Heir to Chaos

by Ventessel

After the Yuuzhong Vong invasion, the galaxy is broken. The Galactic Alliance works to rebuild, but tensions run high over reconstruction projects and military buildup. Corellia teeters on the brink of secession and mysterious powers are moving in the shadows. A team of Jedi Knights and elite intelligence operatives work to uncover these plots before war consumes the Alliance.

1. Chapters (1-7)

At the edge of the Coruscant system, near a debris field of ancient asteroids and the broken husks of warships long since destroyed, a Carrack cruiser drifts against the darkness of space. Her hull is mostly darkened. Square, angular plates on her hull give the ship a simple but strong appearance. The white glow of her sublight thrusters casts shadows along the length of the hull, illuminating two TIE fighters docked beneath the cruiser.

Lurking on the other side of the debris field is another ship. A small freighter, her hull painted black and coated with absorbent materiels to mask her signature. This frieghter has had her engines modified to operate quietly, at minimal impulse to avoid detection. She is slowly maneuvering around chunks of rock and pieces of wreckage, sliding closer to the Carrack ahead of her.

Inside the freighter, her crew is gathered in the loading bay. The deck has been cleared for this meeting, and a large holodisplay is positioned in the center of the hold. A motley assortment of individuals surround the display. Two Jedi Knights; Haythem Kenway, a human with patrician features and greying hair stands beside Sventrare Dermo, a tall Codru-Ji with emerald skin whose four arms ripple with muscles beneath his light brown robes.

A young man with curious golden eyes and shocking blond hair is studying the deck plans of the Carrack intently on the holodisplay, his hands resting on his gunbelt, one next to the blaster on each side. His name is Elohirnok Halal, and he has put more enemies of the Alliance in their graves than he can remember.

A man with pale, almost alabaster skin, and icy blue eyes stands near the back of the hold. His eyes never quite seem to move, but he takes in every detail of the room. His pale yellow hair is cropped close to his scalp, and he wears a suit of dull grey Echani combat armor. It is light and flexible, while still being rigid enough to turn aside glancing blows from a blaster or vibroblade, and that is all the edge this man needs.

"Hey, sorry I'm late!"

A smiling, lanky human steps awkwardly into the loading bay, straining with the wieght of a large crate in his arms. His dark brown hair is trimmed to a clean military cut, his jumpsuit is pressed and neatly creased and his nametag reads: Thrash Ordo.

Sventrare, the Codru-Ji, moves toward him.

"Please, allow me to assist you."

"Nah, I've got it. Here, just let me..."

Thrash moves to set the crate down, but his left hand slips and the crate falls out of his grasp. In the blink of an eye, Sventrare springs forward and catches the crate before it hits the deck.

Thrash raises an eyebrow,

"Wow. Nice save, Jedi."

Sventrare straightens up and adjusts his robes, nodding politely.

"May I ask what took you so long, Sergeant Ordo?"

"Oh, well ah, see... I wasn't sure how many thermal detonators we were going to need."

Elohirnok, the grim veteran, turns away from the holodisplay and gives Thrash a discerning glare.

"The answer is none, space cadet. This operation is going to be a clean search and seizure."

Haythem chuckles, and placing a hand on Elohirnok's shoulder says,

"In my experience, such things inevitably unearth unpleasant surprises. It can't hurt to prepare for every eventuality."

Sventrare places his upper palms together and looks around at his companions.

"Gentlemen, let us review the operation again. I believe we are almost in range."

…

The holocommunicator on Elohirnok's belt blinked, and he answered it.

"Lieutenant Halal, are we clear to engage?"

"Aye, sir. We disabled their engines. You're good to go, but make it quick, they're scrambling the TIE fighters."

"Understood, Halal out."

Elohirnok stood up in the cockpit and turned around to face the cramped passenger space behind him. The two Jedi were squeezed in with Sergeant Ordo and the cold eyed assassin in his Echani armor. Dim red lighting heightened the shadows in the cabin, but Elohirnok could see all their eyes on him.

"We're on the last stretch here, when we hit the cargo bay fan out and stay sharp. The Jedi are heading for the bridge, I trust you'll keep the crew under control?"

Sventrare nods his agreement, and Haythem replies,

"Everything will go smoothly, Lieutenant. You have my assurances."

"I'm sure. Ok, you other two headcases get to have the real fun. Remember everything you're responsible for?"

Thrash grins and rubs his hands together,

"Yes, sir!"

but the assassin does not respond. Elohirnok looks pointedly at him until he says,

"Yes. I understand the plan perfectly."

"That's what I want to hear."

Elohirnok taps the pilot next to him on the shoulder and makes a gesture with his hand. The pilot gives him a thumbs up and flicks a series of switches on the overhead before opening the throttle on the thrusters. The shuttle leaps forward, speeding towards the Carrack.

…

Two men stand in the cargo hold of the Carrack, nervously eyeing the circular patch of the hull that is beginning to glow red. They check the blaster pistols in their hands, and crouch down behind some bulky plasteel crates, resting the blasters on the crates to steady their aim.

The patch of hull glows brighter and sparks jump from the edges, skittering about on the deckplates where they land. With a flash of light the durasteel disintegrates entirely. Two green rods of light can be seen inside, and the men in the cargo hold fire their blasters.

Sventrare leaps through the breaching hole in the hull, holding each of his bright green lightsabers in two hands. As he moves, he smoothly deflects both blaster bolts and lands in from of the two men. Sventrare brandishes his lightsabers and growls,

"Drop them and show me your hands!"

The terrified men step back and release their weapons, which clatter to the deck. Right behind Sventrare, Elohirnok steps into the cargo hold and quickly takes in the situation. He stands aside and waves Thrash and the assassin through. Together, those two sprint to the cargo hold turbolift behind the two men who have surrendered. Taking up positions on either side, Thrash looks down the sights of a blaster rifle at the two prisoners while the assassin opens the turbolift controls with a small fusion cutter.

Elohirnok approaches the two prisoners slowly, holding a sleek silver disruptor pistol at waist level.

"On your knees, put your hands behind your head. Both of you, now!"

The men comply, and Elohirnok motions for Sventrare to place them in restraints. The hulking Codru-Ji extinguishes his lightsabers and places binders on both mens' wrists.

Haytham, wearing a dark blue vest and similarly colored Jedi robes, but no cloak, emerges from the shuttle through the still glowing hole in the hull of the cruiser. He holds a smooth handled lightsaber in his hand, but it is not activated.

Sventrare finishes with the prisoners and he and Haytham walk over to the turbolift. By this time, the assassin has pulled out several wires and cut off two panels from the controls. He is immersed in his work, but the doors are open and Thrash motions the Jedi into the turbolift.

A loudspeaker somewhere over their heads crackles to life.

"This is Captain Tanahka, to the intruders in the cargo hold. Can you hear me?"

Elohirnok waves the Jedi away, and they step into the turbolift as the doors close behind them. Looking around for the source of the voice, Elohirnok says,

"I read you loud and clear, Captain. You're under arrest by authority of the Galactic Alliance. My Jedi are on the way to your bridge, I advise you to cooperate fully."

"And whom am I speaking to?"

This time, when the speaker came to life, Elohirnok locked onto it. In a fluid motion, he faced it and raised his pistol, firing as he brought the weapon up to eye level. His shot struck the device, which spewed sparks before crackling weakly and fizzling out.

The assassin straightened up and spoke,

"We're ready."

Thrash nodded quickly and said loudly,

"Sir, we're on the move."

Elohirnok led the trio towards the interior wall of the cargo hold while Thrash removed a block of explosives from a bandoleer slung over his back. The assasssin slipped a blaster rifle off of his back as he moved. It was black, with a shortened barrel and intricate scope mounted above the trigger assembly. The assassin folded out a skeleton stock and shouldered the weapon while Thrash placed the charges on the wall where Elohirnok pointed.

…

On the bridge, the turbolift opened and the two Jedi stepped out quickly, lightsabers ignited. Haytham, his blue saber held in a low guard, moved to the left and scanned the bridge. Sventrare ran gracefully to the right, sabers moving from side to side as he went.

The bridge of the cruiser was mostly open, with four primary consoles facing away from the turbolifts. Five men stood on the other side, unarmed and apprehensive. They were dressed mostly in work dungarees, although two of them wore jackets and pants. One of the latter two stepped forward with his palms in front of him.

"Master Jedi, we mean you no harm. Please explain how we can assist you."

Haytham gestures with his lightsaber,

"Step away from the controls and keep your hands in sight. You're all under arrest for espionage."

The man who stepped forward raises his eyebrows and stutters for a moment,

"Ex- excuse me? Espionage?"

"That is correct."

"Ah, but, we're not spies. Please, Master Jedi, this is all a misunderstanding."

"That remains to be seen."

Haytham moves next to the man speaking and reaches out with a pair of binders.

"Put these on."

The man reluctantly takes the binders and fumbles to put them around his wrists.

"You must listen to me, I'm the Captain of this ship, the Baelamon Pearl. We're just prospectors, I..."

Haytham cuts him off,

"That's quite enough. We know what ship this is."

Sventrare secures the other men with binders and moves them away from the control panels. He puts away his lightsabers and stands in front of the prisoners.

"I realize you're quite nervous, but you have nothing to fear. You will be treated fairly by the Alliance, and if you are innocent, no harm will come to you."

One of the men snorts and twists his mouth to the side to spit onto the deck.

"Easy for you to say, Jedi. I've seen some of this 'fair treatment' on Corellia."

Sventrare begins to respond, but Haythem steps over and stares the prisoner down,

"When were you on Corellia last?"

The prisoner shifts his weight from one side to the other and eyes the two Jedi suspiciously,

"That's none of your business. I'm a free man, I go where I please."

Haytham steps forward and grabs the man by the collar, pulling him forward,

"We'll see how long that lasts, you little scumbag." He hisses through clenched teeth.

The prisoner is defiant, meeting Haytham's glare with his own.

Sventrare puts his hands on his lightsabers and glances around at the other prisoners while the captain interjects,

"Cranner, you dumb bastard, knock that off!"

The prisoner looks over at his captain and relents,

"I'm ah, I'm sorry, Master Jedi. I don't want to cause any trouble right now."

Haytham still grips the man's collar with his left hand, and in his right he holds his shimmering blue lightsaber. Sventrare moves closer to him and places a hand on the upper part of his sword arm,

"Peace, Haytham. Don't mind him."

Haytham lets go and steps back.

"You're right, Sven. We'll let the spooks get to the bottom of this."

He shuts off his lightsaber and moves away from the prisoners. The captain visibly relaxes and breathes out heavily. The other prisoners have edged away from Cranner, and he shuffles his feet again, looking from the Jedi to the captain.

With a hiss, the turbolift doors slide open and Elohirnok strides quickly onto the bridge. He has his disruptor in his hand, but it is pointed at the deck. His eyes flicker from left to right and he moves towards Captain Tanahka. The captain watches him approach and shrinks back a little. Elohirnok is wearing an unadorned flight suit, with a light combat vest pulled over it. His face is set in stone, and he never breaks stride until he is next to the captain.

"You're the captain of this vessel?"

"I am. These Jedi tell me my men and I are suspected of espionage?"

"Not suspected. You are spies. The only question is for whom. We found monitoring equipment and deepspace scanners in your holds."

"That equipment is for salvage operations, I can assure you. Please, I can explain everything."

"I doubt it. Bring up your hyperspace navigational charts, I'd like to see where you've been."

The captain grimaces and looks over at one of the consoles.

"Well, you see..."

Elohirnok steps in closer and forces the captain to meet his intense stare,

"They're gone, aren't they? Deleted."

The captain swallows and opens his mouth to speak, but one of his crew blurts out,

"It's my fault. I wiped the navicomputer when we were first boarded."

Elohirnok looks over the captain's shoulder at the speaker.

"And why would you do such a thing?"

The captain takes a deep breath and wipes his palms on the front of his jacket.

"You see, ah... sir. We thought perhaps you were pirates, or other prospectors. It's a dangerous business, and our navigational data is extremely valuable. It's our livelihood, you see."

Elohirnok steps back and holsters his pistol. He looks the captain over before waving the Jedi over to him. He pulls Sventrare close and whispers into his ear,

"You can tell when someone's lying, right? One of your Jedi tricks?"

"For the most part, Lieutenant. The captain is difficult to read, though. His mind is cluttered with conflicting emotions right now."

Elohirnok nods slowly and looks at Haytham, who lifts his shoulders slightly and tilts his head.

"Lieutenant, these men are as suspicious as they are guilty. I sense considerable fear and anxiety, they must be hiding something from us."

The captain takes a few tentative steps towards them before Elohirnok places one hand on his sidearm and holds up his other palm.

"That's far enough, captain. You have some explaining to do"

"Please, nothing we have done is illegal."

"Captain, your ship made an unauthorized hyperspace jump into a restricted sector of the Coruscant system. You are carrying high grade scanning equipment, and were within range of several Alliance drydocks."

"We didn't know, we're salvagers..."

"That's not all, captain! You wiped your navicomputer, your communications arrays are encrypted, and you launched a pair of fighters at my ship when it approached you."

"Those fighters are our only protection from pirates, sir. Please, you have to listen to me!"

