the death penalty – the outcome would be exactly the same yet the situation makes it hard for Ken and Jorya to accept, ultimately the slaves deciding their abusers fate is the essence of natural justice…yet to see it happen is galling. Is this vigilante justice…not so sure, who else is there that realistically would hold a Hutt to account for their actions? 

A shocking and difficult moral situation combined with an absolutely amazing visual of Black armour dragging the Hutt along.  This is a story that makes you think very deeply about what you are reading.

And on the ending, Ken was probably smart not to resist too much…if they had to call in BA to take him in….

[Karmack]

Ken's initial resistance was almost more instinctive.  Once reason caught up he stopped ... but not before he'd branished the saber.  Which is NOT going to help his cause, I think... 

[Karmack]

Chapter 9: The Drumhead
(part 1)

justice: (noun)
  a : the maintenance or administration of what is just especially by the impartial adjustment of 
        conflicting claims or the assignment of merited rewards or punishments
  b : judge – a supreme court justice – or used as a title – Justice Marshall
  c : the administration of law
       the establishment or determination of rights according to the rules of law or equity

just: (adjective)
1  a: having a basis in or conforming to fact or reason
    b: conforming to a standard of correctness
    c: (archaic) faithful to an original

2  a: acting or being in conformit with what is morally upright or good
        being what is merited
    b: legally correct – lawful

drumhead court-martial: (noun)
1. a court-martial held, usually on a battlefield, for the summary trial of charges of offenses committed during military operations.


Ken came back to himself quickly despite the heavy stun setting of the blaster.  His shoulders ached from bearing his own weight, two of the Brute Squad dragging him along by his arms while imperial shock-binders pinned his arms behind his back.  Activated by movement, the binders add a constant low-grade electric shock to the growing agony of his shoulders as the two burly soldiers drag him along.  Owie…

The first thing that caught his attention was the song.  The tunes…  There was a familiar conjunction, his own melody again closely intersecting the playful line that represented Jorya in the great song.  But it was different….  There as a third line now, an exotic line in fugue with his own.  For a second Ken paused, fascinated, as he realized what it was.  Ry…  Her line was intertwined with his own, matching his moves, his path, his fate…

You gotta be kidding me…  Maker?  Really?  Ken, drawn into the fugue, suddenly heard and saw the song before and after.  He could see the decision point, the place where Ry’s melody and his own changed, entering the fugue.  And where it was going, at least in the immediate future.  There was another line that entered the motif, another decision point… and everything beyond was obscured.  Not even a hint as to the outcome, but in a moment of rare clarity Ken knew EXACTLY what he had to do.  Maker, give me strength!

Still, knowing where he was headed wasn’t much of an insight at the moment.  Ken let his head roll, feigning unconsciousness, while he tried to think.  Scrubber sent them…  But why?  What…  A feint groan escaped his lips as he put two-and-two together.  The transmissions.  The Black ship must have isolated the scans and detected the transmissions…

For a moment he considered whether they had just detected the bursts, or had full access to the contents only to realize it didn’t really matter.  Scrubber will see what I’ve sent … and assume that I’m a traitor, a spy... His eye opened wide at that and he couldn’t prevent the chuckle that followed. 

I AM a spy…

The Brute on his right held up his hand, halting the procession and jerking Ken fully upright.  “You awake, traitor?” He asked, spinning Ken around to face him.  “You think this is funny, flyboy?”

Ken met the man’s eyes levelly.  Both guards were humans, but breeding and conditioning had left them over two meters tall and massively muscled.  He’d seen these guys working out, they were incredibly strong and far nimbler than would be expected.  And, based on the tremors he felt in the force all around him, they were also extremely angry.

At him.

The image of Ry in the hands of another Brute, torn from his embrace and a peaceful sleep flashed through his mind.  The beats in the song picked up, matching the tempo of his own rising anger.  These guys weren’t the only ones feeling betrayed…

And he was a Mak’Tor Knight.  Time to remind them of what that means…

Ken’s hazel eyes met those of his captor, and his gaze was suddenly the temperature of liquid helium.  “What’s your name, trooper?”

The Brute sneared.  “J’Kim.  And my twin J’Kam.  We were liberated from the Hutt mines three years ago.  We don’t fly pretty planes and perform parlor tricks, but we’re strong, fast and loyal.  Unlike you, traitor.  Jinny says it’s always the smart one’s you gotta watch.  They’s always the ones that pull stupid bantha poodoo on you.”

