Chapter 1
In the depths of cold and timeless space, where dwelled neither sound nor life, an echo could be heard clearly by those who were able to hear it. The echo of a planet crying it's last horrid cries as it finally found silence after so many years of screaming its pain across the galaxy. After ten years of sharing its nightmare, its tragedies, and its hatred, the graveyard of suffering that was Malachor finally found its slumber at the hands of the Mass Shadow Generator, taking with it the dark teachings of the ancient and true Sith that have for so long tainted its very core with an all consuming hunger. A hunger that it had passed on to every being who ever walked its surface, birthing its mutated children to spread the void that consumed or corrupted all it touched. All but one.
And now, as those utter cries of Malachor finally fall silent, leaving nothing but an echo in their place, the few that witnessed its final moments now flew among the stars, each searching within themselves to find some measure of comfort before having to face the future everyone of them knew was coming.
Atton sat silently in the cockpit seat, running random diagnostics upon the ship's computer. He never liked for his mind to sit still, even for a moment. For within that moment, if he did not keep his thoughts and feelings occupied, he knew he would leave himself vulnerable. Yet it was not an invasion from an outward intruder that the young pilot feared at the moment, but having to face the fearful thoughts that now dwelled among the shadows of his mind.
He wanted to be apart from his thoughts at that moment, to not have to think about what he knew was about to come. What they all knew.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know."
Atton looked to his right to find the bounty hunter suddenly sitting within the other seat. Mira didn't look at him as she had spoken; she only stared out the front display, her hands resting comfortably behind her head.
Atton simply tossed her a curious expression. "What are you jabbering about?"
"You think that sitting up here and messing with your little ship hides what you're thinking?" Mira replied as she stretched out her arms a bit. "I don't have to use the Force to see through that one, Atton."
"Is that so?" Atton suddenly changed his expression to a suggestive smile and a crooked eyelash. "And can you guess what I'm thinking right now?"
Returning just as playful a smile, the bounty hunter crossed her legs in a seductive motion. "Oh… I think I have a good idea."
She then proceeded to level off her right arm at Atton's head, her wrist launcher at the ready. "You're wondering what a frag grenade tastes like at 250 PRs."
As if just having recollected who it was that he had been talking to, the lustful interest melted away from Atton's face and mind, replaced by seriousness as he sniffed in defiance. "I'm not much for trying new things, thank you. But if you were to taste it first and then tell me about it, I might be persuaded."
The red-mane huntress lowered her weapon and returned to staring out the portal at the far off stars. "So where are we heading now, space cowboy?"
"Right now, we're just on the quickest route back to Republic space. Staying out here on the Outer Rim isn't the smartest thing to do when your flying in a busted tin can," Atton responded as he continued to run diagnostics, finding more than a few problems that would require their attention whenever they made port. "That little trip to Malachor nearly made this piece of junk…well, a piece of junk."
"Set a course for Dxun."
Atton nearly jumped from his seat as he turned to find Mandalore standing sternly behind him, rifle in hand as always.
"Damnit mandalorian, don't sneak up on me like that!" Atton remarked as he regained what composure he had lost.
"If you did a little more listening and a lot less jabbering, kid, then you wouldn't have had this problem."
"Yeah well… not everyone likes having to always eye for a blaster poking from behind," he young pilot muttered under his breath. "So why Dxun anyways?"
"We need supplies and repairs for the ship. My clan is also expecting my return, otherwise they might do something stupid like deciding to replace me."
"Yeah right… cause heaven knows that your little group of blaster packers can't survive without their precious leader," Atton mumbled quietly to himself.
Mandalore's helmet turned sharply towards the young pilot. "What was that?"
"Nothing, just figuring the hyperspace route outloud. It'll take at least half a cycle to make it to Dxun."
"Fine." With that last term of acceptance, Mandalore turned hard on his heel and started back to the main hull, the quiet sound of his armor rustling could be heard with every step.
