| abstract
| - Commander CC-3433 had never been one to pass up golden opportunities that delivered his enemy’s base right into his hands. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. Many of his airmobile assets had either been destroyed by the unexpected baradium missile attack or were responding to those situations. A storm had caused further delays. It wasn’t until after he had already sent them that his techs were able to parse together the fragmented message that the rogue Vulture droid starfighter had sent. Trip wasn’t a betting man, but he would lay good odds that he knew who had launched that fighter. What he wouldn’t bet on was the safety of that individual. So it was only thirty hours after the initial message had been received that he was leaning out the expansive side hatch of an LAAT/i gunship as its engines rumbled through the perpetually overcast sky of Zeru Neimodia. His ship, along with twenty other similar craft, was tucked away inside the thick cloud cover for safety’s sake, hoping to evade hostile eyes inside the cloudbank. Even launching the attack had been risky—this entire stretch of the continent was blanketed by thunderstorms and high winds. The gunship rocked as the winds buffeted it and rain beat against its metal hide. Privately, Trip hoped that the pilots were up to the challenge of flying purely on instruments across rugged mountainous terrain. He had no desire to make a permanent impression on Zeru Neimodia’s landscape. “Coming up on the attack point in one minute,” the pilot told him. Trip was pleased to hear the voice was the brusque voice of a fellow Jango Fett clone. He had always felt more comfortable around other Fett clones—a sort of mutual understanding and trust that came from their shared heritage and training. That alone in his mind improved their odds. “Descending in three, two, one. Accelerate to attack formation.” Trip held on to an overhead grip as the gunships banked and dove out of the cloud cover onto a tall mountain. It seemed innocuous enough from altitude, a craggy peak wreathed in mist, its upper slopes crowned with moss and whatever scrub brush grew on Zeru Neimodia. Its roots were covered by stately groves of zerubis trees. From the air, there was no sign of hostile activity—but Trip knew looks could be deceiving. The gunships shed altitude, swooping into a narrow valley between two of the peaks. Torrents of rain and wind lashed at the ships, but they all made the turn, though some just barely. They passed through another strand of mist, momentarily blinding Trip. When they cleared it, he saw what he had been expecting: a tall blast door nearly six meters high and at least three times that wide, tucked away underneath a rocky overhang. Its front surface had been painted to mimic the natural stone, but this close, there was no mistaking it. Trip didn’t stop to admire it too long, though. Twin laser cannon turrets were swiveling to bracket the gunships that had suddenly swooped out of the downpour. “Lock targets and fire,” he ordered. Missiles leapt from the gunships’ rackets, arcing out on streams of fire to smash into the turrets, destroying them before they could get a shot off. Trip smiled grimly. Good. They caught them by surprise. “Blow the door.” More missiles jumped away from the gunships, pounding into the sturdy door. A second later, the gunships’ laser cannons added to the punishment, sending dozens of energy bolts tearing into the door. It didn’t take long. The door was built to withstand a few hits and keep out the weather, not resist prolonged bombardment. With a shudder, it collapsed and fell backward. The gunships continued laying down fire, sending hot light and missiles into the hangar to suppress the guards that had congregated inside. “Move in and begin landing troops,” Trip said. “Take six ships and form a perimeter—don’t let anyone escape. Take as many prisoners as possible—I want their leader alive.” The lead three gunships charged into the cavernous hangar, their turrets and lasers still paving the way even as they came to a halt inside the mountain. Return fire quickly found them, charring pits and scorches in their plating, but the ships were armored against small arms fire. Their side hatches slid open, disgorging dozens of white-armored soldiers. The defensive fire quickly shifted towards the troopers, but though the first few went down, the rest began adding their own blasters to the gunships’ heavier weaponry. Trip checked his own blaster and hung on as his own craft started forward into the hangar entrance. The first three ships had already unloaded their troops and were backing out, leaving the thirty-odd soldiers they had just unloaded frightfully exposed for a few seconds. Trip winced as several of them were cut down by fire from guards who were firing behind cover. Then the first three gunships were clear, heading out to join the patrol perimeter, and his next wave of ships were starting forward. Trip lurched as the pilot suddenly banked, a move that nearly clipped the gunship against the hangar. Yet he was grateful the pilot had done so; the white contrail of a missile plume visible from the side hatch was the only evidence of a near-hit. A second missile streaked out from the depths of the hangar to hit the gunship on Trip’s right. The warhead was effective, exploding into the cockpit with devastating impact. The stricken gunship plunged downward and slammed into the mountain wall just below the hangar entrance. Trip had time to slam his fist against his thigh plate in frustration. Then the gunship set down and he was jumping free of the ship, laying down blaster fire for the men following him. The cacophony of battle echoed through the hangar as his troops fought for every centimeter of the hangar. The heavier weapons of the gunships screamed and thundered inside the confined space, adding to the staccato chatter of small arms. The location of the rebel base might have been given to him, but it was clear from the fierce resistance that the rebels were going to make him and his troops pay for it in blood. Sighting in, he fired several more times and then dashed for cover on the far side of the hangar. Blaster bolts scorched the floor where had just been. They were in for a fight—but Trip was fine with that. No more mist to hide behind. No more sniping and running. Just a plain old-fashioned storm-the-base operation. He had been seeking such a battle for nearly six months now and Agent Taskien had delivered it to him. Even as he blazed away at the resistance, he breathed a silent thanks to her, wondering if she was even still alive. As it turned out, she was—barely. Her mind barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps. There wasn’t much she could do about it anyway. Suspended by her wrists, battered and hurt more than she ever had been before, she was only faintly conscious. A distant rumble bespoke considerable activity—perhaps the starfighter attack was launching. Painfully, opening one swollen and bruised eye, Agent Taskien saw Arthos standing there, his face a rictus of anger and betrayal. As far as she could remember, he hadn’t been one of her torturers over the last few hours. “So you’re still alive,” he said. She coughed and nodded slightly as he looked her over. “The Empire is attacking the mountain,” he told her. “Your doing.” For the first time in what seemed like eternity, Taskien let the faintest hint of a smile creep across her mouth. “That’s right,” she croaked, the labored sound all she could manage. