STAR WARS
REFORMATION
It is a time of hope for the galaxy. 40 years have passed since the dark times of the Jedi Civil war, when warring factions of evil SITH almost brought the noble JEDI ORDER to complete extinction. Now, a new generation of JEDI led by the old order's surviving members struggle to regain their place on the galactic stage, train new padawans to continue their teachings and cleanse the still present taint of the DARK SIDE from the face of the galaxy.
Mistrust and prejudice still plague the JEDI ORDER as it presses to rekindle old alliances within the GALACTIC SENATE. With thousands of systems still furious for the horrors unleashed upon them by former JEDI KNIGHTS Revan and Malak, there are precious few species who welcome JEDI help with open arms.
In an effort to improve JEDI standing in the outer rim, GRAND MASTER MICAL VALLO has ordered JEDI KNIGHT MORDRED VESHNAR and his Padawan ARON VIMA to eradicate Slave operations in the Mirgoshir System. The JEDI's star ship has cornered one such slave freighter and the two powerful warriors prepare to engage in fierce space combat…
A battered space ship, rusty and creaking sped through space, its internal urgency completely swallowed up by the vastness of the cosmos. While creaking, the ship was a predator, on the prowl for an easy kill. Suddenly it opened fire, a volley of crimson lasers arcing out in front of it. A larger ship, fat and vulnerable, took the hits on its back, rocking and squealing like a Bantha slapped on the rump. The larger of the ships, a slaver, turned and fled from the rusty freighter, but it clearly lacked the older vessels manoeuvrability. The slave ship returned its own quarrels of energy back at the fighter but enough damage had already been done. An engine coughed into flame on the slavers right side and the dogfight was already over. Both ships glided to a stop and hung silently against the vast, empty backdrop of deep space. Limp, the slave ship was beaten, tilted to one side with painful apathy. The smaller freighter gradually approached the port side of the slaver, connecting with the ship and joining the two. Within, the Weequay Captain was commanding his troops with vitriolic fury, barking at his crew as they rushed to repel boarders.
"Move, move!" the Weequay screamed, his greasy ponytail twirling in time with his agitation. "Kill them, whoever they are! Move!" The slavers were a rag tag bunch of aliens primarily consisting of Rodian, Aqualish and Weequay – the typical putrid scum found in most rough bars in most rough star systems. Armed with blasters and sonic pistols, amongst the crew there was a sense of excitement at the coming battle as they rushed to the docking hatch of their beloved ship. Almost 30 gathered together in a concerted effort to, as their Captain commanded, "repel boarders" and they had every intention of blasting to cinders whoever dared try to seize the Scarlet Shyrak. The blast door to the docking hatch eventually began to vibrate and all of the gathered pirates drew in breath. The Captain himself, standing a head taller than the rest of his crew and dressed in loose mercenary armour drew a wicked vibrosword from its sheath at his side and thumbed its edge with a hint of a smile. "Whoever they are", he thought to himself "Captain Xarba will make them see the error of their ways… and prevent them from learning from them… ever".
After a few moments of vibration (though to the battle-ready slavers it felt like a life time) the blast door glowed red, wobbled and collapsed on its self rather anti-climactically, evidence of a charged sheet of plasmite being pressed against it and heating it up. Smoke billowed from the gaping hole.
"Unleash hell!" Captain Xarba screamed, and his bloodthirsty crew were all too happy to oblige. A withering volley of crimson laser bolts and pure white sonic spirals flew towards the whole, vanishing into the smoke and supposedly obliterating anything in its way. After several seconds of continuous fire, surely enough to destroy any assailant, the Captain screamed again.
"Ceasefire!" Silence reigned on the Scarlet Shyrak. Xarba stepped forward himself and levelled his curved vibrosword towards the still smoking entrance. He snarled with cruel pleasure at the thought that any survivors would soon be wishing they weren't. Suddenly, a voice rang out from the smoking egress, layered with persuasion yet not betraying the immense power behind it.