‘Really?  Jinny thinks I’m smart?”  Ken pushed forward nose-to-nose with J’Kim, feeling J’Kam’s presence behind him.  Both men were wary but confident they had the upper hand.   Well now.  Let’s see about that…  “She doesn’t know me very well then.”

Through the force Ken found the power connector for the binders and with a thought he cross-connected the power feed to the small control chip.  With a bright flash the chip burned out, killing the shock function and popping the binders open at the same time.  J’Kam was caught by the searing flash and momentarily blinded, staggering back and away, his hands scrubbing at his abused eyes.  J’Kim had just enough time for his eyes to widen in surprise before Ken’s force choke stopped all air moving in his throat – and pinched off the carotid arteries as well.

Ken brought his arms around, rubbing the burn on his wrist from the failed binders as J’Kim collapsed.  He released the hold the moment he felt consciousness ebb, catching the massively muscled man with the force as he fell and gently laying him on the floor.  He then pulled both men’s blasters to himself, stepped back a few steps, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“J’Kim!  Get up, he’s going to get away!” Roared J’Kam, still rubbing his eyes.  “Hurry!  We need to let…”

“I’d stop moving and speaking now, J’Kam.” Ken replied casually.  J’Kam finally cleared his eyes enough to see his brother unconscious on the floor and Ken standing beyond, a blaster leveled as his belly button.  “Your brother should be coming back around any second now…”

As if on cue, J’Kim stirred, groaned, and sat up, one hand on his head.  “Ow…  J’Kam?  What happened?  Are you alright?”

J’Kam practically growled his response, looking hate at Ken.  “I’m fine.  Bastard got the drop on us somehow…”  He helped J’Kim to his feet and the brothers stood facing him.

Ken just sighed.  “It’s amazing.  Yesterday, you both thought I was a hero.  You were there in the crowd that cheered when we brought the Unchained home.  I remember shaking your hands.  What changed?”

J’Kim snarled a reply.  “That was before you became a traitor!”

Ken lowered the blaster.  “Traitor?  And who said I was a traitor, J’Kim?”

“Scrubber.”

“I see.”  Ken looked at the brothers, sighed and reversed the grip on the blaster.  He handed one weapon back to each brother.  “Well, I think that’s the problem.  Do you boys think you could take me up to see him so we can … discuss it?”  Ken looked down at the broken binders, still lying on the deck.  “I am sorry about the binders.” He looked back up at their shocked faces.  “You won’t need them, though.  I give you my word.”

Ken turned and started walking down the corridor again.  After a moment the brothers, still holding their returned blasters and wearing the same stunned expression, broke into a trot to catch up to him.

Ken glanced left and right as they caught up with him, one on each shoulder.  “See, guys?  Vinny is wrong.  I’m not so smart after all…”

   <<<<< >>>>>

Ken had expected the encounter to go down in Scrubber’s office.  In all honesty, as they walked, he’d decided the most likely scenario was that Scrubber would denounce him as a traitor – and Black Armor would kill him.  At best he hoped that Jorya and Ry would be able to avoid getting caught up in it, and Jorya would be able to finish their mission.

His slim hopes fell as he realized they were NOT going to Scrubber’s office.  Instead they were following the corridors to Rook Hanger, his squadron’s ‘home turf’ as it were.  When the lift deposited them in the hanger deck his spirits fell further.  There were hundreds of members of the Sons gathered in the maintenance bay, all surrounding a raised dais that had been improvised by the expedient of raising one of the cargo lifts a meter off the floor.  On the dais Scrubber was waiting for him, along with the ever-present Black Armor, Kal-Estp, Ornil and Zaic’ch. 

Ken could feel the hostility radiating from the crowd around him as he stepped into the bay.  This wasn’t a mob, there was no frenzy.  No one spoke a word.  They just stared at him.  Looks that ranged from stunned disbelief to barely contained fury.  The anger and contempt focused on him was staggering, and he sub-vocalized a calming motif to rebalance and fortify himself for the trail ahead.

And a trail it would be.  That was evident.  This had all the makings of a drumhead – and he was the luckless bastard about to be stretched…

His flagging hope took one last, mortal blow as he neared the dais and saw two other figures.  Jorya, looking distressed and confused, free but discretely surrounded by members of the Brute Squad.  And Ry, obviously in custody.  Ken managed to steer himself over to where she was standing.  “Ry…”

Her sad smile warmed his heart, and he again gently caressed her melody in the song, now in perfect fugue with his own.  “Don’t say it, probie.  I’m fine.  Do what you have to do.”

