Disclaimer: All of this is not mine. The universe belongs to George Lucas (lmao! Yay pun). This is Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic video game material with my own twists.

Author's note:

Enjoy. I'll update when I can.

Knights of the Old Republic:

Part One

The Hidden Force

Knights of the Old Republic:

Part One

The Hidden Force

"You are a redeemer. You are a conqueror. You are a champion. You are a villain. You are all of these things and more; yet you are nothing. In the end you are neither a servant of light nor a harbinger of darkness. Unique, yet cursed. Blessed, yet doomed. Forever alone - it is your fate as the Force wills it – and that path can never be changed though you would fight it with all your power, skill, life and love. Thus stands the way of the true Chosen One of the Jedi and the true Sitha'ry of Old Legends. Know that death is not the end. That through you leave though its gates or any other, those you leave behind will not forget what you have done – whether their memories of you are terrible or wonderful. Time will dull the pain you feel through the ages of your wanderings. The ocean of the Force has a swift tide and many challenges in its waves. Steer true, steer strong and above all know that I will watch over you in hopes of seeing what the Force wills in such a person."- Translation from Dureth'ki-noandil's Scrolls last seen on the Jedi Planet of Ossus

Chapter 1: The Spire's Fall

It was dark. No light came through the cold place in which she stood. The cool metal flooring that she tapped as her slow walk gave way into the empty place.

"Death comes!"

"Who are you?"

"Death comes! Be wary, he comes..."

"Where are you?" The voice came from all sides. She could see nothing, yet it felt like there was a presence standing all around.

"So much confusion... You know not yourself."

A feeling very much like a sigh wisped past Falcara's head.

She turned and felt like her back was on fire. An unbearable pain shoved itself into her spine and through her mind. She fell to the metal floor, rolled over and squinted through the pain at a shape in the darkness above her and screamed in fear.

Master Corporal Falcara Zalo shot upright in bed. She was shaking. Her sheets and her shoulder long ebony black hair were brimmed with sweat. She swallowed with her throat dry and her breath ragged and spent. Reluctantly and with a grunt of effort, she rolled out of bed and walked to the refresher-room on the far side of her accommodation while rubbing the back of her neck with one hand and stretching the other.

She was tall woman, or rather taller than most of the women in the service of the Galactic Republic, and had less bulky figure than some. She walked into the refresher-room and pressed a button on the sidewall which turned on a small light in front of a hydro-synthesizing device and flipped a mirror out of the wall in front of it. She staggered up to this mirror and rubbed her green-blue eyes as they adjusted to the light. The synthesized water that came out of the tap was enough to get off the sweat on her face, neck and hair. She sloshed most of it onto her narrow face, lent on the table in front of the synthesizer and sighed.

I hate that dream.

She'd been having it ever since she'd been transferred to this damned Republic battleship. What use did the Endar Spire have for a run-down scout from the outer-rim anyway? Why did she among all of the other millions of soldiers, including the ones who were actually stationed closer to Coruscant, have to get picked to baby-sit a Jedi?

Falcara scowled at her unnatural negativity towards the young Jedi Bastilla. She wasn't as much of a piss-off as some of the other Jedi the Master Corporal had met and she had to give the woman credit for at least trying to help out around the ship. It wasn't exactly helping moral. More often than not, Bastilla would end up just annoying everyone in her vicinity – especially Falcara. In fact, every time she saw the Jedi she had to stifle a cringe or a frown like the rest of the crew was visibly doing when the Jedi wasn't looking. Bastilla was talkative with everyone and so far Falcara had managed to avoid being targeted directly. However, it was harder to do that with the rest of Bastilla's entourage of Jedi who had come abroad when they had first set off from Coruscant. They hummed around Bastilla like little pet gizka; following her wherever she went and encouraged personnel to talk with her. Eluding them was a challenge sometimes, but so far Falcara had managed quite well for herself and for many of her close friends by making excuses that their work was needed elsewhere. She often received thanks after the fact save for the few odd people like her roommate Trask.

She shook her head at his devout loyalty to the Jedi and their ways. Sure, Jedi were protectors of the peace and have done a great many things for the Republic as great knights of justice, but Falcara always felt a sense of resentment in their presence. They just seemed so disconnected from the rest of the galaxy, yet claimed they were in tune with the very power that made it exist. Falcara liked comparing them to droids every once and a while. They showed no emotion and always did as ordered without any complaint. Nothing was too hard for a Jedi.

