Retrieval

[Lord_S_Gray]

Yeah.  I can't help but think SOMETHING is coming.   Our heroes are at the end of their strength and resources.   They're either gonna die or be rescued.   And they CAN'T die, you're not far enough into the story yet!  LOL

Nicely spun, my friend.  Now .. spring the trap and let's be done with this pyramid!

Exactly what I was thinking...they've been beaten mind blasted and exhausted...time to press the red button and hope the Mando come to the rescue i think....and this is just to get the mind trap! Once they have it then the real work begins. Though thinking about it...maybe another faction interested in D'alyanna might show up....

Anyway the image of the saber in the cerean head (let alone the daggers in her as she tries to heal) then tossed to the rak's...game of thrones eat your heart out!

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of Zearic with his armor!
This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part I

Within the blood-red ferrocrete superstructure of the enormous pyramid, deep in the heart of the largest antechamber, rakghoul poured from the ruptured wall, the lone bridge leading to the isolated stone island acted as a bottleneck, allowing the Jedi to mount their defense.  There was a growing pile of rakghoul bodies--often times limbless or headless--that littered the island while thick, black, noxious blood ran down the sides like a macabre waterfall.  Blasters in one hand, lightsabers in the other, Rakham, Jorya, and Zearic downed rakghoul by the dozen, intent on giving Berra the time she needed to rest.

"Soon as you can, grab control!" Teeth clenched, Rak's voice dripped with fatigue, his green blade scything through the nearest rakghoul while he squeezed off another shot, taking one of them in the chest.  He'd figured that if the Cerean woman could dominate them, maybe Berra could--if nothing else--pacify them.  Of course, that was all completely academic for the time being: as it was, Berra couldn't control one of the creatures, much less the massed horde...

As soon as the rakghoul had flooded through the breach in the wall, each Jedi had grabbed their weapons, Rakham to the left, Zearic to the right, Jorya between the two men while Berra recuperated behind them.  Between kills, three pairs of eyes searched, looking for something...anything that would help.  

...If only the rakghoul would just cooperate... Rakham thought sardonically.  Another swing of his arm, another squeeze of his finger, another rakghoul killed...and another behind it to take its place.  He shook his head, trying to divest himself of the numbness that attempted to settle upon him.  Luckily, Zearic's deep baritone pierced the haze.

"Jorya, 60 azimuth, 70 altitude.  About...90-95 meters... Look."  Even though Zearic's tone sounded grim, there was an undercurrent of hope.  "What do you see?"  He swung his lightsaber in a tight orbit, lining up a shot.  Even though he didn't hit it center-mass, the rakghoul fell to its knees, toppling over the railless bridge and into the darkness below.  "Dammit..." He muttered; while his swordsmanship had continued to progress, Zearic's marksmanship was still mediocre at best.

Cocking her head back, Jorya stared into the distance while the two men covered her.  "It looks like...a doorway."  Her distracted tone was completely incongruous with her sharpshooting.  Two more rakghoul were cut down, quickly followed by another as Jorya's precise targeting paid dividends in blood, black and virulent.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say." Zearic grinned.  "I've got an idea." He said between swings, four more rakghoul fell absent their heads.  "Jorya, give me the last detonator!" He exclaimed, holstering his blaster.  It took Jorya only a moment to grab the device and toss it to her father, but even in that short time the rakghoul seemed to renew their efforts.  The creatures had gained a footing on the island, careless if some of them fell while the rest charged forward, inundating the Jedi.

The Jedi were now so exhausted, the only Force powers that they used were those that enhanced speed and accuracy with the rare Push.  Each one worked their lightsabers furiously, shooting virtually point blank.  They were already hard pressed but when Zearic looked past the rakghoul directly in front of them, he could see that several more waves were attempting to cross the bridge.  He cocked his arm back to throw the detonator, precisely gauging the distance, before throwing.

Just as he released and with a flurry of motion, Zearic was knocked off of his feet by a number of seemingly suicidal creatures that had crawled beneath, surprising them, each one clawing and biting at him.  It was only by virtue of his armor that the attacks failed.  "Father!" Jorya screamed, each shot from her blaster as quick as a repeater.  While Rakham covered, Jorya shot down another row of the creatures that had fallen upon Zearic, her lightsaber closed down for fear of hitting her Father.  Meanwhile, his icy blue saber cut into the rakghoul above him, the plasma blade slicing at their ankles, his return swing cleaving their heads from their bodies when they fell.  Finally, Zearic was once again able to stand.  Rising unsteadily to his feet, he gave both Rakham and Jorya a nod before returning to the line, the tide of creatures threatening to overwhelm them.

But the damage had been done: with his throw interrupted, the detonator went wide of its intended mark, exploding to the side of the bridge instead of its center.  Still, now the bridge was only wide enough to allow rakghoul to cross single-file for a span of 5 meters, diminishing the flow of the creatures to a trickle.

"We need to get up to that door!" Zearic yelled so as to be heard.  Rakham nodded, urgently thinking.  Suppressing his own apprehension, the tall Templar Master took a calming breath.  Running through a Memory technique, Rakham caught upon one of the details that he'd been debriefed on.  

"That doorway should lead to the outside; Teks took that way before."  He didn't mention that Hit Squad had also initially taken positions on that level as well; they all knew (and had heard) the orders that Rakham had given to the Mandalorians: if they weren't out of the pyramid in three hours, they were to make their way back to Fenris' Dirge and return to the Templar Archive.  

Those three hours had come and past hours ago.

Rakham shrugged his pack off his shoulders.  Fishing around in one of the ancillary pouches, he found what he needed: his smart-line and grappling-gun.  Standing, he looked around in order to determine the best anchor point.  Loading the grapple into the barrel of the gun, Rakham lined up his shot.  He stood behind the two Vhal'Dan Jedi as they worked their lightsabers; he didn't want to get swarmed like Zearic had been.  Squeezing the trigger, Rakham saw the grapple speed towards the island above, a natural anchor point just within range, if a long shot...

...A shot that, even now, Rak could tell would be short.  ...No, dammit...!  Wrapping himself in the Force, he seized the grapple and--with a final effort--Pushed to manipulate its trajectory so that the barbs would catch and bury into the anchor point.  Giving a sharp pull, he felt the sturdiness of the line.  Releasing a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding, he looked down.  From the other end, he fired the grapple's belay anchor into the stone at his feet, pulling the smart nylasteel line taut.  Checking from the corner of his eye, he saw that Jorya and Zearic had succeeded in keeping the rakghoul at bay: the pile of bodies had grown into a hill.  Rak almost grinned at the thought.  And it had created another impediment for the rakghoul to clear before they could reach them.  The creatures seemed to realize that as well: instead of mindlessly attacking, they seemed unsure of how exactly to proceed.  Several well-placed blaster shots only added to the rakghoul's reticence.

"OK, Jorya, you and I will cover your father while he climbs with Berra to the platform.  Then you'll follow; I'll be right behind you.  Once Berra's at the top, she can control the rakghoul and stop them from attacking."  At least that's what they all hoped; only time would tell if Berra would be able to do so.  ...And this might just work...

As if reading their intentions, the rakghoul rushed the Jedi, their caution all but forgotten.  Zearic took a step forward, his icy blue blade reflected in his strange hazel eyes while he cut down the first wave.  He gave a dour, lopsided grin.  "Or I'll cover you; I'm already here."  He pulled off another shot, this one drilling into a screaming rakghoul's mouth, the gore that resulted splattering the creatures behind it.

"Not you for two reasons..." Rak said, his tone almost conversational, firing off several shots before igniting his green blade again.  "One: you're the only one that can carry Berra right now."  Everyone knew it to be true; even with the aid of the Force, Jorya and Rakham were too exhausted to scale the nylasteel line while carrying the Miralukan Master.

"And two?" Zearic punctuated his question with another orbit of his lightsaber, taking off a rakghoul's head, shoulder, and part of its arm.  Three more blaster shots knocked back two of the three attacking rakghoul as they climbed the mound of bodies in front of them.  But the next pull of the trigger resulted in nothing more than a sputter.

Rakham's voice held no rancor.  "Two: I'm a better shot."  Rakham nailed two more rakghoul, each shot right between their eyes.  "And..."  From over Zearic's shoulder, Rakham's shot vaporized the third creature's head before it could duck.  "...A half: your blaster's running on empty."  Both men chanced quick grins before returning to the task at hand.  As Rakham took Zearic's place on the line, the wide man holstered his now-useless blaster and hung his mainhand saber on his utility belt, pulling another nylasteel line from one of his belt pouches.  Helping the Miraluka to her feet, Zearic then spooled the line around her waist and--after Berra had gathered her skirts--her upper legs, creating an improvised sitting harness.  Securing a line from a belay point on the harness, he then looped the rope around his shoulders.  Finally, as Berra hopped up on Zearic's back, he drew the line taut while securing the rope, having created an effective tandem abseiling harness.  As he moved towards the nylasteel rope, Berra tried as best she could to get comfortable considering he still had the Mind Trap secured within his modular pack.

All the while Rakham and Jorya were busy picking off rakghoul, their expert shooting adding to the growing obstruction of bodies.  They knew that it was a temporary obstacle at best but there were no better alternatives.  Still: seeing Zearic begin to scale the nylasteel line fanned the flames of their hope, growing with every meter that the wide man climbed.

In any other circumstance, Rak would've found the sight before him comical: with Berra clinging to Zearic's back, she was dwarfed by the profile of his broad shoulders and thick neck.  The Vhal'Dan's body was almost three times as wide as the svelte Miraluka.  ...Pay attention... He reminded himself as one of the rakghoul got too close.  Thankfully, Jorya's violet blade exploded through its throat before the creature could even open its mouth.  "Thanks." Rak tried to keep the exhaustion from his tone but was only partially successful.  

"No problem..." Was all Jorya said, her attention on the rakghoul.  But like Rakham, her thoughts were for Berra and, especially, for her Father.  ...Please Maker, keep them...him...safe... She prayed.

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Suspended in the air between the stone islands, Zearic's entire focus was climbing.  Normally this would've been a breeze but after hours and hours of Force use and expenditure, he could feel his body being pushed beyond its limit.  ...C'mon bastard ancestry...what good are you if you can't help when I need you most...  Although he had to admit that prior to his "renewal" he doubted that he would've made it this far... Another meter.