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do that to us?” Taskien closed her eyes, focusing on just continuing to breathe. “Your resistance is a cancer. Must be destroyed before it can spread and endanger the Empire,” she wheezed. “We’re a cancer?” Arthos raged. “We’re not the ones oppressing people and enslaving entire populations. We just want to be free.” “Freedom is an illusion,” she replied. “And Romierr doesn’t care about your freedom. He’s here for personal gain.” Arthos gave her a stricken look. “You lie,” he said. “He said that you were an Imperial agent. I couldn’t believe it until I saw for myself.” “And what do you see?” she asked him. “I see they were not gentle with you,” he replied. She coughed again. “The first group just used their hands,” she said. “The second group brought needles. The third had stun batons.” He shook his head. “Do not look to me for pity,” he answered harshly. “You lost that when you betrayed us.” She mustered up the strength to glare defiantly at him. “I don’t need your pity,” she said. “All I need you to do is die for your cause.” “Ironic,” he replied. “I’m here to make sure that very thing happens to you.” He produced a blaster from his coat. “I will give you the mercy of a swift death,” he said. “A blaster bolt to the heart.” He raised the blaster and Taskien braced herself for a sudden burning sensation and then nothing, when suddenly the door blew in. The force of the explosion, secured as she was, shook her around like a fish on the line while Arthos was flung to the ground. A pair of white-armored stormtroopers burst in, weapons sweeping the room. One of them kicked away Arthos’s blaster while the other pulled out a vibroblade and cut her down. “Sir, we’ve found her,” the man reported, sawing away at the last of the restraints. Her legs unable to bear her weight, she collapsed onto the floor. “Need a medic!” he called over his comlink, then turned his attention back to her. “Lie still. Help is on the way.” “Not yet,” she replied. “Help me up.” Grasping at his arm, she painfully pulled herself up, leaning heavily on the stormtrooper. The other trooper had subdued Arthos, who was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind his back. He glared furiously at her as she swiveled to face him, scooping up his blaster. “You traitor!” he shouted. “I was never one of you,” she replied, leveling the blaster at him. “I will give you the one mercy you would have given me.” “Do it!” he snarled. “I die free!” “You die for your cause, just like I said,” she retorted. “I should have shot you in the heart when I had the—,” The loud report of a blaster echoed in the small chamber, accompanied by the tang of ozone and burning flesh. Arthos stood frozen for a second and then collapsed forward lifelessly, a smoldering hole between his eyes. “Professionals shoot for the head,” she quipped. Then suddenly, her legs buckled under her and her vision swam. The stormtrooper lowered her to the ground as two more troopers entered the room. One of them pulled off his helmet and knelt over her while the other, a medic, went to work. “You completed your mission, Agent Taskien,” Trip informed her. “The mountain is ours.” “Good,” she whispered faintly as she felt her consciousness slipping away. “Contact my team and report anything you find in the mountain—my superior must be informed.” The medic started to sedate her, but she gripped his arm with surprising strength. “Don’t,” she said. “I need to be conscious for this.” “You’re badly injured,” the medic replied. “You need to be medevac’d for treatment.” “Not until the mountain is secure,” she protested, turning to Trip. “You’ll need me.” Trip took in the determined look on her face, along with a catalog of just her visible injuries, and then shrugged. “We can secure the mountain without you,” he said. “You can debrief later.” He nodded at the medic, who injected her with a powerful anesthetic. “Kriff you!” Taskien snarled, but the sedative was fast-acting and that was all she could manage before she slumped back, rapidly losing consciousness. “Glad to see you too,” Trip remarked dryly. “She may not thank you later if she recovers, sir,” the medic told him. Trip glared at him. “Your job is to make sure that she does recover to not thank me later,” he replied heatedly. Pulling on his helmet, he stormed out of the building and headed back towards the sounds of battle. Recovering Agent Taskien had been a nice bonus, even if she had been decidedly ungrateful, but he had a mountain to take and planet to conquer. And maybe even a rebel leader to capture. Dromund Kaas Ajaur strode through the wetlands, brushing past a strand of moss hanging from a tree. He had spent three days in the wilds of Dromund Kaas, meditating and healing. However, through all of it, the Force had been leading him farther away from the city and even the dark temple. He had followed its lead and it had brought him into a particularly mountainous region. Only faint remnants of civilization were present—even thousands of years ago when Dromund Kaas had been the Sith capital, it was unlikely that this region had been heavily populated. Part of him wanted to abandon the instinct he had been following and return to the hunt. The Jedi was out there and Ajaur was no closer to finding and killing him than he had been a week ago. However, he had trusted the Force’s guidance to bring him this far. Now he stood at the base of a cliff, staring up through the tree branches at its foreboding heights. The Force had led him here—now what? He began stalking along the length of the cliff, searching for the source of whatever had brought him here. The ground was muddy as he walked, but embedded with scree that had been slowly eroded from the cliff face. By chance, his foot kicked a loose rock and it bounced away from the ground and should have hit the cliff wall with a slight ricochet. It didn’t. It disappeared inside the cliff wall. Ajaur froze. He tentatively stretched out a hand into the cliff face and was surprised to find that his gloved fingers passed through, vanishing from sight into what should have been solid rock. He took a step forward and suddenly found himself inside a cave. Looking around, he realized the passage was narrow and cramped, but also completely concealed. He glanced back and saw that from inside the cave, there was no indication that the entrance was hidden. Some kind of illusion? The Force was even stronger here than on most of Dromund Kass, and Ajaur realized that this was where he had been led. Relying on