She sighed again and looked in the mirror. Her nose, she was pleased to see, was healing faster than expected. A Gamorian brute had clipped her in the face at a bar a week before when she was on Coruscant waiting for the Jedi council to get their precious Bastilla abroad the Endar Spire. Her nose hadn't been broken, but having the butt of an axe-like weapon thrust into your face leaves a nice juicy cut when it wants to. She ran her finger along the small but deep scab that was slowly turning into white scar tissue and shook her head at her own stupidity. She'd realized very early in her life that, Republic Military education or no, she was an idiot – and this realization had saved her much grief. There were people with more experience and ability that could beat her to bantha fodder in a millisecond if that was their wish. She did like being in charge though and from the reactions of those who happened to be under her command at the time; she knew that she did a good job of it. Captain Nadair kept hinting at her eventual promotion before she left for the Spire, but orders were orders and she wasn't helping the Republic if she didn't follow them just because of a potential rank augmentation.

This new war, the "Jedi Civil War" was what they were calling it now, was slowly crippling a once proud galactic unification of planets. The Mandalorian Wars were only a few years back and this new enemy was fracturing what was left.

Falcara shuttered. She'd fought the Mandalorians, but they were nothing compared to these Sith. She wasn't to sure of how they came to be, or who exactly their leader was –other than that he was some kind of Rogue Jedi-, but she had been there when the planet Bakura was taken with a full Republic fleet was in its atmosphere and a large contingency of foot-soldiers on its surface.

She'd barely gotten out alive. The Sith were ruthless and, she was revolted to find, most of them had been Republic soldiers at one point – turned by this Dark Jedi into his own private army. She'd even killed someone she'd fought with in the Mandalorian Wars-

She bit her lip at the thought. She always hoped in a small corner of her mind that Lieutenant Sylian Dahr, who had saved her life twice while in the service, had somehow been deceived into joining the Sith, but the face she'd seen on him when he charged forward through the barricade without his helmet kept gnawing away at that corner and forced her to admit the cold truth: He had enjoyed killing every single soldier as he rushed up the street with a full squad behind him that day. An obscene joy was across his face even at the moment of his death when she had aimed a blaster bolt at his forehead.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. No one is safe form them anymore, she thought washing another round of water onto her face and drying it quickly. Not even me if Dahr crossed the floor that easily.

She shook her head, turned off the light and marched out to turn on a new light in the small closet next to the refresher-room. Inside was a nicely pressed two part Republic military uniform. It was held to the back wall by four very small but strong magnets. Below that uniform was an automated drawer and atop it were seated some long black boots. She cocked her head sideways at the uniform, smiled and pulled it off its magnets. It was a standard issue military uniform with the Republic infantry colors; magenta and dark grey. The magenta lined the pants along the seam and the chest along the centre while the dark grey took over everywhere else.

She undressed out of her sleeping gear, which was a light shirt and slacks, pressed the touch reactive drawer and watched as it opened by itself. On one side where some undershirts and thermal pants, which she wouldn't wear for a long while since there was something wrong with the cooling system down where she would report for morning drill and briefing, and on the other side where standard grey socks and underwear and three pairs of dark grey gloves. She quickly put the underwear and socks on then donned her uniform, gloves and boots.

She tapped the toe of each boot once on the floor each to make sure they fit right and made her way to a metal, magnetically locked footlocker at the foot of her bed. She entered the code onto a keypad and heard the two clicks as both latches released on either side of the locker flipped its lid open. Inside were two pairs of magenta wrist and knee guards, a magenta and dark grey helmet with a right eye targeting visor attached to it and a matching tactical-vest with an assorted number of gear and utilities in it. In its larger pouches on the sides were ear-pugs, an environmental jacket, a survival kit, an emergency communications kit, some small med packs, a water bottle and a blaster barrel extender in three easy-put-together parts. A vibro-bayonet, which could attach to any blaster rifle with an extended barrel, was strapped to the vest's front while six empty blaster cell pouches – for she was neither in a hostile environment at the moment, nor had a blaster rifle to load the cells into – on either side of the bayonet. Lastly, in a little pouch just above the upper right cell-pouch nearest to her neck, was a personal communicator the size of her thumb.

She quickly began putting the tack-vest on first, making sure all the straps were tight enough and checking the blaster resistant alloy manually for cracks or unnatural kinks. She stopped suddenly and tapped the metal in the vest. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow and unclipped the edge of the vest's outer layer to see the malleable metal inside.