And Rakham was right: Zearic was the only one who could make the climb encumbered as he was.  Still: a 100 meter nearly vertical ascent was no easy task, a fact that his body was intimately aware of.  But one thing that he'd learned especially well was that such limits could be overcome.  Where the body might stall and give out, the mind could offset--even succeed despite--such adversity.  ...Clean living...and a high pain tolerance... He thought, only half in jest.  But it worked.  Another meter.

Hand over hand Zearic climbed, his muscles taxed with each movement.  His arms felt like rubber, his legs burned.  Every microtear within his muscles ached, every twinge promised future soreness, yet he did not stop.  Scissoring his legs, he reached up the line and pulled, arm over arm, another meter up.  Even though Berra was not a large woman, he could feel her as dead-weight upon his back and shoulders, to say nothing of the Mind Trap.  Sweat ran down his face, the muscles in his jaw sore from gritting his teeth.  Another meter.

But he refused to give up.

Zearic did not bother to look below; there was nothing that he could do and Zearic could not--would not--waste precious energy in doing so.  Focus on what he had to do now; there was nothing else...yet his mind wandered.  Hand over hand, he pushed with his legs, another meter climbed.  Rakham was counting on him.  Arm over arm.  Berra was counting on him.  Push with his legs.  Jorya, his daughter was counting on him.  Another meter.

His Ereneda was counting on him.  He smiled despite himself.  D'Aylanna's face was in front of him, as beautiful as the day he'd met her.  He remembered everything: from her dark, almond eyes to her pouty blue lips to her small, delicate hands, surprisingly small...and tender.  Things that he and he alone knew, he gently wrapped in his thoughts...she was as beautiful as a Tarisian Rose, and as resiliant.  Another meter.

His right hand reached over his left...

...Coming into contact with hard, worn blood-red stone.  Looking up, Zearic saw that he'd scaled the distance.  ...Just a little further...  Pulling himself up, he propped his arms ramrod straight against the stone platform's surface, palms down.  Then, as if his legs were weighed down with Oblivion boots, he carefully brought first one leg and then the other over the edge of the side, his boots finally atop the stone island.  Releasing the belay line securing Berra to him, Zearic felt himself sway, his sagging shoulders heavy as he slumped forward.

Or would have had Berra not caught him.  Strong, gentle hands guided Zearic from the side of the platform where he finally sank down, lying upon his back.  Each time his armor came into contact with the stone, a dull ringing reached his ears.  Zearic lay his head back upon the floor, drained.  It was hard and rigid; it was enticing and comfortable.  "Thanks." For the moment it was all that he could say.  Smiling quickly, Berra patted his shoulder, making certain that he was secure.  She then went back to where the nylasteel grapple was anchored to shout down to Rakham and Jorya.  And through her unique vision with the Force, Berra "saw" the spectacle below.  Her voice faltered, caught suddenly in her throat.  Fighting hopelessness, a scream finally tore from her throat.  "Rakham!"

His legs were covered with rakghoul.  Desperately, Berra tried to impose her will upon the creature and she thought that she sensed one of them pause...only for her head to sink, her chin resting upon her chest.  She was too tired, she had not rested enough.  "Rakham..." Berra whispered.  She could "see" him look up at her.

And each felt constricted by the cold tendrils of dread...utter, inexorable dread.

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[TheDutchman]

Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part II

Rakham's arms felt heavy, as if weighed down by quadranium, his lightsaber slower after each swing, his blaster firing more sporadic.  Beside him, Jorya fared no better.  But they were determined to give Berra and Zearic the time that they needed.

Another wave of rakghoul began to press against the grisly wall, toppling the summit from the pile of bodies, parts rolling down only to fall off of the island and into the blood-red darkness below.  Yet, that worked to their advantage: as Rakham and Jorya dispatched still more rakghoul, it created a second layer for their gory barricade.  Soon, the flow had become a trickle.  And none too soon.  "My blaster's dry!" Jorya exclaimed, holstering the weapon, her final power pack depleted.

Which was unsurprising, really.  They'd been fighting almost nonstop for 3-4 hours.  Not only had they used their spare packs, but Rakham had noticed that what they'd expended on the Mindforms had unfortunately been all too real.  ...Too many wasted... Rakham admonished himself, if unfairly.  But there was nothing that he could do about that now...besides, the rakghoul had retreated, at least for the moment.

There was no better time.

"Jorya, go!" He shouted just as a rakghoul appeared in front of him, the screaming mouth wide and close enough that he could feel its breath, hot and rank like rotten, desiccated meat.  ...Eat this...! He thought, yelling wordlessly as he shoved his blaster into the gaping mouth, each successive pull of the trigger flash-boiling the tissues of the rakghoul's brain, head, and neck.  Before he knew it, Rakham was moving, reacting to the instinct that had served him so well, scything his green blade through two more rakghoul that had attempted to flank him.  With loud, sickening sounds, the eviscerated halves parted, in a gruesome parody of a flower opening.  Without slowing, Rakham rolled back onto his feet, his blaster vaporizing more rakghoul heads, his lightsaber blade the only thing keeping the suddenly cautious creatures momentarily at bay.

Chancing a look from the corner of his eye, Rakham could see that Jorya was more than 20 meters up the line, plenty of space for him to begin his own climb without colliding with the shorter Togruta.  And, as he'd noticed, the rakghoul now seemed to think twice about rushing him...

What was it he'd heard Jorya say?  "Sometimes you have to role the hard 12."

Quick as thought, he fired off four shots, each round slamming into a rakghoul, killing them all instantly.  Turning, he attached both weapons to his belt and got a running jump up the nylasteel rope.  He figured that he had several seconds worth of a lead as the rakghoul tried to reach his former position.  ...Should be plenty of time...  He allowed himself a smile.  A small smile.

Even though he wasn't burdened like Zearic had been, Rakham's arms were shaking, muscles spasming with each meter.  But he'd timed his escape well: he already had a 6 meter lead, the creatures gathered at the base of the nylasteel line, staring impotently up at him.  He heard a scraping sound above; looking upwards, he saw Jorya widen the distance between them, now almost halfway up the rope.  Spirits rising, Rakham barked a laugh.  They were going to make it!  He couldn't believ--

Suddenly, sharp claws tore into his boots, strong hands grabbing at his ankles.  Rakham glanced downward, his jaw dropping involuntarily upon seeing what greeted his eyes.

The rakghoul that had gathered together had created a ladder using their own bodies, over a half-dozen of the creatures grabbing at the tall Templar Master's legs.  Just how they'd managed to think of such a feat--to say nothing of working together--was completely shocking.  Worse: it had cost Rakham a handful of precious seconds for now 3-4 of the creatures had gained purchase on his lower legs, their claws digging deeply into the cybernetic replacements.

Another 30 centimeters and their nails would tear into his flesh...

Spurred on by panic, Rakham pulled himself upwards, his arms protesting under the added weight of the creatures that were now stubbornly attached to him.  With one hand, he grabbed at his lightsaber while he kick downwards, dislodging the four rakghoul that clung onto him...but in doing so, his grip inadvertently slipped on the nylasteel rope.  As gravity took hold of him, he felt a microsecond of momentary weightlessness, but it was a false sense. It took Rakham less than a second to correct as his fingers burrowed into the rope but he'd already fallen by over a meter in that time.  Worse, in his haste his lightsaber had fallen from his grasp as he attempted to catch himself.  Before his exhausted mind could act, the silver hilt flashed as it fell end-over-end, disappearing into the blood-red darkness below.

And, he saw, the rakghoul had recovered from his kicks, their rabid attention intent upon their prey that was now uncomfortably well within reach.

He knew that he would not be able to out-climb them, which left only one option available to him.  Grabbing his blaster, Rakham aimed as carefully and as quickly as he could.  A quick succession of 4 headshots gave him some breathing room, at least enough for him to pull himself up another meter.  He was about to climb some more but he sensed more than felt claws at his feet.  Securing the rope between his boots, Rakham once again aimed his blaster, firing one, two, three times, all kills...only to have the blaster sputter on the fourth pull of the trigger.

His blaster's power pack was depleted.

Cold sweat ran rivulets down his back.  That had been his last pack.  Fighting the growing panic, Rakham began scaling the nylasteel rope again as fast as his exhausted body would allow him.  The first time he felt rakghoul claws on his boots, he kicked down, dislodging them.  The second time, he threw the now-useless blaster at the lead rakghoul, caving its face in.  The falling body took another two of the creatures with it as they all fell into the blood-red shadowy abyss of the pyramid's base.  Hand over hand he climbed.

But on the third attempt, the rakghoul stubbornly clung to his right boot, their claws sinking into the leather, into the cybernetics even.  With a wordless yell, Rakham screamed, trying to use his other leg to kick them off.

But it was a futile gesture.  Soon, the rakghoul had ahold of his left boot as well.  He could no longer climb, not with the added weight of the rakghoul.  Still, Rakham fought on, sweat stinging his eyes.

"Rakham!" Berra screamed from above.  Looking up, he couldn't see that her face was a mask of consternation but he easily sensed it.  He should know; he felt it himself.  ...Fight, dammit...!

But each successive kick was less effective, slower, and weaker.  He knew that in a moment, the rakghoul would pull him down.  And that he would not--could not--let happen.

He felt a...a calmness descend upon him.  His thoughts lingered on Dala and Heddit, on Berra and D'Aylanna, on Jorya and Zearic.  ...I kept my promise, Zearic... He thought, a sliver of pride mitigating his mood, if somewhat.  Still, he lamented leaving his Templars...he'd wanted to keep them safe...he had...too many responsibilities... His fingers relaxed, his left hand loosening its grip.  He woul--

Once again, his senses exploded in his mind, alerting him.  Grabbing tightly onto the nylasteel rope while trying to make himself small, Rakham felt the heat from dozens of plasma bolts as they sprayed the massed rakghoul below him.  Several waves of blaster fire rained death upon the creatures, heads, bodies, and limbs vaporized by the volume of fire.  The rakghoul withered under the concentrated fire of heavy repeaters, blaster rifles, and precision sniper shots.  Rakham smiled, tired and grateful, allowing himself to breath again.  Yet another volley of fire, and another, and still more followed, so many that the floor of the stone island began to liquify in spots.

Beyond his best hopes, Hit Squad was here.

There was still a lake of rakghoul along the pyramid's wall but on the island that they'd escaped from, almost every single one was dying or dead.

Rakham could kiss Lyhli, he'd buy them each a bottle of the best avignol, and toge--

He felt claws dig into his feet and ankles, the rakghoul hissing even as the creatures below died.  They absolutely refused to let go.  And Rakham could see that Hit Squad had no shot, no angle to burn them down.  Furiously, Rakham kicked, flailed, anything to get rid of the rakghoul.  But nothing worked.