the Force for vision, he advanced down the tunnel. He advanced for perhaps twenty meters before it finally branched out into a large chamber. A crumbling stone shrine dominated the center of the cavern, with a ruined statue of an armored man with a Mandalorian visor standing over a four-pillared altar. The shape was reminiscent of the Jedi Temple, a thought which Ajaur found preposterous on the former Sith capital world. Various ancient relics were littered around the cavern, but it was otherwise barren and empty. Ajaur walked up to the statue, peering around it, but although it had clearly taken skill to carve, there was nothing unusual about it. Glancing around, he was unsure what to make of it. There were ancient characters written on the base of the statue. Ajaur couldn’t make out much of it, but he did catch a single name: Revan. Though he normally had little patience for historical studies, the name of Revan was well-known to him. The man had been alternately a Jedi and a Sith, tyrant and savior—but also one of the most powerful Force-users of his generation. Apparently someone had set up a shrine of Revan a long time ago. Ajaur searched for another minute before he finally found something useful, a small stone tablet covered with inscriptions that he could read. Retrieving a hand-held glow rod, he peered at the words. “I had a vision,” it said. “One day, the spirit of Revan will return and guide those in need. He will help those in danger from the oppression of the Sith, and they will be saved by his guidance.” Ajaur tossed it aside. Useless writing, no doubt the wishful thinking of some ancient acolyte. This place was strong in the Force, but he saw no reason that he should have been led here. He took one last careful look around, but just as he was about to turn and leave, something on the statue caught the corner of his eye. There was a gleam of metal peeking through the cracks at the base of the statue. Ajaur stalked over, kneeling beside it. Hidden in an alcove was a metal cylinder partially blocked by a crumbling stone plug. It was still fixed tightly in place and Ajaur could not budge it. Scowling, he called upon the Force, channeling it into telekinesis. The stone resisted him at first, but he was able to crack it. Brushing the debris aside, he removed the metal object: a lightsaber of ancient design. It was covered in dust, but it was clear to Ajaur that the weapon had excellent craftsmanship, with intricate tracery around its hilt. Of course, it didn’t work, having lain there for however many years. There was some more writing on the inlay. He squinted at the tiny sigils, trying to read them. A warm feeling filled Ajaur as he read the words and gripped the ancient weapon. He wasn’t sure of the significance of those particular words, but the principles they spoke resonated with him. They were strong words, independent and not beholden to anyone. They were words to live by. This was more useful. He glanced back up at the statue of Revan and his eyes widened as he realized that the weapon in his hand was identical in design. Was he holding a lightsaber that had once belonged to Revan, secreted away here as a relic? Or was it a replica made in homage of the renowned Sith? Ajaur didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Either way, the Force had led him to this place, this weapon, and more importantly, these words. He turned them over in his mind. They were antithetical to the Jedi Code he had once learned as a boy—and had long since discarded. They even ran contrary to the strict hierarchy of authority that his Imperial training and subjugation under Vader and Theros had shown him. Ajaur swore under his breath as he reflected that the only way for him to be released from the chains of Vader and Theros was to defeat them. However, that had never happened. He needed the power to do that—and to gain the power, he needed strength, if the words were to be believed. And that required passion. For years, Ajaur had been an unwilling but otherwise subservient individual. He had exerted what authority had been given him as an Inquisitor against his inferiors, but aside from his failed challenge to Theros, he had never chosen to stand up against his masters. He had allowed the Jedi Council to send him to the AgriCorps. He had allowed Theros to torment him repeatedly and toss him out of the temple without ceremony. He had lacked the determination to fully stand against his master. His lack of conviction had led him to this miserable place. “Never again,” he promised himself. If the words on the lightsaber were true, then he needed to kindle the necessary passion and anger to attain the strength he needed. From his training in the dark side, he knew that his anger could fuel him, but even on Susefvi, his malice had been out of obedience, his opponents far outclassed. It was nothing to defeat his inferiors. Ajaur needed to defeat those who had previously dominated him. Placing one knee on the ground, he clenched his two fists as he saw Theros’s face in his mind’s eye. A black rage came over him as he realized how the prophet had seen his lack of conviction and taken advantage of him. The knowledge that Ajaur himself didn’t believe that he could challenge Theros had been a means for Theros to punish him. Concentrating on the dark side, he felt it permeate him, buoyed by his anger. Ajaur had always harbored resentment towards Theros and also Vader, but he had never allowed himself to fully surrender to it, to be consumed with rage. The thought of tapping into such a power source had always seemed futile. Sitting here in the cave holding an ancient weapon that said otherwise, with the dark side flowing through him, Ajaur now knew otherwise. For the first time, he felt his own vision fade as the dark side guided his mind’s eyes into a glimpse of the future. He envisioned Theros lying on the ground as he stood victorious over the fallen prophet. He envisioned the Jedi he hunted staring up at him as Ajaur stood over him with lightsaber in hand, ready to strike the killing blow. The vision faded as suddenly as it had come and Ajaur gasped as the Force flooded through him. There was power in this cave, malevolent dark side power that he could put to use. He thought about Theros again. The prophet still had his gifts of vision that could be useful in hunting down the Jedi, but Theros had made it very clear that he would not willingly give his aid. Ajaur cursed. The fury he sought to inflict on Theros was powerful, but Ajaur also knew that in his wrathful state that Theros would sense his approach and be prepared for his return. An overt challenge that Theros could sense coming played into the prophet’s strengths. What he needed was a way to take Theros by surprise. Though he could not match Theros in raw Force technique, his lightsaber would certainly suffice if he had the mental fortitude to execute his attack. Theros was no warrior—not since his early training days had he attempted to spar with his pupil. Ajaur turned his mind on how he