"Slavers! We are Jedi Knights! Lay down your weapons and surrender NOW!" Xarba felt a strange sensation pass over him, a curiously pleasant pressure on the brain as a very sensible part of his mind told him to do exactly as the voice said. Behind him, several blasters fell from suddenly limp hands as the rich cloying sensation worked upon weaker minds. Xarba felt his own sword begin to slip from his fist and didn't like it. He screamed and broke the reverie he and his crew had been kept under. Two or three of the slavers at the back of the group simply slid to their hands and knees and crept from the room but the majority snapped back into action, retrieving any dropped weapons from the floor. Xarba himself took a running jump and plunged into the smoking hole in his ship, a ferocious war cry on his lips. He briefly disappeared from view and the rest of the crew heard a strange sound, as if a speeder had driven past at great speed, humming as it did so, taking only the briefest of moments to come and go. A large round object with tendrils flying around it powered through the opening, bounced once, twice on the floor and rolled to a stop at the slaver mobs feet. It was Xarba's head. Once again, silence reigned on the Scarlet Shyrak.
"I'll ask again" the hypnotic voice rang out, "put your weapons down and surrender!" The hesitant crew looked at each other for guidance, but no leader made himself apparent. The clanging of weapons falling to the ground filled the star ship, and one bold Twilek spoke up in his native, guttural Huttese dialect.
"Okay, we give up!" he shouted. From the smoke two beams of light appeared, one green, one blue. The green beam of light move towards the stunned crew, until at last, from the shadows a tall figure stepped. Garbed in robes of dark brown the unknown figure marched towards the crew, a pair of bright red eyes gleaming from the depths of a cavernous hood.
"On your knees" the voice rang out yet again, now obviously originating from the hooded figure. One again the crew obeyed and the thirty slavers dropped to their knees, slaves to the hypnotic voice.
"Lie down" the robed figure commanded, but this time softer, with a gentle whisper in it. The now hapless crew were powerless to defy the voice at all and simultaneously rested their heads on the metal grating of the ship.
"Sleep" the figure said, almost matter-of-factly. And the crew did fall asleep, the worry of the last few minutes melting from their faces and replaced with the simple serenity of unconsciousness.
The dark figure brought a hand – a stunning dark blue colour – up to his hood and pulled it down. Smiling, Knight Veshnar turned back to the smoking access port and called to his Padawan.
"Well, that went well!"
Chapter 1
The Chiss Jedi Knight stood on the bridge of the Scarlet Shyrak, staring into the vast depths of space while changing the slaving vessels course. In the bowls of the ship he could sense his Padawan opening every cell he could find, releasing the ranks of filth encrusted Twileks, Rodians, and the occasional Wookiee, enlisting their help in moving the slavers into their own cells. Veshnar kept a careful mind's eye on the mood of the ex-slaves – he didn't want any defenceless slavers getting killed by vengeful slaves… even if he could understand it, a Jedi would never condone it. Veshnar was tall and sported the devilish red eyes of all his species. Those who could look past his bizarre and somewhat frightening outward appearance (the blue skinned Chiss species were almost totally unknown to the galaxy at large) would find a man of strict moral principles and unparalleled integrity. He was considered a great success by his masters and had proven time and time again to be the Jedi to get the job done, fairly, quickly and always following the tenants of the Jedi code. His young Padawan, Vima the Zabrak was not his first student – he had turned down his opportunity for Master hood when Charissa passed her Jedi trials to gain a better understanding of the force. Now, with young Vima progressing nicely, Veshnar entertained the idea of finally receiving his Master title and even, force willing, sitting on the council. With a shake of his short black hair, Veshnar brushed off this reverie – such pride could lead to the dark side. Should he remain a Knight all his life then that was what he would gratefully accept. But Vima was only a few years away from the Jedi trials himself…
"Enough" Veshnar said aloud, shamed at his own dwelling on the future. That was not his responsibility, or his concern.
"What's enough Master?" Aron Vima enquired, walking onto the bridge with surprising stealth.
"Nothing you need to worry about Padawan. Are the slaver's secure?"