"I'll be a Wookie's furry aunt," she laughed silently. "Verpine Fiber Mesh."

Verpine Fiber Mesh was, she belatedly remembered, a newer addition to the Republic tack-vest, wrist and knee guards since she'd returned from the outer-rim. It was heavier than the old Bonadan alloy, but more resistant to blaster fire. She couldn't figure out why it had taken Command so long to acquire better protection for its soldiers. Probably a shortage of credits, but that was no excuse when people were dying because their armor cracked at the first blaster shot from over thousand meters away. However, she'd seen Verpine Fiber Mesh stop a small arms blaster shot at point blank range - not bad; not bad at all.

She finished dressing quickly, putting on the helmet and turning on its targeting system next for a test run. A rectangular holo-projection immediately appeared between two small bars just in front of her shooting eye. His vision split with normal vision in the left and a blue haze with yellow targeting squares and measuring micrometers on the right. This particular unit's sensor array was only good up to two hundred meters, but since Fal knew she'd only be using it in urban operations and close quarter combat, that wasn't really a problem. The sensor array identified her surroundings and noted the strong alloys in the walls around her room and searched for movement. When it found none, the targeting computer identified as points of tactical interest automatically. Falcara had programmed it to point out any moving organism with a yellow perimeter and any energy source with a dark blue perimeter. Most soldiers programmed their targeting visor with more points of interest, but Fal thought it was a waste of time since depending on a machine that much to shoot during battle was dangerous in her mind. And plus, she could only use it if there was time to start it up before a mission since safety precautions on such systems where mandatory – not to mention wise, since the targeting computers which didn't work would get you killed fairly quickly in a blaster fight if you were relying on them one second and unable to read anything the next.
Satisfied with the visors programming, she shut it down, twisted the small system up so that it didn't disrupt her vision and continued to dress. When her wrist and knee guards snapped into place without a problem, she returned beside her bed to collect some personnel items – a small datapad, a good luck charm from Ithor, her time-watcher - and made her bed silently.

When she was finished, she took up the datapad and sat down. She turned it on and looked at her last log from the previous night.

Personal log for Master Corporal Falcara Zalo, for Day 4 aboard the Endar Spire, after second night shift

My last night shift is over for the week! Thank the Force! I thought it would never end! Trask is up and out now too, so I have everything I want this morning. He's been worrying too much about that dream I keep having. He keeps hinting that I should see the medlab about it, but I'm not to keen to tell them that I'm having nightmares about a Death Voice whispering in my head. They might come to the wrong conclusion and the last thing I need right now is to be declared insane. Though, I think I might actually bring it up soon. These dreams are starting to keep me from my work. Not only am I always tired when I get up for my shift, but… alright, I was walking down the starboard engine section on my way back to the mess-hall and was just about to call out for the turbolift for Corporal Jenwek, my shift buddy who was at the end of the hallway with some electrical engineers at the time, and myself when I heard something behind me. When I turned around there were three Jedi standing there; two human men and a Twi'lek female.

Then I distinctly heard the taller of the two humans ask: "What about the ground troops, where do you want them? And how will we be able to support them?"

Needless to say, my jaw dropped and I said nothing. I blinked once and they were gone, replaced by Jenwek who looked at me and asked why I had called her "general" a few moments earlier when I don't even remember saying anything at all.

She paused there, unsettled by what she had just read. Maybe Trask was right, maybe she really was starting to go crazy on this ship. Either that or she had somehow contracted a disease that causes hallucinations, or there might be something in the refreshers. There could be more reasons than that perhaps-

Her thoughts were briskly cut short by a loud alarm. With the sound descended red lights from nearby bulkheads. The Master Corporal's reaction was reflex: she tossed her datapad on her bed and shot out the door.

The hallway was abuzz with activity. Soldiers were poring out of their quarters and heading for the Sergeant who was opening up a weapons locker in the wall and handing out blaster rifles and cells to all he could find. It was as Falcara got to the locker when the ship was heavily stuck. It buckled and shook and pressure valves broke under tension causing the passages to rain vapor and bulkheads to shatter sending sharp metal fragments across the vessel. Then, as Falcara struggled to put the rifle strap around her torso, the gravity accentuators failed completely throughout the whole section.

Her feet rose from under her and her running momentum just a few seconds earlier brought her spiraling into the air. She managed to grasp a damaged pipe line when she finally hit something, but by then the accentuators had re-initialized and she came falling helmet first onto the metal flooring – and everything went black.