could approach the prophet discreetly. He glanced back at the cave’s entrance, suddenly recalling the illusion that concealed the hidden chamber. Walking over, he studied it. From the inside, it appeared to not even be there, but stepping out, Ajaur saw that entrance was perfectly camouflaged to resemble the surrounding cliff face. Stalking back into the cave, he began searching the cavern for any other tablets or inscriptions that would help him learn such a technique. Searching the cavern, he found that there were more tablets than he had originally noticed. Finally, he found a series of broken shards describing something called the Quey’tek meditation. Trying to piece together the fragments gave Ajaur a headache, but he persisted. The technique didn’t seem to be exactly the same as the illusory power protecting the cave, but it promised to hide his Force signature, and that was enough. Ajaur spent several days learning the technique, practicing his form. It didn’t have to be perfect—just enough mastery to get him close to Theros would suffice. He drank rainwater that he collected in a small container and stretched his meager supply of rations until they ran out. The Force would sustain him until he could return to his ship. Finally, though he was tired and hungry, Ajaur felt he was adept enough in the technique. He had drawn upon the dark side nexus that occurred in the cave and his convictions were stronger than ever. The Inquisitor would challenge Theros and his passion would grant him the strength he needed, strength that would lead to power and thus to victory. And when he had defeated Theros, that set of chains would be broken. Ajaur savored that thought, allowing the anticipation to whet his appetite for the coming confrontation. When the Inquisitor left the cave for the last time, he used the Force to collapse its entrance. He had gleaned the knowledge he needed from this place; there was no point in leaving it for someone else to find and use. The power he had gained here was his alone to wield. He made his way through the marshes of Dromund Kaas back to his ship, where he ate and rested—and recharged his new lightsaber. He had to make a few modifications to the weapon to allow it to charge, replacing the power cell and energy conduit, but they were minor modifications that posed no difficulty. The lightsaber ignited with a satisfying snap-hiss to reveal a meter-long blade of crimson light. Ajaur smiled grimly. Theros was about to experience the revenge he had earned. Scout ship Observant “Preparing for drop out of hyperspace in two minutes, sir,” Warrant Officer Terena Jasnan said smoothly from her position at the helm as the ship’s commander, Lieutenant Almos Terthbak, took his chair facing the forward viewport. “Very well, Warrant Officer,” Terthback replied. As the reversion timer counted down, Jasnan threw the lever and the swirling vortex of hyperspace resolved itself into first starlines, then individual stars. Ahead of them, consuming most of the forward viewport, was a sizable nebula. Its magnificent colors, dominated by tawny, crimson, teals, and viridians, sprawled across the space before them, pockmarked by brilliant orbs of light that were fledgling stars absorbing gas and dust from the nebula. “Impressive,” Jasnan said. “Fleet Command sends us to somewhere pretty for a change.” However, to Almos Terthbak, that information was all irrelevant. He and his ship, the Observant, were not in the system to conduct a diplomatic mission or even to make contact with the people there. Their sole purpose in the system was to conduct scans and search for any possible traces of the treasonous Jedi Knights. They had been at this job for the better part of a year now, their only other human contact being with a supply ship; that had been three months ago, and it had only been a tiny junkpile of a craft. And for the duration of the mission, they had yet to locate any trace of the Jedi, save for an old abandoned starfighter which was now strapped to the scout ship for further investigation at a later time. They had tried to at least unload the derelict craft on the supply ship captain, but he had refused as his ship was barely bigger than Observant and all arguments about how it greatly expanded their sensor profile fell on deaf ears, much to the exasperation of the crew. Instead, the Observant had had its mission extended yet again and dutifully cruised the little-traveled spacelanes of the galactic Outer Rim until but a week ago, when a priority transmission from Imperial Command had sent them scrambling out to this distant sector of space to sweep for a Jedi enclave. Despite the seeming urgency behind their sudden course change, her crew largely had taken it in stride, well familiar with the routine jumping at shadows practiced by some in the upper echelons of the Imperial admiralty. Their mission and tasks would be the same, no matter what system they were sent off to. Her captain was the one exception and his highly-strung antics had frequently amused his crew. By and large, the crew of the Observant considered Terthbak to be the same tense, officious, inexperienced lieutenant that had tripped over his own feet when boarding the ship for the first time. “Sensors, prepare for primary scanning sequence of the target world,” ordered Terthbak. “We wouldn’t have been sent to this world for nothing, and I want a good scan of this place.” “Aye, sir,” said Warrant Officer Neach from his seat in front of the various sensor consoles, his voice carefully modulated to conceal his skepticism at the lieutenant’s words. In his opinion, it would be just like High Command to send a scout across the galaxy for no reason. The scouting routine, having been repeated for the forty-third time on this cruise, was mind-numbingly boring: Bring the ship in close enough for the sensors to be useful. Scan the world or object. Report no findings. Set an outbound vector and jump out to the next destination. Start over. It had been the same on forty-two of the forty-three locations, and the crew, minus Terthbak, expected nothing less. However, this time, they were wrong. “Contact,” said Neach, perking up and sitting more straightly at his chair. “I’m getting a significant reading from the black box. Tracing it now, sir.” The black box, a mysterious cluster of sensors of some classified nature, had been specially installed on Observant and its findings had been declared of utmost importance. Until now, it had never done anything, and some of the crew suspected it was a sham. “Is it working correctly?” Terthbak demanded tersely. “Aye, sir, just finished a diagnostic on it,” said Neach. “The array is fully functional.” “Run a double-check,” Terthbak said. Neach didn’t reply, instead engrossing himself in operating the delicate sensor equipment and focusing it on the nebula. For several moments, he waited as the sensor boards whirred and beeped at him. Eventually, the results came through. “Still positive contact, sir,” Neach reported. “That means, Warrant Officer, that