Rakham could feel the four clawed hands of the creatures dig further up on his cybernetic legs, this time in his cybernetic calves, their feral growls sounding triumphant to his ears.  

Suddenly, he froze, extending his legs while gripping the rope in an iron grip.  And waited for the inevitable.

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"Mistress Tarun, clear out!" Lieutenant Alvai's voice startled Berra.  Reacting more by instinct, she rolled to the side and backed away from the side while Hit Squad set up firing positions along the edge.  Time seemed to stretch on as each member of Hit Squad sighted their targets downrange, a pause that seemed to take an agonizing amount of time.  In reality, it was a span of two seconds.  "Fire for effect!"  On Lyhli's command, every member of Hit Squad opened fire.

It was a bantha-shoot.  

Standing to the side, Berra sent a silent prayer to Ashla as Hit Squad's blaster fire cleared the island below, and rakghoul lucky enough to escape disappearing back into the breach.  Smiling, Berra was about to offer her thanks when she sensed a spike of twisted panic from Rakham.  Extending her Force Sense downward, she could "see" that he was in trouble: there were a couple of rakghoul that were still a threat.

And there was nothing that anyone from Hit Squad could do about it.

Berra quickly assessed the situation: both Jorya and Zearic had collapsed upon the ground.  Even the Hit Squad snipers would not be able to make the shot, not in the time that Rakham had available to him before...

Giving her head a small shake, Berra refused to even think about what would happen if the rakghoul got their claws upon Rak...or if they bit him...

She knew what she had to do, what only she could do.  "Lieutenant Alvai, make a hole!" She barked.  Without the slightest hesitation, the large Hit Squad leader complied.  With her lightsaber in hand, Berra ignited the weapon.  Drawing deeply upon the Force, she flung her saber down towards Rakham, its green blade reflected in his light eyes.  

She felt Rakham's apprehension lessen, although it did not disappear.  In its place, trust and hope radiated from the Templar Master.  It served to encourage Berra, giving her an edge with the Force that she needed.

The rakghoul had stabbed their claws into Rakham's upper calves, their heads even with his knees.  There was no time for subtlety and as exhausted as she was, Berra lacked her normal exacting precision and finesse.  All of this went through her mind in less than a second.  She knew what to do.  ...Hold on tight, Rak...! She sent through the Force.

Reaching out with the Force, Berra grabbed her lightsaber and with invisible hands swung the blade in a wide arc.  She "saw" Rakham extend his legs, "felt" where his real legs ended and the cybernetics began.  Directing the green blade, Berra's lightsaber sliced through the rakghoul's heads, Rakham's cybernetic legs, and the nylasteel rope, all falling into the blood-red gloom below.

Relieved of the burden of the rakghoul, Rakham used his arms to climb the remaining distance up to the island.  "Lhyli, help him please." Berra slumped to the floor, this time in relief rather than exhaustion while two members of Hit Squad grabbed onto Rakham's arms, pulling him over the side.  With smiles all around, the reunited Jedi and Mandalorians were able to finally relax somewhat.

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[TheDutchman]

Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part III

After wrapping Rakham's cybernetic stumps in poly-bacta infused med-patches, Hit Squad continued to administer triage to everyone.  While this mostly consisted of providing water, protein bars, and inspecting any possible lacerations or punctures from rakghoul, each Jedi was grateful.  Incredibly, no one had been scratched or bit...well, save for Rakham's excised cybernetics.  

There was something to be said that one of the few provisions that the Jedi had planned for was that each and every one of them had worn their armor.  Obviously they'd needed it.  Of course, there were differences: the Templar armor tended to be slightly more nimble at the cost of durability when compared to the Vhal'Dan's.  But the most significant contrast was that Zearic's heavier armor was a new Cataphract variant specifically tailored to his stature...and his "renewal."  After he'd returned from M'Tzigon, Zearic had modified his armor to take advantage of his stronger physiology with thicker armor; he just regretted that he had not had time to also included the minimissile system that was usually a Cataphract standard but he hadn't had time.  But the results spoke for themselves: there were reasons that the wide man had been able to repel the rakghoul attacks.

The Hapan Charubah steel of Zearic's vambraces and cuirass were little worse for the wear despite the creatures having clawed and bitten the armor with their frenzied attacks.  Jorya's own armor, more lithe and specialized like the Templars--while not as thick nor as heavy as her Father's--was nevertheless almost as durable: the only evidence that any of the rakghoul had scored a hit was a grouping of shallow scratch marks on her chausses, above her knee.

But not all attacks had left physical evidence; Berra still sagged as a result of her metaphysical fight against the Cerean woman.  Unsurprising considering that she had been the primary target and it was Berra that had eventually broken through the Mindform Reality.  Zearic shuddered to think about what would've happened had Berra not been with them...

Rakham only reinforced that concern despite his tone.  "I've never been so glad to have had Vader cut off my legs than now." He joked.  Both Jorya and Berra gave a quick laugh while Zearic smiled wryly.  Growing up under the tutelage of Master Kazic Overug had given the big man a deep appreciation for self-depricating humor.  ...Kazic...D'Aylanna...Why did she erase those records...? His thoughts inadvertently led down hyperspace lanes that he'd rather not think about, not here and not now.

"Master, Mistress..." Lieutenant Alvai's voice was the very definition of professionalism, even filtered through her Beskar helmet.  She had her blaster rifle slung in front of her chest, ready at a moment's notice.  "We should move out.  I left both mobile sentry droids at key locations to protect our egress.  We've switched out our powerpacks for fresh ones and we didn't see any rakghoul on our way here.  Still: I don't want to press our luck and remain stationary."

Zearic thought he could sense trepidation coming from the Hit Squad lieutenant but it could just be that she was feeling cautious.  It reminded him though...  "Lieutenant." He stood in front of her, both of them of a height.  She swiveled her head, giving him her attention.  Zearic extended his hand.  "Thank you."

For a moment, she stood motionless, a long enough pause that Zearic wondered if something was wrong.  His concerns were assuaged when she took his hand in a firm grip.  "Thank you for keeping Master Crescentfall and Mistress Tarun safe."  It wasn't obvious but Zearic noticed that Lieutenant Alvai's gaze stared straight at both Templars.  He knew now that there was definitely something there concerning the Hit Squad lieuten-- "Excuse me, Master Jedi.  Mistress." She said, interrupting his thoughts.  She nodded first to him and then to Jorya, politely pushing past the wide man to give concise orders to the rest of the Mandalorians.

Leaving him with his daughter.  "Dear One, how are you?" He offered her a hand up.  Gratefully, she took it and, standing next to him, followed his gaze with her eyes.

"Beyond exhausted..." Her smile looked as tired as she felt.  "Dad, is it just me or did Lieutenant Alvai sound...sad?  OK, not exactly...but...I don't know...off?"  Jorya's eyes shifted, staring pointedly into her Father's.  He did know what she meant and had an inkling of what it might be.  But like so many other things, here was neither the time nor place.  Telling her as much, Zearic squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

"You're not wrong, Dear One.  But later; we need to move."  The rest had done them all good but that didn't change the fact that the four Jedi were still running near empty.  Zearic went over to Rakham who was drinking from a canteen and held out a hand.  "Ready?"

Rakham understood.  Nodding without saying a word, the Templar Grand Master quickly drank the last swallow and put the canteen away in his pack.  Taking Zearic's hand, he swung up on the wide man's back, trying to find a comfortable position.  Almost immediately, several members of Hit Squad were there, especially the larger Mandalorians, although none so wide as the Vhal'Dan silver knight.

"Master Vih'Torr, let one of us help Master Crescentfall," Sgt. Major Qualto offered, calling to another Mandalorian before Zearic had answered.  "Corporal Derrosk!  Take Mast--" But the Hit Squad NCO was cut off.

"While I appreciate the offer, Sergeant Major, I'd feel more comfortable with all of our shooters unencumbered." His tone, while tired, was matter-of-fact.  "I've got him."  Suddenly, Zearic's tone turned sardonic.  "Besides, any fool can carry a load; not everyone can shoot straight."  The Mandalorians gave appreciative chuckles while Jorya and Rakham outright smiled.  

As Hit Squad lined up, Rakham first shared a look with Lieutenant Alvai before giving her a nod.  "Let's move out." She intoned.

For a second time, the Templars had penetrated the Revenant Ziggurat, although with much more success than previously: true to Rakham's word, they did not lose a single person while obtaining their objective.

Unfortunately, that retrieval was only half of the problem that they faced.

           <<<<< >>>>>

Incredibly, the sentry droids were completely unmolested, not one rakghoul was seen as Hit Squad negotiated through the pyramid's twists and turns, their exit much easier.  Of course, they did not have to deal with the machinations of a deranged and psychotic Revenant experiment this time.  When each of them passed through the heavy doors leading outside of the pyramid to the Undercity, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.  

Running along the ceiling stanchions leading away from the ziggurat, the enormous blood-red structure shrank into the distance behind them.  Finding the abseiling point leading to the Lower-City, they used their smartropes to climb.  From there, it was a simple matter of reactivating derelict service-turbolifts with their sentry droid interface, using them as batteries for their trips.  The dark gray environs of Lower-city finally gave way to angled rays of morning sunshine as their turbolift took them to the top levels of Upper-city.  

Debarking from the service-turbolift, they finally made their way to their rendezvous coordinates where Jorya sent the correct enumeration sequence activating the beckon call for Fenris' Dirge.  As the Mandalorian Infiltrator swept in towards the hard-deck, it carefully slowed, hovering a half-meter above the deck.  Hit Squad had already set up a perimeter until everything was correctly stowed and secured, the last member of Hit Squad, Lieutenant Alvai, finally stepping aboard and sealing the hatch.

With Jorya piloting, the sleek ship soared through the stratosphere, their IFF transponder ghosting their presence as they soon obtained orbit and--in a flurry of pseudomotion--entered hyperspace.  Everyone aboard could finally relax even as there was still some work to do.  But at least Taris was behind them, further with each passing second.

They'd arrived how they left: without incident from any of the locals.

...Which was not to say that they left unnoticed.

           <<<<< >>>>>

As soon as she was certain that her navcomputer had all of the pertinent coordinates entered, Jorya could finally massage her neck.  She'd done everything that she could; now all that she could do is wait for their arrival at the Templar Archive.  Not for the first time, she was grateful for the advanced Hapan autopilot.