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"Fal!" shouted someone out of the darkness.

"Zalo! Get up, girl! Time for one of your miracles!" said the voice again. The scout trooper let the blurred shape in front of her gradually transform into Trask. He was shaking her shoulder with one hand as she sat propped up against a wall. The other hand held a small blaster which he shot repetitively down the hallway beside him. He had found good cover behind a large storage locker which had been knocked to the floor by what looked like some kind of grenade explosion a short while beforehand. As the Master Corporal looked about she noticed several other Republic uniforms in the hallway taking up positions behind the corners and obstacles. Her ears were ringing, but the sound was slowly subsiding and being replaced by the high-pitched whine of blaster fire, several frag detonations and lots of yelling.

Ah, the sounds of home again, she thought rolling her eyes. Ridiculous. I always have the best luck.

She stretched her neck sideways and down, ignoring the interesting cracking sound and minor pain which came forth as she did so, and grabbed the blaster rifle attached to her by its strap.

She knelt in standby beside Trask and got his attention. "Who's the CO?" she yelled close to his ear using the acronym for Commanding Officer to find out who was giving orders to these troops.

Trask looked back at her and ducked as a blaster beam sung past his helmet. "You are!" he screamed taking a few more pot shot with his tiny blaster.

"Sith-Spit," hissed Falcara as she lined up the closest target with the sight of her blaster rifle. Just my luck, she thought again.

She picked a Sith trooper taking cover behind a blown out wall. She could never tell whether or not the troopers where male or female. They're armor hid all their identity in silver and black curves and a round helm. She often wondered how the troopers could even see in those helmets since their blast-shields went down so far past normal eye level. The entire suit was carefully designed to inspire dread and fear, but for the last year or so of this war Falcara couldn't care less about how terrifying the troops looked; she'd seen them too many times and had killed enough of them to know that, led by a Dark Jedi or no, they could die just as easily as any other sentient being.

And that is what happened to the Sith trooper in the centre of her sight. She pulled the trigger, he fell and she took cover remembering where she had seen other troops along the perimeter they had set up.

She shook her head as Trask threw back a grenade that had landed in between the two of them. Quickly glancing at the Republic soldiers in the hallway, she grabbed her bunkmate and brought him close to talk. "We can't hold it!" she bellowed. "They're too many, we're disorganized and dropping like nerfs in slaughter season!"

She took a few more spay shots to keep the advancing troops back and continued, "Give me that frag and get everyone back a section! And get ready to close that blast door in a hurry!"

"But if-"

"NOW, TRASK!" With that she pulled the grenade out of his tactical vest and shoved him toward the Republic's defenses.

It took a few more blaster shots to cover his retreat, but eventually Trask made to the very back reaches of the Republic line in hallway and began bringing people back.

Falcara knelt behind fallen storage locker and took a few deep breaths. This is crazy, she thought as she readied the grapple attachment on her rifle and moved her hand in preparation to twist the release mechanism on the fag grenade. Not even Bastilla would go for this one. She tightened the straps on her tack-vest and lent against the storage locker as Trask moved the last three republic soldiers around the corner.

This is it. It's now or never. She twisted the count-down mechanism, shot the sticky grappler down the hallway and threw the grenade toward a fuel pipe maintenance hatch near the Sith lines.

From the moment it left her hand, time seemed to slow to a crawl for she knew she had missed. It was going to land too wide and an explosion and where it would land wouldn't be enough to rupture the metal pipe housing and save the people behind her.

Move! she prayed at the round frag desperately. Move now! Please move!

Impossibly, the frag spun and headed towards the housing almost completely diverting off of it original course and detonated micrometers away from the pipe housing. Liquid began flowing out for a millisecond, but soon the floor was on fire and the gas in the main-pipes would follow in step.

Falcara had no time to wonder about the frag and smacked the grapple pull button so hard she bruised her fist beneath her gloves. She was immediately dragged across the hallway hitting everything her path, narrowly missing the blaster bolts zinging past her body and holding on for dear life until the turn in the hallway where she collided with the wall to which the grapple had been attached. She rolled out of the way, left the rifle where it stuck to the wall and ran like mad towards the blast door where Trask and the other soldiers where getting ready to close and seal it.

"Close the blast door!" she ordered as she sprinted. "Close the blast door!"