we have found them: The Jedi Knights, sworn enemies of the Empire. This information must immediately be sent to Imperial High Command,” said Terthbak in the officious manner the others had rapidly come to detest. “Sir! Something is wrong with the port docking station!” called out Jasnan, her hands flying across her console. “What is it?” Terthbak asked. “I’m not sure, sir, but some of the systems are activating!” “How is shield integrity?” “Shields are holding, except on the port side, but the airlock is cycling. I can’t explain it; running a diagnostic now, sir.” “I want answers!” demanded Terthbak. The crew all focused their attention to their consoles, engrossed in determining the cause for the docking station malfunction, or scanning the surrounding space for hostile craft. “It might be an exotic form of radiation triggering the circuits. Prepare to seal off the bridge,” said Terthbak. “Yes, sir!” Jasnan responded. “Don’t worry, it’s not a radiation breach,” said a calm voice. Every member of the crew save Terthbak turned from their stations at the sound of the voice; it was not one they were familiar with. To their astonishment, a man in full clone trooper armor and a hooded woman were pointing blasters at them. While the crew of the Observant could tell that their assailants were humanoid, their species was hidden from view respectively by the hood and armor that they wore. However, the blasters that were pointed at them spoke volumes. Terthbak did not budge a centimeter, paralyzed with fear from the blaster barrel lodged firmly against his temple. “Hands up,” said the man in clone trooper armor, who was holding the blaster to Terthbak’s head. “Get up slowly, and unbuckle the blaster belts,” said another armored man standing behind Terthback. “Make a false move and you’re dead. You too, Lieutenant. Nice and easy.” Again, Neach and Jasnan complied, with Terthbak following suit as well. The utility belts clattered on the deck, along with the blasters. “Take them to the cargo hold and lock them up,” ordered the armored one. “If they give you any trouble, shoot them.” His accomplices acknowledged him silently and marched the Imperials back to the cargo hold, blasters at the ready. As soon the Imperials were clear, Selu Kraen sat down in the Imperial captain’s former chair as he looked around the bridge. Like the other members of the Hawk-bat’s crew, he had taken great care to disguise his appearance. While the rest of them, aside from Spectre in his katarn-class commando armor, had donned cloth masks and robes, Selu had been given a set of armor once worn by Revan. It didn’t fit all that well, but the concealing helmet with its T-shaped visor covered his face and gave him an intimidating countenance. Furthermore, it also helped disguise his vocal inflections. From the little he had observed of the Imperials, Selu didn’t think they had too much to worry about from them, but there was no harm in being cautious. Then again, the fact that Selu had managed to dock the Hawk-bat with their ship without raising an alarm spoke to their general incompetence. Selu had once again surprised the others by casting a Force illusion—something Revan and Meetra had shown him—over the Hawk-bat to conceal its approach, planning on boarding the Imperial vessel rather than simply destroying it. While the scout ship was certainly larger than the Hawk-bat, it was also lightly armed and crewed, and Selu had figured that between the Force illusion and the concealment of the nebula, they had a good chance of boarding the ship without detection. When they had burst into the airlock, they had been prepared for a firefight, lightsabers held at the ready. However, no one had been wise to their approach, so Selu had changed tactics, sending Milya and Sarth to secure the aft compartments while he, Spectre, and Cassi dealt with the bridge crew and gunner. They had been instructed not to hurt the Imperials if at all possible; aside from a bruise on the engineer’s head from the butt of Milya’s blaster, they had achieved that goal. The other two soon returned from their errand in the aft of the ship. Looking over, Selu saw Sarth poring through the ship’s computer, trying to pull information from it. Milya and Spectre were scouring the ship for any further crewmembers or security systems. Cassi, with little else to do, had taken control over the pilot’s station and sent them on a course that lazily looped them around the nebula while the new crewmembers examined the prize. “Find anything, Sarth?” he asked. “Mmhmm,” mumbled Sarth, not bothering to look up from the computer. “What did you find?” Selu repeated. However, his comments, addressed to a thoroughly engrossed Sarth, failed to evoke a response and Selu waited several more moments for Sarth to finish with what he was doing. There was simply no point in trying to get his attention or speed him along when he was concentrating on something. “Hey Sarth, care to share?” asked Cassi finally. “Hmm? Oh, sure,” said Sarth. “The ship we’re on is called the Observant. It’s a specially modified scout vessel on a secret mission from Imperial Command, Lieutenant Almos Terthbak commanding.” “What kind of mission?” asked Selu. “Well, I’m working on that,” said Sarth. “Some things are more difficult to slice into than others, and that-,” he indicated the screen, “-happens to be one of them.” “Fair enough,” said Selu. “By the way, good work on the takeover, you two.” “Thanks,” said Cassi. “I’m glad it didn’t take very long; it was nerve-wracking. I mean, piracy isn’t our usual job description.” “Not just piracy,” Selu reminded her lightly. “We’ve also stolen Imperial property.” “Albeit ugly, worn-out property. This ship has been flying for at least six months.” “How do you know that?” “Just smell the air,” Cassi said, wrinkling her nose. “It has that stale, recycled smell that you get when the ship has been journeying for a while.” Selu couldn’t find anything to dispute her reasoning, so he left it at that. He found it unusual that he hadn’t noticed the smell of the ship until Cassi had made her remark, but now the sour odor was quite noticeable. “Got something!” said Sarth suddenly. “What did you get?” Cassi asked. “The log,” said Sarth. “Well, sort of. I cracked the lieutenant’s personal log.” “Let me see,” said Selu, rising from his seat to stand behind Sarth and peer down at the screen. “It was pretty easy. His password was ‘Admiral Terthbak,’” said Sarth. “And the encryption was rudimentary at best.” “Well, at least he can dream big,” remarked Selu dryly. Selu read the screen for several minutes before giving Sarth a bewildered look. “This is some of the worst writing I have ever seen,” he said. “It doesn’t even tell us why the ship is way out here. Their mission is some kind of Jedi-hunting exercise, but beyond that, this isn’t very helpful.” “I never said it was,” Sarth replied lightly, shrugging. Shaking his head, Selu returned to reading. As he forced his eyes to read the egotistical mental meanderings of the mind of Almos Terthbak, an