"Locked up tight Master."
"And are they safe from the potentially vengeful slaves?"
"Yes Master. The benefit of force cells is that they keep occupants in and everybody else out. As an extra precaution I even changed the security code, so they can't override the cell block security system."
"Well done young Padawan" Veshnar said kindly, clapping his erstwhile student on the back. He had trained Vima for the last 7 years, and knew him inside out. Originally an orphan given to the Jedi as little more than a toddler, his nationality as an Iridonian was a guess at best. Over their time together Veshnar had taught the boy much – about the force, combat with a lightsabre, about life itself. He knew his Padawan's abilities and capabilities. His weaknesses and his failings. They shared a force bond, stemming from Veshnar's intimate knowledge of his apprentice, but they were not as close as some Masters and their Padawans. Veshnar had maintained distance between himself and Vima, not as an intentional effort to appear cold but to limit emotional attachment – Veshnar's own beliefs about the force suggested that such a close bond, like that of brothers which could easily form between the two , would be a weakness too easily exploited by those willing to do such things, not to mention a distraction from reaching understanding of the higher mysteries of the force, available only to the most focused and solitary of Masters. Vima himself was not the most gifted student of the force, Veshnar knew this all too well and nor could he be relied on with a lightsabre in a proper duel but the boy had such enthusiasm to learn, particularly about languages and cultures, Veshnar could imagine him becoming one of the great scholars of the age, just like Master Vodnick.
"What next Master?" the young Zabrak asked, resting in the co-pilots chair.
"We will drop the slavers on Caston and the slaves wherever they want. First I'll report our success to the council - they may have another mission for us or we will return to Pikar." The Padawan nodded and settled down in his seat, preparing for a long and boring journey to Caston, the nearest civilised Republic world.
The hologram of Veshnar flickered on in the middle of a large, spacious room. Coloured in light blues and greys, the hall was bright, with skylights covering its roof and chairs arrayed around it's edges, mirroring the perfectly spherical walls. This was the council room of the Jedi academy on Pikar, temporary home of the Jedi order. On all but one of the nine chairs around the room sat the council, wisest and most powerful of all the Jedi, waiting patiently for Veshnar to report on his mission. The hologram of the Chiss Jedi Knight sprang from a holoplayer incorporated into the top of a well carved, squat black stone – the heart stone of this academy – positioned in the exact centre of the room.
"Venerated Masters" he began full of pomp and bluster, as was his way "Padawan Vima and I have seized the last of the Red Moon slaving ships and killed the last of the overseers – Captain Xarba is dead".
"Very good young Jedi" began Grandmaster Vallo, leader of all the Jedi. "The presence of slavers in the Mirgoshir system has been a disgrace – you've improved Jedi standing in the eyes of its residents I'm sure. We, the council, are very grateful." Next it was Master Habat who spoke, venerable Ithorian Master of biology and scientific study, his sonorous dialect difficult for Veshnar to decipher through the tenuous connection.
"With the slavers gone, legal trade will boom once again and Caston will slip further from the Hutt's grasp. We are indeed very pleased with your efforts."
"You honour me Masters", Veshnar bowed as best he could to the Masters that surrounded him in miniature, "do you have another assignment for us?" There was some nonverbal communication between the collection of Masters – telepathy between friends being one of the well-known perks of being a Jedi.
"Yes Veshnar, there is" piped up Gyr Prisht, legendary linguistics master of the Jedi, located to Veshnar's right, "as you know, Caston is a very important settlement for the order and the Republic as a whole. Its integrity must not be tarnished." The strange, diminutive birdlike Jedi master fidgeted in agitation at the very thought.
"6 standard hours ago one of Caston's elected civilian leaders was found murdered. His death has quickly evoked outrage and fury from the planet's non-military population – it's imperative that you and your Padawan return to Caston as soon as possible and restore what order you can, and more importantly, find out who is responsible and bring them to justice". The assembled Masters nodded in agreement. Veshnar was more than a little taken aback. This was one of the most important assignments he had ever been given – he knew all too well the importance of Caston and its stability.