"Guy gives me the creeps," Atton complained as he punched in the coordinates. "Always acting so superior and labeling everyone else as beneath his 'mighty clan.' Probably wears that helmet all the time to hide the huge blaster hole in his head…"
"He at least has the stomach to always be honest with himself," Mira shot back.
Atton sniffed defiantly again. "Well, you'll forgive me if I don't give a cantina rat about being seen on the same level as a Mandalorian."
Mira continued staring out the side portal, either not hearing Atton's response or not caring enough to give one of her own.
Something about that just seemed to aggravate the pilot even more, as if simply being around the leather-wrapped bounty hunter assaulted his senses in a way that he did not like. He knew that something about her reminded him of himself, though he didn't like to think on it more than that as he figured that drawing any conclusion from such thinking would only make him think more about her or less about himself, both being things he did not really desire.
Almost unconsciously did his mind start counting Pazaak card values, generating numbers at random and figuring about what values he would need to make twenty and the chance of turning up those values.
"Kai Lugo(1) ." The name suddenly rang heavy through Atton's thoughts as Mira suddenly pronounced it. The pilot looked over to the red-mane woman, a bit caught off guard by her sudden and unpredicted desire to continue speaking. Her choice of topic in such desire was also not something Atton readily desired to talk about either, but he didn't refuse her wishes.
"The Exile? What about him?" the pilot finally responded.
"Don't give me that…" Mira spat back, as if simply saying the name was enough to deduce what she was hinting at. "You knew the name before you ever met him, just as I had, though I doubt because of the same reasons."
"You know what! The Jedi Order must be made up of a lot of women," Atton suddenly shot back. "Because I swear, you all talk the same way! Always misdirection and mystic like you've got spice pumping through your brains! What the hell are you trying to prove? That you're smarter than everyone else or that you can be a big pain in everyone's cargo hold."
Mira then turned to look at Atton, though her face did not carry any display of defensive anger. Rather, she gave off an amused smile. "Damn, Atton, you sure do know how to fly off the space port. Someone makes a simple remark and you're blaster blazing."
"Well, I get tired of people always trying to be evasive."
"That's not something I would expect to hear from someone who makes a habit of lying to everyone, including himself."
Atton simply snorted in defiance. "Yeah… I knew 'of' him. Hell, everyone did. The Jedi General who led the covert assault squads on Dxun with the retaking of Onderon, causing the wound that shook the Mandalorian war effort all the way till the end."
"I first got wind of him after he led the evacuation efforts on Serraco, while managing to fight off the basilisk war-droid bombardment. The guy somehow managed to turn what was supposed to be a complete mandalorian victory into an almost stalemate."
Atton eyed the huntress then, a feeling of curiosity building within his mind as he gazed upon her. Mira's eyes looked far away, beyond the sight of the stars before them. It was as if she was deep in remembrance, as if what they were speaking of had a personal interest to her.
"Never saw Serraco myself," the pilot threw out as he continued with the ship diagnostics, not really sure if there had been anything more appropriate to say.
Mira unexpectedly turned her eyes upon him, accompanied by a mocking grin. "No, you wouldn't have been at Serraco. If I remember correctly, Revan's fleet was in orbit above Taris at that time, fighting off the mandalorian possession and slave trafficking."
Atton's hands paused over the control panels for a moment, an indifferent look passing over his face, which revealed what emotion was passing through his private thoughts more than had he given a more casual expression. He did not look up at the huntress, nor did he eyes waver in the least, as if he was trying hard to concentrate on the task before him to avoid focusing on anything else.
Yet Mira did not require his direct attention for her to realize that she had been correct in her assumption about the well-trained pilot. His attempt at apathy failed to hide what the red-mane woman now knew beyond any doubt.
"I told you I would find out," the huntress teased with a soft whisper.
"What are you yapping about now?" Atton still refused to look her in the eye, as if doing so would be the same as admitting all she already knew.