idea began coalescing in his head. “Bring Lieutenant Terthbak to the bridge,” Selu said to Spectre. “I’d like to have a little chat with him.” “Is that so?” said Spectre, a bemused tone creeping into his voice as he quickly deduced Selu’s plan. “That should be most enjoyable.” “Probably not, but it has to be done.” “Sarth, Cassi, you might want to leave for a while.” “Why?” Sarth asked. “It’s going to be a bit intense in here, and I’ll need to focus.” “Okay,” Cassi said. “If that’s what you want. Come on, Sarth.” With that, the two of them rose and left, leaving Selu sitting alone in the captain’s chair. A few minutes later, Terthbak was half-walked, half-dragged into the bridge of the Observant by Spectre, who deposited him in a heap at the foot of the commander’s chair occupied by the still-armored Selu. Then, the ARC took up station behind the petrified Terthbak, towering ominously over him in stony vigil. Selu silently regarded Terthbak for several moments, letting the silence sink in and the fear build in Terthbak’s eyes. With the Force, reading the flow of Terthbak’s emotions was easy as reading a screen of text, and Selu wanted to let the maximum amount of terror settle into Terthbak’s psyche to make him more likely to slip up. The officer was clearly weak-minded, and most Jedi would have had no difficulty in applying a simple mind trick to persuade Terthbak into spilling all he knew. Unfortunately for Selu, he had never been able to successfully mind trick anyone. His natural lack of aptitude for the skill, along with the forced needs of training during wartime had prevented him from developing the ability, and his tutelage under Revan had done little to help him directly influence minds. Instead, Selu resorted to more conventional means of interrogation. “Let’s skip the introductions,” Selu told him. “I already know your name is Almos Terthbak, and my name—well, that’s not important.” Terthbak stayed frozen on the floor as Selu glared at him through the helmet’s opaque visor. “Lieutenant Terthbak, why don’t you start by telling me the details of your mission?” Selu inquired, leaning towards Terthbak slightly, his tone dripping with disdain. Terthbak stared in stark terror at the enigmatic armored and cloaked figure seated in front of him. The negligent ease with which they had seized the Observant, coupled with the fact that they had not bothered to bind his hands, spoke to their utter contempt for him as a threat. Still, he was an Imperial officer, and there were specific protocols for behavior in the event of capture by a hostile force, which this most certainly was. Swallowing hard, he looked at the visor of the being in front of him, doing his best to sound defiant. “I am Lieu-Lieutenant Almos Terthbak, operating number Tee Kay One One Three Eight Four Two One,” he said. “Don’t play games, Terthbak,” Selu replied forcefully. “If you persist in being uncooperative, I will be forced to take it out on your crew.” “We are . . . members of the Imperial Navy. You won’t find persuading us easy,” said Terthbak haughtily. “We’ll see about that,” Selu told him, turning to Spectre. “Bring me one of the crew.” “Which one?” Spectre asked. “Bring me Warrant Officer Jasnan,” instructed Selu, and by the way Terthbak’s eyes widened, he knew he had hit his mark. It had not been a blind guess. Terthbak’s puerile and vapidly written memoirs had indicated his feelings towards Jasnan and armed with that information, Selu had figured that using her as leverage would be the easiest way to obtain information out of Terthbak. A few minutes later, Spectre returned with a struggling Jasnan and accompanied by Milya. “Bring her closer,” said Selu. “I want the lieutenant here to see what his actions have caused.” At that point, Jasnan wrenched free of Spectre, leaving most of her coverall sleeve in his grasp and lunged at Selu with a makeshift knife that she had concealed in her belt and improvised out of a broken glowpanel cover in the hold. However, Milya was too fast for her, and Jasnan soon found herself lying on the worn metal deck gasping for breath from a kick to the ribs and while Milya held her arm twisted behind her back in a rather painful hold, the makeshift knife having fallen from her fingers. Selu turned to regard her ever so slightly, his voice laced with mockery. “Brave, but extremely foolish,” Selu chastised her. “Now, Lieutenant Terthbak, your crewman here will pay for your stubbornness.” “She will do her duty,” said Terthbak, but there was no sincerity in his voice and the way he and Jasnan exchanged a quick glance was a dead giveaway. “Since she means nothing to you,” said Selu, trying to imbue wicked glee into his voice. “Remove something from the prisoner. Do you hear that, Warrant Officer Jasnan? You’re going to do your duty and die painfully, thanks to the lieutenant there. Perhaps start with a finger, or maybe an ear. Make it slow so she feels it, but be sure she doesn’t bleed too much.” Milya slowly drew a short vibrodagger from a waist sheath, making sure to draw out the motion to prolong the rasping sound of the blade against the metal of the sheath, and then dramatically activating the vibroblade so that its characteristic hum filled the bridge. Jasnan frantically tried to struggle, but Milya simply applied more pressure to her still twisted arm and placed her knee on Jasnan’s back, ending any more resistance as the Warrant Officer gasped in pain. Terthbak made as if about to leap at Milya, but the cold metal of a blaster barrel at the back of his head courtesy of Spectre forestalled any rash heroics on his part. Bending down, Milya brought the humming dagger next to Jasnan’s right hand, preparing to sever one of the digits. “No! Wait!” Terthbak said. “Don’t hurt her.” “Why not?” asked Selu coldly. “I thought you didn’t care about her.” “No, don’t hurt her,” said Terthbak, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll tell you everything.” Beneath the helmet, Selu smiled broadly. “Put the dagger away,” Selu indicated to Milya. “Wouldn’t want you to cut Jasnan here on accident.” Milya complied, and Selu returned his attention to Terthbak. “Now, what were you saying, Lieutenant?” Half an hour later, Selu had obtained all the information he needed from the lieutenant, who had caved like a folded sheet of flimsiplast. Spectre and Milya had returned the two Imperials to the hold, sealing it tightly behind them, and gathered Sarth and Cassi back into the bridge for a brief conference. With all five of them in the ship’s bridge, it was rather crowded, but there was no helping that; the scout ship clearly wasn’t built for comfort. “Whew,” Selu said, pulling off the ancient helmet to reveal his face glistening from perspiration. “Spectre, I know your armor is like a second skin to you, but this stuff is uncomfortable.” Spectre shrugged in response. “What did the lieutenant tell you?” Cassi asked. “Plenty,” Milya replied. “All it took was the proper application of pressure.” “Speaking of that,” Selu cut in with a frown. “You know I