Sventrare kneads his eyebrows together and watches the captain carefully while Elohirnok raises his voice,

"That's enough out of you! You're a traitor and a spy! This vessel was conducting scans of sensitive Alliance facilities. Who were you going to transmit that data to?"

The captain raises his hands and looks desperately to the two Jedi,

"You have to understand, we were only scanning the wreckage out here. Please, Master Jedi, you know I'm telling the truth."

Haytham looks disgusted.

"I've heard all the grovelling I want out of you, captain. Just come clean with LT Halal here and it'll go much easier on you."

Captain Tanahka's face sinks, and his shoulders hunch together slightly.

"You won't find any of that data on our computers, sir."

Elohirnok throws his hands up.

"Well, that's just very convenient for you, isn't it? I'll bet that data got deleted right when we came aboard. Or was it a miraculous accident, captain?"

Sventrare leans towards Elohirnok and intones,

"Perhaps it would be best to finish our sweep of the ship and take the crew into custody. Intelligence can finish debriefing them and go over their computers in greater detail."

Elohirnok stifles his anger and nods his consent. They move the prisoners to one side of the bridge while Haytham goes to check in with Thrash and the assassin in the engine room.

… CHAPTER TWO ...

A grey-hulled Star Destroyer, the Advent Dawn, prowls the depths of space. Every four hours, on the hour, it makes a random hyperspace jump. This ship is the heart of Alliance intelligence, and only the most trusted operatives are given the coordinates of the ship. The hanger bays have been expanded to accomodate larger vessels, and the ship's weapons and support systems have been trimmed down to allow for additional crew quarters and onboard training facilities. Thousands of analysts, field operatives, and intelligence officers of the Galactic Alliance work around the clock, and the ship's passageways are always bustling.

Special Missions Team 17 is assembled in a narrow briefing room. Elohirnok, Thrash, and the assassin are seated on one side of a low, brushed durasteel table. Opposite them are the Jedi, Sventrare and Haytham.

Thrash is eager, and musing about their assignment to Elohirnok.

"Where do you think we're headed, LT? I'd kill for job on Naboo."

"Honestly, Sergeant, I'd prefer to just track these terrorists down as quickly as possible and put in for some leave."

Sventrare leans forward,

"Lieutenant Halal, what makes you so certain that the men we're after are the terrorists from Coruscant?"

Elohirnok gives Sventrare a flat look.

"Please. After the comms specialist on the Baelamon Pearl turned out to be a CorSec intelligence officer? Those guys were clearly working with this secessionist wing, the same group that carried out that recent bombing near the Senate building."

Sventrare looks thoughtful, considering. Haytham turns towards Thrash,

"Tell me, aren't you from Corellia?"

Thrash leans forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"So? I've been on our side since I was sixteen. Hell, when I joined up it was with the New Republic Marines. Yeah, I was born on Corellia. So was General Antilles, and General Solo. What of it?"

Elohirnok rests his elbow on the table and lowers his forehead into his palm.

"No one is questioning your unflinching devotion to liberty and freedom, Sergeant Ordo. Relax."

Thrash looks back and forth briefly from Elohirnok to Haytham before responding,

"Well, yeah. Still, leave Corellia out of this, old man."

Haytham gives Elohirnok an exasperated look and settles into his chair, folding his hands in front of himself. The assassin reaches inside his jacket and takes out a small datapad. He examines it for a moment, manipulating the controls briefly before replacing it in his pocket. He addresses no one in particular,

"The briefing should begin momentarily. Colonel Raven is rarely late."

Almost on cue, the door opens and Colonel Raven enters. He is a square faced man with slender shoulders and a sharply receding hairline, dressed in a white Alliance military uniform with a grey field jacket pulled over. Everyone seated at the table stands, except the assassin. The Jedi rise and incline their heads respectfully while Elohirnok and Thrash snap to attention. The newcomer speaks softly,

"At ease, everyone. No need for formalities here."

He waves for them to be seated before continuing,

"You did excellent work out there earlier. My people are still combing through the ship's records for any other information, but the crew have proved very useful despite their silence. We're putting together what we can on them, and the picture that is emerging is both disturbing and informative."

Colonel Raven clasps his hands behind his back and pauses thoughtfully. He looks at Haytham and says,

"Master Kenway, how far does the Jedi Order's jurisdiction extend in this matter?"

Haytham tilts his head and smiles,

"Colonel, you honor me, but I'm merely a Jedi Knight. Grand Master Skywalker has not seen fit to bestow the rank of Master upon me. As for our jurisdiction here, Sventrare and I have been attached to Alliance Intelligence for the duration of the crisis, or until the Order recalls us. We are at your disposal, and will make every effort to bring these terrorists to justice."

Colonel Raven nods curtly and turns his attention to the entire group,

"Excellent. On your next assignment you will be acting in a somewhat... informal capacity, albeit with the full authority of Alliance Intelligence and the Jedi Order."

Elohirnok draws his eyebrows together and looks questioningly at the colonel,

"What exactly do you mean, sir?"

"You'll be travelling to Corellia. Your objective is to make contact with an individual there who has information pertaining to the funding of this terrorist organization. I believe that the sponsors of the espionage mission you intercepted are the same people who are funneling weapons to the rebels on Coruscant. Our source on Corellia says he can prove it, and has sensitive data which we need to recover."

Haytham glances over at Thrash and catches his eye before turning to Colonel Raven,

"Most interesting, Colonel. I gather that relations between Corellia and Coruscant are rather tense at the moment?"

Thrash grimaces.

"Hey now, no one said that Corellia supports the insurgents. It's probably some disgruntled noble or someone making a scene."

Elohirnok says flatly,

"I'm sure that's the case."

Thrash becomes defensive and opens his mouth, but Colonel Raven intervenes,

"Regardless, gentlemen, your mission is to extract our source and his data. I have a ship standing by to take you to Corellia, you'll travel as mercenaries and stay under the radar. I've arranged a security contract in Coronet City, you'll operate under the pretense of establishing security for a construction site near one of my safe houses. Your employer will give you the details when you're planetside. Any questions?"

The assassin rolls his shoulders back and stretches out his neck,

"Colonel, why the hot escort? Will things get exciting?"

Sventrare looks concerned,

"I hope not. That could only worsen the diplomatic situation with Corellia."

Colonel Raven leans forward and places his palms down on the table,

"Listen very closely. I don't personally care who you have to maim or eliminate quietly so long as we get our hands on that data."

He closes his eyes briefly and then looks Elohirnok and Haytham in the eye, carefully.

"If the insurgents continue with their attacks on Coruscant much longer, many more systems are going to question the capability of the Alliance government. The core worlds are already outraged at the reconstruction taxes, and a few bodies on Corellia is nothing compared to the crisis that could develop if we don't get this situation under control immediately. That being said, I expect you to use the utmost discretion in this matter. Your ship is in Hanger charlie-fourteen. It departs in thirty minutes."

He turns around and briskly walks out the door.

…

On a thick, circular landing pad in a forest clearing, a large shuttle closes its rear doors and prepares for takeoff. Several bipedal industrial loading droids pick up heavy cargo crates and carry them off the landing pad, stacking them on flatbed carriers waiting near the bottom of a ramp that leads down from the pad's surface.

Nearby, three heavy turbolaser turrets jut above the treetops, aiming towards the sky. They are housed in squat permacrete towers, which are square with rounded corners and a small catwalk running around the edge to grant access to the towers' interiors. The towers are spaced out in a semicircle around the landing pad. Opposite the towers, on the other side of the large landing pad, is a sheer cliff that plummets into darkness hundreds of feet below and stretches out along the edge of the forest for miles.

The flatbed carriers, driven by repulsorlifts, move off along a path of grass that has been beaten down by repeated trips back and forth from the landing pad. The dim red running lights along the edges of the carriers cast their glow on several assault droids patrolling the grounds near the landing pad. The carriers swing around towards a darkened hole in the ground, where a sloping ramp leads down below the earth to a set of heavy blast doors. As the carriers descend, the doors grind open with a heavy mechanical sound and the red lights of the carriers cast long shadows behind them as they disappear underground.

…

Icy winds howl outside the mouth of a narrow cave, peeling away the snow and casting it off into the white depths of the blizzard. Streaks of powdery white snow have spilled inside the floor of the cave, casting a crude archway. The walls of the cave are sea-green ice, worn smooth by time. After a hundred feet or so, the cave opens up into a larger cavern. Here the ceiling is perhaps forty feet from the floor, and durasteel scaffolding has been erected against the walls.

Crates and containers are stacked neatly near the edges of the cavern. A number of side chambers have been carved into the walls, the size of a modest bedroom. Each chamber has a single sleeping mat, a durasteel footlocker, and a shelf cut into the ice that runs around the three interior walls at eye level.

In the center of this wide cavern is a smooth circle marked out with green luminescent cord on the ground. Two men, bare to the chest and wearing soft soled boots and loose black pants, face each other at a distance of two meters. One man, whose head is shaved, has hard, bundled muscles and is covered in intricate tattoos. The tattoos are a mix of red and black, geometric shapes intertwined along his arms and torso. The other man, clearly ten years his junior, has his black hair drawn back into a short ponytail. He is leaner than than the older man, his skin stretched tighter over his ribs and back.

The tattooed man is unarmed, and his hands are relaxed at his sides. His posture is loose, with his feet planted beneath his shoulders. The younger man is the picture of concentration, his eyes locked on his quarry. He holds a long, thin durasteel rod by the middle, wielding it like a quarterstaff.

A short distance outside the circle, a smaller figure sits cross legged on the icy floor, shrouded in a thick brown robe with the hood pulled up. A pair of blue lekkus protrude slightly from underneath the hood. The figure raises a gloved hand and holds it up for a moment before bringing it down sharply.

The young man explodes forward, striking at the tattooed man with both ends of the durasteel rod in a flurry of blows. The tattoed man slides from side to side, narrowly avoiding each blow. The young man pushes the offensive, driving the tattoed man back. They circle steadily around the inside of the luminous ring. The young man's arms are a blur of motion, striking at his enemy's head, ribs, legs, and head again, a spinning sequence of alternating attacks with each end of the staff.

The tattooed man moves fluidly, always stepping back just enough to avoid the younger man's attacks. His head and shoulders seem to slide miraculuously around the ends of the durasteel rod as it whips through the air, and the tip of the staff always strikes the ground a heartbeat after the tattooed man has moved his foot back, kicking up glistening crystals of ice.

The hooded figure turns its head slightly to track the pair as they shift around the circle. As they come near to completing a full revolution, the younger man overcommits to one of his strikes, lunging just a few inches too far.

The tattooed man steps aside and snaps out with a sharp kick to the younger man's knee, which pops loudly. As the young man collapses, he twists and rolls forward, tucking his staff underneath him. The tattooed man moves with him, and as the young man comes to his feet, the tattooed man has gotten behind him.

The young man staggers slightly as he tries to regain his footing, and realizes he can no longer see his enemy. His eyes widen for a moment before the tattooed man seizes his head with both hands and jerks sharply to the side, pulling the younger man's chin back and forcing it to the side.

With a sickening crunch, the younger man spasms briefly before the tattooed man lets him drop to the ice, where he sprawls unnaturally. The tattooed man looks at the hooded figure and shakes his head.

"This one showed such promise. So quick, so sure... and yet..."

The hooded figure merely stands, and beckons for the tattooed man to follow. Together, they walk back towards the mouth of the cave where the ferocious winds still howl.

...

Haytham and Sventrare sit in the cargo hold of a chartered freighter. Sventrare wears the traditional pleated garments of a Jedi Knight, colored in light brown, while Haytham prefers a simple vest and loose fitting shirt. They are both wearing leather boots that lace up almost to the knee, and thin utility belts with simple grey durasteel clasps.

The Jedi are facing each other, from opposite sides of the cargo hold. Haytham kneels with his head bowed, and his hands rest on the floor, palms down. Sventrare sits cross legged, palms pressed together in front of his chest. Each is deep in meditation with the Force, although they meditate about considerably different aspects of the Force.

Haytham seeks knowledge of the insurgents on Coruscant, furious that their attacks continue to go unchecked. Through the currents of the Force, he grasps for any hint of their whereabouts, any trace they may have left in the Force with their violent attacks.

Sventrare seeks inner calm. He is filled with concern about overzealousness in the hunt for the insurgents and attempts to let the Force flow into him, to guide him towards a correct decision. Many possibilities, brief glimpses of people and ships, planets and storms flicker through his mind. He sees fire and hears the roar of engines, then the calm emptiness of the hyperspace lanes. But he does not find the answers he seeks.

… CHAPTER THREE ...

"They're like gizka, but with rocket launchers."

Elohirnok laughs out loud and turns to face Thrash.

"What?!"

Thrash smiles modestly for a moment and continues.

"Those guys on Coruscant, the terrorists. They're like gizka, no matter how hard you stomp on them they always wriggle through the deck plates and pop back up in a different place. Oh, and the bit about the high explosives."

Elohirnok shakes his head and chuckles quietly, turning back to the datapad in his hands.

"You're something else, sergeant. Heh, gizka..."