He nodded and gave her a quick kiss, noting that she was dressed in her usual fatigues.  “Thank you.” He said, leveling a gaze at her captor. 

“You didn’t cut me in half.  I figured I owed you this much.” Came the gruff reply.

Ken nodded again but his attention was drawn back to the dais by Scrubber’s voice.  “Ken Belanger!  Come forward and answer the charges brought against you this day!” His clear baritone filled the room, amplified by hidden equipment, and Ken had to applaud his tone.  It was perfect.  Steady, with just a touch of anger, a hint of sadness, and a pinch of pure outrage.  The outrage bumped slightly higher, the sadness subsuming, as he continued.  “Or, should I say, Ken’A’Nia Mack of the Mak’Tor order?”

There was a buzz of challenge in his voice now.  An edge of righteous fury.  Ken could feel the pulses of hit hammering through the room.  He and Jorya had spoken of the likelihood of being discovered before they had arrived on Kalla VII.  In the event they had decided that the best course would be open honesty.  It was understandable why someone looking to learn about an organization like the Sons would seek to do so in anonymity.  To attempt to continue the ruse, however, would simply prove they were out to do the Sons a mischief. 

Apparently Scrubber had already leaped to that conclusion, but the consideration stood.  No sense hiding anything now.  His only chance, only option was to speak the truth.  So…  Ken turned and used the force to gracefully “step up” the one meter gap to the dais level with no apparent effort.  “Ken will do fine, Scrubber.”

Scrubber leaped to his feet as well.  “Why is this traitor not in binders?” He barked, fixing J’Kim and J’Kam in his intense gaze. 

Ken interceded, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. “Um, that’s my fault.  I’m afraid I burned them out when I deactivated them.’  He shrugged dramatically.  “The shock charge was bothering me, and…”

“SILENCE!” Scrubber thundered, his amplified voice overriding Ken.  “You will NOT make a mockery of this proceeding!”

Ken let his eyes and face go cold.  “No, Scrubber, I won’t.  You’ll do that all by yourself.  Or am I supposed to believe that there will be any attempt at true justice here?  After all, you’re judge, jury and executioner.” Ken’s eyes flicked to Black Armor, the spectre in its normal place, the force simply disappearing into the black hole of his presence.  “Or your friend there will take care of the execution.”  Ken looked over his shoulder at the crowd behind him.  “Or they will.  But it’s already decided.  So why bother?”

Scrubber stood and came around the small table.  “No, Ken, you’re wrong.  I won’t be your judge.”  He gestured and Ken’s eyes flicked behind him and widened slightly as Black Armor took the seat vacated by Scrubber’s move.  “Black Armor will serve as judge.  He is an … impartial observer … and only he can be certain that you are in fact telling the truth … Jedi.

Ken locked eyes with Scrubber, refusing to back down from his point.  “I am Gray, Scrubber.  I am not Jedi.” He looked at Black Armor, then at the panel.  “So, how does this drumhead work?”

Scrubber indicated the three officers sitting next to Black Armor.  “Kal’Estp, Ornil and Zaic’ch will serve as the jury.  Black Armor is our Judge and will be our … curator of truth.  And I will be the prosecutor.”  Scrubber leveled his gaze at Ken again, and there was no mirth in his eyes.  “And I will show these gentlemen, as well as this gathering of sires and sirras, that you, Ken’a’Nia of the Mak’Tor, are a spy and a traitor to the Sons of Kessel!”

There was reaction to that, a ripple of murmuring through the crowd.  More subtle were the flow of emotions that passed through the three officers that would decide his fate.  Sadness.  Emotional pain.  Disappointment.  Anger.  Confusion.  Denial.

Ken looked down at Jorya and Ry.  They were an island of emotional support in the sea of hostility that flooded Rook Hanger.  Ken turned and nodded.  “Very well.  Do I get a defender?”

Scrubber laughed.  “Can you not defend yourself, Gray?”

Ken crossed his arms and let a cold smile onto his face.  “Very well.  Call your first witness.”

[Karmack]

Chapter 9: The Drumhead
(part 2)

Scrubber turned and looked at the front row of the crowd.  “Ixui Tardun, step forward please.” He smiled at the Gran who stepped up, using a strategically placed chair to mount the raised platform.  “Ixui, can you identify this man?” Scrubber pointed at Ken.