was bluffing about cutting her off finger.” “Cutting off her what?!” Cassi exclaimed. “You were? Oh, my mistake,” Milya answered flippantly. “We need to work on this idea of respecting life,” Selu told her. “Couldn’t you pick that up through reading my emotions?” “It’s not as easy to use the Force out here.” Selu gave her a rueful chuckle. “The rest of the galaxy is pretty much like that. If you want to keep using the Force, you’ll have to learn to focus it a little more.” “All of that aside, what did this Terthbak tell you?” asked Sarth. “As Milya said, the lieutenant was very forthcoming after some initial difficulties. First off, this ship is a specially-equipped scout ship designed to find Force-sensitives so the Empire can destroy them,” Selu said. “How?” Sarth asked, intrigued. “Apparently the Empire has devised a way to detect the Force technologically,” Selu told him. “The lieutenant didn’t know how it worked and I doubt the schematics are in the computer.” “Why were they out here?” Milya asked. Selu frowned. “Apparently somebody found old records about the Order of Revan,” he said. “It has nothing to do with us that I can tell.” “Well, that changes things a bit,” said Sarth. “They’ve been at it for several months, and thankfully haven’t been very successful. They have three or four dozen more destinations left on their scouting run before they finished, but they already found one location,” Selu added. “Where?” asked Cassi. “Planet called Haruun Kal. It was a battleground during the Clone Wars,” said Selu. “I suspect that any Jedi there have already come under attack or have fled already.” “Perhaps,” said Spectre. “But Revan mentioned other groups also. The Zeison Sha, the Matukai, and the Jal Shey. Can we tell if any of them are at the locations the Observant was supposed to investigate?” Selu looked over the list, comparing it with what he remembered from the Jedi archives. “The Zeison Sha were rumored to be based on Yanibar,” he said. “But that was a long time ago.” “Why not have Milya try and see if she can sense them?” Cassi asked. “I mean, she is the seer, right?” Selu turned in surprise, then glanced at Milya. “If you want to,” he said. “You mean by trying to see it with the Force? I’ll give it a try,” she said, somewhat nervously. “No,” Selu said firmly. “There is no try, do or do not.” “Of course,” she said. “Just relax,” Spectre said reassuringly. “You’ll be fine.” Milya read over the destination list, tracing her finger down the names on the screen. As she did so, she initially felt nothing. None of the names triggered any kind of subconscious reaction, nor did any particular significance leap out at her. She shook her head in frustration. “I’m not getting anything,” she told them. “Try closing your eyes,” Selu said. “Let the Force guide you to the proper name—don’t try and see it.” “If you say so,” she answered without much confidence. She closed her eyes, and Selu sensed that she was falling into a meditative stance as her mind wandered across the timeless expanses of the Force, seeking information. She placed a hand tentatively near the display screen, her finger slowly panning the list down. Milya did her best to silence her doubts and any attempts at guessing, allowing the Force to guide her hands. Suddenly, her finger darted out almost reflexively, coming to rest on one of the names on the list. “I . . . I think this might be something,” she said, an eyebrow twitching in surprise. “Is that a planet?” “That’s the ENTER command,” Spectre remarked dryly. Milya opened her eyes. “It’s no use,” she told Selu. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t worry about it,” he told her gently, then a thought struck him. “Try not thinking about the list at all. Just see if you can reach out and sense where we need to go.” “Okay,” Milya answered dubiously, closing her eyes again. At first, all she saw were the random splotches of color that marked her vision when she closed her eyes, then, as she became more attuned to the currents of the Force, she received a second sight beyond normal ocular perception. Her mind left her body and launched through many parsecs, leaving her sitting there motionless, barely breathing. She saw a harsh, desertish world, alternately baked by a scorching heat and drenched by furious thunderstorms that scoured the plains and hills. There were people there; living in scattered settlements, some of them armed with small, round, blade-shaped objects. They were independent and stubborn, fighting the land to eke out an existence, but the Force ran strong in them. There was strength and gentleness, determination and desperation intermingled as they struggled daily to survive. Then her vision blurred and darkened, and she was catapulted off through unknown dimensions to another place. It was humid and misty, filled with chaotic tangles of living things engaged in the frantic cycles of life and death, growth and decay. The world was tumultuous, and the sentients that lived there were in as much conflict with each other, if not more, as the flora and fauna were. Yet, hidden in the swamps, was an enclave of people who were different. They were harmonious and focused, with strict discipline and long polearm weapons. Milya found herself impressed by their balance and focus even as they subsisted in their sparse setting. Even as she tried to get a better sense of them, she could sense her perception fading away from the world. Like the other one, this vision didn’t last either, and soon she found herself looking at one last place. The last place was more peaceful and tranquil than the others had been. Milya saw broad forests stretching on from lighter colored, broad-leafed trees in the lowlands into species with darker and narrower foliage as the elevation increased. Rather than a standard green, though, Milya saw a variety of colors, ranging from rust brown to tawny gold, to a deep red in the lowlands. Higher up, the plants were more evergreen. The riotous tangle of color and life caught her eye and the sheer bliss of the scene sent a pang of longing through her heart. However, her vision was drawn beyond the forests. One mountain range in particular caught her perception’s interest, and she was drawn to it like a piece of durasteel to a magnet. The trees gave way to outcroppings of boulder and lichen as she reached the summit, only to find a snowy enclave where it appeared several dozen people lived in caves hollowed out of the mountain slopes. Though they bore no lightsabers, Milya sensed the Force flowing through them, guiding them as they studied and learned of it. Then, her mind’s eye began clouding over again, bringing her back again slowly to the realm of what most humans referred to as the five senses, which she had not left so much as ignored during her vision. “What did you see?” asked Selu as her eyes opened. “Three worlds that have Force-sensitives on them,” she said firmly. “Could you tell anything about them?” Selu asked. “The first was harsh, a planet of extremes, with people as equally