He trails off, immersing himself once more in the display in front of him, poring over intelligence reports on various Corellian nobles and important government officials. Halfway through the trip to Corellia, he had finished memorizing the geography of Coronet City and the orbital patterns and periods of the major space stations and shipyards above the planet. From there he moved onto politics and legal quirks, making note of Thracken Sal-Solo's political resilience as well as the vagaries of starship licensing and manufacturer's permits on Corellia. At this point, Elohirnok was beginning to think he would have time for a brief look at the history of immigration and aliens' rights before they reached the planet.

Thrash watched the lieutenant speed through his reading, hand flickering back and forth on the datapad screen as he made notes on this or that detail. Thrash marvelled at Elohirnok's single minded dedication to the task. After a few moments, he turned back to the armorer's bench in front of him.

Three blaster rifles had been disassembled on the table, and Thrash had various tools laid out along the edge of the table to assist him in fine tuning the weapons. He carefully picked up the trigger assembly of one rifle, noting the weight of the pull and a slight hiccup where the durasteel seemed to have been nicked inside the trigger guard.

Filing the surface smooth, Thrash set the assembly down and began checking the various welds and joinings of that rifle's charging chamber. He found a few places where repeated firing had caused the chamber to heat up and soften the joints, so he made a note to strip and rebuild that chamber before setting it aside on a separate table.

Before Thrash can finish with his inventory, the assassin appears in the doorway holding a long sniper's rifle. He steps forward and looks down at the armorer's bench, considering Thrash's handiwork for a moment before speaking.

"You seem to know what you're doing there."

Thrash looks up, surprised, and sees the assassin. He tenses briefly, but then looks back at the bench surface and pushes a few spare parts around.

"Well, yeah, I do this a lot."

The assassin holds out the rifle. It has a roughly triangular casing around the barrel, which feeds into a slender housing above the trigger assembly. There is a mount for a scope, but it appears to have been removed.

"Could you look at this? I tried to figure it out myself, but it's too delicate."

Thrash peers at the rifle and reaches out.

"May I?"

"Certainly."

The assassin passes the rifle over the bench to Thrash, who takes it and weighs it in his hands, turning it over.

"What, ah, what exactly is wrong with it?" He says, looking up.

"It's not delivering adequate power on longer range shots. I'm afraid the focusing crystal is out of phase with the amplifier, but I didn't have the tools to take her apart and see."

Thrash bites his lower lip and looks slowly over the rifle's housing, running his hands across the assembly.

"Yikes, this really is a beauty. It'll take some time, but I can crack her open and figure it out."

"Thank you, sergeant. Please alert me when you finish."

The assassin turns and glides back out of the hold, vanishing down the passageway outside.

Elohirnok, without looking up from his datapad, slides his disruptor pistol back into its holster on his thigh.

"That guy is a killing spree waiting to happen. I don't know who or what or how he even..."

Thrash glances back at the doorway and then points to the overhead,

"Shhh, he might be hiding in the air ducts."

Elohirnok rolls his eyes.

"You don't have to worry, you're fixing his favorite toy for him. It'll be like Life Day on Malachor when he gets that back."

…

Jedi Master Zhayne flew through the air, propelled by his force leap. Corran Horn, a fellow council member, twisted in the air to stay upright as the two Jedi sped towards each other.

Each held a lightsaber, but had not yet ignited it. A fraction of a second before they collided, both masters ignited their sabers and struck at each other. Corran and Zhayne each swung while turning slightly in the air, and neither scored a hit. They flew past each other and deactivated their lightsabers just before landing on the ground, now opposite each other in a small courtyard in the Jedi academy on Ossus.

Heavy stone blocks of tremendous size made up the floor and walls of the courtyard, with a single doorway leading into the interior of the academy. Near the doorway, a small gathering of students watched the two masters.

Corran turned around and faced Zhayne, his expression was one of wry amusement.

"Another draw. How disappointing."

Zhayne smiled easily and spread his arms out to either side.

"I'm just trying not to embarass you in front of the young learners, Master Horn."

Corran turned back and faced the students.

"This drill is the Twin Suns. As you saw, it's quite difficult and can be very dangerous. You will practice it without lightsabers for a long time before you're allowed to perform what Master Zhayne and I just did."

Zhayne strode over and stood beside Corran.

"For starters, you'll break off into pairs and practice leaping and passing each other in the air. Once you have that down, start trying to land a punch of kick while you pass without getting hit yourself. This exercise hones your physical abilities as well as your ability to sense, through the Force, the immediate future. Only by relaxing and allowing the Force to guide your movements can you avoid your opponent while also striking him."

The students nodded their understanding, some more emphatically than others, before beginning to line up along opposite sides of the courtyard to practice.

Corran and Zhayne stood aside, near the doorway, and watched the students stumble through the first steps of the exercise. Corran spoke quietly,

"It's good to see you back, Erit. You're a great help around the academy."

Zhayne nods and stretches his back,

"I'm glad to come home. I've been away much too long."

"You trained quite the apprentice while you were in the Outer Rim. Sventrare Dermo is one of our most promising young Knights."

"He's a good kid, and has an understanding of peace beyond his years."

"It's a good thing he's so gentle natured, I'd hate to see him angry. I'd put good money on him in a pit fight with a gundark."

"Sometimes I do worry that he doesn't realize quite how dangerous he's become. I don't think he's ever been pushed into a deadly confrontation. He's quite overpowering when he duels. Most people either give up, or else he disarms them in a hurry. He could probably spar with most of the masters and keep up."

Corran laughed slightly,

"I fail to see how that's a problem. He has a good head on his shoulders, and knows when to negotiate and when to fight."

Zhayne folded his arms and kneaded his eyebrows together.

"There's just something... something dangerous in that boy's future. I can't shake the premonition that he's... cornered somehow. Being gripped in a vice."

Corran turned towards Zhayne and put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Have you spoken to Grand Master Skywalker? I'm sure he can help you interpret this premonition."

"I spoke with him yesterday, when I first had this feeling. He thinks it has to do with the mission Sven is on, working for Alliance Intelligence."

"Has he contacted you lately?"

"Not in some time, he's been in and out of hyperspace constantly, chasing shadows."

"Try reaching him through the Force, old friend, and keep trying. I don't like the sound of this premonition."

...

Nar Shaddaa was a broken ruin. The Vong had bombarded and partially terraformed the planet, obliterating most of the surface city. What was left lay in a jumbled mess, scorched and crushed together in a desolate maze.

Kael Orven was quivering, drenched in sweat, and scarcely able to breathe. Straining to maintain his focus, he felt as though the veins in his eyes might burst, or his lungs tear in half from the exertion.

A huge mass of twisted durasteel, entwined in the permacrete wreckage of a collapsed building, shifted slightly. With a shrieking scream of metal sliding and bending, the huge mass began to pull towards Kael. He slipped to his knees and his head snapped forward, chin bouncing off his chest, but Kael continued to hold on.

Slowly, the mass of durasteel floated up several feet off the ground and pulled free of the building wreckage. It drifted across the ground and onto a large repulsorlift transport's cargo bed, where numerous other pieces of metal wreckage were stacked.

The mass of metal slammed down onto the pile of scrap and Kael exhaled sharply, and slumped back onto his heels. All around him, men and women wearing protective suits and carrying fusion cutters and other tools moved forward towards the building he had pulled the mass from. They would go to work, disecting the smaller pieces and salvaging what they could now that he had extracted the unstable portions of the building.

Kayta, a young woman with short hair, the hood of her work suit pulled back, walked up behind Kael.

"You look pretty worn out, let me get you onto a shuttle back to the camp."

Kael turned towards her and put his hands down on the ground to steady himself.

"No, it's alright. We've still got a few hours of daylight down here."

The sun's rays slid between the skeletons of the ruined skyscrapers and bounced off the reflective metal surfaces where winds had stripped away the dust that lay thick on the ground everywhere on Nar Shaddaa.

Kayta raised a hand to shield her eyes and looked out towards the reddening sky that was partially visible through the ruins.

"Maybe an hour, not much more. Come on, you're so tired you'll probably drop the next piece on yourself. Fat lot of good you'll be then."

"Maybe I'll drop it on you, then. Stop you from bossing me around so much." Kael said as he struggled to get to his feet. He got a few inches off the ground before his legs buckled and he sprawled out backwards.

He swore and extended his hand towards Kayta.

"You win."

She laughed softly and took his hand, leaning back and pulling Kael onto his feet.

"Kael, it's a good thing you're so light or this would start to get difficult."

Keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him, they walked towards an orange painted airspeeder a short distance away.

As the two approach the speeder, a young boy, perhaps twelve years old, ran up. He had an uneven thicket of brown hair sprouting from his head, and was wearing loose, oversized coveralls stained with grease and engine oil.

Looking up at Kael, he reached out with a small, circular holocommunicator.

"Kael, Verrick said to give this to you right as soon as you got done working today. Are you tired?"

Kael took the holocommunicator and shifted his weight to lean slightly against Kayta.

"Yes, I guess I'm pretty tired."

The boy nodded understandingly and said, "I'm tired too, I've been taking apart five different generators at once! You should take a nap, I took one yesterday and I wasn't tired at all until really late."

Kael looked sideways at Kayta and suppressed a smile, "I'll try to take a nap, but I might not get to sleep until really late either."

Kayta returned the look and smiled. The boy said, "Ok, Kael! I have to go back now, I'll see you tomorrow!" And ran off the way he came.

Kael held up the holocommunicator and shouted after him, "Not so fast! What's this for?"

The boy slid to a halt and turned around, "Oh, I forgot! You're supposed to call Chorba about something, but I can't remember if Verrick told me what it was. I gotta go, I have to put the generators back together!" Before Kael could say anything else, the boy darted around a corner and vanished down a passage between two ruined buildings.

Kayta reached over and brushed Kael's hair off his forehead, keeping her other arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"What do you think Chorba wants now?"

Kael yawned deeply, stretching his neck as he did so.

"I have no idea. Maybe he finally got those construction droids I've been hounding him about." Kael examined the holocommunicator and pressed several buttons on the bottom of the device before holding it out in front of him while it connected to Chorba's private line.

In a moment, a shimmering blue image of a Hutt appeared. Chorba was small by Huttese standards, with only a few rolls of fat on his frame. His black eyes were like dinner plates, though, and his skin was covered in scars from an unexplained incident which had clearly involved a flamer.

Kael forced a smile that was wider than he would usually have been comfortable with, and said, "Chorba, you're looking as healthy as ever. Verrick sent a messenger, but the fool kid forgot the message. How can I help you?"

Chorba gave a deep laugh from his belly, his fat jiggling. He responded in lilting Huttese,

"Kael, surely you have a guess or two? You're such a smart boy."

Kael bowed his head and answered, "Chorba, you flatter me, but this time I'm stumped. Perhaps you finally got our droids from that conniving little Jawa, what was his name?"

Chorba growled angrily, "Weekchaka, that dry skinned desert rat! No, he will not sell the droids at my price."

Kayta squeezed Kael's shoulders and looked at him questioningly. Sparing another sidelong glance at her, Kael continued to Chorba, "You're most persuasive, Chorba, he'll sell."

"That small eyed womp rat thinks he's the only vendor for KTS droids? I will break him. But first, Kael, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Chorba. Tell me what you need."

"That's what I like to hear," Chorba intoned, "I have an X-Wing here which I prepared for you. Take it and travel to a meeting I have arranged near Ord Mantell. You will find the coordinates programmed into the astromech unit."

Kael blinked in surprise.

"Chorba, I thought you needed me here for the reconstruction."

Chorba laughed darkly, "Kael I don't need you here. You want to be here. But I require a capable representative, and more importantly, a human at this meeting."

Kael's face darkened, "There are plenty of humans working for you, Chorba. What's so important about this meeting?"

Chorba's eyes grew narrower, "You will know that when it is time for you to find out such things, smoothskin. Don't try and become impetuous with me. You are valuable, but do not forget your place."

Chorba turned his head towards Kayta for a moment and then looked back at Kael.

"Your woman will be safe here, and if you return successfully from this meeting, I'm sure the jawa will have brought his prices down in the meantime. If you don't leave by tomorrow morning, I am afraid you will be late, and that would be unfortunate for both of you."

The connection cut out and Chorba's blue image vanished. Kael's fingers closed tightly around the holocommunicator and his teeth clenched together. The metal in his hand crumpled and began to fold in on itself.

Kayta ran her hand across Kael's shoulder and turned him towards her.

"It's fine, Kael. I'm sure this won't take long."

"I don't care about the meeting, I'll go. It's the droids that are making me angry. Chorba was supposed to have them here a week ago!"

Kayta nodded and tried to smile, "I know, but he's done a lot to help us here. He sends supplies and his guards have kept the Exchange from causing us trouble."

Kael threw the crushed lump of metal to the ground and kicked it.

"That's another thing! He keeps insinuating that his guards are valuable, that he has to pay them, too. But the scrap we send him is worth enough to buy a small army! He gets greedier with every shipment, if he won't purchase those droids maybe the Exchange would be interested."

"Kael! Don't say that. Chorba's a fat, credit grubbing slimeball, but he's not the Exchange. The worst Chorba gets is a few Twi'lek dancers he'll sell, or apprentice some of the orphaned kids to the Merchant Guild."

Kael sighed and closed his eyes.