With the cockpit awash in the blue light of the hyperspace tunnel, Jorya decided to check that everyone was OK in the main hold.  As she made her way from the cockpit, she took a quick detour to her cramped quarters to divest and stow her armor.  Glad to be free of that burden, she entered the main hold where there were pockets of activity amidst the quiet ambiance.

Unsurprisingly, Father was harnessed into the grav-seat that he'd fallen asleep in; Jorya knew that he'd given Berra his own sleeping quarters and suspected that's where the Miraluka Templar was now.  As she gently checked Father, ensuring that he was indeed safely secured, Jorya's eyes took in the rest of the hold with a casual gaze.

Off to one side, the majority of Hit Squad were relaxing in strung hammocks, their gear concisely stowed beneath each one and within easy reach.  To the other side, she saw two Mandalorians powering down the sentry units while Sgt. Major Qualto was busily consulting a datapad.  One and all, each member of Hit Squad had their helmets and armor on.

Kissing Father on his shaven head, Jorya whispered, "Love you, Dad" before heading to the Med-bay where she knew Master Rakham would be.  But before she had walked down the hallway, she saw that one of Hit Squad was already heading towards Medical.  ...Lieutenant Alvai... She thought, identifying the large Mandalorian woman by her armor.  Curious, she quietly followed.  Seeing Lt. Alvai enter the Med-bay, she stopped just shy of the entrance and listened.

"Master Crescentfall, we've secured our gear and I've issued chow orders for the rest of Hit Squad." The woman's melodious voice always surprised Jorya.  Even in the hallway, the Togruta could easily discern details and nuances.  She could hear the distraction in the lieutenant's tone.  That and something else...

"Thanks, Lieutenant..." Master Rakham's voice sounded fatigued and pained.  Again: no surprise there given everything that the Templar Grand Master had been through.  Frankly, Jorya was amazed that the tall human was still conscious.  "...What is it?" Despite his exhaustion, Jorya could hear the concern in Master Rakham's tone.

...Just as she could hear the hesitancy in Lt. Alvai's.  "I...I...would like to submit myself for disciplinary action, Master Crescentfall."

There was a pregnant pause within the Med-bay.  "...For?" Master Rakham sounded genuinely confused.  Jorya peaked around the corner.  While she couldn't see Master Rakham's face--Lieutenant Alvai was standing in the way--Jorya could see that the Templar Grand Master was sitting up in the med-couch.

Back ramrod straight, Lt. Alvai stared straight ahead.  "Master Crescentfall, I disobeyed your direct order.  I've no excuse."

Jorya saw Master Rakham's body suddenly relax.  "Lieut--Lhyli..." Jorya could hear his smile, "I am glad and truly thankful that you did; you saw how bad things were in there.  Hit Squad saved us."  He gestured with a hand.  "Lhyli, sit please."  Even as she did so, Jorya noticed that Lt. Alvai still did not remove her helmet.  "Lhyli, one thing that a good commander must learn is when to act upon their conscious in good faith.  This was certainly one of those times."

"I...see." She sounded unsure, at least to Jorya.  But when Master Rakham next spoke, Jorya knew that he'd heard it as well.

"Lhyli, yes there is a command structure that we Templars follow and for good reason.  But I do not want good soldiers blindly following orders; I need officers that demonstrate good judgment.  Let me ask you this: did you try to raise us on comms?"

"Yes, Master."

"I figured as much.  Just like our last time there, there was a jamming field in place so there was no way to reach us...or for us to contact you.  Given the information that you had available at the time, you made a qualified command decision.  One I might add that I would've also made.  'Disobeyed a direct order?'  I'm damned glad that you did; if not for that jamming field, I would have ordered you to do exactly as you did!" Master Rakham barked a laugh before wincing in pain.  "Dammit..." He reached for the bottle of water adjacent to the med-couch.

Before he could grab it, Lt. Alvai was on her feet, already with the bottle in her hand, gently offering it to Master Rakham's lips.  Grateful, took several long gulps, falling back into the med-couch.  "Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Master."  The Mandalorian's voice was gentle and appreciative.  She leaned over, helping Master Rakham get more comfortable, even drawing the blanket up to his chest.  But before she turned to leave, Master Rakham grabbed her hand, his large hands gripping hers in a vise-like grip.

“Lhyli...Aliit ori'shya tal'din.” His eyes stared straight at Lt. Alvai's helmet.

She hesitated for a moment before raising her free hand to her helmet.  Without releasing Master Rakham's hand, Lt. Alvai bowed her head, removing her helmet.  Sitting down once again, Jorya got a good look at the Hit Squad lieutenant.  She wore her light brown hair in a chin-length bob cut, her slanted eyes intense.  "Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”  She smiled, nodding.  "This is the way."

Master Rakham gave his own tired smile.  "This is the way..." His voice drifted off as he finally succumbed to sleep.  

Before she was seen, Jorya quietly strode away and back into the main hold.  Almost every Mandalorian was relaxing now; those not asleep were quietly engaged in a round of Corellian Spike sabacc.  But Jorya could sense their camaraderie, even as one of them lost the hand that he was playing, using a particularly colorful Mando'a expletive as he threw away his cards.  Jorya would have to remember that turn of phrase...

But it reminded her of what Master Rakham had said to Lt. Alvai.  Smiling, she went over to Father who was slowly and loudly snoring.  Without waking him, she kissed the top of his head again.  Taking a seat next to him, Jorya tried to get as comfortable as she could.  Sleep took her quickly, all the while thinking of the Mando'a adage, one that only reinforced her love for her Father and Mother.

"Family is more than blood."

[Lord_S_Gray]

Just in time....LOL loved Rackhams line about being happy he lost his legs, he would've been infected for sure if they had been real.

What a slog, that place is a nightmare, mental torments from the awakened Cerean, a sprawling labyrinth and hordes of mindless rakghouls.  At least they got through, but damn, they must be tempted to go back and nuke the place. 

Intense, gritty and fevered action Dutch a great sequence from the moment they got to Taris, I could see this so clearly in my mind like a horror movie lit by he glow of sabers and flash of red blasters that illuminate gnashing teeth and claws, very well done like a mid series cliff hanger of three episodes each ending in a cliff hanger.

LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.

[Karmack]

Just in time....LOL loved Rackhams line about being happy he lost his legs, he would've been infected for sure if they had been real.

What a slog, that place is a nightmare, mental torments from the awakened Cerean, a sprawling labyrinth and hordes of mindless rakghouls.  At least they got through, but damn, they must be tempted to go back and nuke the place. 

Intense, gritty and fevered action Dutch a great sequence from the moment they got to Taris, I could see this so clearly in my mind like a horror movie lit by he glow of sabers and flash of red blasters that illuminate gnashing teeth and claws, very well done like a mid series cliff hanger of three episodes each ending in a cliff hanger.

LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.

I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL

[Lord_S_Gray]

I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL

Ha indeeed, but at least some droids would odd less vulnerable bodies against the ravenous hordes, act as a metal shield for a time.

I think it's a revenge thing kind of, last time hit squad was there they got hi pretty bad, and lost one member Jorsk who was Berra's love interest and a relation to Alvi, probably taking it out on the mindless hordes a bit. 

I suspect the no helmet thing (contradicted by Jango in E2 as well!) is more likely a cultural change thing, like post the Empires purges the survivors revert to more secretive cultural behaviors from their crusading past, plus to keep their identities secret, and Mando culture given its long history is unlikely to be a monolith, their could be many different cultural types of Mando branching off from the main tree especially if they were forced off Mandalore itself at some point.

[Karmack]

Ha indeeed, but at least some droids would odd less vulnerable bodies against the ravenous hordes, act as a metal shield for a time.

I think it's a revenge thing kind of, last time hit squad was there they got hi pretty bad, and lost one member Jorsk who was Berra's love interest and a relation to Alvi, probably taking it out on the mindless hordes a bit. 

I suspect the no helmet thing (contradicted by Jango in E2 as well!) is more likely a cultural change thing, like post the Empires purges the survivors revert to more secretive cultural behaviors from their crusading past, plus to keep their identities secret, and Mando culture given its long history is unlikely to be a monolith, their could be many different cultural types of Mando branching off from the main tree especially if they were forced off Mandalore itself at some point.

That could be.   It makes sense there would be different sects with different specific beliefs.

[TheDutchman]

LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.

Heh, actually the Hit Squad heavy weapons Mandos were inspired by the Mark IVs 

I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL

My cousin and I had a "Mandalorian" binge session last year and I thought "I should include this!"

I think that LSG's reasons for the whole Mando-no-remove-helmet thing is apropos for post-Empire (and TBH, is sound, valid, and brilliant IMO).  I decided to include it as a way to show Lhyli's feelings towards Rak.  FYI: good catch Karm; she is indeed in love with Rak BUT knows (and more importantly ACCEPTS) that he's happily married to Dala.  SO, she adopts him (and Dala...and Heddit by extension) into her Mandalorian Family. 

And that's a BIG point for Mando culture: FAMILY is much, MUCH more than just blood.  I really, REALLY have to hand it to TDC: without his established Hit Squad, I would have missed out on this incredible culture!

[TheDutchman]

Again, sorry about the submission slippage and thanks to everyone following my writing.  This chapter is dedicated to you all  
******************************************************************************************************

Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part I

"She has him now, I think..." Edda's voice croaked.  Her tone was completely at odds with the look of excited anticipation upon her face, the Hapan's green eyes flashing as her smile widened.

"Not yet... C'mon Dad!" Jorya winked, shouting her last through cupped hands.

Within the Archive salle, two figures circled one another, their lightsabers motionless one moment only to explode into violence the next.  They both had doffed their outer tunics, inner sleeveless shirts emphasizing their difference in appearance: one was slender yet toned, taut muscles trained to operate at peak performance, reminiscent of a deadly viper whose lightning-quick strike would fell a bantha; the other was wide and massive with thick arms and neck, broad, heavy shoulders and barrel-chest evoking every onlooker of a mountain: implacable and enduring.  And while the larger of the two was slightly taller by perhaps 4-5 centimeters, they both seemed to loom large within the salle's ring.

In a flurry of action, green blade met blue, the two opponents testing, probing each other's defense, always on the move.  Whenever it seemed like one of the blades would penetrate, the other would parry, offering a riposte that prolonged the match that much longer.

All to the delight of those who'd gathered to watch the spectacle before them: two master swordsmen showing their prowess.

