Chapter 1

"Taelan, where's my caf?" asked Radd Carkadian. Radd captained the Leporine Terrapin, a bulky Corellian hauler. It wouldn't win any beauty contests, but it did its job. The Corellians always made good stuff. The ship's long, blocky, rectangular forward section connected to an octagonal rear section. The port and starboard sides of the rear section were sealed against the vacuum of space by force fields, and opened onto the Terrapin's twin docking bays. Each could hold one or two one-person ships or several speeders. Magnetic clamps on the underside of the hull allowed for the transportation of larger vessels. The ship was heavily armoured against blaster fire, large creatures, and asteroids, all of which were common hazards, and possessed a hyperdrive in case a quick escape from a dangerous predicament was needed. Ships broke down or were disabled sometimes, that was a fact. And when that happened, it was Radd's job to retrieve them.

Radd's hands sat on the controls. His right was flesh clad in a worn brown glove. His left was metal. Approximately a third of his body was cybernetic. Radd had been a Jedi once. He was only a child at the time of his injury. He had accompanied his master, Jaaretha Intera, to a military base on Klatooine, where they were to oversee the testing of an experimental weapon, a bomb designed to annihilate all matter in its blast radius. Republic scientists were making the necessary preparations, while clone troopers stood guard over the base and the experiment. That was when Order 66 was executed. A chill went through Jaaretha when she realized that she could no longer feel other Jedi in the Force, and she knew they were in danger. She had yelled at Radd to run, and he did. But he went only a few metres before a clone trooper raised a blaster rifle and shot him. He fell sprawling upon the ground. The clones encircled everyone. Each scientist had a blaster pointed at them; the Jedi, several. Still alive, Radd struggled to his feet, and was marched, limping, to join his master. They were escorted down to the testing ground. Radd was afraid, not because he was certain he was about to die, but because even Master Intera was scared. She was like a mother to him, and she accepted this role, having long been an outspoken opponent of taking potential Jedi from their families at such young ages.

"Remember - they stood too close," the commander said grimly, addressing scientists and fellow soldiers before backing away to safety.

A weapon to her head, a scientist unlocked a protective cover and pushed the button that would detonate the weapon. At the same instant, Jaaretha knelt down before Radd, holding him close protectively, and he hugged her. There was the sound of an explosion, and a flash of light. Most of the bushes and trees around ground zero were gone completely, or else decimated. Of Jaaretha Intera, there was nothing left. Their job done, the clones marched the scientists back to the ships, to be detained for conspiring with the Jedi to overthrow the Republic.

Only their job had not been done. Radd had been shielded from the brunt of the blast. His left leg was gone. His left arm, which had been around Master Intera, was gone. The left portion of his torso, his left lung, and part of his stomach were gone. The left half of his skull was exposed. The sight was horrific. There was no blood, and almost no pain. These parts of him had not been torn or blown away, they had simply ceased to exist. Desperately, he reached out through the Force. He couldn't feel other Jedi. It was empty... so empty... But there was someone coming, yes, somebody coming. He lost consciousness. Kenma Takesch, a priest of the Order of the Source, found him, and was able to use the Force (or Source, as he insisted on calling it) to keep Radd Carkadian's broken body alive until he got the child to a hospital. It took 137 straight hours to repair and rebuild the damage. He should not have survived. But he did.

"Huh?" said Taelan with a yawn.

"Wait, were you just sleeping?"

"Yup."

"Standing up?!"

"Yeah."

Radd shook his head in disbelief. He'd hired Taelan Camran for security. He did repossession work sometimes. That tended to make people angry, and how many times had someone pulled a vibroblade on him? Okay, the answer was never, but it was bound to happen some day. Instead, she mostly did... whatever there wasn't already someone to do. She was a Lyrak, a near-human species. She was very tall and fairly powerfully built, with lime green eyes, light grey skin, black hair, and slightly pointed ears. Radd was sometimes accused of racism for losing patience with her, but he and the crew of the Terrapin knew that it wasn't because she was a Lyrak, it was because she was weird. He was pretty sure members of her species did not usually forget simple requests, fall asleep standing up, or dress as she did, wearing baggy black pants held up by crossed suspenders and a belt, nearly knee-high brown boots into which her pant legs were tucked, a tight shirt, the bottom half grey and the top half red, a comically large yellow-orange vest, and leather gloves with wildly flared wrists.

"I said, did you put a pot of caf on?"

"No, sorry." She turned and shuffled towards the galley.

"Hey," Radd called to her. Taelan turned sleepily. "Get yourself a cup. You need the boost."

"Thanks," she said, managing a smile.

Radd felt badly for her, he really did. They'd all slept on the ship last night while in space, not uncommon. But Taelan had sensitive hearing, and the engine always kept her awake. Though she had many times suggested it, he could not simply shut off the power while in flight. Not unless there was nothing in the docking bays no one would mind being sucked out into space.

He admitted it was hypocritical for him to be concerned about safety while continuing to dress as he did. Radd was tall and of an average build. His blond hair was not exactly neat, and he had a good start on a moustache and a beard, not having shaved for several weeks. One of his blue eyes sat about a millimetre lower than the other. Actually, considering how extensive the skin grafts and reconstructive surgeries had been, it was a miracle he looked as good as he did. He wore a sturdy brown leather glove and boot, a pale green shirt and a loose sand-coloured tunic. He wore close-fitting black pants and, against the advice of many and perhaps even against good sense, a Jedi robe.

Radd considered himself to be a Jedi, even though it was a priest of the Order of the Source who had been training him for the past twenty years, and he had been with the Jedi Order for only nine. He felt he owed it to Master Intera to finish what she had started, and that, at this point, the galaxy needed as many Jedi as it could get. He'd built his own lightsaber and everything - Valoccar Prime was rich with Kyber crystals beneath the surface, and was a hotspot for geologists wanting to study the unique crystal caves.

But there was no Jedi Temple there, and no Jedi Masters, and his life from around age ten onward had been relatively normal. The only unusual attention the robe attracted was from people advising him against wearing it, nothing more. There was no Empire out here. His attire wasn't going to draw any trouble.

"Ah, lad? Can you take a look right here and tell me what that is?" asked Kenma Takesch, his mentor and co-pilot, pointing out the window.

Despite his unusual name, Kenma was human. Only his culture was alien. His parents had been in the Order of the Source as well, and it was traditional for children of adherents to be named in the language of the Order's Callosian founders. He was an old man, but in good shape. He had a full beard, and long grey hair with streaks of white kept under a large purple turban. His amber eyes reflected as much vitality as they had in his youth. He wore a magenta robe with green-trimmed sleeves, tied with a red sash. His shirt was bright yellow, and his pants bright green - on the whole, an extremely colourful, lively outfit. He was wearing sandals, but usually preferred to be barefoot. Members of his religion also bore lightsabers, but they were all produced by the same individual, and were of amateur construction. It was unlikely that one would function very well in combat - they were intended primarily for ceremonial use. All of them glowed the same turquoise shade.

Radd looked to where the old man pointed. The silhouette of the Quasar was drifting into view, slowly obscuring sight of Valoccar's sun. He shuddered. His smile drooped, his jaw hung, the colour drained from his face.

Kenma nodded slowly. "That's what I was afraid of."