"I know, I know. I'm just tired of him jerking us around."

Kayta didn't reply, but pulled Kael towards him and rested her head on his chest. After a moment Kael stepped back slightly.

"Let's go back, we can get Tomas to drop off us early as long as he can get the shuttle back here in time for the work crews."

"Alright, let's do that."

Together, they climbed into the airspeeder.

… CHAPTER FOUR ...

The skies above Corellia are a kaleidascope of metal. Orbital stations and docking rings spin between zero gravity factories and manufacturing plants. Freighters and transports of every shape and size imaginable slip between the stations to shave time off their flights, and CorSec authorities do their best to monitor all the traffic.

One transport flies along the designated spacelanes, her pilot taking care to check in with the appropriate authorities and obtaining proper clearance to land. He wants no trouble with the authorities and is polite and cooperative.

Elohirnok and Haytham stand behind the pilot while he chats amiably with the Corellian authorities, assuring them that his passengers have work on the planet and won't cause any headaches.

Once they've been cleared to land, the transport begins to descend to Coronet City, the capital of Corellia. Inside the transport, Elohirnok gathers the team together in the mess hall. A number of tables are secured to the deck, with benches on both sides and a windowed counter that connects to the galley where the ship's cook had prepared meals of questionable quality during the voyage.

They check their gear and pack lightly, each person carrying a backpack only. The Jedi have dressed in rough coveralls and light combat vests, concealing their lightsabers. Sventrare has torn the sleeves off his shirt, showing his four enormous green arms. Thrash seals up his bag and props a blaster rifle next to it before sauntering up to the Codru-Ji.

He has a devious grin when he asks, "Hey, Sven, what do you say you and me arm wrestle?"

Sventrare smiles slowly, raising his arms and turning his hands in the air.

"Which arm would you prefer me to use, Sergeant Ordo?"

Thrash, still bearing his maniacal grin, is about to answer when Elohirnok interrupts, "Sergeant, stop fooling around and go check with the pilot. Find out when we'll land."

Thrash grumbles and turns to Sventrare before he leaves, saying, "We'll come back to this, big guy. Trust me."

Sventrare nods and says, "Perhaps this is for the better, sergeant."

Elohirnok raises his hand when Thrash opens his mouth to shoot back, "Before you say whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking, double time it back to main deck and get me the ETA on that landing."

Thrash speeds out of the mess hall and up a ladderwell. Elohirnok watches him go and rests his hands on his hips, hooking his thumbs through his gunbelt. Sventrare smiles and turns back to his bag, where he is carefully arranging several datapads and folding up his tunic and trousers.

Haytham coughs deliberately and looks at Elohirnok. "You know he's going to get killed." He says.

Sventrare looks alarmed, "Haytham, what are you talking about?"

Haytham doesn't answer, but keeps looking at Elohirnok until he gets a response.

Elohirnok sighs reluctantly, "He lived through enough of the Vong wars, Jedi. He's not nearly as clueless as he looks."

Haytham's face softens for a moment and his mouth twists slightly to the side.

"I've seen too many young men like that. He's lucky to have lived this long, but he won't get out of the line of fire in time. They never do. It makes little difference if he dies tomorrow or a year from now, he'll keep pushing until his luck runs out."

Sventrare folds his arms together and sits down on a tabletop, musing, "He might call it luck, but it's the Force, Haytham. He has some potential, I've felt his connection when he fights. Perhaps we could bring him in for training, once this crisis has passed."

Elohirnok walks over to the doorway, but hesitates near the exit, watching the two Jedi. Haytham shakes his head sorrowfully, "No, lad. Once this is over, there'll be another mission, another crisis. There always is, and men like Sergeant Ordo will find them."

Raising his eyebrows, Elohirnok allows some sarcasm to slip into his voice, "I'm afraid I slept through philosophy class, so I'm going to excuse myself and make sure that our beloved Sergeant Ordo hasn't fallen down a well."

…

In one of the many spaceports in Coronet City, people crowd into lines to get on and off the planet. Security is light on Corellia, although CorSec maintains a constant presence around the spaceport to discourage the rougher sorts from raising any kind of commotion.

The Alliance intelligence team is met outside the spaceport by a short man wearing an expensive suit. His shoes are immaculate and he has combed his hair back against his scalp. He smiles exuberantly and waves them over.

The assassin mutters, "This one could charm sarlaacs out of the sand."

Elohirnok shoots him a terse look, "You'll find out if you don't be quiet. Play nice."

The assassin looks blankly at Elohirnok for a moment then refocuses his attention, appearing to look around randomly with his eyes. Sventrare watches him carefully.

The short man introduces himself, "Welcome to Corellia, I'm Mr. Syklos. You're the security consultants my firm hired?"

Elohirnok nods, "Absolutely, sir. We're ready to start at once."

"Marvelous! Come right this way, my employers have graciously provided a speeder to take us directly to our offices.

…

Across the street from the spaceport, an Ithorian watches the odd assortment of mercenaries pile into an airspeeder, led by a greasy man in a suit.

As the speeder takes off, he makes a note of their descriptions into a small voice recorder attached near his collar and climbs into his own speeder.

He follows them across several districts, flying low to the rooftops of the city. The airspeeder executes several consecutive turns to shake potential tails. Rather than risk discovery, the Ithorian lets them go and changes course to visit a popular nightclub in one of the wealthier districts of the city.

At this hour, the club is closed, but the Ithorian locks the controls of his speeder and goes around the back of the building. He keys the intercom and in the thick tongue of the Ithorians says, "Vosh, you must come to the door and let me inside. The matter is urgent."

Vosh is a green skinned Twi'lek, with broad shoulders and sunken knuckles. His lekku are thick and have several criss crossed scars on them. He answers the door without a word and gestures the Ithorian inside.

As he climbs the steps to the upper floors of the club, where the owner keep his offices, the Ithorian notices Vosh following him several meters behind. He ignores the Twi'lek and finds the office he is looking for and knocks.

Blue Moon Mahryk answers the door. He is a bald human, with greying eyebrows and a slowly expanding waistline. His dark clothes are simple, but expensive. He walks back over to his desk and drops into the chair heavily.

"Lay it out for me. What's the report?"

The Ithorian pauses, composing himself and answers, "I bring you a matter of great importance, Master Mahryk."

"Was I unclear? Spit it out, I haven't got all day."

The Ithorian bows his head, "Apologies, Master Mahryk. I did not mean to offend your sensibilities, I merely wished to inform you that I have news you will not consider a waste of your valuable time."

Blue Moon Mahryk stares at him, opens his mouth to curse the Ithorian out, reconsiders and ends by snapping his jaw shut and waiting.

Oblivious, the Ithorian continues, "I have followed the Coruscanti spy as best I was able, and he has made many secret dealings. He is most elusive, however, and after he left the spaceport I was unable to preserve my secrecy. The Alliance has brought mercenaries to the planet, of this I am certain. I believe they mean to interfere with our operations."

Mahryk scratches his face, where black stubble has begun to grow. He nods, and dismisses the Ithorian. Vosh pokes his head in the door, "Everything ok up here, boss?"

"Yes, you dim-witted nerf herder. Go back downstairs and watch the door like I pay you too."

Vosh plods back down the stairs and Mahryk punches a key on his desk holocommunicator. A blue image of a pleasant looking young woman appears, dressed in business attire. She smiles at Mahryk, "Good morning Mr. Mahryk, is there something you need?"

Mahryk scowls at her, "Get me Del Versio, I need to talk."

The woman purses her lips and frowns, "Mr. Del Versio is in a meeting at the moment, shall I pass your message on to him?"

Cursing under his breath, Mahryk ponders his answer for a moment.

"Never mind, have him call me. It's urgent, and … it concerns our recent investments."

The woman's eyes widen slightly and she nods, "Very well, Mr. Mahryk. I will make sure to alert him."

The connection ends and Mahryk stands up awkwardly, pushing his chair back. He looks around his office and scowls at the clutter that has accumulated on various surfaces. Datapads and spare communicators, reports and estimates. Mahryk growls to himself, "I haven't beaten a punk bloody in far too long. That's what I need right now, a snot nosed punk trying to give us trouble on the streets. Something simple."

Mahryk taps several keys on his desk and makes another holocall. This time, it takes several minutes for anyone to answer. Finally, a groggy looking man answers. He has rough features and his hair is sticking every which way. He rubs his bleary eyes and yawns, "Ugh, Mahryk, what do you want at this hour?"

"We're civilized now, I expect to be able to reach you at this time, do you understand?"

The man nods reluctantly, "At least my paychecks are civilized now. I'll take that. What's it you need done?"

"Kill Tonnor. Find that rat and silence him before he squeals to anyone."

"I'll make it happen, Mahryk."

"Today. I'll make it worth your while, but you have to get to him fast."

A cold smile spreads across the man's face, "Civilized, eh? Times never change, do they?"

Mahryk terminates the call and picks up a handheld holocommunicator before storming out of his office. There was a lot to get done, and the situation wasn't getting any simpler. He just hoped whatever meeting his employer was in didn't take too long.

…

The safehouse maintained by Alliance intelligence in Coronet City was fronted by an art dealership. It was one of the more creative setups Elohirnok had seen since his days with Wraith Squadron. Most government espionage operations began to take on a dull similarity, but this cell appeared to have taken their cover very seriously, even going so far as to recruit an actual curator for their collection.

"The art actually makes a good financial cover, you know." Their contact explained as he led them inside.

"You can play with the numbers however you want and no one ever gets suspicious. It's kind of like portable wealth, but inconspicous, unlike spice or weapons. Our operations funds account really shows the difference."

Elohirnok was paying attention, but Thrash clearly did not care who paid for the weapons. The two Jedi were conversing quietly at the back of the group, while the assassin remained silent.

In the back rooms of the building, the real business of intelligence gathering went on. Several offices were dedicated to monitoring communications, and a number of assistants worked tirelessly to collect information.

The team was led into a small conference room, where they waited for a few moments before the door opened and a Bith walked in. He was dressed in loose, casual clothing, the kind a musician or artist might wear.

In his high, musical language he greeted them, "Hello, my mercenary adventurers. Are you ready to begin your work?"

Thrash spoke out first, "No, we came all the way just to see the sights. It was nice of you to have us, though."

The Bith made a soft whistling sound, which was thought to be laughter. Elohirnok spoke next, "Sir, we're prepared to move immediately. I understand we have an informant who needs to be extracted?"

"That's precisely it. He's a rather nervous fellow named Ran Tonnor, but he's promised to meet you at a small bar this afternoon, before most people in the city go out for dinner."

Haytham inquires, "What sort of informant is this man?"

The Bith places his fingertips together and tilts his head from side to side for a moment, "A very frightened one. He's been working for a dangerous man, from what I gather. The important thing is that he has the details of numerous accounts being used to fund the terrorists. We know that at least three CorSec officers are involved, but our informant promised that his information would implicate members at the head of the Corellian government."

Thrash chews his lip uncomfortably, "Ah, sir... what do you mean?"

The Bith answers him directly, "I've been finding growing evidence of a secessionist movement within the government here. Thracken Sal-Solo is the most outspoken, but by himself he is not enough to sway the planetary government, much less the system as a whole. We need to identify these members of the government and arrange for their arrest before the situation becomes untenable."

The room had grown very quiet, and Sventrare was the first to break the silence, "Where are we to meet our contact? I think it wise to do some preliminary scouting and make sure that we are prepared."

The Bith nods, "Of course, you may leave your things here, I have rooms prepared for you belowground. I'm leaving an airspeeder at your discretion, one of my pilots will give you a tour of the district you're to meet the informant in."

…

Deep in the empty space between planets, far off the main hyperspace routes, a large yacht hung against a starry backdrop. It was somewhere in the Mid Rim, judging by the shape of the galactic core from this vantage point.

The yacht was an elegant craft, with sweeping lines and smooth hull plates. Her engines glowed a gentle blue, pulsing softly. Nearby, a bright flash of light signalled the arrival of a vessel from hyperspace.

A single X-Wing dropped back into realspace and after a few minutes, hailed the yacht. After being directed to dock via the ventral hangar bay, the X-Wing flew underneath the large yacht and disappeared.

Kael Orven was no pilot, so he allowed his astromech droid to handle the finer points of landing the craft inside the smooth, white hangar bay. Climbing out and jumping down to the deck before the flight attendants could reach his X-Wing, he looked around.

Chorba hadn't told him much about the meeting until he was in hyperspace, when the droid had played back a recording from the Hutt, which told him to attend a meeting on this yacht and arrange to sell weapons to an anonymous party that had requested Chorba's services.

On the far side of the hangar bay, a smooth section of the bulkhead slid aside to reveal a hidden door, which opened and admitted a small group of men. Four were clearly guards, carrying blaster rifles and wearing combat armor under their jackets. The others were a collection of middle aged men, wearing various types of formal and professional attire. It looked like a convention of politicians or lawyers, which made Kael nervous.

He approached them, still wearing his flight suit, and waved.

One of the men stepped forward and offered his hand, which Kael shook. Inclining his head slightly, Kael said, "Chorba the Hutt extends his cordial greetings and best wishes, gentlemen."

They looked pleased to hear this, and the man who shook his hand said, "Thank you, I trust you had a safe journey here?"

