PROLOGUE
LOG DATE: ATC 1006, CENTAXDAY, GSC MONTH 10
ENTRY #: 1
I am of the opinion that journaling is an important aspect of archaeological work. Henceforth, I will be keeping a record of my findings and a cataloging of my endeavors in an attempt to maintain a record of useful information for future researchers. Often times, when pouring over our sorely lacking galactic records on those weary and long nights, I found myself wishing for commentary of some sort – annotations, perhaps, to better explain certain bits of information. Or even some companionship in the lonely annals of time. That will be the goal of these journals. That, and to provide some small space for myself where I might freely speak my mind, for in that freedom I find comfort. I will not mince words; what we are on the brink of discovering is bizarre, to say the least. I do not want the men I am responsible for on this expedition to sense my trepidation. Though I loathe such philosophies that hold dire sacrifices must be made for the sake of progress (which often times seem to permeate my line of work), I fear that day by day, I am becoming more susceptible to their charms. I say this to preface a fact that is beginning to haunt my dreams each night: We might not all make it out of this alive.
The planet is designated 6B-X9, and it is not on any star charts. Nor were there drift charts for the asteroid belt we had to carefully navigate to gain entrance to the system. It was a moment of intensity that I won't soon forget, but by the graces of our excellent pilot, our ship passed through the treacherous armada of rock with next to no damage. The planet, emerald in atmospheric color, bloomed into view as we celebrated and congratulated the pilot and the crew on our survival. I remember stepping away from the clamor momentarily, while back thumping and cheers ensued, to look at our destination. The colors were peculiar, and I could not guess what cosmic tincture had spilled upon this forlorn rock, though I was mostly confident in our environmental suits capacity to keep us whole upon the surface. As it turned out, the shades of green were not our dreaded chlorine gas, but something else entirely. Whether that was better or worse for us is impossible for me to say at this juncture.
We came here on an expedition of my organizing. I suppose that now is as good a time as any to introduce myself: I am Dr. James Arwater. I am a curator at a small museum of anthropology on Coruscant near the Skydome. We are not well known. And that suits me. My specific tastes when it comes to the study of history are typically met with a strange look and a cocking of the head. I understand why – the topic is quite frequently a sensitive one. Many people in many lifetimes have been impacted heavily by my field, and very rarely for the positive.
I study ancient Sith.
But planet 6B-X9 is quickly making me wish I didn't.
Anale sighed. "Why all the drama? Can't he just get to the point?" He set the datapad down on the coffee table with a dismissive flick. "He says his 'primary goal' is to explain things better...but all we get is some storytelling."
"Well, it's compelling, right? It gets you to read the second part," Selena countered.
"Then why didn't he just put the important stuff from part two into part one..." Anale shook his head. The encryption on the datapad limited their reading somewhat, but it was entirely crackable via the agency of a simple brute force program. Weak stuff, but merely a delay. One part per hour was about the rate they were getting.
"It'll be worth it," Selena said, grinning. She slithered onto the cushion next to him. The gold light from the blinds made visible the dust particulate clinging to the air in their cramped Corsucant apartment. Odds and ends somewhat summarizing their life littered the space – picture frames, Anale's blaster, Selena's climbing gear. Neither of them would have it any other way than messy. They were the tag-team to end all tag-teams, after all. A dynamic duo. A couple, if the mood struck.
"Well, let's not put labels on it," Selena had once said. Anale agreed.
They'd found the datapad in the trash. Quite literally, a dumpster. The specific circumstances that had lead them to exploration of said dumpster are murky at best, but it had definitely involved a whirlwind night of drinking in the Entertainment District in an effort to break-in their latest paycheck from the Sullustan clan that had tottered their way into the office two weeks ago. They had an old family heirloom (that Anale found to look rather phallic) to recover – standard job, above average pay. Must have been an important...whatever it was.
"Still, though. Ancient Sith? Wouldn't the Jedi come after him for that kind of thing?" Anale pondered out loud.
"The Jedi don't care," Selena said.
"Well how do you know?" he asked.
"Because I do. The Jedi don't police people's thoughts. They police their actions. A guy opening a museum dedicated to old relics that may or may not have belonged to a bad guy forever ago isn't on their radar," Selena tutored.
"Holocrons," Anale said simply, as though it were an entire argument.
"Please. Like a small timer like him would ever find a Sith holocron."
"...Maybe he did," Anale suggested. Sudden gravitas was added to the situation.
"Oh. Maybe he did..." she said quitely. It would definitely explain the drama. Sith holocrons tended to start adventures. "We would be…"
"So rich," Anale finished. Selena shot him an incredibly serious glance.
"Decode faster."
LOG DATE: ATC 1006, TAUNGSDAY, GSC MONTH 10
ENTRY #: 2
It began with a tome. Not a datapad, but a physical, hand-written record. Carbon dating placed the item approximately at 1400 BTC. Given that I am not sure in which era you shall be reading this journal, I will put it this way: The writing in question was created in the time of the Great Hyperspace War, roughly 1100 years before the time of Revan, whom I am sure the galaxy still remembers. Indeed, this was a time of many great Sith Lords. Shar Dakhan, Gav Daragon, and, of course, Naga Sadow himself. Though I found myself disappointed that none of these figures had written the text, I quickly realized a gathering curiosity to find out who the owner was. And, in addition, why it was a text – holocrons and datapads were most definitely in use during this time. Why leave such a valuable record to take its chances against the rigors of age?
