The trek to the medbay was blessedly free of both corpses and Sith assassins, and the three arrived unscathed. As they entered, another wave a familiarity washed over Meetra, fuzzy memories rising to the surface: a hazy image of placing a datapad in the medbay's central console; the warped view of the room from inside a kolto tank; an indistinct voice speaking to her, but without weight behind the words. She stumbled forward, but caught herself before toppling and pressed the heel of her free hand into her temple, as if the pressure could squash the sense of deja vu.

Kreia stepped past her without a word, but Atton paused at her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. She answered the unspoken question with a nod and shook her head to clear it, looking around the medbay with a more focused gaze. Kolto tanks lined the walls, all empty but still functioning. Had they the time, she would have suggested they take advantage of the tanks' healing properties, but for now medpacs would have to do. The medical console sat in the center of the room, which was further divided by a larger tank in the center of the medbay toward the northern exit. The tank's glass had been shattered, pieces scattered all around the platform and the liquid long since dried.

Atton knelt near the remains of the tank and carefully lifted a shard of glass, examining it slowly. He stood and circled the pillars supporting the platform, his expression growing more troubled with every step. By the time he returned to Meetra, his anxiety was palpable. "I don't know who… what… was in there, but the glass broke from the inside." He made a fist, then spread his fingers outward to illustrate his point.

The implication was sobering. Simply due to their function, kolto tanks were built to withstand the pressure and the flailing of the occasional alarmed occupant; the force required to shatter one, from the inside no less, should have been more than anyone requiring the use of the tank would possess. Unsure what to do with the information, Meetra turned back to the central console. If there were any answers to be found, the terminal would have them. She pulled the datapad free of her harness belt and slid it into the port on the side of the console. Pulling the command screen up as the machine whirred to life, she selected the treatment request query when it appeared at the top of the list.

The screen flickered once, two lines of text replacing the command list: Meetra Surik Treatment Request: Sedatives administered during routine examination 3.5 days ago. Emergency override enacted. Dosage exceeds safety protocols. Meetra sighed and shook her head, a small part of her darkly amused by the revelation. "At least he was consistent." At her shoulder, Atton gave her an odd look, but she waved it away, a wry smile twisting her mouth. "That's one question answered, at least." She brought the terminal back to the command screen and selected the first of three holo-logs.

The image of a woman with close-cropped dark hair took shape above the terminal, her expression pinched and anxious. Her voice emerged from the sea of white noise, sounding as exhausted as she looked. "Something's wrong. Ever since we picked up that Sith firefight in the region, crewmen haven't been reporting for their shifts and I can't reach people on the comm." She glanced around, and even in the opaque recording, the paranoia was evident in her eyes. "The strange thing is, I keep feeling like someone's watching us, here in the ship, but I can't see anyone… I don't like this." The image fizzled out in a burst of static, leaving Meetra with a heavy weight in her stomach. She exchanged a look with Atton, saw the same pity reflected there. Kreia, appearing uninterested in the logs, continued to prowl the room, but the old woman's sightless gaze never strayed far from the shattered kolto tank.

When Meetra made no move to continue the logs, Atton reached past her and selected the next one in the list, rematerializing the medbay office above the terminal. She still looked tired, though some of the fear had faded. "Checking the survivor from the Sith vessel - I'm not sure whether he's alive or dead, or what's even keeping him together." Across the room, Kreia finally paused, but did not look away from the broken tank. "His flesh is cracked and scarred, and I'm registering several thousand fractures in his skeleton, as if each bone was splintered repeatedly over time… and then put back together." She winced, as if the act of describing the wounds caused her physical pain. "Judging from the scar tissue, I believe these wounds took place before his death. If so, he must have been in constant pain. I have no idea what's been keeping him together." Once more, the log faded into white noise, and then vanished entirely.

A sense of dread replaced Meetra's horror, but, as if she had no control over her own limbs, she still reached out and selected the last log. The medbay officer appeared for a final time, blood caking the front of her uniform. She clutched her shoulder, a dark stain spreading beneath her hand as her arm hung limp and useless. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her skin, and panicked tears welled in her dark eyes. "This is the medical officer. The soldiers sent to the medical bay have just… died." She paused, gasped for breath. "I don't know where the subject went - I think he's gone to find more of the crew. With him are Sith… they just appeared right out of thin air, like they were wearing stealth generators, but… I think they were always aboard. When we stopped to pick up that freighter, they must have come on board the Harbinger." Terror drove the pitch of her voice higher. "I have no idea how many are on the ship… there could only be a few, or as many as a hundred. And with communications cut off, we can't call for help."