Kael smiled thinly, "I'm no worse for the wear, but I understand you're in a hurry to sort out a deal with our mutual friend?"

"Yes, absolutely. If you wish, I can have someone show you to a guest room where you can freshen up. The accomodations are suitable for a friend of Chorba, I hope."

Kael suppressed a frown and considered the offer for a moment, as he was inclined to reject it and just get the meeting over with as quickly as possible. However, instead he said, "Gentlemen, your generosity will not go unnoticed. Please, lead the way."

So he was shown to a luxurious suite, with colorful hues patterning the floor and elegant plasteel furniture finished with exotic metals. An unidentifiable creature had provided a soft pelt to serve as a carpet, and the refresher was state of the art. Kael scrubbed down as quickly as he could, cleaned up his face, and changed into a fresh set of clothes. They were the best he owned, but they were definitely not considered fashionable.

When he was done, a very polite butler showed him to the meeting, which took place in a well furnished dining room. Almost a dozen place settings had been laid out, and the room was filling up quickly. Kael did not recognize anyone at the meeting, but the butler directed him to the seat at the foot of the table. In short order the only seat left open was the one at the head of the table.

Kael made empty conversation with the men nearest him, aside from a single twi'lek there were no aliens present. After several minutes, the butler reappeared and conferred with one of the older men, who sported a long, well-groomed white beard. A whispered conversation ensued and the butler left hurriedly. The man turned to Kael and said, "Mr. Orven, I'm afraid that one of our number was delayed on Corellia and will not be able to attend. Shall we proceed?"

Kael couldn't care less, so he said, "I understand completely, I trust you gentlemen are fully committed to the arrangements you wish to make with Chorba?"

He still wasn't sure what this was about, so he hoped that someone would eventually be forthcoming about these mysterious arrangements.

The whitebearded gentleman smiled congenially and said, "Or course we are. We have arrived at a joint agreement to purchase your employer's entire stock of weapons. His estimates of the armaments he could provide were adequate, but we are more interested in exploring options for procuring further weapons stores."

Kael stared flatly, holding his expression in check. Chorba was perhaps the preeminent weapons smuggler in the Outer Rim, and possibly one of the largest suppliers of questionably acquired ordnance in the galaxy. Thousands of clients purchased his goods, and his distribution network was as secret as it was elegantly simple.

Recovering, Kael smiled and leaned forward slightly, "I'm sorry, perhaps you could clarify. Which estimates are you referring to?"

One of the other men, a noble looking individual with short brown hair, spoke up, "Chorba generously supplied us with estimates of what he could supply to us at our original price agreements, but we realized that the scope of his operations, and the scope of our needs, were much larger than that."

Another man joined in, "Yes, we're prepared to sign an exclusive contract with Chorba at a very generous rate."

Kael ran a hand through his hair and breathed in slowly. He looked around the table and said, "You would like to purchase all of Chorba's existing inventory? Every stockpile?"

The bearded gentleman replied, "Every one. And all of the weapons he has to sell for the next year. We can renegotiate the contract at that time, if our needs are still that significant."

Kael was too stunned to even consider the absurdity of what he was doing. He continued, "This is an enormous purchase, Chorba prefers to spread his business throughout the galaxy, maintaining a low profile. What you are asking carries a hefty cost, and has to account for the risk this arrangement would carry."

The bearded man smiled magnanimously, "As we are well aware, Mr. Orven. Please believe me when I say that we will make this contract extremely lucrative for Chorba, well worth the potential risk."

The man paused and considered his next words carefully, "My... compatriots and I have set aside a significant war chest for this venture."

Kael frowned slowly and gave the men around the table a closer inspection. They seemed similar at first, but as he looked closely he saw that they wore several subtly differing styles of dress. The accents were also somewhat dissimilar. What he had taken for Coruscanti accents seemed to have slightly different inflections, perhaps from other Core Worlds.

He looked directly at the bearded man and asked carefully, "If I may, who exactly do you and your compatriots represent?"

Again, the man gave that broad, knowing smile, "Why, Mr. Orven, you have the distinction of meeting with the chief delegates of a like minded coalition. Men who love freedom, and the right to pursue independent commercial interests. We have taken to calling ourselves the Commonwealth of Planets, although it's not quite official at the moment."

Kael almost stood up and left, almost sprinted for his X-Wing, but he grabbed the edge of the table instead. Rooting himself to the spot, he answered, as pleasantly as he could manage, "In that case, gentlemen, why don't we discuss the details of this arrangement over dinner? I'm certain that Chorba's stockpiles can be made available for the right price."

… CHAPTER FIVE ...

In the forest clearing, near the landing pad, the sun's first rays twinkle through the treetops and dance across the lush green grashes that grow right up to the edge of the towers and landing pad. Along the treeline, sentries patrol wearily, nearing the end of their watches.

A slight tremble in the earth causes drops of dew to fall from the blades of grass near the landing pad and a mechanical thrumming is heard.

Underground, a whole complex has been hollowed out of the cliffside. The main chamber is a large trapezoidal room, through which an assembly line runs. Various machines and contraptions are lined up along the sides of the conveyor belt, with fusion cutters and arc welding tools sparking. A large central control panel is spread out in a semicircle at waist level in the middle of the room, with readouts and displays monitoring the status of each machine. A protocol droid and two slender humanoids with stark white hair stand behind the controls, carefully adjusting them.

A sooty technician, wearing a hard cover and goggles, walks quickly over to the central console waving a datapad.

"Doctor Jareel! Doctor!" He has to yell above the din of the machinery.

One of the humanoids turns, his shoulder length hair spinning. He has a gaunt face and white, pupilless eyes.

"Yes, supervisor?"

The technician points to the datapad as he gets closer, "There's a problem with the warhead precursor chemicals. I don't think that last batch synthesized properly, the concentrations are all off."

Doctor Jareel takes the datapad and examines it, paging through the results on the screen idly with his finger. His nostrils flare and he thrusts the datapad back at the technician.

"Idiot! You forgot to purge the compression chambers before introducing the catalyst, we'll have to shut the plant down and decontaminate before production can resume."

The technician winces, "Doctor, I think we can salvage this batch if we just rebalance the ratio of RU-7. I could-"

"-No! You are as pathetic as you are inept. It's too late for this batch, you cannot reverse the catalyzation process at this stage, fool."

Doctor Jareel turns to the other slender humanoid, who is a woman dressed in a green labcoat.

"I trust you can oversee the plant floor while I sort out this imbecile's mess?"

"Yes, Faro. Do you think we should overproduce missile casings for the time being, or wait until we're prepared to produce more warheads?"

Doctor Jareel pauses, thinking.

"We have excess storage space for the casings, and the chemical refinement can still be optimized. Go ahead with the manufacturing here, we should be able to minimize our losses that way."

He rounds on the technician now, his lips pulled tight with anger, "You, on the other hand, had best pray I can undo your childish blunderings in good order, or you will personally answer to our client."

…

The meeting place their contact had chosen was a renovated cantina, attempting to attract a more refined clientelle. The floor was polished permacrete, treated with an expensive resin. It was well lit without being obnoxiously bright, and there was a good mix of seats around the bar, tables that were small but not inconveniently so, and corner booths that allowed for discrete conversations.

In short, it was a nightmare for surveillance. The assassin couldn't see a single vantage point, nowhere that gave unobstructed views of both exits either. On top of that, there were no windows. He was fundamentally uncomfortable in this place.

Elohirnok grimaced when he saw the floor, and the attempts to create murals on the walls. He felt them pretentious, and distracting to boot. He and the assassin approached the bar and sat down, ordering jawa juice and the bartender's recommended side dish. They had chosen to enter the bar in two groups, and scope the place out before their appointed meeting time.

The assassin drank quickly, but didn't touch the food. He drained his glass and pushed it to the side, then sat carefully so his body faced the nearest door but he could still turn towards the bar. Elohirnok noted this and smiled, "What's your contingency plan if things get messy?"

The assassin didn't look at Elohirnok when he answered, instead keeping an eye on the bartender surreptitiously, "Kill my way to the door and vanish. Meet back up at the safe house."

They had opted to leave their weapons in the airspeeder, although Elohirnok had concealed a holdout blaster in his boot and was certain the assassin had done the same. He also wouldn't be surprised if the assassin was the type to have more knives than was strictly healthy on his person.

Nodding, Elohirnok drank slowly from his cup. Overwhelmed by curiosity, he finally spoke, "Alright, it's just us now. What the hell is your name?"

The assassin focuses his eyes on Elohirnok and asks, "Does it matter? Colonel Raven must have given you a dossier on me."

"He did, but the details were very scarce. All I have is your moniker."

At this the assassin smiles, "Ah, yes. Lachance..." He rolls the word over his tongue, appreciating it, "It's one of the better ones the Raven has given me."

Elohirnok shifts on his stool, "Look, Colonel Raven appears to trust you, to an extent. However, you make me nervous. I've seen a lot of headcases, and none of them turned out well. Are you just playing at this whole silent slaughterhouse act, or do I need to be worried?"

Lachance moves his hands quickly towards his pockets and Elohirnok stands up abruptly, stepping diagonally towards Lachance.

Smiling wickedly, Lachance places his hands innocently back on the bar, "Why spoil the fun, Lieutenant? We have such an enjoyable dynamic."

Glaring at him, Elohirnok sits back down, grumbling half to himself, "I shouldn't have to worry that my own guys is deranged."

"There's nothing to worry about, Lieutenant. I'm perfectly stable. After all, the Raven personally assigned me to this unit."

"So you see why I'm concerned," Elohirnok said dryly.

He finished his jawa juice and waved the bartender over, ordering a glass of famous Corellian brandy. He offered one to Lachance, who smiled tightly and declined the offer with a wave of his hand.

…

Jacen Solo cut an imposing figure in his new uniform. The armor of the Galactic Alliance Guard had been designed at his request, and he hoped it would soon become a symbol of the Alliance's strength in the face of the insurgent threat on Coruscant.

The chest piece consisted of five layered plates shaped like chevrons, point down. This was the most identifiable aspect of the armor, with similar plates protecting the thighs and back. Round, slender pauldrons covered his shoulders, and his boots were reinforced up up to the calf. The armor's plates were a dark grey, in part because the Guard would be working at night more often than not, and also to stand as a stark contrast to the notorious armor of the Imperial Stormtroopers.

Over his armor, Jacen wore a heavy brown Jedi robe. His dark hair fell almost to his shoulders, but his eyes bore an intense conviction. His stance was relaxed, but firm and self-sure.

He was waiting in the Crix Madine Military Reserve, on Coruscant, to meet with several generals and an intelligence colonel who said he had some important revelations about the insurgents.

Ben Skywalker, Jacen's cousin and almost fifteen years his junior, stepped out of a nearby turbolift. He wore only the simple robes of a Jedi Knight, but had recently adopted the close cropped haircut favored by the troopers of the Galactic Alliance Guard. Slightly hesitant, he approached Jacen and said, "Ah, colonel... Do you want me here for this meeting?"

Jacen smiled, "You don't have to call me that, Ben. Or should I say, lieutenant?"

Ben looked slightly abashed, but returned the smile, "If you take things that far, I have to use your rank."

"Then just address me as your teacher for now, we'll worry about the formalities of rank when we're out in the field."

"I'm looking forward to that!"

"Very good. I'm about to meet with one of the intel officers who might have some crucial information for us. Go and prepare your platoon for immediate action, in case we have to move quickly."

Ben flushes with pride and straightens his back, "Right away!"

He returns to the turbolift and is quickly carried off into the recesses of the military complex.

...

Haytham and Sventrare wait in the airspeeder while Thrash conducts a walkthrough of the nearby streets. They're parked out of the way, far enough off the ground not to obstruct the streets but still remain inconspicuous. Other vehicles pass them from time to time, but the streets below are fairly quiet for the time being.

The two Jedi strike a remarkable contrast. Haytham's grey hair is swept back neatly, and he mixes a traditional Jedi tunic with a formal vest and jacket. He prefers a crisp blue to the earthen tones of ordinary Jedi robes.

Sventrare looks oddly peaceful, given how his bulk fills the airspeeder. His features are always relaxed, while Haytham appears deliberately composed, almost regal. The Codru-Ji still wears the sleeveless shirt and mercenary attire he wore at the spaceport, which causes his serene expression to look almost comical by comparison.

Sventrare rouses from his introspections and addresses Haytham, "What you said about Sergeant Ordo this morning, why is that?"

Haytham's eyebrows rise up slightly and he considers his reply, "Sven, did you see much of the war?"

"Yes. Or rather, I saw its consequences. Master Zhayne preferred to avoid open battles and instead we tried to work towards discovering the causes of the conflict, and healing the wounds it inflicted."

"I see. I spent my youth in the Imperial Navy, and knew many career military men. The ones who lasted in infantry units were the jaded ones, it couldn't be helped. They learned survival the hard way. Thrash was very young when the wars broke out, and when he got around to fighting, he did so as a medic."

Sventrare leans back into his seat and folds his arms over his chest, "I'm not sure I see what you're saying. He has considerable experience in war."