Taking her hands from behind her head and placing the on the armrests of the cockpit seat, Mira dropped the side of her head into the palm of her left hand. "Oh, nothing I suppose. No, nothing important."
It disappointed her on some level to have finally found out the truth behind the elusive pilot. It had been a tactical game of cat and mouse, trying to coax him into saying more and more until she had enough to get the whole picture. It had been that game that had fascinated her so much, the challenge of careful timing and proper influencing to put the pieces together. And yet, when she had finally clicked the last one into place, she found that she was unimpressed by the results.
That was what she believed anyway, and that was all she cared enough to look at in the matter before turning her eyes elsewhere. Atton knew however that if she thought upon what she had discovered more, she would have realized that there was another whole part of the puzzle that was the pilot that she had yet to realize existed. Atton didn't want her to know though. It wasn't that he particularly cared what she would think of him if she did discover the whole truth, but it had been hard enough telling it to the Exile.
And anyways, current events were more interesting to him right then than his past.
"So where is he anyways?"
"He's still with her in the medical bay, last I checked."
Atton raised a curious eyebrow, though his hands continued to act. "Doing what?"
"Nothing really. He just sits there next to her."
"Figures," the pilot murmured more to himself than to Mira. "Probably should've left her in the center of that planet with the rest of them."
Though he hadn't intended it, Atton's words had a more severe affect on Mira than he could have known. They had inadvertently brought forth thoughts of her own family lost within the gravity mass of the horrid void. The memories of losing those that she had held dearly and who had held her dearly came back to her, and so did the pain it had left within her heart. An echo that radiated within it still, though what training she had now with the Force had helped calm its presence. Yet still, it hurt.
"I think enough bodies have been left there already." Her words were flat. Flat as any Atton had ever heard her say, catching his attention in a way that Mira never had before.
Yet he still did not look at her, nor did she look at him.
Only the most passive of sounds could be heard throughout the Ebon Hawk as its occupants each took to their own preoccupations. The rumble of the hyperdrive. The rotors of the T3 unit as it traveled around the ship, running its own tests and making small adjustments every so often. The Handmaiden kept her presence within the confines of the cold and empty cargo hold, her hands and feet cutting the air as she trained diligently, though not for the purpose of battle preparation.
And within the small cramped confines of the medical bay, a man, who was dead in every way a Jedi of a Sith would call someone dead, sat silently with only his deep thoughts accompanying him. Upon the medical bed now laid the body of someone he had been bonded to beyond all desire or will. She had been a teacher for him, and perhaps something more. She had saved him from the trappings of his past by forcing him into corners where his only choice had been to face them, as she had with Atton, though she had thought the pilot a fool for never realizing it. She had helped him. She had saved him at the cost of her hand. She had guided him. She had made him a stronger human being than he had ever been before. And he had killed her for it.
He was a Jedi Guardian and a former General. He had become a Weapon Master by his teacher's guidance and with the knowledge that there was always one more battle waiting for him that he would have to face. He had always been a leader; the one coaxing others to fight for the cause that he called just. But now, he didn't know what he was.
His eyes stared blankly at the cloth that lay over the woman's abdomen where one of the viridian beams of his double-bladed lightsaber had struck the fatal blow. What pain it must have caused her as the weapon burned through her flesh. And yet, in the end, she smiled because of it. She had been happy that it ended as it had. But for Kai Lugo, for the Exile, who had bonded so strongly with the old woman, her death had ripped into him just as painfully as all of Malachor V.
He sat there next to her, motionless beyond the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily. His left arm fell across his lap, his right hand clutching at the back of his bicep where one of the three floating lightsabers Kreia had attack him with almost dismembered it. He smiled for a moment to himself as he thought of the irony of that wound. If it hadn't been for a near fatal incident many years past, an incident he had kept secret from everybody on the ship including Kreia, that lightsaber would have been the end of him. It made him recall one of the last things Kreia had said to him; about how it is all that is left unsaid in which tragedies are created. Apparently having left this one thing unsaid is what saved his life, though he was hardly grateful for that now.