"He trapped them here." When Atton frowned, Meetra quickly explained. "HK-50 told me he incapacitated the Harbinger to capture me, but I don't think he knew about the Sith. A happy accident for them."

"Now I really don't feel bad about sending it to the scrap heap."

The medical officer continued to speak, fear etched in each line of her face. "I think that … thing… in the tank was a Sith Lord… alive the whole time, waiting for something to wake him up." As the log ended, Kreia's blind eyes finally shifted from the tank to settle where the hologram had been.

Atton staggered back from the console. "A Sith Lord?!" His voice bounced up several octaves, threatening to crack on the last word. "What the hell did we get ourselves into?" A strangled, near hysterical laugh pulled itself free of his chest. "What am I saying? What the hell did you Jedi get me into?"

Meetra barely registered his outburst, transfixed by the console's screen. Though the last log had ended, footage from the medlab's security cameras, perhaps queued up to begin after viewing the holos, began to play. The large central tank was restored now, a figure floating in the liquid within. Humanoid and male in appearance, he was tall, easily approaching two meters in height with a broad and muscular frame. He was shirtless, save for a ratty sleeve covering his right arm from hand to bicep; his lower half was clad in tattered fabric breeches and scuffed knee-high leather boots.

It was easy to see why the medical officer had been unable to discern whether the man was alive or dead. Every inch of exposed skin was gray and desiccated, covered with thick ropey scars that intersected and overlapped endlessly. Deep fissures broke through in places along his chest and shoulders, revealing dark necrotic muscle beneath, but his face was the worst. He was completely bald - not shaved, but hairless, the follicles long since shriveled or covered by thick scar tissue. A large portion of skin had sloughed off around his right eye, including the lids, revealing a sightless white orb surrounded by decayed flesh. The skin around his nose and mouth was impossibly taunt, his lips pulled permanently apart to expose tombstone teeth stained brown with age and rot. His intact eye was closed, a long fissure from his forehead to his ear running across it.

Another medical officer, a human man with short light hair, crossed the corridor in front of the tank, his posture relaxed. As he passed, the… man… in the tank twitched, his mouth opening and chest expanding in a short, silent gasp. The officer turned quickly, his confusion and uncertainty clear even in the grainy recording. He walked back to the tank, leaning forward to peer through the glass, and the creature within jolted awake. The recording was soundless , but the rage on the scarred man's face as he opened his mouth in a silent roar chilled Meetra to her very center. The medical officer jerked backward, cowering with his hands over his ears as the Sith Lord's mismatched gaze fell on him, and then fled as the kolto drained from the tank. The monster dropped to the platform, far more gracefully than Meetra had in her tank on Peragus, and lunged toward the glass, shattering it as he leapt free. He straightened and stalked after the officer, the security feed ending just after he vanished off-screen.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Meetra's mouth was so dry she wasn't sure she could; her tongue felt fused to the roof of her mouth and thick cotton filled her throat, choking down her words. Behind her, Atton had gone pale, mouth opening and closing silently. Eventually, he found his voice. "We're dead."

"Only if we remain here." Meetra tore her eyes from the terminal's screen to meet Kreia's unseeing gaze. The old woman appeared as unflappable as ever, despite hearing the female officer's logs.

"Kreia, he could be anywhere." Meetra hated how small her voice sounded. She was a veteran of a sixteen-year war, trained by some of the greatest masters of the Jedi order; she shouldn't be scared of a single Sith and his cloaked toadies… but it didn't change the fact that she was.

"All the more reason to move on," Kreia said pointedly. "Do you recall how much further to the fuel lines?"

"You can't be serious." Meetra flinched at Atton's outburst, while Kreia, in a rare display of emotion, pursed her lips. Ignoring their reactions, he continued. "That monster is a Sith Lord; neither of you even have a lightsaber."

"Then we should move quickly."

"We're not far," Meetra interrupted, desperate to prevent an argument. "Two more bulkheads should put us at the engine deck. We can easily get to the fuel lines through a maintenance access there."

Kreia wordlessly gestured for her to lead and, with a clear goal to temper the tide of her fear, Meetra found her limbs still obeyed her. She headed for the medlab's northern exit, skirting the broken kolto tank as Kreia fell in behind her. When she reached the threshold of the room, she glanced back to see Atton still standing at the terminal, frozen, gaze locked on the console's screen. "Atton?"