Haytham answers sharply, but his tone softens as he explains, "That's the problem. He's an idealist, a hero. He sprints out under fire and pulls wounded men to safety. He keeps treating the injured long after they're certain to die. He'll keep popping his head up until it gets shot off."

"Isn't that what Jedi are called to do?"

"Yes, but we've got lightsabers and the Force to protect us. We can afford to be the guardian angels for others. Ordinary soldiers are the ones who bear the casualties when we fail."

Sventrare looks determined and says firmly, "Then he must be trained. Sergeant Ordo has the potential to become a Jedi, I'm sure I've felt it."

"Perhaps. I'm not so certain of that, but you are more sensitive to the nuances of the Force, Sven."

Smiling, Sventrare nods, "Thank you, Haytham. Master Zhayne said the same on many occasions, that I have an intuitive connection to the Force."

"I believe that is because you started your training so young, it's as much a part of you as your arms and legs."

Sventrare laughs a deep, strong laugh, "And you are different from that?"

Haytham turns in his seat and folds his ankle onto his knee, "Yes. For me, the Force is always an alien thing. I can feel it and manipulate it, but it requires concentration, just like solving mathematical equations or logical puzzles."

"Perhaps that is why they will not make you a master, yet. I'm sure that with time your connection will strengthen."

"It's not a matter of strength, Sven. I can match Master Solusar in manipulation of the Force, but the serene meditations elude me. I cannot move past the practical aspects of the Force, I don't see the guiding currents the Grand Master often speaks of."

Sventrare's emerald brow furrows, and he appears puzzled, "But you easily move in accordance with the Force when you fight. I've watched you spar and it's obvious that you can sense your opponent's movements."

"But I think that's simply precognition, the split second reflexes bestowed by the Force, manifesting subconsciously."

"I can see how you might end up in disagreement with some of the masters," Sventrare muses.

Haytham laughs, "And you wonder why they bundled me off to work with Alliance Intelligence so quickly."

Thrash walks back around the corner on the street below and waves to them. Haytham puts his foot back on the floor and taps Sventrare on the shoulder, pointing down at Thrash.

"Kid's back. Time to get to the rendezvous."

… CHAPTER SIX ...

Blue Moon Mahryk paces his office, waiting. He tugs at his collar, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt. Undoing the top button of his shirt, he walks over to the climate control unit and adjusts the temperature.

A gentle chime sounds from his desk and he lurches over, slapping the key to answer the call.

"Mahryk here."

A shimmering holo-image of a well groomed man, late in his middle years, with a fashionably short haircut appears. His face is a hard mask, his eyes stern and unforgiving. He speaks with a refined, crisp accent, "Mahryk, you said this was urgent."

It was not a question, but a demand. Mahryk swallowed and replied, "Yes, sir, it is. It's about Tonnor."

"I assumed as much. From the river you appear to have sweated, I take it he is still troubling us?"

"I sent my best man, sir. He hasn't reported in."

The man's eyes narrow, "How long ago?"

Mahryk wipes his hands on his jacket, trying to dry his palms, "Six, six and a half hours. We knew right where he was supposed to be."

"Apparently not. How much does he have on us?"

"Before he ran he grabbed almost the entire account summary."

The man snaps, "The CorSec account? That was encrypted."

"Oh yes, and it still is. He has it but I don't think he can do anything with it. But, the Alliance..."

"Obviously. Who are these mercenaries they've brought planetside?"

Mahryk regains some of his composure, and picks up a datapad from his desk.

"I have that right here, sir, shall I transmit it?"

"No, tell me what you have and erase the records."

"Of course, sir. It appears that they brought in two Jedi Knights and two former military personnel. One Jedi, the Codru-Ji, is a newly minted Knight, probably muscle on this job. The other is a hell of a character, my man dredged up service records from the Imperial Navy. Born on Bastion, I can't tell what his angle is."

"Your messenger mentioned five, who is the fifth?"

Mahryk grows silent, and looks over his shoulder quickly before responding, "I think it's one of the Hutt Blackknives from Tatooine. I saw him in Mos Eisley just before things got really bad."

The man frowns, and asks, "Are you certain?"

"Completely, sir. I couldn't forget those eyes, and my scouts got a solid recording of him going into the Alliance safehouse in the Ravina District."

The man curses, "Very well. I will tell you how to respond after I meet with some of our business partners. Send me a good runner and cease all sensitive transmissions. Stand by to purge all our on-site data."

Mahryk nods enthusiastically, "Right away."

The call is ended from the other side, and Mahryk realizes that his hands are shaking. He opens a drawer in his desk and takes out a short glass and bottle.

…

Inside the cantina, Elohirnok and the assassin make idle conversation with the patrons who have filtered in as the sun set outside. Across the room from them, Thrash, Sventrare, and Haytham have settled into a corner booth and ordered drinks. The room is about half filled, and the dull buzz of conversation competes with a small band playing at the back of the room.

Vosh, the broad shouldered, green skinned Twi'lek cautiously enters the cantina. He looks over the crowd carefully, and approaches the booth where Thrash, Sventrare, and Haytham are laughing over their drinks.

Elohirnok spots Vosh making for their booth and excuses himself from the bar, heading towards the refresher. The assassin looks at him questioningly, and Elohirnok tilts his head towards the booth. Immediately, the assassin follows Elohirnok to the refresher, which is located in a small room off the side of the main cantina.

Once he is inside, the assassin closes the door and pulls a small snub nosed blaster from inside his jacket.

"That's not our informant," He says sharply.

"I know that, wait outside and keep an eye out for an ambush. I'll signal you if we're leaving in a hurry."

The assassin nods, slips his hand into his pocket with the blaster, and walks quickly out of the refresher. Elohirnok follows him and returns to the bar, facing the corner booth and keeping one hand out of sight under the bar.

Over at the booth, Vosh sits down next to Thrash, who gives him a surprised look and says, "Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?"

Haytham has reached inside his vest and grasped his lightsaber, while Sventrare unfolds his arms and leans towards Vosh.

Looking around quickly, Vosh places both his hands flat on the table and carefully speaks, "You two are the Jedi?"

Haytham keeps his face expressionless, but Sventrare's eyes widen in surprise. Thrash turns sideways in the booth and stares Vosh down, "Hey buddy, I don't know who you think you are, but you'd better explain yourself carefully."

Vosh nods, "You expected to meet with someone else, I understand. My employer is prepared to make you a better offer."

Haytham keeps his voice cool, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Who is your employer?"

Vosh reaches slowly into his jacket and takes out a holocommunicator, placing it on the table. He stands up and straightens his jacket, "Give him a call. I'm just the messenger."

Elohirnok watches him leave before walking over to the booth. He sits down where Vosh had been a moment earlier and calls the assassin on his personal comm.

"Green twi'lek coming out now, bigger fellow. Don't lose him," He says rapidly.

Sventrare picks up the holocommunicator and turns it over, examining it.

"Do you think this is some sort of trap?" He asks.

Elohirnok shrugs, "What was that all about? Where is our guy Tonnor?"

…

Outside, Vosh heads across the street. On the corner, the assassin leans against a wall, looking at a datapad in his hand. His eyes follow Vosh as he slides away from the wall and moves after him, slipping the datapad into his jacket with one hand and reaching his other hand back into his pocket to grip his blaster.

The streets of Coronet City are a spider's web of interconnecting pathways; multi-layered and developed over centuries, there are large open avenues to permit airspeeder traffic and steep, twisting streets which are limited to travellers on foot. Vosh knows the streets well and he slips down an alleyway, glancing over his shoulder.

The assassin follows carefully at a distance and stops at the mouth of the alleyway, waiting a few moments before peeking around the corner. Vosh is just nearing the end of the alley, and the assassin ducks back out of sight. He counts slowly to ten before stepping quickly into the alley, hand still gripping his blaster inside his jacket.

The alley is empty, and the assassin sprints down it, covering the distance in seconds. At the end he pauses and steps quickly into the street on the other side, glancing to either side in case his quarry had laid a trap.

Vosh is oblivious, walking down this new street. The street is more open than the last one, but large groups of people are making their way about, enjoying the city's nightlife. The assassin gently pushes his way through the crowd, trying to keep Vosh in sight.

As he closes the distance again, the assassin looks ahead, trying to see where Vosh might be headed. The twi'lek is walking steadily, in no apparent rush. Frowning, the assassin continues to slide around the people in his way, moving in on Vosh.

They continue down this street and veer off to the left, going up a long curved ramp and into a large shopping center. Here the colorful lights and noise make it easy to go unnoticed, and the assassin has to keep a sharp eye out to maintain line of sight with Vosh.

Nearing an electronics shop, which proudly advertised the latest in holocommunication technology, Vosh turns and enters. The assassin loiters outside for a moment before choosing a shop across from it at random and walking in. Vosh turns around suddenly, and looks behind him.

The assassin snaps his head to the side and immediately occupies himself studying a display in front of him, which to his amusement turns out to be an assortment of jewelry catering to Rodians. The shop owner walks over and stands a short distance behind the assassin, saying, "Has something caught your eye, sir? We are actually having an incredible sale at the moment."

The assassin ignores him, trying to keep Vosh at the edge of his peripheral vision. The twi'lek has purchased something and is leaving the shop with a small metal case. Shaking his head at the shop owner, the assassin hurries out of the store and rejoins the crowds, trailing behind Vosh.

The chase leads the assassin out of the shopping center and into an upper class district of the city, where the buildings are taller and the streets polished durasteel with elaborate statues on every corner. Vosh makes a sudden right turn and the assassin sprints to the corner and looks around it, but Vosh is still walking casually along the street.

Taking a breath to steady himself, the assassin rounds the corner nonchalantly and threads his way through the various humans and aliens on the street. The crowds here are thinner and better dressed than near the cantina, and Vosh is easy to keep track of.

The assassin hangs back further, looking around and pretending to admire the architecture of the buildings, which rise up hundreds of feet into the air, glistening in the setting sun. Vosh makes another right down a side street, and the assassin quickens his pace and follows him.

When he rounds the corner, Vosh has taken out a communicator and is holding it to his ear as he walks. The assassin's eyes narrow and he continues with his brisk pace, rapidly approaching Vosh from behind.

Reaching the end of the side street, Vosh stops and stands still, finishing his call on the communicator. The assassin hangs back, looking for somewhere to hide. He spots a doorway and steps up to it, busying himself with the lock. Vosh looks around him, apparently waiting, but doesn't take notice of the assassin.

Stepping back from the door, the assassin glances at Vosh, who is now looking upwards, glancing around. Keeping a hand on his blaster, the assassin walks down the street towards Vosh and turns away from him when he gets back on the main boulevard.

A short distance away, the assassin pauses and turns around just in time to see an airspeeder touch down near Vosh. Cursing softly, the assassin starts walking towards the airspeeder. Vosh walks over to the airspeeder and passes the metal case through the front window and opens the side door.

Breaking into a quick trot, the assassin nears the airspeeder as Vosh ducks inside. Before the door can close, the assassin bursts forward at a dead run and pulls out his blaster. Nearby someone gives an alarmed shout as the assassin rushes past.

Vosh sits down in the passenger seat of the airspeeder and closes the door as the assassin reaches them. Before Vosh can react, the assassin yanks open the back door and slips into the airspeeder.

Holding his snub nosed blaster in front of him at chest level, elbow cocked out to the side, the assassin aims at Vosh, saying quietly, "Don't blink, don't breath, don't move. Take off and pretend I'm not here."

Vosh starts to turn around and the assassin raises his voice, "Did I stutter, nerf-herder?"

Vosh sits back and looks ahead, saying to the driver, "Just do what he says. Nothing sudden, Trunyh."

The airspeeder takes off and rises up into the air, rapidly gaining altitude. Vosh holds his hands up in front of him and says, "I need to make a call, I'm supposed to check in. Is that alright with you?"

"Make it quick and don't try calling for help, head-tail. Any code words or panic phrases and I'll blast a hole in your skull."

Vosh nods and reaches into his coat to remove a communicator. He activates it and places it against his ear, waiting while it connects. After a moment he says, "Hey boss, it's Vosh."

A brief pause, "Yes, I delivered the package. I'm on my way back to Mahryk's right now. He said to come back once I was done."

Another pause, "I'll let him know. Thank you, sir."

Lowering the comm unit, Vosh ended the call and slid the communicator back into his jacket.

The assassin tossed a pair of binders onto Vosh's lap and gestured with the blaster, "Cuff yourself, and be quick about it."

Vosh complied slowly, watching the blaster from the corner of his eye. Meanwhile, the driver brought the airspeeder down towards the ground again and landed them outside Mahryk's nightclub.

As they touched down, the assassin threw another pair of binders at Vosh and said sharply, "Put these on your friend there and take me inside."

They exited the airspeeder and walked around the back of the club, drawing some looks from people waiting in line outside to get in the front. Vosh and the driver walked ahead of the assassin, who hung back a few meters with his blaster in his jacket pocket again.

When they got to the back door, the assassin jerked his head at the door and gave Vosh a meaningful look. Sighing, Vosh walked up to the door and pressed the intercom, "It's Vosh, I'm back. Get yourself down here and open up for me."

As soon as he released the intercom, the assassin moved like a coiled spring, stepping next to the driver and snapping his arm out. A short vibroblade had appeared in his left hand, and he drove it into the driver's neck all the way to the hilt before ripping it out and rushing Vosh.