What I learned was this: The text was created by a Sith Lord I have the feeling was expunged from all record, though for what reason I cannot ascertain. He was clearly not popular amongst his peers, as his narration indicates strong themes of isolation and alienation. In fact, I would go so far as to say the tone of the writing is one of sadness, and upon further investigation with the help of a psychologist, I have made the determination that this Sith Lord would be diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder by any modern doctor. To my knowledge, this is a finding without precedence. What recourse was there for a Sith Lord sapped of his will to live? That said, many a time we have seen despair as a prominent emotion of Dark Side practitioners who regret their choices. Something kindles a spark of humanity within them, and in a moment of self-reflection, they realize the horrors they have perpetrated in the selfish name of power. That may or may not have been the case; I cannot tell from here. However, I feel confident in saying that this Sith Lord's mental health was not good.
It's curious to me that beings such as the Jedi or the Sith are still susceptible to such illnesses. The Force ripples throughout their systems with the strength to regenerate severe wounds, and yet, maladies of the mind lay untouched. This is pure speculation, but perhaps the legendary "fall" Jedi undergo in transitioning from the Light to the Dark Side of the Force is more easily facilitated by diseases such as depression. Like a virus preying upon a weakened immune system. Perhaps the Jedi themselves understand this – it would certainly explain their long-standing traditions of mindfulness and meditation.
But Sith are predictable people. They crave power and the more of it they acquire, the more ravenous their appetite seems to become. This path was not kind to our Sith Lord. No, instead, I believe it beat him down. But he was not a weak Sith, if you are so inclined to wonder. Rather, he discovered a key to unimaginable power – and that power shook him to his core.
"Unimaginable power..." Selena mused. "I like the sound of that."
"Okay, the Jedi would definitely be interested to hear you say that," Anale poked.
"Oh, relax. I have the midichlorian count of a piece of fruit," Selena dismissed. "That means I can do whatever I want. The Dark Side has no interest in me."
"Wait...you've had a midichlorian test?" Anale asked incredulously.
"Yep," she replied.
"Why?!"
Selena shrugged casually.
"Just to see. Is part three done yet?"
Anale shook his head; both at her, and her question. "You'll be the first to know when it is. Do we have any headache powder? This hangover is awful."
"Ah, nope. I forgot to pick some up. I'll run and grab it," Selena said, bouncing from the couch. She always seemed to be immune to the negative side-effects of alcohol. And life in general. "Be back in a bit."
"Thanks," Anale said after her, rubbing his temples. He sipped from his mug of tea. It seemed as though the datapad responded to her leaving, as part three was decrypted and ready as soon as she left. "Guess I lied about her being first to know..."
LOG DATE: ATC 1006, ZHELLDAY GSC MONTH 10
ENTRY #: 3
This will be a short entry. One of the men on perimeter guard of our camp was injured today by...something. The fauna of this planet are extremely aggressive, though we know excruciatingly little about them. It is growing more dangerous with each passing day to stay in this exposed camp. Scouts tell disturbing stories from deeper within the jungle – massive footprints, and deep, animalistic rumblings. It has been suggested that we attempt to move to higher ground so that we might have the sight necessary to avoid these harassments of fang and claw. I see the wisdom in that, and am inclined to push for it.
As for the Sith Lord, his name was D̸̴̙̠͈̅͘á̿̎͋҉̵͚̠̹̱r̵̸̬̼͉̹͙̆͂̓͋̏̋͋ͫ͑͠tͫ̒ͬ̌̃͏̨̖̪͙̬̟̯͉͘h̗̣̪̦̲̼͚̝̗ͥ̓̅ ̈́ͥ҉̪̲̜͕̼L̢͕̞̟̗͉͉̅̏̔ͭ̋̿ä͔̘͇̫͕́̇͝g̲͓̖͉̘̩͓͇̈ͣ̆ͮͯ̓͜͡͝a̛͙̬͔͍͔͉͌ͬ͟s̡̯̰͎̘͈̗̪͋̃̚͜k̖̰̜̊͐͜͡u͔̮̲̟͐̃͊ͧ̎ͣ̒̈́͘s̵̷̡̪̤̞̠͕̻̳̟̳̔ͦ̌͗ͬͪ̔̕͟ͅ . And he was – ERROR. DATA CORRUPTION. ATTEMPTING TO RESTORE.
"What the hell..." Anale muttered. The datapad was spasming in fuzzy waves of confusion, all the while the error message blinking on screen. It was completely locked up; Anale couldn't get it to cease the decryption algorithm. Then there was a brief, hovering pause, before the screen began spewing waves of a single text string, rapidly scrolling downward:
THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST. THE ALCHEMIST.
Author's Note: Apex Ascent's final chapter will be out before the end of the month. This is my next project - thought I'd share a snippet. 3