hardened and strong to stand against such an environment.” “That’s probably Yanibar,” Cassi said. “What were the people there like?” Spectre masked. “They were warriors, with metal blades that they threw and guided with the Force, but they also prized their families,” Milya told him, recalling how she had seen one man hurling his weapons with great strength only to later gently put his arm around a woman, his wife, cradling a newborn that had to be their daughter. “Those are the Zeison Sha,” Selu said. “Revan told me about them. They have a long and unpleasant history of disliking Jedi.” “And the second planet?” Spectre inquired. “It was darker, more conflicted,” Milya answered. “Swampy and humid, but with an aura of conflict and struggle about it.” “If we go by this schedule, that matches Darlyn Boda,” Cassi pointed out. “It’s fairly lawless, and it has plenty of wetlands.” “There was a group there, living mostly on the edges of the city. They were different, more balanced, more focused. They knew how to harness their bodies and minds with the Force,” Milya said. “What kind of weapons did they bear?” Selu asked. “Polearms of some type,” Milya replied. “That confirms it; they’re Matukai. Another group long estranged from the Jedi,” Selu stated, drawing on his conversations with Revan. “So how about that last planet?” Cassi asked. “It was more peaceful, and more beautiful, even if it was remote. There were lots of forests, and a mountain range. At the top, there was an enclave, a place of learning.” “That makes them the Jal Shey by default, and the world is Tokmia, if Revan and this ship’s itinerary are believable,” Spectre noted. “It’s the only one that matches the description.” “Were they armed?” Selu asked. “No,” said Milya. “I didn’t sense any hostility in them at all.” “Then they do sound like the Jal Shey,” Selu affirmed. “So, who do we visit first?” asked Cassi. “Tokmia sounds good so far.” “It’s not simply a matter of who do we visit first,” Spectre said. “There have to be priorities. And whoever we do go to, what are we going to say?” “The man has a point,” Sarth agreed. “What are we going to say? Selu?” “They have to know the truth,” Selu told them. “About the danger they face, about our purpose, and about the need to join together.” “But where?” Milya asked. “I doubt they’re just going to uproot everything and pile onto the Hawk-bat.” “I’m still working on that,” Selu said. “But I’ve seen things of my own, and one of them is that Revan was right; only by setting aside their differences and uniting can any of them be saved.” “Too bad we couldn’t just bring them here,” Cassi observed. “It would take more than that to convince them,” Selu said. “Well, we can work on that on the way,” Cassi replied. “So, who do we visit first?” “All of them,” Spectre said. “What?” Sarth asked, surprised. “That’s physically impossible.” “Why all of them, Spectre?” Selu inquired. “Revan mentioned the need for haste,” Spectre explained. “Traveling to each of these worlds will take time. And I suspect that we don’t have that time.” “He’s right; I don’t think we do,” Milya said. “You’ve seen something?” Selu asked. “When I sleep, I . . . occasionally have dreams. I can’t explain it, but I know that there’s not much time before the Empire attacks,” Milya told him haltingly, at a loss to explain the abnormal experiences she had been having. “So you’re suggesting we split up?” Cassi asked. “What about ships? We only have one.” “Two,” corrected Spectre. “Actually, three,” Selu added. “The ship’s log revealed that they happen to have a hyperdrive-equipped starfighter that they salvaged.” “Three ships. Three planets. You’d think the Force was at work or something,” Milya said facetiously. “After all we’ve seen, nothing surprises me anymore,” Cassi answered with a droll smile. “So, if we’re actually considering splitting up, who goes where?” Sarth asked. They all looked to Selu, but he was lost in thought, so Sarth spoke up. “I’ve also studied a little bit about these groups that we’re supposed to contact. Logically, we all have strengths that will help us relate to certain aspects of their group personalities.” “Care to share?” asked Cassi. “Well, for my part, I think I’d be better suited to talk to the Jal Shey than you would be, Spectre. They’re diplomats and intellectuals, and you’re, well-,” “Neither diplomatic nor intellectual?” Spectre said with a chuckle. “I’d agree with that.” “Only because you haven’t seen his charming gentle side,” Milya teased. “If you’re going to the Jal Shey, then I’m going with you,” Cassi said. “You get into too much trouble on your own.” “I was hoping you would say something like that,” Sarth replied. “Well, then logically, Milya and I should go to the Zeison Sha,” Spectre said. “We both have backgrounds as warriors. They’ll appreciate that, and Selu shouldn’t come if they dislike Jedi.” To say the least, Selu, who had been largely silent during this part of the conversation, was displeased by that suggestion, and for reasons that he did not care to admit. The idea of Milya and Spectre gallivanting off together, as much as he tried to deny it, did not sit well with him, and it had nothing to do with the logic behind Spectre’s suggestion and everything to do with the dull ache in his chest. Such was not his path though, and he forced the thought from his mind with considerable vehemence. “That would leave you with the Matukai, Selu,” Spectre pointed out. “But they don’t like Jedi either,” noted Cassi. “No plan is perfect,” Spectre said, shrugging. “I need to go to the Zeison Sha,” said Selu. “It’s time someone from the Jedi Order tried to redress the wrongs that have been between us and them.” “So Milya and I will go to the Matukai,” said Spectre. “That works, too.” “No, it doesn’t,” said Milya. “Selu will need help on Yanibar. It’s a harsh world, and the Empire has a foothold there already.” “So you’re going with him?” asked Spectre, the faintest hint of suspicion and jealousy creeping into his tone. “No, you’re going with him,” corrected Milya. “It makes sense, especially if Yanibar has Imperials crawling all over it. I can handle going to the Matukai alone, trust me.” “Are you sure about that?” asked Spectre. “I’m sure,” she said. “I can take care of myself. And you’re not exactly an inconspicuous partner.” “So now we get to choose which ships we take,” said Sarth. “Dibs on the Hawk-bat.” “That won’t be necessary,” Selu interrupted. “There’s only one way to divide up the ships.” “How’s that?” Spectre inquired. “Milya has to take the starfighter, because that’s the only one-person vehicle. Spectre and I should fly the Observant, since there’s already an Imperial presence on Yanibar, and we can disguise ourselves as the crew if need be. That leaves the Hawk-bat to Sarth and Cassi.” “Makes sense,” Cassi agreed. “Well, let’s get a move on, then,” Spectre said. “Draw provisions from the Hawk-bat. We’ll want to be in hyperspace as soon as possible.” “May the Force be with us,” Selu added.
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