The Gran glared at him.  “I know him as Ken Belanger, a student at the University on Kalla VII.  He was recruited there by Yras A’Rann.  I ran background on him myself, everything seemed in order.” Her glare hardened.  “However, new records recently revealed show his true identity to be Ken’a’Nia Mack, resident of M’Tzigon.  A witness places ‘Ken’ on Geonosis recently, part of an altercation involving a group known as the Mak’Tor.  Gray Jedi.” She practically spat the last, and Ken sensed a deep resentment and seething anger toward anyone labelled “Jedi” with her.  

Scrubber only nodded.  “Thank you, Ixui.” He turned to Ken.  “Anything you’d like to add?”

Ken turned to Ixui, assuming as non-threatening a pose as he could muster.  “Mz A’Rann, can you confirm the planet of origin and occupation that you were given for ‘Ken Belanger’?”

The Gran cocked her head to the side.  “According to the record … M’Tzigon.” She looked from Scrubber back to Ken.  “Listed as a student studying on a grant from your … ‘Men-At-Arms?’ … on extended leave from your military.”

Ken fixed Scrubber in his gaze.  “So, the name was altered to preserve anonymity, but the basic facts – that I am a resident of M’Tzigon, on extended leave from the military while studying abroad – is in fact correct.”  Ken swept his gaze across the crowd, sensing a shimmer of doubt and speculation, then turned and looked at Black Armor.  “Nor am I the only one here who has not fully revealed his identity in the interests of … personal security.”

Ken felt that hit home, mainly with Scrubber.  He saw the battered Togruta look at Black Armor and grimace, but he recovered quickly.  “Perhaps.  But there’s a difference between omission and outright concealment.”

Ken resumed his defiant stance.  “True.  But how many of you here would have given me a chance if I’d openly arrived as a Gray?”  Again he scanned the crowd.  “The hostility in this room is palpable.  Jedi are not welcome.  Do you blame me for hiding that?”  Ken nodded down at the twins.  “No one here who has interacted with me, not even those who arrested me tonight, can say that I have done anything ill towards them.”

“Othel and Krat might disagree with you.” Scrubber spat.  “They’re both still in the infirmary with some serious injuries.”

Ken turned back and his smile was deadly.  “Yes.  But what of the ones who might have died … and did not?”  Ken looked at Zaic’ch.  “You were there.  Do you think I couldn’t have cut my way through the rest of your arrest team if I’d really wanted to?”

Zaic’ch stroked his chin thoughtfully with his upper left hand.  “Honestly?  I thought I was about to die.”  He looked at Scrubber.  “Ken lowered his weapon and surrendered.  That should be part of the record.”
Scrubber waved his hand.  “Ok, ok…”  he turned back to Ken.  “But it remains true that you did NOT reveal your membership in this … Mak’Tor … when you joined the Sons.  So, for the record, who are you really Ken?  What was your purpose in coming here?”

Ken felt the spike in the song as the racing melodies traced a spiraling crescendo.  This was the moment… Nothing beyond this point was visible.  Ken looked at Jorya, her eyes wide but her face calm and at peace.  He looked at Ry and saw only love and support.

Ken took a deep breath.  Sing the song.  Trust the Singer.  Tell the truth…   He turned and face the gathered members of the Sons.  His true jury…  “What Scrubber has told you is true.  I am Ken’a’Nia Mack of the Mak’Tor.  I am a member of the Men-at-Arms of the planet M’Tzigon, a Gray Kowan, Knight of the Mak’Tor Order.”  He felt the ripple run through the gathering at the admission, the hardening of positions, but also a softening of anger.  Ken glanced down at Jorya, and she gave him a slight nod, reading his intent in the force.  “I came here with my companion, Jorya, on a mission: To survey the activities of the Sons of Kessel, determine who was backing and equipping you, and what political motives those backers might have as well as how much direct control they would exert on you.  This ‘fact-finding’ was to be conducted in the view of how the Mak’Tor and the government of M’Tzigon should respond to your growing influence.  Should we openly ally with you?  Covertly aid you?  Ignore you completely?  Or actively oppose you?”

Ken cringed as the last option rolled out and refreshed anger rippled through the crowd.  Should have led with that one and worked back to openly allying with them, genius… he berated himself silently.  Oh well.  Recover, Knight!

Ken raised his hands, palms outward.  “What we found…changed our lives.  You fight for freedom.  You free people from an injustice that is utterly reprehensible.  And we joined you, aiding your cause…”

Scrubber, clearly furious now, could take no more.  “Liar!  You lie, Ken’a’nia Mack!  Your goal in coming here was nothing less than to spy on us, to learn our ways and our secrets, and transmit them to your Mak’Tor so they could shut us down!”  He turned to Black Armor.  “Scan him!  Expose his lies!”