"I hasten to obey Master's but…" Veshnar turned now and addressed Grandmaster Vallo directly, "surely Master Osti would be more suitable for this mission? It's scale is… a little beyond me perhaps, and he is stationed on Caston himself." There was hesitation between the assembled council. Veshnar quickly sensed their unease. Master Vallo spoke once again.
"Yes Veshnar, Osti was our first choice for this mission but… we have been struggling to contact him for the last 3 hours and, well, we needed somebody to act now. Please make you way to Caston with all haste". This apparently concluded the meeting.
"As you command Masters," Veshnar bowed deeply once again to the Council and deactivated his hologram.
"What a boring sentient" muttered Master Rand, "who taught him all that nonsense? The bowing and the ridiculous way he pronounces everything? We were supposed to get rid of that kind of Jedi!" "He was my student Atton," said Master Bao-dur , legendary tech wizard of the Jedi, "and I don't appreciate criticisms of respectful and competent Jedi behind their backs."
"Well I must apologise Master Bao-dur, why I would ask who would train such a Jedi when you were clearly in front of me eludes me now" retorted Master Rand, deliberately speaking convolutedly to mock his old friend.
"That position does you no credit Atton, and I'd have thought four decades of responsibility would have altered your attitude…"
"My attitude? What about your attitude? When did you take up our ideals about a better Jedi order? We were supposed to revolutionise attitudes, not become the same prudes who caused the civil war…"
"Enough" commanded Grandmaster Vallo. There was silence between the two bickering masters. "Now I want to make this very clear – I will not tolerate any attempt to put blame on people for the war. I'm ashamed of both of you. I thought we were passed this, there's no point blaming others for the mistakes of the past." There was a long pregnant pause. Out of the eight Masters assembled, only five were founding members of the revitalised order half a lifetime ago. Grand Master Vallo was the most impressive Jedi at the assembly due in no small part to his beard. An enormous mane of shaggy, pure white hair ringed his face, matted cream locks at the top and a corkscrewing, endless beard of snow completing the circle at the bottom. He walked barefoot always through the halls of this academy and the only thing he carried was a plain, long, silver hilted lightsabre. To Vallo's left sat Bao-dur, the elderly Iridonian Jedi who once designed the catastrophic super weapon known as the Mass Shadow Generator of Malachor V fame. To the left of the Iridonian sat Visas Marr, the blind Miraluku Jedi who once counted herself amongst the Sith… and served one of their greatest Lords. Next to Marr was the oldest of the assembled Masters, Botanist and peaceful meditator Chodo Habat. Habat was an Ithorian, and while his mottled grey skin sagged and his legs barely held him, his eyes still gleamed brightly with intelligence, wit and power. No one resided in the seat next to Habat: it had been left empty out of respect for a fallen comrade and would remain so until a Jedi Master of suitable experience and wisdom became available for promotion. After this seat came Gyr Prisht, her own seat making her already small figure look smaller. Vodnick was next to Prisht, the youngest of the council members yet he had such immense knowledge from his love of literature he was far from the least of them. Next was, of course Master Ordo, legendary Battle master of the Order. Her twin purple lightsabres were ever ready to cut down those who would threaten the weak and helpless. Mira Ordo was one of the most famous council members and considered by many to also be the best duellist. Last but not least was Master Rand, his own dark cotton and leather robes held closer to his body than his fellow council member's clothes, in reflection of his own views on their practicality. Rand was often the most difficult of the Masters yet knew the dark side better than any of them – even the damaged Marr. Rand was renowned as the most cunning of the council members and privately amongst the students as the most fun. Rand had had his issues with most members of the council, yet remained a very important part of the order and sat at Vallo's right hand side, completing the circle.
"We must raise ourselves above this bickering friends," Vallo implored his fellow Masters after a pause, "we must present a united front to the galaxy at large. I foresee troubled times ahead." Master Rand looked at Vallo sceptically.