Four thick, giant sized rectangular doors began closing toward the centre of the bulkhead at an alarming rate. Falcara ducked her head at the last second and dove through the opening that shut just inches behind her. She slid across the floor with a screech and covered her head just as the gas caught fire on the other side of the door.

The ship groaned and creaked as that entire section, and the Sith boarding parties within it, were obliterated. From the vast view of silent space, one could see the Endar Spire burst into flame on one of its sides for a moment, then nothing as debris projected outward with the arc of the blast.

"That wasn't exactly the miracle I was looking for, Zalo," said Trask rather harshly. He was helping a young bothan soldier to his feet when Fal took Corporal Jenwek's hand to help her rise from the floor. "You couldn't have saved us without causing thousands of credits worth of damage? The captain's going to have a fit."

Fal didn't answer right away. Instead, she winced as she stretched her neck and shoulders and took a look around. Barely seven soldiers had made it out of that section alive. She recognized all of them save for the bothan Trask was helping and he didn't look to be in too good a shape at the moment and the Sith wouldn't be held back for long even after her little fire-works demonstration.

Escape pods, she thought immediately as the ship rocked when another Sith Boarding Ship attached itself to the hull. They needed to find a way off the Spire. They should have come out of hyperspace near a city-like planet if she remembered the schedule she read yesterday right. It's something that starts with a 'T'. Tarta? No – Taris. Planet where rich lived in tall spires and the poor lived below in the gutters of the city. Upper city, lower city and under-city. Right.

Alright, Taris equals destination; map out path that leads to the destination; make sure troops will follow to destination. She scanned the faces of her new squad. She'd say five out of the seven where battle ready - she didn't like the sickened look of the human soldier in the corner with his head down and shoulders shaking and the bothan's leg looked like something you could toss to a rancor pit monster - but it would all be for nothing if they didn't trust her or didn't follow her orders. With that in mind she looked at Trask and added to her list of thoughts: Keep Trask from exploding or taking command because he'll get righteous and get us all killed. He's the only other person who they'll follow. We are the same rank after all. She sighed at what she needed to do and mentally apologized to Trask. He was a good soldier, but sometimes let his passions get to him - and that was definitely not what they needed right now.

"Save it, Trask." She replied to her room-mate's earlier comments. "Unless your criticism can get us to the escape pods at light-speed, they're better off unsaid."

"Better off unsaid?" said Trask as if insulted. He pointed at the blast door. "You could have blown up the whole ship with that stunt. And then we would-"

"Wouldn't be alive," finished Falcara impersonally taking out her pistol to see if it was still intact and functioning. "I knew it wouldn't have blown up more than one section and since we were the only people left alive to fight the advanced Sith boarding parties, I took a chance. The Republic can bill me if they want, but I saw no other option."

"I hope they bill you and then arrest you," said Trask now fuming, but also, Fal noticed, putting one hand on his blaster pistol hanging in a pouch on his waist. Feeling threatened, my friend? She thought absently checking the power cell and trigger on her own pistol.

Meanwhile, Trask continued to set out the criticism. "We could have held them off just a bit longer and then maybe someone would have come up with a real plan. Besides, how could you possibly know that that fuel line you smashed wasn't going to flood the whole ship? You aren't a Jedi, you can't tell the future. There-"

"The fuel pipes are full of the same Tabana gas which we ignite each time we pull the trigger on most arsenals," interrupted Fal in a voice that personified that of a teaching droid. "If we left our power cells, our ammunition for our rifles, blasters and whatever else, for more than seventy-two days without maintenance, the gas inside them would start liquidating into an other flammable state which combusts only at high temperatures – less combustible than its gassy state, of course, but still combustible. Because the gas is so unstable, the pipes that contain them on this class of battleship are four meter standard meters thick and are made with the same net like platting used to make volcanic miner-droids so it will give and stretch somewhat if there's an explosion."

She seemed to have gotten his attention with that speech and went on before he could speak again.

"There are maintenance areas within the pipes which contain transfer quarters where the gas is drained out of a sealed quarter and replaced with an oxygen and nitrogen atmosphere so that an engineer can place a service droid into it to recover the liquid state of the gas without releasing its gassy form into the air of the ship. The engineer then seals the maintenance hatch, transfers the gas back into the quarter, while being watchful of the pressure gages, and releases the hatch inside the pipe letting the droid go about its work –though it's never able to clean all the liquid from the pipes because there are literally billions of cubic meters of gas within the pipes that liquidates. Anyways, these maintenance hatches, for whatever stupidly idiotic reason, have less than a meter of metal protecting us from a gas leak there."