Ken turned, bracing himself mentally, not sure what to expect…

A hurricane of force energy hit him, sweeping over him like a tidal wave.  Ken instinctively tried to shield his mind from the onslaught…then changed his mind and dropped his mental shields.  He stood open and exposed, swept away in the swirling vortex.  Helplessly he watched as a spectre of nightmare stripped his memories back layer-by-layer.  He examined everything Ken had done, from this moment back to the first meeting on M’Tzigon … and beyond.  He examined his knighting.  His training.  His interactions with his parents.  Ken struggled now, the probe was going far deeper than he’d expected or intended to allow, but black tentrils of energy pinned him down.  He tried to sing, to reform his mental shields, and slowly he began to make headway…

The beast paused over a specific memory, and suddenly Ken was looking at it again, through his own eyes and those of Black Armor.  Pain exploded again as the red lightsaber slashed and stabbed, tearing him apart, killing him…   And then, light exploding in his vision and the indescribable feeling of his body rebuilding itself, bathed in the energy of his father’s healing song…

Ken gasped and lurched slightly as the hurricane released him.  His cybernetic hand rose involuntarily to clutch his chest in the back-flush of the memory.  He took three deep breaths, getting his adrenaline reaction back under control, feeling the pounding of his reformed heart, and locked eyes with Black Armor again.

<<He speaks the truth>>

It wasn’t audible … but everyone in the hall heard it.

Before anything else could be said Scrubber was suddenly nose-to-nose with Ken, eyes ablaze with righteous fury.  “It does not matter!  You, sir, are not one of us.  You’ve never been a slave.  You cannot understand the justice we seek!” He moved behind the table, next to Black Armor, and pounded on the table with his fist to emphasize his words.  

“YOU”          <pound>

“ARE”          <pound>

“A”              <pound>

“TRAITOR!” <pound>  

Ken's eyes flashed at the accusation. "No," his voice filling the room full of conviction, "I never betrayed the Sons." He turned to Scrubber, subvocalizing a Memory motif.  "You yourself said 'That is why what is in the past should remain there.' And 'Learn from the past...but do not live there... We must all progress.'  I left my past.  And not once have I ever wavered in my commitments to the Sons." Scanning the crowds, Ken's eyes fell upon the members of his Flight.  "Ringo, who was it that splashed that bogey off your tail over Tisht?" Ken's eyes seized the next person. "Tu-Tu, who helped choke the fire from your port engine when guiding you in for docking?" And again.  "Grifter, who attached an umbilical to their own life support when your oxy-generation unit was fried?"

And Ken continued.  Ornil. Anvil Flight. Ziac'ch. Sledge Flight. Kal'Estp. Red Wing Flight. The Recovery Ward.

Scrubber.

As Ken turned towards the Togruta, he stared unwaveringly into his fierce yellow eyes.  "I. Am. No. Traitor."  Then Ken looked directly at Black Armor. "You know I tell the truth.  You claim to seek justice. That is what the Mak'Tor...and the Vhal'Dan--" He suddenly gestured to Jorya. "--strive to uphold.  Our ideologies need not be mutually exclusive of one another." At this, Ken stepped towards Scrubber, his voice soft, clear, and piercing. "You demand 'justice'.  Yet you practice 'reciprocity.'  Scrubber. Give. Us. Justice."  

And with that Ken sat down, the room as silent as the grave.

No Scrubber thought, As silent as Syffa. If only I'd... He hadn't thought of that name in years. The sound of water splashing on the table in front of him recalled his thoughts from the past.  It took a moment for Scrubber to realize that they were tears.

His tears.

Scrubber looked up, looked back at Ken, and everything snapped back into focus.  The Sons did not have a good history with Jedi.   They’d known from the beginning that Ken and Jorya were … special.  There’d always been a possibility that they were in fact spying, so he’d had both of them watched.  Jorya had never wavered, never been seen to do anything contrary to the Sons, but her friend Ken…  He’d hoped beyond hope that Ken was truly committed, but when he’d seen the transmissions, the scans, the messages sent off who-knew-where...