As Jorya looked on, she noticed that the crowd of remaining Templar Jedi and Mandalorian spectators had grown since the dueling had began.  She was shocked to find that Master Crescentfall was amongst the onlookers; not Rakham but rather his brother Heditt.  Even surrounded as he was, he seemed to be...alone, a solitary face separate from those around him.

For a moment, his blue eyes met hers, a strange feeling filling Jorya as if he could see into her mind... Blinking, she looked on, only to notice that he now had a small smile upon his face, giving her what seemed like a conspiratorial wink before silently making his way towards the exit.  Jorya couldn't help but feel a sense of...not loss, exactly but a certain kind of sadness from Master Heditt Crescentfall whenever she saw him, especially when he was around his taller brother.  She wondered why...

"See!  I told you she'd have him in less than a dozen moves!" Edda's gritty voice exclaimed.

Castigating herself for missing the round's finale, Jorya turned her attention back to the ring.  Edda was right.  Within the salle her father had succumbed to Mistress Tarun's green blade, even now the Miraluka easily resting the training weapon lightly on the back of Zearic's neck.  Cheers erupted from the spectators as both Jedi broke out in smiles, Zearic clasping her hand in respect.

"Point, Mistress Tarun!" Came the referee's call, a short, stocky Mandalorian who'd entered the ring.  "Back to your corners for the match point!"

In mock disappointment, Jorya scowled.  "Give me a chance to get my money back.  Double-or-nothing!"  She held out her hand to Edda.  

Her smile becoming a wide grin, Edda clasped her friend's hand immediately.  "Done.  How many?"

Jorya looked on at her adoptive father, pretending to consider.  "Over twenty."  Taking a few practice swings, Father kept his arms limber, his thick legs adopting a light, ready stance.  Meanwhile, Mistress Barun flowed back into one of her variant Niman katas.

It was incredible: both combatants were experts though the Miraluka definitely had the edge.  There was a very good reason as to why she was the Templar's blademaster.  And while Zearic had yet to win one match against her, he'd come close three times, lasting more rounds against her than most of Berra's opponents usually did.

And so, the betting: how many exchanges before Mistress Tarun won.

As the Mandalorian referee looked from Berra to Zearic, both combatants nodding their assent, he raised a hand.  The salle fell silent only to suddenly explode into action and frenzied cacophony as the referee's hand fell.  This time Jorya could tell that Father was fighting more carefully, that instead of following up on a few ripostes, he fell back into a careful defense without pattern.  However, there were still several times when he went on the offensive, at times seeming on the verge of overwhelming Mistress Barun's own defenses...only to have to work hard against the Miraluka's sudden counterattack.  No, Jorya told herself, Mistress Barun wasn't like the viper she'd previously compared her to; she was much, much more dangerous.

Still, Zearic held his own, Berra unable to follow up upon her own offensive as she continued to speed around the wide man.  Hearing a gasp from beside her, Jorya glanced at her friend.  Edda's face held a look of wonder on it, her amazement apparent for anyone to see.

Jorya could relate: even now--despite having trained with Father for years--she was amazed that a man his size could move so quickly (although since his..."revitalization" he seemed to be even faster).  Jorya's keen eyes had witnessed what had caused Edda's surprise: Mistress Tarun had pressed Zearic hard, finally cornering him without any discernible defense against the Templar blademaster's superior saberwork.

Yet, somehow he'd been able to intercept a strike that should've hit, not only parrying but actually following with his own savage offensive.  

"Amazing..." Edda whispered.  Jorya nodded absently, simultaneously both impressed and concerned.  He'd never been this fast, this strong, this...powerful.  It had been her time with him on Tarsis that finally confirmed what she'd already suspected: he was now almost as strong in the Force as Mother where before he'd have been lucky to match half her strength, his saberskills even more potent than before.  Mentally Jorya shook her head; more questions unanswered.

A roar went through the crowd as Zearic pressed Berra, the tight orbits of his blue blade seeming everywhere at once, the Miraluka's green blade barely able to deflect it.  It looked as if the big man might actually win the roun--

Suddenly, Berra's retreat halted, her true intentions made manifest as she slid effortlessly from the corner that Zearic had almost boxed her into, his assault stalling as he found himself now on the defensive, furiously working his lightsaber as Berra closed the lid on her own trap.  If the crowd had been loud before, they were now deafening.  Zearic was able to parry twice more before Berra's saber slipped under his blade, the tell-tale crackling of the lightsaber signifying that her attack had hit home under his sternum.

"Match, Mistress Tarun!" The referee's proclamation was completely drowned out by the collective shouting of the spectators.  Turning towards each other, both combatants bowed respectfully to each other.

Then, with all semblance of ceremony dispensed with, Zearic's face twisted with a self-deprecating smile and, approaching Berra, wrapped her up in a bearhug, whatever he'd said to the Miraluka lost amongst the cheering even to Jorya's superior hearing.

"Exactly twenty, Jorya." Edda's wry grin was reflected in her eyes.  "Double to me!" She winked.

Jorya shook her head.  "So close...here.  He'll get her next time..." Jorya sighed, her good-natured tone unmistakable as she pressed the chit into her friend's hand.  "...And I'll get my money back as well."

Both young women glanced at one another, breaking out in laughter after a moment.  Taking each other arm-in-arm, they walked towards the salle ring, the spectators beginning to disperse.  Despite the match having ended, Jorya noticed that almost none of the crowd had thinned, many of them waiting to speak to either Mistress Tarun, Father, or both.

While the two young women walked towards the salle ring, Jorya thought about how the time on Tarsis had given her a unique perspective of Father: it had given her a kind of barometer by which to compare his abilities to what she'd seen and experienced from before.  Granted, it wasn't exact but she now had a very good feel about it.  Jorya had planned to speak to Mistress Tarun, but the Miralukan Blademaster seemed to be always busy.  She made a mental note that she would have to speak with Mistress Tarun as soon as she had her alone.

As they approached, Edda suddenly disengaged her arm.  "'Scuse me, Jorya; I need to speak to Mistress Tarun." She smiled before moving off towards where the Miraluka was talking to some gathered Hit Squad members, some with and others without their helmets.  Jorya wondered why it was that some of the Mandalorians refused to remove them while others obviously had no compunction against doing so but never got around to asking about it.  She gave a half-smile: still more questions, she thought sardonically.

Coming up to Father, Jorya waited patiently before finally tapping his shoulder, calling his attention from the last Hit Squad member he was deep in conversation with.  Excusing himself, Father nodded after the Mandalorian before directing his complete attention to the Togruta.  "Dear One!  Well, I've always tried my best to teach you and now--thanks to Berra--I think that I've taught you everything that there is to know about losing."

She could tell by his tone that his self-rebuke was feigned for levity's sake.  "Father, you were amazing!  I've never seen you in better form." Jorya smiled, meaning it.

"Sure...right up to the point where Berra beats me." He winked.  ...This is good... Jorya thought, noticing the changes in Father: where before he looked as if he had the weight of a planet dragging down his broad shoulders, he stood taller, the dark circles under his eyes had, if not disappeared, certainly had diminished.  And, most telling, his sense of humor had returned.

He was once again hopeful.

She playfully slapped his shoulder, feeling as if she were hitting duranium.  "Seriously, Father.  I've never seen you faster...better." She emphasized.  "You came close a few times." Jorya noticed.

"Heh, 'close' won't cut it in the Real World.  But that's exactly why I'm lucky enough to be able to train with a blademaster as skilled as Berra; I honestly think that she could give Pranay a lesson or two." Zearic named his Water Warrior master.  "Besides, Master Kål Rhadde tasked me with amalgamating my Water Training together with my Cataphract drilling."

Jorya shook her head in wonder.  Since Father had returned from M'Tzigon, he'd petitioned to transfer from the Water Warriors to the Cataphracts, the Vhal'Dan heavy mobile infantry units.  During Black Rikard's time, the Cataphracts had been the Vhal'Dan's heavily armored specialist division, incorporating personal anti-armor artillery and anti-personnel countermeasures, with nanotech powered armor, all the while brandishing the Vhal'Dan Zweihander: the famous "Beskar Breaker" of legend.  

Jorya was unsurprised at Father's decision; one and all, the Cataphracts were larger humanoids, a prerequisite due to the amount of armaments that they carried...despite the power armor mitigating most of the burden, each Cataphract was required to be able to operate their weapon-systems absent their armor.  And Father was a natural fit for the unit...both figuratively and literally.

Once again, Jorya found herself introspective, although for the better this time: as far as she knew, no one had been both a Water Warrior and a Cataphract.  She wondered if that had played some part in Father's acceptance into the unit...certainly she would not have put it past Master Kål Rhadde to have considered such.  She smirked; even as a teidowan, Jorya had heard of the exploits of the Cataphract Triarch.

Master Gray Alcyorr Kål Rhadde, Triarch and commander of the Vhal'Dan Cataphract Battalion, was a descendant of one of the first Speakers of the Order: the powerful Master Gray Sarll Båz Rhadde.  An enormous Cathar, his size was almost incongruous with his personality: he was soft spoken, cordial, with the patience of saint and the demeanor to match.  Some had been baffled that such a serene and spiritual being would choose to join the Cataphracts.

And join he did, soon again surprising many: Alcyorr not only did well, he excelled, especially with the more brutal tactics that the Cataphracts often employed.  To his credit, he attained the rank of maenowan after only 8 years, a record that was only just recently bested by D'Aylanna herself.  Three years later when Alcyorr became a full Gray Master, he was also awarded the position of Triarch and given command of the Cataphracts...a serendipitous event that did more than put him at the right place at the right time; it helped saved the Order itself.

It was still during the early weeks of the Empire when the Vhal'Dan had learned of Order 66, and the extermination of the Jedi was well underway, the Emperor's enforcer Darth Vader the biggest threat seen in the galaxy since the New Sith Wars.  Somehow, Vader had found the Vhal'Dan on Kewda, their former home planet.  While hundreds unfortunately were killed, it was Alcyorr's decisive action and bravery that had kept the Sith Lord from completely annihilating the Order.

Meeting Vader in personal combat, the Cathar had held his own...at least for a time.  But Vader was too powerful, his personal army, the 501st, too numerous.  Still, Alcyorr refused to surrender, even after Vader had taken his lightsaber from him, along with most of his left arm and both of his legs below the knees.  Vader would have killed the Cathar...

...Except for the intervention of a full Cataphract Troika.  Without any thought of themselves, they attacked Vader and his 501st, once again the last line of defense against the Sith onslaught.  All 27 members of the Troika died...but thanks to their sacrifice, not only did many of the Order escape but the unconscious Cathar Triarch had been saved, med-evac'd by a Vhal'Dan LAAT/i gunship commanded by none other than the future Arbiter, Listian Damarcus.