Fal nodded at the blast door. "That's what I aimed for back there and it ruptured just like I knew it would. The reason why the gas inside the pipes didn't destroy the whole ship is that when there is a gas leak, the computer automatically seals off the pipes of the section exposed to the most heat with five-meter thick emergency doors. It doesn't stop the explosion within that section, but it does contain it enough that it doesn't destroy the whole ship."

There was what seemed to be a long silence from everything, but the rhythmic battering of the ship bulkheads and the blaring of the alarms for what seemed like forever. Then Corporal Jenwek broke into a laugh. "You were that recruit who always knew the technical answers to everything on you military qualification course, weren't you?" She was taller than Falcara by a head, with long legs, blond hair tied back in a tail and hazel eyes set in a round face.

Fal smiled while still inspecting her pistol. "More or less," she replied. "I did get one-hundred percent on my tech and repair evaluation." She frowned in thought then added: "And my star fighter evaluation; and my med-tech evaluation; and my pyrotechnics evaluation; and my commander's evaluation; and-"

"We get the point," grunted Trask helping the bothan walk. "And I know I erred," he added before Falcara could speak. "You were right and I was wrong. Now can we get things on the way before I change my mind?"

Fal smiled and helped the sick looking human soldier to his feet. "I won't let you down Trask. I've had plenty of practice when it comes to situations like this."

She looked about as a particularly large explosion shook the ship. "We don't have a lot of time," she observed. "The escape pods a full three sections away too – eternity in a time like this. Sith-spit, I hate design flaws."

She pointed at the other human woman. "Jenwek, you're my front blaster. Echel and Vau, you two cover our backs with Trask as my second in command back there. Everyone else, keep to the middle and stay covered. Be ready to move in a hurry."

With a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder of the young man she had just helped to his feet, who nodded bravely as he brought his blaster rifle to the ready, she joined Jenwek as point woman.

"Together again, huh?" commented Jenwek as they advanced a standard line down the hallway cautiously.

"Wouldn't miss it," replied Fal keeping her eyes to the front. "How you doing?"

Jenwek shrugged, "Same as always."

Falcara laughed, "That bad, huh?"

Jenwek smiled and then her expression darkened. "Get us out of here alive, Fal."

Fal's eyes shifted slightly and narrowed upon seeing Jenwek's grim determination. It only solidified the Master Corporal's iron will to defend into galaxy class warship armor resolve.

Apparently, it showed because Jenwek wasn't bothered by the fact that Fal never replied to her best friend's statement.

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"Sith Bastards!" Screamed Fal shooting with Vau's blaster rifle in rapid fire bursts at the two remaining Sith soldiers from the ambush group of seven. One dropped to her blaster fire and the other began running.

She pulled Vau up and saw that his eyes were now wide open and motionless. He had no pulse and there was a burn in his republic armor the size of her fist. She swore and let his body fall as more Sith troops began arriving and shooting. Wonderful, now they're coming from both sides! She fired more shots their way and retreated back to Jenwek and Trask – now the only two members of her small group left alive.

The Sith were now a larger number than she knew they could handle. They had spread through the ship like the Iridian Plague. Now the three of them were surrounded with no back up, no grenades and no escape route.

Unless-

Fal searched around desperately and, with a look of pure joy, saw the maintenance shaft just a few meters forward of their barricaded position. This is going to be interesting.

She aimed at the shaft and fired repetitively until the grate that covered the vent flew to pieces. The grate's metal shrapnel rocketed by Trask's head who quickly took cover.

"What the hell are you doing?" He screamed at Falcara with a shocked look on his face.

"Somebody has to save our skins!" replied the Master Corporal. With that, she set Vau's blaster to overload and tossed at the side with the most Sith soldiers. When it exploded, she drew her pistol and fired at the other line whilst signaling Trask and Jenwek back to the shaft.

After Jenwek slid through on her stomach, Trask waited until Fal fell back.

"Into the maintenance shaft, flyboy!" She said shoving him into the small space and firing more shots in either direction before crawling through herself. Even for her, it was a tight fit. She could only imagine Trask's discomfort as he swore and cursed the entire way through hitting his head and ligaments on every piece of pipe and grate for at least twelve meters.

When the trio emerged on the other side of the shaft, they realized too late that they had moved from one battle to another one – and they were very much on the wrong side of the control room they had entered.