I nearly failed you, Syffa.  I nearly failed them…  Scrubber looked at Ken again, standing, waiting for judgement, and he suddenly knew that the young Gray would accept his fate, whatever it may be.  Even if he ordered him executed, he would die … and his Sires and Sirras would die with him.  Oh, not immediately, but in a sudden flash of clarity he saw two paths.  Down one was tyranny and terror, ending in pain and death.  Down the other…

Well.  That path wasn’t as clear.  But uncertainty was always better than certain doom.  

Scrubber looked at Black Armor, silent and deadly, still sitting in the judge’s chair.  “Truth?”
Black Armor nodded.

Scrubber looked at his panel, and nearly called the question, but he stopped.  These three were utterly loyal to him.  To him, personally.  No.  They would be tempted to vote as he wanted.  Do what he wanted.  He would have to work to change that.  But for now, the responsibility was his.  He started this, he would finish it.

Scrubber straightened.  “Justice.  Doing what is right.  It can be … tricky.”  He looked at the crowd.  “My sires and sirras!  I am humbled.  Based on his testimony, it is clear that Ken … is no traitor.”  Scrubber raised his hands, warding off the reaction of the gathered Sons of Kessel.  “However, he IS a spy.” Scrubber’s face hardened again, his yellow eyes flashing, as he leaned over the table addressing Ken directly.  “I will accept that you had on ill intent, but by your own admission you came here to spy on us.  And whatever your personal commitment to my Sires and Sirras might be you did betray my trust in you.”

Ken lowered his eyes and nodded.  “Yes, Scrubber, I did.”  Hazel eyes rose and met yellow.  “For that I am truly sorry and all I can ask is that you will forgive me.  I await your decision.”

Scrubber’s eyes softened.  He straightened.  “Ken’a’Nia, your actions over the last weeks have been both amazing and heroic in the service of our sires and sirras.  I hate to lose you, but I cannot let you stay.  You will be escorted to your quarters, there to gather your things and depart.”

Ken took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Yes sir.”

Scrubber turned to Ry, still under guard at the edge of the crowd.  “R’Lyak.  You admitted to knowing Ken’s identity and conspired with him to remain unknown to us.  You will gather your things and depart as well.”  R’Lyak only nodded to Scrubber, but her eyes were shining when she looked at Ken.

Scrubber suppressed a chuckle at the byplay and turned lastly to Jorya.  “Jorya, my sirra.  You have been committed from day one.  Your dedication overshadows even this … ill judgement on your part.  If you wish to stay … the Sons will welcome you.”

Ken could feel the spike of emotional agony that pierced his friend.  Ken had come to respect the Sons, even to believe in their cause.  His only reservation had always been Black Armor and what influence he might have on the dynamic Togruta.  But now…  Ken was fairly certain that Scrubber was his own man.  However he’d come to be allied with the spectral warrior, Black Armor was not calling the shots.

Jorya’s eyes shone with unshed tears.  She suddenly burst onto the dais and before anyone could react – except, perhaps, Black Armor, but he never moved – she had eveloped Scrubber in a fierce hug.  “Scrubber, I will miss you!”  She whispered fiercely.  “But I must go with Ken.  But I … we … will be back.”

Scrubber smiled at Jorya, holding her by the shoulders as he looked her over again.  “I’ll hold you to that, little one.  But call ahead next time.  No need to hide.  Just come – and bring your friends.”  He leveled his gaze on Ken one more time in stern warning.  “We have nothing to hide.  Please do us the honor of returning the courtesy.”

Ken bowed again.  “We will.”

Ken turned and jumped lightly off the dais, catching Ry as she launched herself into his arms for a highly energetic hug and kiss.  He then walked away, arm around Ry and Jorya right behind, the crowd parting before them as they left the hanger …  and the Sons of Kessel … behind.

[Illyiss]

Ken, displaying the self control and wisdom befitting the title of Knight, makes hard choice after hard choice, navigating a mine field, surrounded by auto blasters.  Trusting in the song, the singer more so, Ken danced through the deadly card set for him by Scrubber, dipping beneath the slung feces, lifting into the truth, and spinning past the prejudged accusations, to bring himself and his companions, his love, through the floor and safely out the other side.  Sitting, a sentinel of unknown intent, Dark Armor appears, at first, to be the pointed instrument of undoing for the imperiled knight, puts forth a private display of monumental power, delving Ken's mind like a children's book, and then stands plain in honor, as the revealing angel of truth.  Truth, Ken gave them the truth, and the darkest corner of the room championed that play.  Mysteries still, and mysteries renewed, deepening the dark chasm that Dark Armor represents, but the song continues, and the opera moves to a new scene....