So thanks to Alcyorr and the Troika, most of the Vhal'Dan survived, an Order in exile until they'd finally found Zonama Sekot.

Refusing accolades and awards, Alcyorr once again surprised many when he asked to return to his place as Triarch of the Cataphracts, content with his position as 6th Speaker.  He even rejected all ideas to run for Kage!

Alcyorr had proven his bravery, but it was his temperate nature that had further helped keep the Order alive while they searched for a new home planet.  After an exhaustive search, Alcyorr and his Cataphracts were at least partially responsible for helping find the new Vhal'Dan home.  And so: after a year hopping from planet to planet, Zonama Sekot finally welcomed what remained of the Order.

So if the Cathar Master had assigned Father to continue his Water Warrior training in addition to his Cataphract duties, Jorya knew that it was all to a purpose.  Which reminded her, "Father, when will you receive your Beskar Breaker?"

Zearic adopted a pensive look.  "As soon as we have your Mother back."  He looked as if he were going to say more but remained silent.  Jorya felt the shift, both in Father's demeanor as well as in the Force.  Yes, he was feeling hopeful...but he was still as worried as ever that they could truly wake Mother.

Thankfully, they were not alone in searching for an answer.

The Archives held a veritable wealth of information, secrets that many in the galaxy were completely unaware of, all of it congregated in one place for both study and protection.  All of it overseen by one of the most powerful Jedi of his time.

As the noise of the Templar salle fell ever distant behind them, Jorya felt as if the silence of the Archives was heavy with anticipation, the visceral atmosphere felt most keenly by herself, her Father, and one other...

Templar Grand Master Rakham Crescentfall.

           <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part II

Rubbing his hands across his face in frustration, Rakham stretched his neck from side to side as he stood up from the holodisplay.  A bottle of avignol was within reach, half its contents already gone.  He'd been at it for nearly three weeks and he still had not found the exact mechanism that would help D'Aylanna.  He'd consulted everything pertinent to the Mind Traps, from the Rakatan Empire to archaic Force relics to even Sith Alchemy Recipes...

He was running out of options.

He stopped as soon as he noticed his pacing, taking a calming breath.  No, Rak reminded himself, he knew that wasn't precisely true; there was one resource that he was almost certain would contain the information that he was looking for...

His eyes were drawn across the room to a wide, worn desk that held a small collection of artifacts, both mundane and gross: a jar containing the brain of some creature, the conical organ looking faded, shrunken, and sodden, a cobalt blue, three-digit saurian claw that was somehow perfectly preserved, a collection of books with esoteric titles such as "Fact&Myth-Xenoarchaeology: From Infinity Gates to Star Chambers," "The Yinchorri Within World," and "Capugio&Hansho, Síne&Sínã: the Seigniory Dischord."

Rakham ignored all of it, having eyes only for the lone object on the opposite side of the long table: a biomechanical, crystal-lattice dodecahedron.

Kadmaur's Holocron.

Or at least one of them.  Rak had found it among the Archive's most protected artifacts.  Immediately, he had prohibited anyone from getting near it, much less using it.

Until now.

...I promised... He thought, guilt stabbing through his trepidation. 

He was especially worried that the holocron would be exactly like the invasively cunning Mind Trap that Kadmaur had clandestinely placed upon his memory.  He'd barely survived before, the implications of what would have happened to him even now turning his stomach in knots, his sanity the cost of failure.

...I promised...

"Dammit..." He whispered.  Rak was suddenly reminded of one of the many times that Heditt had castigated him over some stupid act...only he didn't need his brother to tell him that what he intended to do now was probably a very bad idea...

...I promised...

With that, Rakham knew that he'd already made up his mind.  "Well, no time like the present..." Grabbing the bottle, he took a several gulping swallows before setting the avignol down and picking up the holocron.  With his throat burning, Rak focused on the device, unlocking the mechanism with the Force to gain access.  Steeling himself, Rakham prepared to confront whatever terror would be belched forth from hell...

Without any fanfare, a genial voice greeted him, a holographic likeness of his old master projected behind him.  Rakham started and not just as a result of the unexpected pleasantness, but rather upon seeing the full size projection of Kadmaur: it looked nothing like the white-haired, worldly master of his memory; instead, Kadmaur looked...not exactly "young" but younger, his hair and beard dark, less lines upon his face, and--most importantly--a benevolent cast to his face.

"Welcome, Jedi.  How might I serve?"

Rakham blinked.  Whatever he'd expected, well...this wasn't it.  "I...I need information." He found himself blurting out.  Mentally berating himself, Rakham regained his composure.  "I need everything pertinent concerning Rakatan Mind Traps and how to free someone held within."

The holoprojection paused, as if a line of code was running in a loop.  Suddenly, it blinked out, the holocron's light extinguished.

"Shavit..." The curse was still on Rakham's lips when a whirling noise came from the holocron, like metal scraping against glass.  Staring intently at it, Rakham could swear that it was moving, changing.  But much like a Möbius Strip, the planes and edges of the device didn't seem to align anymor--

"So...you've finally realized the truth."  If Rakham was startled before, what he saw now terrified him: the holoprojection was no longer that of a young(ish) Kadmaur, rather it was as Rak remembered of the venerable human right before he died...

Stark hair fell down to uncharacteristically square shoulders (for one so old), the projection of an ancient man who defied Time, still powerfully built yet unable to shake the ravages of centuries...at least in certain instances: his hair was completely white, his skin showing a few mottled spots, steel-gray eyes seeming rheumy one moment, clear and lucid the next.  But the worst of it was the look upon the ancient Master's face: one that had seen the passage of millennia, witnessing countless births and deaths, and bearing witness to eldritch secrets of the galaxy.

In short: Rakham's greatest nightmare.

"I have." His voice betrayed none of the fear that he felt running down his spine.

As with all holocrons, the projection of faux-Kadmaur was more than a mere recording; indeed it was a Force Manifestation that could actually interact with those that used it.  Rakham thought back to Tarsis and the Mindform Illusion that he'd eventually broken out of; more importantly, the "sliver" of Kadmaur that had...infected him (there was no better word for it in Rakham's opinion; he certainly felt sickened by the fact) courtesy of his former Master's Qâzoi Kyantuska.  And in many ways, the holocron's projection was very much like that sliver: an interactive avatar that possessed at least part of Kadmaur's personality and ego.

"Well done; you were always my most prized apprentice." Faux-Kadmaur nodded, unfeigned pride radiating from him/it.

Ignoring the compliment, Rakham reminded himself of his objective.  "I need all of the information concerning Ra--"

"Rakatan Mind Traps.  Yes, I know." A hint of irritation seemed to dim Faux-Kadmaur, the holoprojection wavering uncertainly for a second.  However, the attenuation solidified almost immediately, an almost-smile once again affixed upon the old master's face.  "Of course.  As you know, I have pursued extensive experimentation utilizing just those artifacts."  Without moving, the holoprojection seemed as if it were growing bigger, looming larger with every word.

Rakham did not so much as blink, crossing his arms defiantly as he stared placidly at Faux-Kadmaur's face.  "Give me the information.  Now."

Faux-Kadmaur never lost his/its almost smile but it seemed to pause once again.  "Of course.  I only require a single answer from you and I shall divulge all of the secrets stored within my datanode."  Faux-Kadmaur's eyes gleamed.  "And you must answer truthfully."

Rakham's mind swam, wondering just what Kadmaur was...had been...up to...

...I promised...

"I accept."  Rakham's tone was full of conviction.  "Ask your kriffing question and quit wasting my frelling time."

This time when the holoprojection did move towards the Templar Grand Master, Rakham could sense the change: within the room, the air, even within the Force.  Faux-Kadmaur's face became more shadowed, his teeth sharper, eyes dangerous, his entire visage more...daemonic. 

The effects on Rakham were immediate.  Adrenaline born upon distress coursed through his veins yet his face remained impassive.  Both of his new leg prostheses suddenly produced dual phantom pains from his lost limbs.  Expending Herculean effort not to sway, sweat began to bead Rakham's brow. 

If Kadmaur hadn't been able to best him in Real Life, then this ersatz hologram had nothing at all on him.  Still, it was quite the trick--if a trick it was--Rakham had to admit.  But he was made of sterner stuff than even Vader had expected.

Faux-Kadmaur spoke, his/its voice slightly hollow.  "In order to save the one imprisoned within the Mind Trap, would you be willing to take their place?"  The holoprojection smiled.  "That is what my experimentation discovered: the only way to release a prisoner was to become one yourself."

Even though Rak's face betrayed nothing of the emotions that inundated him, he felt absolutely poleaxed.  Surely there must be options...

His mind raced frantically, the faces of all of his family a deluge that he foundered in, his love, his responsibility to them foremost within his thoughts.  He couldn't do that to Dala...nor Heditt...not to mention his fellow Templars.  Zearic couldn't possibly expect him to--

...I promised...

Everything else suddenly fell by the wayside.  Rakham was many things, but he'd never reneged on his word.  There was never any doubt; Rakham had given a promise and that was that.

Besides, he knew that D'Aylanna would do exactly the same had the situation been reversed.

"Yes." He said, only a mere second having passed.

The change was subtle; Rakham doubted that he would've caught it had he not been staring straight at Faux-Kadmaur.  The shadows seemed to retreat, the teeth resuming their normal shape, his old Master's face suddenly more...not exactly benign but--less antagonistic(?)--no longer diabolical.  "I believe you would..."  Even the holoprojection sounded amazed.

And impressed.

"...But such a sacrifice is no longer necessary." Faux-Kadmaur's almost smile widened.

"What?  You krif--" Rakham gave a sharp shake of his head, regaining his normally unflappable composure.  "Explain."

The holoprojection's eyes never once lost their gleam.  "I was able to construct a back-door exploit, one that the Rakata would've never considered given their more...base natures."  He almost laughed.  "For galactic would-be conquerors, the 'Infinite Empire' certainly was blind to the existential condition of life." Faux-Kadmaur scoffed.

"I'm sure it's fascinating." Rak did not so much as both to hide his mocking tone.  "The back-door exploit?"

Again, Faux-Kadmaur seemed to pause as if suddenly affronted.  However, a second later he continued as if the tall Templar Grand Master hadn't spoken at all.  "The solution was simple: blunt the metaphysical barbs--they are impossible to completely remove--and create a new means of egress...in this case: communal entanglement.  Utilizing such, the prisoner can be extracted."