He jerked his head up, eyes wide and wild as they met hers. The fear there magnified her own, but also galvanized the part of her that needed to protect; the part, objectively, responsible for the two decade-old decision leading to her current situation. Ah, well. Old habits. She tipped her head toward the exit and relaxed a bit when the reluctant acceptance slid across his face, though it came with more than a little guilt. Atton sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he crossed the lab to join them and the three moved back out into the Harbinger's corridors.

They passed through one bulkhead without incident, but a sense of uneasiness began to settle in Meetra's chest. She recalled the medical officer's sense of being watched and slowed her steps, scanning the hallway carefully. A slight blur to the air in front of her was her only warning and she barely had to time to shout before it surged toward her. Knee screaming in protest, Meetra threw herself backward, a loud smack echoing in the corridor as the unseen assailant's weapon hit the floor where she'd stood. She swung her own staff, impacting her attacker's shoulder with a satisfying thwack. Boot soles skidded against the floor as he slid backward and she took the opportunity to swing her staff in a downward arc, aiming roughly for a head or chest. The assassin blocked, recoil shivering down Meetra's arms as the staves slammed together.

Kreia's vibrosword flashed from Meetra's periphery, sliding between her and the attacker. Despite being unable to see, the old woman's aim was true. The assassin let out a strangled shout and toppled backward, Kreia's blade sliding free with a new coat of blood. She gestured and the unseen body flew sideways, thudding into the corridor wall with a crunch and sickening crack. There was a fizzle of electronic static and the stealth generator failed, revealing the black and red-clad form of the Sith assassin. His neck hung at an unnatural angle and Meetra was grateful she couldn't see his face.

Behind her, Atton shouted her name, and Meetra whirled in time to see him fall, knocked backward by another cloaked assailant. Drawing the Force to her, she threw her hand out, mimicking Kreia, and tossed the assassin away from the rogue. The attacker hit the floor hard, a grunt escaping him, and Atton, recovering faster than expected, pushed himself upright and fired toward the noise. Most of the shots hit dead center on the Sith's chest, shorting out his cloaking. One went high, shattering the left eyepiece of his mask as it passed through.

Meetra limped to Atton's side and took hold of his arm, helping him to his feet while taking care to keep pressure off his injured shoulder. "You alright?"

"Better than him." He turned, blanching at the sight of the other assassin. "Uh, them."

Kreia swiped her vibrosword clean on the hem of her cloak and then paused, head cocked to the side. From behind the group, further back in the bowels of the ship, there was a clatter; a single sharp rattle of metal against ceramic, quickly smothered as the silence rolled back in. The three hesitated, all listening intently, then Meetra touched Atton's arm, gently pulling him back toward Kreia. "We need to go."

They broke into a run, fear driving Meetra to push past the pain lancing up her leg. They passed through the second bulkhead, turning left through a door when she called it out. When it closed behind them, Atton turned and fired at the cycling mechanism, sealing them in the engine deck. Hurrying onward, they came to a three-way intersection and Meetra paused, searching her hazy memories for direction. Jazala - she pushed away the sharp pain in her chest that accompanied the thought of the young woman - had shown her a map of the ship's layout when Meetra had first boarded in order to familiarize herself with where she could, and couldn't, go. She started forward, Kreia following, but Atton caught her arm. "Wait a second."

"Do you require another rest?" Kreia's tone was even, but sarcasm oozed from every syllable.

Atton ignored her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

The old woman audibly scoffed, but something in Atton's voice gave Meetra pause. His sarcastic bravado, whether genuine or a performance, was completely absent. In its place, a seriousness that was almost startling. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you feel it?" When she frowned at him, he waved his hands in an expansive gesture, frustration tightening his jaw. "Something's gonna get real wrong, real quick."

Even with her connection to the Force restored, Meetra could barely even sense Atton and Kreia, even with their close proximity; anything else was still beyond her. "How do you know this?"

"You don't survive on the Rim as long as I have without knowing when trouble's coming." The sudden hardness in Atton's eyes startled her more than the grim revelation itself. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Everything back there? Whatever's coming might be a thousand times worse. Trust me; when it comes to staying alive, I'm rarely wrong about these things."

"Then we'll be careful," Meetra said, holding his gaze and keeping her tone as even as possible. Part of her badly wanted to call the Force to her, to use it gently nudge him toward believing her, but that would require more power than she could draw, more finesse than flinging a body into a wall. She refocused on Atton, willing him to trust her over his instincts. "But we have to keep moving."