The Exile hung his head low as the weight of all that has happened and all that he knew was going to happen fell upon his heavy shoulders. The long strands of his raven hair fell over his face and he pulled his right hand away from his arm only long enough to push them back behind his ears. It had been a long time since he had his hair cut short as he used to have it when he was young padawan and during the war. Yet after he was exiled, he just became contented with tying it back. The wrapping he had used to keep it tied had fallen off at some point during the whole incident on Malachor, allowing it to fly freely much to his annoyance.
"General," a low toned voice suddenly cut into his thoughts. Kai raised his head to find the iridonian standing at the doorway, a stone hard look on his face. "Are you okay, sir?"
Kai gave the technician an appreciative smile. "I'm fine Bao-Dur. Just thinking a little too much."
"You don't look fine." The iridonian made a point by looking directly at Kai's left arm. "You've been cradling it ever since you got back from the core. You should have the Handmaiden look at it. Leaving a wound like that alone for too long can have its consequences."
More jokingly than to make a point, Bao-Dur knocked the back of the metal hand of his energy arm against the side of the wall, making a distinct clanking noise. Both the iridonian and the Exile shared a small laugh.
Kai rose from his seat and started walking out of the medical bay. "I'm actually going to need you to look at my arm."
The technician cast the Exile a confused looked for a moment, not understanding what Kai desired of him. After all, he was a technician, not a medic. "What do you need me for, sir?"
"Where are your tools?"
"In the main hull, why?"
"You'll see in a second," Kai responded as he started down towards the room, Bao-Dur following close behind.
The pair walked into the room only to find it not to be as vacant as the Exile had desired. Mandalore had taken to the communication panel, likely sending a message to his clan on Dxun. Also HK-47 stood motionless within a corner of the room as well, his head lowered. The Exile casted the assassin droid a glance and quickly noticed that its photoreceptors were not on, indicating that the droid had taken to stasis mode.
Bao-Dur's tool tray sat upon the side of the center display, a few items scattered around it indicating that the iridonian had been busy working on a part of the display. He would likely need those tools in the next few minutes.
"General sir," the iridonian murmured as he came up behind Kai. "I still don't see what you think it is I can-"
"-Just wait a moment, Bao-Dur," the Exile interrupted. Without warning, Kai began to remove his grey robe, using only his right hand as his left hung freely by his side. He then hung it over the edge of one of the station chairs surrounding the central display.
"What are you doing, Jedi?" Mandalore had looked up from the console, unsure as Bao-Dur was as to what was going on.
"Just doing a little repair job, Mandalore. Nothing that requires the attention of the leader of the mandalorians," the Exile teased, to which Mandalore was more confused by than annoyed.
Sitting down within the seat that his robe now hung over, Kai then preceded to ripping off his right sleeve. Though both Mandalore and Bao-Dur were still unclear as to the intent, they both looked on patiently.
"Bao-Dur, I need you to deal with the wound."
The iridonian was dumbfounded by the request. "General, what is it that you're expecting me to-"
"-Bao-Dur," the Exile interrupted again, this time looking directly at the technician, his green eyes locking directly with the iridonian's. "Were you at Dxun during when it fell?"
The iridonian paused for a moment before he answered. His memories of the war often blended together. Battle upon battle with fields littered with bodies. It was easy to get lost in all of it, to lose sight of where one was or even who one was.
"No, I wasn't at Dxun," he finally said.
"What about you, Madalore," the Exile asked as he looked over to the fully armored warrior, who had silently listened to the conversation as he sat at the center console station.
"You shouldn't have to ask that, jedi. After all, if I had been there, Dxun wouldn't have fallen," the mandalorian answered. "I remember hearing of its defeat, however, and how completely overwhelmed our warriors had been by the unexpected ground assaults led through the dense jungles by the jedi."
Canderous' recollection touched on the Exile's, forcing old memories of that long past battle to re-emerge within his mind. The thick humidity and heat of those burning jungles were etched so clear within Kai's thoughts that he could have sworn at the time that the moon itself was fighting against them.