Rakham felt a chill run down his spine.  Could Kadmaur really have succeeded in such?  Could it truly be that simple?  Everything about it seemed to run counter to everything that his former Master represented...but then again, Kadmaur had always been a proponent of Occam's Razor, constantly reminding Rakham that the simplest answer was usually correct.  "Tell me everything about your findings, starting with 'communal entanglement.'"

While Faux-Kadmaur related his former Master's discoveries, his procedures, and the attendant hazards, Rakham knew that the danger that he'd felt on Tarsis had now traveled with him and into the very Templar Archive itself.

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[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part III

Having returned to the rooms that he shared with his wife, Zearic first checked that the droid nurse was performing its hourly duties: massaging, moving, contracting muscles to ensure that atrophy was minimal, giving the unconscious D'Aylanna a bath as well as changing her clothes.  Even as the droid worked, the big man ignored it, instead staring at his wife's beautiful face, her brown skin somewhat sallow, her eyes sunken, her blue lips pallid.

"I love you, Ereneda." He whispered, his heart aching.  Ereneda...the term of endearment that he always used for D'Aylanna.  It was Hapan, and while Zearic could speak the language, he wasn't necessarily fluent.  Still, this word he knew, was intimately knowledgeable of: it meant "She who has no equal."  Gently, he grasped her limp hand, trying hard to keep the spark of hope within him alive.

Satisfied that everything was as good as it could be given the circumstances, he disrobed, taking a long, refreshing sonic shower.  Thoughts spun within his head, a turmoil of emotions and anxiety, mixing together in a heterogeneous chaos much like water and oil.  And as worried as he was, even he now admitted that there was a ray of hope where before there'd been none.

Finished with his shower, he slowly exited, acutely aware of the aches that he'd received from Berra during their sparring matches.  Unconsciously, his fingers began tracing the many scars that crisscrossed his broad chest, the hair more peppered with white than he recalled.  And yet, he did not feel old...in fact, he felt better than he'd had in a long time, much as he did when he was younger and in his prime.  Still...those scars... He knew that if he could see them, that those scars that he had on his chest would be even more pronounced upon his back.  Yet, it was not his scars that worried him now.

Zearic found himself staring at his own reflection, no longer lost within his own thoughts.  Staring into his own eyes, a new set of concerns arose: what would D'Aylanna think of his new limbs, his newfound strength...as well as his unwilling servitude to the Black Armors.  Oh sure, his body was whole again--a new hand, new legs, new eye, stronger connection to the Force--but at what cost? 

What...what if his genetic imperative wasn't limited to involuntary acquiescence...but something worse, more sinister?  Would his wife and daughter ever be truly safe around him?  How could he protect them from danger when he himself could be the most dangerous of all?  If those Black Armors directed him to use his Oblivion daggers to slit their throats, would he even be able to resist?  Or would he blindly comply, the knowledge of what he was doing made worse by the fact that no power in this galaxy would be able to stop him once given the command?!

Suddenly he found himself looking at a shattered mirror, cracks spiderwebbing from an impact crater about the size of...

Blinking, he looked down, his meaty right hand balled into a large fist.  Blood poured from multiple cuts, the lacerations jagged and profuse.  "...Shavit..." Zearic's whispered curse slipped from between his lips.

With a blank face, the large Silver Knight began pulling pieces of the ancient glass from his hand, making no sound as he withdrew several large slivers.  Searching around the room, he found a first-aid kit, including both high-tech tools as well as archaic implements.  Using a pair of small pincers, he finished extracting the glass shards, applying several strips of poly-bacta to speed healing.

But the same fears continued to haunt him, even as he dressed the wounds by rote, finally disposing of the bloody bandages that he'd used to clean his hand.

He was about to pull on one of his outer tunics when the door chimed.  He was expecting Jorya or Berra but was mistaken on both accounts.

Standing in the doorway, his head brushing the very top of the jamb, was an excited--and agitated--Rakham Crescentfall.  "Rak?  What's going on?"

Striding through without being invited, Rakham paced towards the apartment's sizable atrium.  Spying one of the large cabinets within, he keyed a door open, pulling out a bottle as well as two crystal tumblers.  Pouring two very generous drinks, he handed one to Zearic before drinking down the entire glass's contents in one swallow.  Quickly, he poured himself another.

Zearic was about to ask for elucidation but Rakham beat him to the punch.  "I know what to do."

The avignol forgotten in his bandaged hand, Zearic felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders...only to be replaced by a different one almost immediately afterwards.  "Great news but why do I get the feeling that it's much, much more complicated?"

Rakham paused, his drink halfway to his mouth.  "Because you're right."  He drained another glassful of avignol, pouring yet another, this time the dark liquid almost touching the rim of the glass.  "There is a way to get D'Aylanna the hell out of that thing.  And it involves you; actually, you and Jorya."

Zearic froze.  "How so?"

Rakham swallowed the contents of his glass, staring deeply into Zearic's eyes.  "We need to use the connection between you, Jorya, and D'Aylanna."

At first Zearic couldn't believe their luck but then remembered the look on Rakham's face.  "...And?"

Rakham looked down at the bottle, half considering emptying the entire bottle.  "...And there's a possibility that you'd be lost."

Zearic scowled.  "Meaning what, exactly?"

Rakham stopped pacing, setting the bottle down.  When next he spoke, his voice was hard.  "Meaning that, unless I follow the exact process that we could lose more than D'Aylanna."  He forced his teeth to unclench.  "Meaning, all of us would be trapped within.  Forever."

For a moment, Zearic did not speak.  Calmly, he set down the tumbler and, grabbing Rak by his shoulders, stood face-to-face, or at least as close as their relative height disparity would allow.  Some other time in some other place, it would look almost comical: a much wider man, grasping a much taller man in a parody of an Outer Rim circus carnival where different looking glasses would distort the height and width of the viewer.  However, there was no levity at all to be found here. 

Without hesitation, Zearic answered, the conviction in his tone unmistakable.

"Do it."

[Lord_S_Gray]

Kadmaur...Rackham just cannot shake him can he...I can't help but think Rackham's seeming to drink a whole lot more, half a bottle before the holocron, and straight to the cabinet visiting Zearic - he seems shaken since learning of the 'sliver' and using alcohol to cope.  I wonder if some part of him didn't hope for being locked away in exchange for D'Alyanna despite it all.

And Zearic well...he's one step forward to be sure...but still there is an Oblivion Shadow hanging over him, an itchy uncertainty about what they will do and when, if anything.

Both men are dealing with inscrutable and intractable problems in their own minds and bodies - just as lost as D'Alyanna in their own way, and honestly even getting her back will in no way fix those issues, arguably it will exasperate them. 

Only Jorya seems to be in a relatively good place, she sees hope in her father, a new start with the Cataphracts - but she hasn't seen the other side that has him breaking mirrors without realizing.

Also I shudder to think what Kadmaur was doing with what appears to be a preserved Kwa hand and book on Infinity gates. And those Hansho's just keep appearing lol!  The mechanism of Retrieval though, it seems...sketchy at best - back door exploits are rarely as simple as they seem, the Rakattan certainly had blind spots, but they were no fools and very determined to make those mind traps a permanent punishment - Kadmaur no doubt had the extreme experience to preform such a task if he wanted, Rackham and Zearic...
Anyway some cool little bits of lore on Kadmaurs old desk there!

[TheDutchman]

My apologies (again!) for the schedule slippage with the stories; I'm afraid that Real Life has been particularly busy lately.  Hopefully, this latest chapter will presage easier times with more writing    Regardless, thank you for continuing to read my (and my fellow authors  ) works^^
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Chapter 14: “Aliit ori'shya tal'din” (Family Is More Than Blood), part I

Now...
As Rakham ground his teeth, renewed agony sheered through his entire body, the pain flooding into his mind and soul as the Mind Trap's defenses attacked him.  He must hold on!

But even as he repeated his convictions, the energies surrounding him, touching him--tearing through him--almost made his knees buckle.  He felt as if his teeth would shatter, ground to dust from the growing pressure from his jaw.  His muscles were taut in his body, but for his skin, looking like an anatomy chart where every sinew seemed to be visible.

But the real pain was what Rakham experienced in the Force.  If his body felt as if he were caught between two live power couplings, his self in the Force felt as if he were standing in the middle of a star.  Closing his eyes by reflex, it did no good: he was still being blinded by the now strobing power inundating him.

...I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself... The thought flared through his mind...or had he spoken aloud?  He just didn't know...even if he'd shouted he couldn't be certain...especially since he didn't think that he could hear anything, his eardrums having probably ruptured.

Trying desperately to hold on, Rakham could only think of one thing, almost as if it were a mantra foretelling his impending demise...

I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself!

          <<<<< >>>>>

Then...
As morning descended on the Templar Archive, most of the inhabitants were already awake, moving about the ancient and labyrinthine stone hallways with determination and purpose.  Of course, there was no single objective that every person worked towards; there was always more work than bodies at the Archives.

However, a small handful were readying themselves, preparing for the unknown adversity that awaited them, all with the hope that they would finally be able to revive D'Aylanna, every single past attempt having failed.

In the heart of the Archive, in a vast room that virtually no one frequented save the Templar Grand Master and those that Rakham himself invited, four people had already gathered.  The Templar's Blademaster, Berra Tarun, had been the first to arrive, followed by three of the Templar's guests: the Gray Jedi of the Vhal'Dan. 

Zearic's broad frame dwarfed the limp, diminutive body of his wife as he carried her tenderly in his thick arms, followed by their tall, lithe adopted Togrutan daughter, Jorya. 

Gently, the large Silver Knight placed D'Aylanna's unmoving body on the mechanical table in the middle of the room, the sleek modern technology of the furniture and implements at odds with the ancient stone walls of the Archives.  As with all Miraluka, Berra had no eyes but she could "see" with her strong connection in the Force.  "Looking" at Jorya, Berra noticed that the normally buoyant young woman was rather austere this morning, while her father... If Berra had had eyes, she would've blinked.  She could feel hope beaming brightly from him, a subdued current of worry vibrating underneath.  Again, Zearic's aura radiated a...an almost primal intensity, his connection to the Force so very similar to her own...and yet very, very different. 

Incredibly, she found that it was actually familiar for her.

That was one of the reasons for Berra's comfortable friendship with the big human: she felt a kinship with Zearic much as she would her own kouniádos, the closest analogue being "step-brother."  Berra gave him a reassuring smile which he returned, if tightly.  Jorya wordlessly stood next to him, leaning against Zearic as they drew strength from each other.  None of them spoke as they waited.