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours before he sighed and nodded. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll even be grateful for it." She managed a weak smile, which he returned with a small chuckle. Feeling a bit more confident, Meetra took the lead again, moving straight through the intersection. Cycling through the door, they encountered another; a four-way split this time. This one Meetra recalled well enough. "Maintenance access is that way." She gestured toward the right-hand hallway, then to the door directly across the way. "Should be a terminal to unlock it through th -"

A presence washed over her, a chilly emptiness that froze her voice in her throat. It loomed behind her, not an absence of the Force but a subversion of her perception of it: cold where she felt warmth, darkness rather than light, nails on a chalkboard in place of soothing notes. She whirled, finding Kreia already facing the presence. Startled at her reaction, Atton turned back as well, a breathy curse escaping him.

At the far end of the corridor, in front of the door Atton had ostensibly sealed, stood the Sith Lord. In person, his body was even more horrifying. His sightless eye seemed to glow against his decaying skin, the exposed muscle and sinew torn and shredded in places. In his right hand, he held a slim metal rod - a lightsaber. He watched the group for a long moment, seeming to study them, and then he walked forward, his steps unhurried. When he spoke, his voice was gravel and glass, heavy and sharp in all the wrong ways. "I came to warn you, Jedi. You know not what path you walk."

"Warn me…" Meetra murmured, confused, but Kreia stepped between her and the Sith Lord, breaking the paralytic spell his appearance had cast.

"This battle is mine alone," the old woman said, her voice calm and firm. One side of her mouth quirked upward in a small smile. "I am not defenseless." She started toward the monster, brandishing her vibrosword with a small flourish.

"Kreia?" Meetra's voice was quiet, with a hint of panic at the edges. She took a step forward, hand unconsciously lifting to reach out toward the other woman. Kreia turned back as she passed the threshold into the corridor and gave her a genuine smile, the first since they had met.

"He cannot kill what he cannot see, and power has blinded him long ago." She waved a hand, as if instructing a child to go play outdoors. "Run. I shall be along shortly." With another gesture, she forced the door shut between them. She curled her fingers inward, warping the cycling mechanism in response. Kreia turned away, taking care to block Meetra's attempts to reach her through the Force. It would do her no good to have the younger woman's bleating distracting her.

She advanced on the scarred man, weapon held loosely to the side. He stopped as she continued toward her, head cocked to the side as he stared forward unseeingly. "I sense you, my Master. Faint… weak."

Kreia sniffed, annoyed. "Your senses betray you." Her steps were soundless; even the edge of her robe was silent as it brushed along the floor. "As you betrayed me."

The Sith began moving again, measured and precise this time. He was being careful. "After all that has happened, still you live." He chuckled grimly. "You are difficult to kill."

She smiled, as sharp and vicious as the sword she wielded. "For one as limited as you, perhaps. To have fallen so far and learned nothing - that is your failing." Kreia moved to the fringes of the corridors, careful to give the Sith a wide berth.

He reached the center and paused, swaying in place. His head swiveled slowly from side to side, bringing to mind the image of a radar dish. "The failure is yours. No longer do your whispers crawl within my skull. No longer do I suffer beneath teachings that weaken us." His voice grew louder with every word, anger and pride mingling so thoroughly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. "And now you run in search of the Jedi. They are all dead, save one - and one broken Jedi cannot stop the darkness that is to come."

As he spoke, Kreia circled the intersection until she stood behind him. His words pulled a sneer from her. Once a fool, always a fool. "Perhaps. We shall see." Gripping her vibrosword tightly, she shifted her weight, pivoted on one foot, and swung the blade downward toward the scarred man's neck.

His reaction was instant. Lightsaber powering on with a burst of scarlet energy, he spun on his heel, ducking out of the blade's path as he swung his own weapon upward. Kreia released the vibroblade and threw herself backward, but too slowly. The beam sliced through the sleeve of her robe, severing her left hand at the wrist. She collapsed to her knees, clutching the wounded limp, but not a sound escaped her. To cry out would be giving the Sith a free follow-up at her neck. He stood before her, lightsaber held defensively in front of him. His head tipped to the side again, listening to pinpoint her location.

Inwardly shrieking, Kreia stood, holding her stump against her stomach. Though she was in agony, he had done her the favor of cauterizing the wound; at least she wouldn't bleed to death. As silently as she'd approached, she slipped away, vanishing into the corridor's shadows while the monster remained, his blind eyes still seeking her.