The big Twi'lek stepped to the side and swung his cuffed hands at the assassin in a wide hammerfist, but the assassin flowed under his arms and lashed out with his blade, slashing the underside of the Twi'lek's arms and opening a deep gash.

Vosh shoved against the assassin then, trying to throw him to the ground. The assassin slipped behind Vosh and gave him a sharp kick, sending him sprawling forward. Vosh reached out with his hands to break his fall, but landed awkwardly and his face hit the ground.

Just then, the back door of the club opened and a young human stepped out. Immediately he sees the body of the driver in a spreading pool of blood, and looks down at Vosh before opening his mouth to shout.

The assassin draws his blaster in his right hand and extends his arm, aiming quickly and firing twice. The newcomer jerks backward, hit twice in the chest. He tries to close the door but the assassin sprints at him and stabs him several times below the ribs before he can grab the handle.

Shoving the man out of his way, the assassin moves into the hallway beyond the door and looks quickly to his left and right. Heavy music thrums against the walls, and the lighting is dim. Spying the stairs leading up to the offices, the assassin speeds silently towards them.

Near the top of the staircase, he pauses and looks behind him. Seeing no one, he prowls forward, reading the labels on the doors he passes. When he reaches the one labelled: Mr. R. Mahryk, owner, he tests the handle. Finding it locked, he knocks politely and steps aside, holding his vibroblade at the ready.

When no one answers, he slides the vibroblade between the door and the frame above the handle. For a moment, he works it back and forth, prying until there is a satisfying click and the door swings open.

Quickly bringing his blaster to bear, the assassin sweeps into the room, moving to the right and keeping his vibroblade low. Keeping near the wall, he circles towards the desk and checks behind it, but finds the room abandoned. Retracing his steps, he closes the door carefully and begins to examine the room.

… CHAPTER SEVEN ...

In a small meditation chamber in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, many of the most influential Jedi Masters have gathered. Luke Skywalker, Grand Master of the Jedi Order, leads the conclave. He is seated on a smooth, circular bench made of dark green plasteel. Before him in a circle are eleven other benches, each occupied by a figure dressed in Jedi robes. The meditation chamber is taller than it is wide, and has one door behind Luke. Along the floor, where it meets the walls, are dim yellow lighting panels that give the room a mellow ambiance.

Among the Jedi Masters gathered there are Kyle Katarn, Tresina Lobi, Kenth Hamner, and Saba Sebatyne. Master Lobi is a near-human female, with blond hair and black eyes. Master Katarn and Hamner are human males, older and weather worn. Hamner's hair has taken on a silvery grey color, while Katarn's hair is only tinged with grey. Master Sebatyne is a reptilian alien, female with oblate red eyes and dark vertical pupils.

The Jedi Masters look to Grand Master Skywalker to begin the meeting. Once he has their attention, he begins, "My fellow Jedi, there is a dark storm brewing. You have all felt the currents in the Force, the echoes of pain and confusion. The attacks on the people of Coruscant have created much fear and anger, and this can easily lead to retaliation."

Master Katarn interjects, "They have good cause to be afraid. These terrorists are clearly professionals. We need to know for certain if it's Corellia that is funding them."

Master Hamner, a Corellian himself, speaks out, "Even if that is the case, we cannot allow the Alliance to strain relations with Corellia too far. Already, the Alliance Advisory Council is discussing punitive measures."

Skywalker continues, "For now, those are only discussions. We need to ensure that they do not progress farther than that."

Katarn remarks, "Your nephew Jacen is hardly helping matters. He's become fast friends with Admiral Niathal, and she's commissioned him to lead a secret police force here on Coruscant."

Skywalker bows his head for a moment and folds his hands, "Yes, that is a matter of great concern to me."

Master Lobi intones in her musical voice, "His guardsmen are very busy. They've interned many citizens and carried out even more raids without any respect for the law."

Skywalker turns to her, "I know, my son Ben has been with them for some of those. Jacen brought him into this mess, but perhaps we can turn that to our advantage. I need someone to monitor the activities of the Galactic Alliance Guard, in case they start adopting even more extreme measures."

Again, Master Lobi speaks, "Master Skywalker, Ben trusts me implicitly. I could keep an eye on him and attempt to learn more about what Jacen is doing."

Hamner adds in his gravelly voice, "That would provide us with valuable information. Already, I fear that we are losing touch with the higher echelons of government here on Coruscant."

Skywalker nods in agreement, "I fear the same, Master Hamner. Tempers are running high in the Senate and the Advisory Council has been meeting extensively with the Fleet Commanders. I fear a brash reaction could spark further violence."

…

The Dauntless was an enormous warship, more than twice the size of an Imperial Star Destroyer. It's hull was in the shape of an elongated egg, with numerous smooth protrusions lining the dorsal surface. Along each side were three landing bays, sealed by faint blue particle shields to keep the atmosphere inside. Built at the legendary Mon Calamari shipyards, she was a masterpiece of military engineering.

In the quarters of Admiral Rotobo, commander of the Alliance Fourth Fleet, a half dozen officers in Alliance white were gathered. Admiral Rotobo is a round faced man, his cheeks pocked and weathered, his hair thinning and white. He sat behind his desk, several large datapads in front of him. Looking up, he speaks in gruff tones, "Boys, we're mobilizing. I want all our stores at maximum capacity, and prepare for extended fighter operations."

He looks at one of the younger officers, "Jan, you're on deck to command the forward element. I want you onboard the Trucemaker."

The officer nods, "Aye, sir. I'm honored."

Rotobo grumbles, "Don't tell me that, just get to your ship and do your job."

The doors to the admiral's quarters open and Jacen Solo strides in, walking straight towards Admiral Rotobo. The officers present stiffen and straighten their backs as Jacen passes them. Reaching the admiral, Jacen extends his hand to him. The admiral shakes it and says, "Well met, Master Solo. I've received your reports and we're prepared to move into the Corellia system."

Jacen nods, looking serious, and says, "Remember, we don't know who the Corellians may have gotten to. Take special care of those I noted in my reports, we cannot afford any loose ends when we strike."

Admiral Rotobo smiles, "Master Solo, it will be my pleasure to crush this rebellion before it begins."

Looking to his officer, the admiral says, "Gentlemen, get to your ships. Alert your crews, prepare to cruise in forty-eight hours. Dismissed."

The officers collectively come to attention, "Dismissed, aye aye, sir."

The file out of his quarters, leaving the admiral and Jacen Solo alone. Jacen hands the admiral a single datapad, "There is one last matter to attend to. Our friends in the Senate assure me that this measure will be passed tomorrow, I thought you would like to be aware of the details."

The admiral takes the datapad and smiles graciously, "We're going to do great things together, Master Solo. I admire your vision and foresight."

…

The tattooed man crouches in the shadows, invisible. His breathing is stilled to a faint whisper, and his heart beats slowly, like a funeral march.

He is outside of a spaceport, and it is early in the morning, before the sun rises. Dock workers are already busy loading shuttles and driving heavy lifters to stack cargo containers. Ships are being fueled and maintenance crews conduct preliminary checks.

Stealing through the darkness, the tattooed man moves like a ghost. His footsteps make no sounds, and he slips past the workers without the faintest hint of his presence.

Moving into the depths of the spaceport, he arrives outside a secure docking bay. It has one entrance, a large set of reinforced blast doors tall enough to admit heavy vehicles and wide enough for two airspeeders to fit easily. Four armed guards stand outside, carrying blaster rifles.

As a cargo loader approaches the doors, the tattooed man springs from cover, arcing high into the air and landing between two crates on the loader. The blast doors smoothly pull apart and the cargo loader hovers inside the docking bay.

A large military transport shuttle sits in the center of the docking bay, and several technicians are busy fueling the shuttle while two more look on through a wide viewing port from an observation deck two stories above the docking bay floor. A set of switchback ramps leads to the observation deck, which is accessed by a smaller blast door.

As the cargo loader passes near the ramp, the tattooed man leaps off and lands at the top, in front of the blast door. His dark clothes rustle only faintly as he lands. Taking a small keycard out of his pocket, he swipes it next to the door, which opens with a pressurized hiss.

One of the technicians turns to look at the door, and upon seeing the man gives a start. The tattooed man stretches out his hand, fingers curling together, and the technician opens his mouth to wordlessly scream.

Stepping inside, the tattooed man shuts the door and closes his fist. The technician's eyes bulge and his throat is crushed, he collapses to the floor in a heap. The other technician backs up against the far wall and raises his hands, "Hey, look..."

The tattooed man points to him and gestures casually. The technician flies through the air towards the tattooed man, who snaps out his other hand to deliver a sharp blow to the technician's throat. The technician's body spasms from the force of the blow and he drops with a soft thump.

Looking out through the viewport, the tattooed man watches as the ground crew finishes fueling the shuttle. As they complete the process and disconnect various lines and hoses from the shuttle, he opens the door to the observation deck and walks back down the ramp.

He walks smoothly, silently. He is almost on the ground floor before anyone notices his presence. One of the ground crew sees him and points, shouting, "You there, what are you doing?"

The tattooed man runs forward with inhuman speed and jumps up, kicking him sharply in the head and landing on the other side as the man is thrown back from the force of the blow. Moving so fast he is almost a blur, the tattooed man closes the distance to the shuttle and seizes one of the crewmen by the neck, flinging him to the ground.

The two remaining crewmen start for the docking bay doors, but the tattooed man waves his hand and several fuel lines float up off the ground and wrap themselves quickly around the men's throats, pulling them to the ground. The tattooed man looks at the crewman at his feet with an expression of faint detachment and brings his heel crashing down on the man's neck.

Without sparing a glance for the other men as they die, the tattooed man goes around the back of the shuttle and opens the boarding ramp.

...

In the cantina on Corellia, Elohirnok waits. Haytham and Thrash are arguing about something while Sventrare looks intently at the holocommunicator on the table.

The personal comm on Elohirnok's belt clip chimes, and he snatches it up and answers, "It's Halal, sir."

The high pitched voice of the Bith at the safehouse carries over the device, "I am aware of that, Lieutenant, but thank you for reminding me. I have considered what you said, and think it best if you contact this man."

Elohirnok's eyebrows pull together, "Sir, I've examined the device and it appears to be a one way repeater. There's no way to trace the signal."

"I suspected as much, not to worry. I'm more concerned by our informant's disappearance. One of my men went by his last known residence and the premises are abandoned. No signs of a struggle, though."

"Shouldn't finding him be our highest priority, sir?"

"It is. I think that this man will have something to say on the matter. Do whatever it takes to get to our informant or find out what he knew, Lieutenant. Superviser out." The Bith terminates the call, leaving Elohirnok to stare down at the holocommunicator on the table.

Finally, he reaches out and activates the device, setting it upright on the table and settling back into his chair.

Haytham and Thrash fall silent, and all eyes are locked on the faint holo-image that appears above the device. A well groomed man, dressed in a long jacket and expensive waistcoat bows slightly. Straightening up, he addresses Elohirnok in a crisp, cultured accent, "Good evening Lieutenant Halal, it is quite the pleasure to finally see your face. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may be so bold."

Elohirnok's face melts into a neutral expression, jaw set as he replies, "Be my guest."

The man clasps his hands in front of his waist and says, "My name is Stefan Del Versio."

Elohirnok looks at Haytham, who raises an eyebrow inquisitively. Focusing his attention back on the holo-image, Elohirnok says evenly, "I've heard of you. You're something of a financial tycoon."

Stefan laughs lightly, "That's a very generous title. I've been called many things, but that has got to be one of my favorites, I thank you."

Turning to face the others seated at the table, Stefan spreads his hands theatrically, "You are probably wondering why I have contacted you. The reason is simple. I have something you want very badly, and I'm quite willing to give it to you."

Haytham inquires, "Why the cloak and dagger business, Mr. Del Versio?"

Chuckling, Stefan replies, "Perhaps you do not realize the gravity of the situation you are in."

"I was not informed, perhaps you could enlighten me?" Haytham quips.

"Gladly, Master Kenway." Stefan folds his hands again.

Elohirnok cuts in, "Slow down, there. How is it you know our names?"

Stefan shakes his head slowly, "Lieutenant Halal, you of all people I would expect to have caught on. I know everything about you, just as I know all about your intelligence operation here in Coronet City."

Thrash's face darkens, anger flashing in his eyes, "What do you know?"

Elohirnok continues, "Explain yourself. What is it you want from us?"

Stefan takes a short breath and answers, "Why, I wish to surrender and be granted asylum by the Alliance."

Thrash scowls, "Who are you to surrender? You're Corellian nobility, aren't you?"

Stefan tips his head forward in a shallow bow, "That is mostly correct, Specialist Ordo."

Taken aback, Thrash says incredulously, "Specialist?"

"Why yes, you were approved for promotion this morning, my good boy. I'm sure you're quite pleased at the news."

Elohirnok leans forward and speaks sharply, "Enough games, Del Versio. What are you running from?"

The holo-image flickers and there is a momentary crackle of static before the image resolves itself. Stefan continues, "Are you familiar with proton torpedoes, Lieutenant?"