Which as it turned out, wasn't very long at all.

As a large, heavy durasteel door slid open, Rakham stepped out from the adjacent room which served as his own private sanctum.  In his hands he carefully carried the Mind Trap.  Striding on long legs, the Templar Grand Master walked over to the table where D'Aylanna lay, placing the Mind Trap on one of the stout tables flanking the area in front of Jorya.  Before the door shut swiftly, the Togruta thought she caught movement from within from the corner of her eye, but she couldn't be certain... Giving her head a mental shake, she focused her entire attention on the Templar Grand Master.

Jorya wasn't the only one; as Berra "stared" towards Rakham, she could feel the indomitable will radiating from the tall man.  She knew that he would need every ounce of strength given what he intended...

"As I told you before, I discovered the secrets of the Mind Trap, or at least this one." He said without preamble.  From Berra to Jorya to Zearic, he held each of their faces in his gaze, burning them into his mind.  "Furthermore, as with much of Rakatan technology, the Mind Trap has an intelligence of its own.  Coupled with the fact that there are multiple layers of security, what we're attempting to do is at least as dangerous as what we encountered on Taris."  Rakham inhaled, the tightness around his eyes lessening.  Somewhat.  "However, now that we know what 'key' to use, I believe that we can finally save D'Aylanna."

He looked at the small Hapan woman lying upon the medtable, a slight pallor to her normally dark skin marring her otherwise exotically beautiful face.  One similar yet so different from the remarkable teenager that he'd helped save decades before, now a remarkable woman and powerful Jedi in her own right.  He smiled wistfully; she was like a younger sister to him, a detail that was ironically more import than he would have ever thought.

In fact, it was for that reason that the others were here: they were D'Aylanna's family.  Husband, daughter, and near-sister... He saw how much they all felt for her and knew what she felt for them.  All of them were family, if not by blood than most certainly by bond.

And that was the secret.

"Communal entanglement" Kadmaur had called it.  How perfectly...clinical of him.  For everyone else, a simpler if much, much more complicated aspect that most--an incredible majority it seemed--sentients across the galaxy shared.

Love.

Rakham's smile deepened, thinking of what Kadmaur...well, Faux-Kadmaur...had told him.  It also gave the Templar Grand Master his own insight: for galactic would-be conquerors, the Rakatan Empire was absolutely blind to one of the most intangible yet powerful forces in the universe.

Love.

It was their key as well as D'Aylanna's hope and salvation.  And he had told them as much, reminding them all now.

"Remember always how you feel towards this woman.  How she is a wonderful wife, an amazing mother, a loyal sister, a friend without compare.  Remember that, keeping those feelings strongly in your heart.  They will be the beckon call as well as the anchor that D'Aylanna needs in order to survive the tempest that extracting her will cause."  His face became hard.  "Whatever you do, do not let those feelings go, do not allow doubt to cloud your mind.  We won't just lose D'Aylanna; we will all be ensnared by the Mind Trap.  Forever."

For such a lofty statement, Rak's quiet voice was absolutely calm.  Again he stared at them all, weighing the effect that his words had had.  And knew of each person's convictions.  The all gathered around each other, renewed confidence filling him as Zearic's heavy hand grabbed his shoulder, Jorya took his own hand in hers, and Berra laid her fingers on his forearm.  They said nothing; they didn't need to.

They were ready.

One and all they held the Force, weaving it around first themselves and then each other.  Embraced as they were, they could feel each other's emotions, the hope, the anticipation, the tightly controlled concern.  But of doubt?  There was none.

Just as he'd researched, Rakham Delved into the Mind Trap, ready and cautious.

Almost immediately, the defenses of the device reacted.  Multiple attacks affronted them, trying first to break their solidarity and then each one of them individually.  Each assault was different by both the means as well as how it affected each person.

For Rakham, he saw Vader striding over towards him, his amputated legs still twitching from the Sith Lord's lightsaber cuts, his own weapon out of reach and somehow unresponsive to his Force Pull.

For Berra, she was back in the complete darkness that she'd been trapped in on Taris, futilely shouting Jorsk's name as she blindly ran nowhere, her voice echoing in the emptiness.

For Jorya, she was back in the prisoner cell at Kuat, Gaetana's vicious rictus grin spreading across her merciless face as she slowly excised her lekku, beginning torture that would last for days.

For Zearic, he was back in the mines on fourth planet of System DC_10004568, the doors of the elevator opening to disgorge terrors from the nightmares the Tenebris Pugione had inflicted upon him before he'd learn to master the blade.

One and all, each of them was faced with their own personal horror intent upon distracting them from their true purpose.  And one and all they weathered their nightmares, coming out the other side shaken but undeterred.

However, the Mind Trap was nothing if not adaptive and--just as Rakham had warned--it possessed its own artificial intelligence.  Attacks deluged them on a metaphysical plane, each one threatening to shear the Jedis' minds from their bodies.  It was as tedious as it was frightening, as oppressive as it was dangerous.

Still, they held together, their solidarity an armor that the Mind Trap's Rakatan masters had not thought of, much less plan for.  Which was not to say that the device did not try as hard as it could to destroy the interlopers, but its difficulty in understanding what it faced was beyond its programming.

Love.

Still the Mind Trap attacked.  When one failed, a new assault would immediately begin.

From Rakham to Berra, Jorya to Zearic, each Gray felt the passage of time as if seconds were centuries, the distance as if microns were kilometers.  That was one of the Trap's defenses: it was seemingly infinitely broad as well as infinitesimally small.  One could get lost looking for a single "room" among myriads or could lose themselves in a lone expansion where distances held no meaning.
 But where so many others had failed, they would succeed.

They had the key.

With everyone focused upon D'Aylanna, they felt the rush of infinity speed them towards...something, even as there was no sense of space/time whatsoever.  Yet, they could sense that they were growing ever closer to their target, their goal.

Their family.

With a deafening suddenness, the attacks stopped, the gale-force storm disappearing altogether, the cacophonous screaming eerily silent.  And there, there in the very middle of the calm, seemingly meditating was D'Aylanna.  Not that she had eyes here--in the Mind Trap, nothing was tactilely tangible--but if she did, she would've opened them, smiling broadly...or would if she had a mouth.  Crying tears of pure emotion, love mixed with relief with hope with trepidation, she "joined" them as they reached for her, enveloping her within their own Force cocoon, protection from the Mind Trap.

Only the pure love of family could accomplish such; any other means would result in pain.  Centuries before when she'd been trapped, Saani's own extraction had left her in debilitating agony as a result of Kadmaur's and Lor-Riou's imperfect removal...a mistake that Rak knew that he would not now duplicate.

For a moment--an eternity--they all held each other as tightly as their incorporeal forms could.  Still, knowing that time was of the essence, Rakham "reminded" them that they needed to leave.  Now.

Yet, finding D'Aylanna had been only half of what they needed to accomplish.  Now, they all had to escape.

For as difficult as the Mind Trap was to Delve, it was doubly worse trying to extricate themselves from the device.  As soon as they'd "turned" to "leave," the attacks renewed, their severity increased by an order of magnitude.  And still it got worse.

As Rakham gritted his teeth, renewed agony sheered through his entire body, the pain flooding into his mind and soul as the Mind Trap's defenses attacked him.  He must hold on!

Past finally caught up to present, the destructive energies of the Mind Trap shearing through all of them, Rakham's pain echoing his conviction: I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself!

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Surrounded by his family, Rakham drew strength from Berra, from D'Aylanna, from Jorya, from Zearic.  And, their secret weapon, the one variable that he'd known he would need in order to overcome the Mind Trap's AI: his wife, Dala.  If D'Aylanna had been their anchor within the Mind Trap, Dala was their anchor without.

And their means to escape.

Stepping from the inner sanctum that Rakham had initially come from, Dala hurried over to the gathered Jedi, focusing her own Force powers according to her husband's plans in order to dupe the Mind Trap's defenses.

The suddenness of Dala's inclusion to their Force Meld completely disrupted the Mind Trap's algorithm, the AI unable to process the addition of an unknown while its full energies were preoccupied with preventing the five others leaving.  Like a computer worm program of old, Dala's unexpected attack caused the Mind Trap's AI to glitch, opening a sudden avenue of egress.

One that would close swiftly if they weren't quick enough.

With speed of thought powered by the strength of love and conviction, the six Jedi broke free of the Mind Trap, each one returning violently to their bodies with mind-shattering suddenness.  After what they'd all experienced, the silence and calm of the Archive's inner sanctum was jarring.  Yet, standing there on the table where Rakham had placed it was the Mind Trap, unmoving, powerless, and silent.

As each drew deep breathes, they all gathered around the body of the diminutive Hapan still laying motionless on the medcouch, pained concern overwhelming the exhaustion they all felt as they waited for some sign of life in D'Aylanna.

For long moments, she did not stir...

Only for her dark eyes to slowly peek out from underneath her sunken lids, a grimace slowly spreading across her face as the pain of unaccustomed light and sound inundated her.  Taking a deep breath, her grimace deepened, turning instead into a half-smile, her face still drawn and sallow.  But as her blue lips parted, her whispered breath was heard by them all:

"...thank you...love you all..." She kept repeating, the quiet sound of her voice drowned out by the joyous noise of her family as they all hugged her, most crying, but all relieved.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr--D'Aylanna to her family and friends--had finally been recovered, her Retrieval made possible by those who had never given up (would never give up!) so long as they drew breath.

Completely exhausted, Rakham half-collapsed, half-fell into one of the aircouches adjacent to the medcouch where everyone else had gathered around where D'Aylanna lay.  Smiling tiredly, he whispered again the phrase from Hit Squad that he'd come to appreciate: Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

"Family is more than blood."

[Lord_S_Gray]

A dangerous method indeed but the extended family had the key the trap couldn't comprehend. I suppose it makes sense the trap was likely built originally for beings similar to or perhaps even other rakatta lords, powerful ambitious and almost completely self centred. Again and again in this series it has been the whole unit that has allowed them to succeed, united they stand, divided they would have fallen on Taris
 That is their strength and that is what will help D'alyanna recover...it won't be easy and she has much to catch up on but with her families help she could be in no better hands.

Have to admit i thought from the intro Rakhams call for help would be answered by his Kadmaur mental shard. Doubtless its still in there...and Rakham may very well be the one who needs rescuing if he can't contain it, i fear the exertion of Taris now the mind trap may open up dangerous crack...