"That's all well and good Mical, but you didn't foresee Brianna's troubled times ahead now did you?" This was the major point of tension in the council room. Less than six standard months ago Master Brianna Kae, one of the "Lost Jedi" and a founding member of the reformation of the order was killed in a space shuttle crash. It was her seat which was left empty amongst the others, and clearly her death weighed more heavily on some Council members than others. Kae was on a mission to Tathir – a moon well known to be a breeding ground for Hutt-backed smugglers. However, before she even entered Tathir's system her ship, a regular cargo vessel with over a hundred ordinary passengers, inexplicably crashed into the Khyber asteroid belt. The crash appeared accidental but little can be hidden from Masters of the force – the council had concluded from intense meditation that Kae had in fact been murdered, though they were unsure who was responsible or why it had happened. The very idea that someone would sabotage an entire ship, killing every passenger on board, just to end the life of a single person was callousness beyond even the cruelty of the Hutts. Kae's death was felt most deeply by Master Rand and Master Vodnik – Rand because it was originally his mission to investigate Tathir before a sudden illness, Stagen Flu, forced Kae to step in while Rand recovered. Vodnik however was a personal friend of Kae's, one of her few friends since the half Echani was famously difficult to get on with. Vodnik was her very first student, joining the newly reformed Jedi at the age of twelve and knew her better than anyone else. These two Masters had demanded that a full and invasive investigation take place, whilst others, Grandmaster Vallo included, felt that the news that somebody was killing Jedi – council members no less – could do great harm to their credibility.
"Now, onto other matters," said Vallo brusquely, determined to plough through this tension without actually addressing it – the age old attitude of the eternal optimist. "We must ensure that Caston's political climate is stabilised, especially now of all times. Also, if we do not get contact with Master Osti within the next few hours I move to send a Knight and Padawan team after him to ensure his safety."
"No," said Master Rand, "he was my student, my charge years ago – I still feel accountable for him in some respects. I'll go after him personally."
"Are you not still ill Atton? Has your flu improved?" enquired Visas Marr.
"I'm fine. And sick of everybody worrying about me. I'm touched, but I need my space.
"Don't talk Bantha puduu Atton, we can all see how pale you are!" interjected Mira Ordo, "If we don't hear from Osti then I will go after him – not that he's likely to have got himself into any real trouble anyway, we all know how gifted the boy is."
"True enough. And it's also true that Atton is not at his best. I agree with Mira's plan" said Bao-dur, the rest of the council murmuring in agreement with him.
"It's settled then. Mira will track down Osti if we don't hear from him by tomorrow morning" announced Vallo, "now, on to timetabling for the coming year". Timetabling the Padawans lessons was one of the most time consuming and boring tasks the council members were responsible for – Vallo's announcement was not greeted with much approval, though only Master Atton Rand was rude enough to actually groan.
Vima leaned in towards him expectantly as Veshnar exited the holo room on the freighter.
"Do we have another mission Master?" Vima asked, excitement etched on to his young face.
"Yes young Padawan, we do. An important one. The Council have personally asked us to investigate a murder on Caston. It's a mission of utmost importance." There was a pause as Vima digested this.
"Why us?" Veshnar sighed at his padawans candour.
"We have to go and sort this out because currently Osti is not available to the council and we are the next closest Jedi to Caston available. I trust I won't hear you questioning the council again?"
"I wasn't actually…" Vima saw the look in his masters eyes and simply said "yes Master". The ship sped on through space, Master and apprentice sitting in awkward silence on the bridge. Vima often felt disgruntled towards his Master in times like these (and they were not rare) because despite his question being valid it struck at the heart of one of Veshnar's worries. In this case he worried where Osti was and therefore Vima himself had to take the brunt of his annoyance. Not for the first time Vima wondered if Veshnar was the right master for him and found himself yearning for someone who was less cold, less stern, less… like a Jedi. The Scarlet Shyrak sped on, making excellent progress to Caston, the Jedi's own ship, the Winged Katarn, following closely behind on auto pilot.