"I am. They're restricted by the bylaws of the Alliance to military use. Why are you bringing them up?"

Stefan smiles, "Not even a hint of recognition? Shame on you, Lieutenant. I think a member of Wraith Squadron would appreciate the ability to destroy capital ships."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you need to stop talking in circles or this conversation is over."

Stefan sighs, "Very well, if you insist. I am a self made man, and many of the connections I built during my life are in the very highest corners of our government here on Corellia. I also maintain more, discreet connections. Underworld sorts."

Elohirnok folds his hands on the table and listens intently while Stefan elaborates, "There is a very powerful coalition that wants nothing to do with the Alliance anymore. I am intricately involved in arranging these people's financial operations, and the juicy details I can give you are extemely compromising. Not only that, but I can directly prove their connections to the insurgent movement on Coruscant."

Thrash slams his fist down on the table, "You're lying, you little worm. You're a disgrace to Corellia!"

Elohirnok puts a hand on Thrash's shoulder and pushes him gently back in his seat, "Easy, Sergeant. Easy."

Stefan looks sympathetically at Thrash, "Would that it was so easy to dismiss my claims, my young boy, but I am afraid the evidence I have is irrefutable. Your superiors would be eager to get their hands on the data I can provide."

Elohirnok says directly, "Mr. Del Versio, you mentioned proton torpedoes. Have your associates acquired any?"

"It's worse than that, Lieutenant. I personally oversaw the construction of a production facility for experimental high yield warheads. An Arkanian doctor by the name of Jareel had quite the demonstration for my business associates, and frankly they were smitten. Our first production run was finished last week."

Haytham curses softly, "How many, how are you... this is a rebellion."

Stefan nods, "And no mere scattering of freedom fighters either. You have quite the problem on your hands, but I'll gladly supply you with all the information I have in exchange for my terms."

Elohirnok grimaces slightly, "Right. Total amnesty."

Stefan raises a finger, "More than that, Lieutenant. I want you to get me off this planet and deliver me safely to Coruscant."

"That shouldn't be too difficult."

"Ah, well there are a few details you are not yet aware of, Lieutenant. For instance, CorSec has recently restricted all outbound flights from Corellia, citing security concerns. Once I collect my information and make my exit, my former friends in government will be none too pleased to see me go. I would require your promise of protection before I can deliver the information you need."

Elohirnok leans back, considering his reply. Thrash continues to glare at the holo-image while Haytham strokes his chin, bemused.

Eventually Elohirnok says, "I will need to clear this with my supervisor first, but I think we can do this."

Stefan smiles, "I happen to have taken the liberty of installing a listening device in this holocommunicator. I am well aware that your supervisor has entrusted you with all the authority required to carry out my request."

Smiling in spite of himself, Elohirnok shakes his head, "Now I feel he fool. Consider it done."

Stefan interjects, "One final condition, if you please."

He faces Sventrare and states gravely, "Master Dermo, I would have your word as a Jedi Knight that you will see me safely to Coruscant."

Sventrare looks taken aback, "My word? Why is that?"

Stefan insists, "That is my final condition. I will deliver all the information I have available, which is pretty much everything, but I must have your personal assurances as to my safety."

Sventrare places his palms together and bows his head, "Mr. Del Versio, as a Knight of the Jedi Order, I swear to see you to Coruscant and protect you until you are safely in the hands of the Alliance."

"Excellent. I will meet you outside the cantina in five minutes. I take it you have transportation to your safe house?"

Sventrare nods, "We do."

"Very well, if you don't mind, gentlemen, I have a few last minute details to take care of."

The image vanishes and after a long silence, Haytham speaks first, "That was... remarkable."

Elohirnok shakes his head, "I really don't know what to say."

Thrash hesistantly says, "Yay, team?"

Haytham smirks, "Something like that."

The group pays for their drinks and files outside, leaving the holocommunicator on the table. Elohirnok goes to get the airspeeder, and shortly after he returns they are approached by a hunched, disheveled man with an attache case cuffed to his left hand. Waving at them as he approaches, he calls out, "Gentlemen, I'm so pleased you waited for me. Shall we be going?"

Thrash looks questioningly at him, saying, "You were a lot more presentable over the holo, you know."

Stefan laughs quietly, "Aren't we all?"

Elohirnok motions for them to get into the airspeeder, and in short order they are flying back to the safehouse.

… CHAPTER EIGHT …

Rastaphor, the Bith supervisor of the Alliance safehouse, was furious. He had recently been informed by a nervous subordinate that Corellian authorities were restricting transports to and from the system, and that direct clearance was required from CorSec to leave or approach Corellia proper.

Ordinarily, this would not have been the end of the world, but shortly thereafter, he had also received a secure transmission from Colonol Raven, his superior, informing him to evacuate all his personnel from the planet within forty-eight hours.

And then his most promising informant, Ran Tonnor, vanished without a trace hours before he was supposed to be extracted by a security team. This fiasco was getting completely out of hand, and his frustration was showing.

Stalking down a hallway, Rastaphor watched as men and women, and a few aliens, scrambled about with equipment and crates. He had every confidence that the evacuation would go smoothly, if it weren't for the quarantine.

Rastaphor went downstairs and through the art gallery, into the courtyard outside that served to separate his compound from the street. The doorman, who was actually an Alliance commando, was admitting his security team that had gone to meet Tonnor.

Elohirnok led the way, accompanied by a dirty looking man with stooped posture. Jarringly, there was a solid looking attache case secured to the stranger's wrist. Right behind the stranger came Sventrare, looking about as though he expected to be ambushed at any moment.

Rastaphor walked up, holding out his hand to Elohirnok, "Very good work there."

He turned to the newcomer, "You must be Stefan Del Versio, I'm glad to have you here."

Stefan chuckles, "I hope it's not that obvious who I am, I did put some effort into this disguise."

Rastaphor nods, "Disguises are my specialty, but it did help to know you were coming."

Sventrare steps forward, "Supervisor, with your permission, we would like to leave immediately to take this man to Coruscant."

Rastaphor wrinkles the flaps on his cheeks, frustrated, "I wish things could be that easy. Unfortunately, I've just learned that CorSec is checking all outgoing traffic. It's impossible to take off without proper authorization."

Thrash fumes, "What? That's absurd, this is Corellia! No one keeps a Corellian planetside."

Stefan looks down thoughtfully, "There's a storm brewing, that's for sure."

Looking back at Rastaphor, he continues, "You're certain that there's no way you can smuggle me off the planet? I'm afraid that all of my own assets cannot be trusted for this task. It's only a matter of time until my associates learn of my... change of allegiances."

FUTURE SCENE:

Four duelists, one with a double bladed lightsaber and his ally with a single blade face two single blade users.

The double blade and ally are in the center to start, the other two face them from opposite sides.

The two others lock eyes and share a mutual understanding to attack, the two single blade users close rapidly, the other hammering the ally with broad, fast strikes that turn aside the ally's blade repeatedly, driving him back.

The other quickly wounds the ally twice, and shows no signs of slowing down.

The one facing the double blade charges in as well, swinging a horizontal strike. The double blader side steps and blocks with his left blade, but switches it off just as the blades touch, unbalancing his attacker. As he blocks, he spins quickly to his right, dropping to his knees and slamming his other blade in below the attacker's ribs. The blade punches through his chest, killing him instantly.

The double blader pulls out his saber and switches the other side back on as he stands up and moves to aid his ally.

Analysis: Double blader practices Juyo and Trakata efficiently.

ANOTHER FUTURE DUEL:

The attacker moves in cautiously at first, circling the defender and testing with quick, conservative cuts. The defender switches into a high guard, both arms above his head, saber point down in front of him.

The attacker strikes high and fast, but as the defender shunts his saber aside, he bounces his saber back and moves quickly to the right, flowing into a low slash. The defender leaps up to avoid the slash and somersaults over his attacker's head.

As he lands, the attacker twists and thrusts directly at his throat. The defender leans back and catches the tip of the saber with the lower portion of his own, and slides inside the attacker's guard. The attacker attempts to withdraw his saber quickly to slice at the defender, but as he does so, the defender grabs the attacker's wrists with his off hand and plants his foot behind the attacker's legs.

The defender pulls the attacker's arms up and checks him with his hip, throwing the attacker towards the ground. Losing his balance, the attacker releases his saber and lands hard on his back. The defender spins his saber and plunges it towards the attacker's chest, but the attacker raises both hands and blasts him with the Force, flinging him into the air.

The defender backflips and aims to land on his feet, throwing his lightsaber at the attacker as he does so. The glowing blade twirls through the air, but the attacker ducks under it and races towards the defender. As he runs, he uses the Force to pull both the defender's saber and his own into his hands, and leaps forward.

The defender lands in a crouch and rolls to the left to avoid a double downward slash with both lightsabers. Snarling, the attacker whips around to follow him, slashing with one saber and then the other. Backpedaling, the defender throws a nearby object at the attacker with the Force, but he twists easily around it and keeps advancing.

Reaching a ledge, the defender coils his legs underneath him for a leap upwards, but the attacker sees this and rushes him. Jumping upwards, empowered by the Force, the defender soars up past the attacker, who pivots to face him and thrusts both lightsabers out at the defender.

Jerking to a halt in mid-air, the defender is yanked downwards by the Force, directly at the attacker. With a hiss, he his impaled on both lightsabers.

Analysis: Attacker employs Niman with a touch of Jar'Kai, while the defender uses Djem So and Ataru.

YET ANOTHER FUTURE DUEL:

On a wraparound balcony, the defender raises his saber in a calm salute and holds it out in a low fencing guard, point angled towards the ground. The attacker ignites his double bladed saber and advances carefully, leading with his left side, keeping the end of one blade pointed at the defender as he moves.

Probing, the attacker pushes with the Force, but the defender lifts his off hand diffuses his assault. The attacker lunges forward and thrusts with the point of his saber. The defender steps back and evades the thrust, maintaining his guard. Spinning for momentum, the attacker launches into an assault.

The defender raises his blade to deflect a downward backslash and neatly parries a rising slash from the other end of the saberstaff, shunting the attacker's blade up and aside before darting in with a quick cut aimed at the attacker's arm.

The attacker reverses his spin and dances outside the defender's reach, then charges forward and leaps up, slashing downward as he lands. The defender sidesteps his attack and the attacker twirls his saberstaff around his hips, quickly changing the direction of his slash, aiming for the defender's legs. The defender quickly ducks low and parries, sticking with the attacker's blade and forcing it up.

Turning his lightsaber, the defender pushes forward and inflicts a shallow cut on the attacker's leg. The attacker whips the lower end of his lightsaber around, swinging at the defender's exposed shoulder. The defender turns his thrust into a somersault, rolling past the attacker. As he springs lightly to his feet, he thrusts behind him, forcing the attacker to throw himself sideways.

The defender pivots and executes a graceful one handed slash, grazing the upper arm of the attacker. The attacker falls back against the balcony railing and pulls the defender violently towards him with the Force. Caught off guard, he is flung forward, but turns the movement into a fluid thrust. The attacker jumps out of the way and kicks the defender quickly before he regains his balance, toppling him over the railing.

Tumbling as he falls, the defender switches off his lightsaber and braces himself to land on the rooftop below. The attacker follows him quickly, jumping over the railing and landing beside the defender, who rushes at him as he ignites his lightsaber.

Before the defender can reach him, the attacker springs forward with a burst of Force-induced speed and slashes aggressively upwards. The defender barely turns the blow aside with his saber before the attacker twists and brings the other blade around.

The defender attempts to sidestep and circle outside the attacker's reach. In response, the attacker lunges with the end of his saber, jumping forward. The defender falls backward and tumbles away, coming up to his feet as the attacker continues his charge, slashing from side to side.

Blocking the slashes, the defender counters low. The attacker jumps up just enough to avoid the slash and throws all of his momentum behind a downward diagonal slash. The defender raises his lightsaber a moment too late, and barely blocks the attacker's blade as he bears down on him.

Leaning into his weapon, the attacker forces the defender down. As he loses his footing, the defender attempts to slip out of the blade lock and swings his lightsaber back and around in a counterstroke. The attacker anticipates this, however, and retaliates instantly with his opposite blade, severing the defender's sword arm at the elbow.

Staggered, the defender falls back, playing for space. The attacker lashes out with the Force, seeking to throw his opponent down, but the defender meets his attack and resists it. The two duelists strain against each other, fighting through the Force until suddenly the attacker is thrown backwards.

His lightsaber flies out of his grip, spinning away as he lands, and the defender sprints towards him, calling his own weapon into his off hand as he runs. Reaching the attacker, he thrusts his lightsaber downward in a killing stroke. The attacker rolls to his left as the lightsaber blade plunges past his head, and he gets up on his knees quickly, grabbing the defender's arms and flipping him forward.

The defender lands on his back with a sharp smack, and the lightsaber slips out of his hand. The attacker pulls his own saberstaff into his hands and switches it on, bringing it down on the defender.

Raising his hand, the defender calls for his lightsaber one last time. As the attacker plunges his blade into the defender's heart, the defender's own lightsaber flies towards his outstretched hand, igniting just before it pierces the attacker's back and kills him.

Analysis: Defender employs Makashi, augmented with Soresu; the attacker practices Niman and Ataru