"At the time, the mandalorians stationed on the moon had prepped their fortresses to withstand and counter-attack against bombardment runs," Madalore continued. "They had expected to be invaded by Malak and his bomber fleets at the time since he was within the system when it fell."
"Most everyone else had expected Malak to be chosen to lead the assault too," Kai added. "But Revan had changed the plan at the last moment, much to his second-in-command's enragement. Instead he sent me and my assault squadrons into the Dxun jungles."
"Where you found the fleets of Basilisk war droids hidden and waiting to obliterate the aerial assault," Canderous finished for the Exile.
Kai smirked a little at the memory. "He had advised me to make sure my squads were armed with extra ion charges, saying that he was sure we would need them. I told him that I had already done such."
A heavy laugh erupted from Mandalore. "You jedi…"
The Exile shrugged his shoulders lightly with indifference on his face. "The mandalorians more than made up for that mistake. They had set unmarked mine fields out of several of the clearings between the basilisk caches and the main fortresses, using thermal explosives and plasma detonators."
"Mines…" Bao-Dur mumbled with a certain hatred for the word. He gazed over to the mandalorian then, a look of revulsion on his face, which was greeted only by the emotionless faceplate on Mandalore's helmet. "I thought your people lived for the honor of facing your enemies face to face, not randomly blowing off their legs like cowards and murderers."
"Combat has many forms, iridonian," Canderous responded flatly.
Though Kai understood Canderous' meaning, his personal memories of traversing those minefields had not felt like combat as he knew it in the least, but rather an attempt to avoid random massacres. By the time he had managed to get his own squad past that labyrinth only a fourth of his men were still alive, their morale surely broken had it not been for the Exile's unique abilities.
"If what I know of that battle is correct, you eventually made it through the jungle and stormed our fortresses," Mandalore spoke, his voice almost emanating a tone of respect as he address the Exile and what this man had accomplished. "The mandalorians there were forced to make a withdrawal."
"Don't you mean retreat," Bao-Dur asked, feeling that the mandalorian was intentionally avoiding any description that would demean his image of his people.
Though no one in the room could tell, one got a sense of anger radiating from Canderous' unseen eyes as he suddenly snapped his head toward the technician.
"Watch it, alien…"
The iridonian sniffed defiantly, but gave no response.
Kai quickly spoke up before the tension within the room escalated into something more than it already was. "Unfortunately those mandalorians who were able to escape the moon in the transport ships did not get very far. Revan had not inform me at the time that he had Malak's fleet standing by on the other side of Onderon, waiting for the mandalorians to make an attempt to leave the moon."
The Exile's eyes drifted downward as memories of what he felt more than of what he saw emerged within his thoughts. "Not one of those transport ships made it to hyperspace."
Kai recalled the pre-operation conference he had attended with the rest of the Republic commanders, including Revan and Malak. It had been estimated that over two hundred thousand mandalorians had been stationed on Dxun on the time. Of all those there, only a couple ten-thousand died in the ground conflict. Yet as painful as it had been to feel all that death around him at the time, the scream that wailed from beyond the sky had completely deafened him to the sensation of what happened on Dxun's surface.
"You should have been proud of yourself, jedi," Mandalore suddenly said, almost as if having heard the Exile's thoughts. "Dxun was one of the Republic's greatest victories in the war. In no other battle other than Malachor V were so many mandalorians annihilated in such great numbers by the hands of so few."
"Yes…" Kai muttered mostly to himself, his right hand grabbing at his left arm as it fell limp. "Malak so did love his responsibilities during the war. He was given control of a larger Republic squadron after that. They applauded his extreme efficiency in exterminating mandalorians."
Looking over at his own wounded arm, the Exile gave a small, sad laugh. "And that bastard Revan bereted me for trying to spare one."
(1) Lugo means, "mourn" or "to mourn" in Latin.