Some worlds by ill-fortune or intent fall far from the countless billions of trade routes and pilgrimages that shape the Republic, linking untold number of stars in an astral cobweb. These worlds may be forgotten or ignored, but are never truly unknown, even if only in a single reference in a report stored in the distant Jedi archives. Tweleve-six-fourteen-Rho was an unremarkable sun. It seemed notable only for the fact that it barely burned bright enough to be called a star at all. The worlds turning about it in their measured heavenly dance were all frost locked spheres of eternal winter.
Tweleve-six-fourteen-Rho had been the fourteenth star system charted, in the sixth sector explored by the twelfth recon/surveyor fleet of the Republic. The star system had been unremarkable, consisting of only five ice planets, a handful of satellites and a single comet on an extended orbit around the dwindling star. Of the five planets, only one proved to be of any interest. Officially it was known as twelve-six-fourteen-Rho-two, but the fleet personal had taken to calling it Boreal after a joke made by a pilot.
Boreal had been earmarked solely because of a unique mineral deposit of crystals used exclusively in Jedi lightsabers. Before the Republic proper could be contacted and mining contracts drawn up for corporations funding the survey project, a single starship had entered orbit. It had been a Jedi cruiser, one of only three ever known to exist. The Jedi laid claim to twelve-six-fourteen-Rho and all the minerals therein. After departing the star system, no reports were filed by the Twelfth fleet. Only a single requisition for more fuel indicated that the fleet had traveled anywhere at all. Twelve-Six-Fourteen-Rho and Boreal were, for all intents and purposes, forgotten.
That had been over three hundred years ago.
No Republic ships had ever returned
Around Boreal a craft fell into low orbit. It was a crenellated blade of discolored silver and blood red, proudly displaying the six-pointed star of the Sith Empire. It arrived alone, but did not remain so for long. Other vessels, warships all, tore holes in reality as they broke from hyper-space. Where a gathered Republic fleet would be uniform in color and insignia, if not in size, the Sith fleet was a riot of colors, design and species. Unlike the Republic, who were a single unified force, the Sith had no such limitations.
The true Sith, those who pledged solitary allegiance to Lord Malak, and Lord Revan before him, where few in number. They had been the Jedi who traveled with Revan, and the soldiers who fought alongside him during the Mandelorian War. Their loyalty was never in question and their skills unmatched. But for all their experience, the veterans of the Mandelorian War had been too few in number to make war with the Republic. So the call had gone out for mercenaries, rebels, pirates and corsairs to join the Sith in making war upon the Republic.
Around the relatively small Sith fleet, over a hundred other vessels made anchor in a protective sphere around Lord Malak's flagship. Some vessels were the slick, bladed black craft of the Pirate-Queen Kayda De'Marakesh and her sadomasochistic warriors. Others were the brutish green vessels of Trandoshan privateers. The Cosairs of the Omen Star Cluster had added their bizarre misshaped craft to the might to the growing Sith armada. The crescent moon ships of the Ice-Moon Syndicates floated alongside their erstwhile blood-enemies of the Hrud Collective. But most of the fleet bore the colors of the mighty, near legendary mercenary clans that dotted the Galaxy. The insular Bone Wolves, the fanatical Disciples of Aleena, the Fists of Crulan Ekev, even the long thought destroyed WarHawks and their ancient starfighter carriers had answered Lord Malak's call.
Many of the warships were twisted and darkened, more brutish in aspect than their original architects had designed, but their lethal grandeur remained. Contact between the ships was hesitant. Greetings passed over crackling receivers, many with tones of guarded reluctance. The Sith rarely gathered in these numbers, and many of the captains were rivals. Only the ever present menace of Lord Malak and his Sith kept the rabble pirates from engaging in open war. None dared cross the Lord of the Sith.
Proximity alarms wailed only once as a small patrol fleet ghosted into range of the auspex sensors. A single Pathfinder class Jedi patrol craft sought to come about and retreat into hyper-space, seeking the only realistic means of survival. Its lesser escorts remained behind, seeking to slow any pursuit. Despite the futility, every second the gunboats could buy for their retreating flagship was precious.
A single craft broke from the Sith's armada, an agile strike cruiser of the Pirate-Queen's armada bearing the name Ecstasy. What followed was a massacre unworthy of remembrance in any hall of archives. The Republic gunboats launched a barrage of torpedoes which crashed against the Ecstasy's shields, as effective as broken glass raining against steel. In reply, precise lance strikes cut into the meat of the three Republic escorts, bursting their thin shields in a heat-beat and scouring the metal skin beneath. A second volley, mere moments after the first, carved the gunboats apart in dispassionate surgery. Ecstasy's shield lit up again, kinetic energy rippling across the surface as the cruiser glided through the debris.
With a shark silent pursuit, the pirate strike cruiser loomed close behind the fleeing Jedi craft. With game desperation, the Jedi craft unleashed its meager weapons, batteries of plasma and solid shot spilling into the void, clashing as they dissipated against Ecstasy's shields. The pirate ship returned fire, its lance strikes rupturing the patrol vessel's shield with impunity. With the prey's shields down, the predator didn't leap upon its quarry with a hunger to destroy. Ecstasy's lances fell silent and drew alongside the fleeing vessel. Instead of broadsides opening up and hammering the smaller vessel into drifting scrap, the pirate ship disgorged boarding pods in an overwhelming wave. A dozen spearing across space and digging into the vulnerable skin of the Republic ship. Ecstasy didn't wait, its engines veered in a lumbering arch to rejoin the fleet. Aboard the Jedi patrol craft, over a hundred hyper-aggressive raiders set about the task of purging those crew too loyal or weak to be of use. The survivors of the assault would soon wish they had died alongside their comrades. Only a slow death at the hands of pleasure seeking lunatics awaited them.
It took only three hours for the Pathfinder ship to pull in alongside the gathered fleet, adding it's might to theirs. It bore a new name, the Despoiled, to commemorate the atrocities done to the Jedi crew.
Silently, the armada waited.
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Lord Malak stood on the command deck of his flagship, the Leviathan, and watched Boreal turning slowing beneath him. Memories of his time spent training on the remote Jedi world came to the forefront of him mind. He remembered freezing temperatures, meaningless meditations and endless reciting of the Jedi Code. He had been a child, barely old enough to read and write, and the Jedi had sent him to this frozen hell. Gods above how he hated this world! His anger escaped in the form of a distorted growl. The warriors standing around him, his Chosen as they had come to be called, shared worried looks. Each former Jedi knew full well the rages Lord Malak was given to, and none wanted to be the object of his wrath. Only one warrior, the upstart known as Darth Bandon, dared to speak out.
"My Lord, is everything alright?" He asked hesitantly. Even being the Shadow Hand of Lord Malak did little to protect him from his master's directionless irritation. Without turning to face his followers, Malak spoke.
"How close are we to cracking the Jedi?" He asked in his low, menacing voice. A second Sith stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"My Lord, she is proving to be quite…resilient." He said and baulked when Malak turned to him, "I…um…Prince Jaan has been in the interrogation chamber with her all day. I can't imagine she'll last much longer."
"You can't imagine." Malak repeated menacingly. He looked at his Chosen, "Is this the same assuredness that led to me purchasing the skills of Calo Nord, and his sallow bounty hunters? Or the same certainty that Bastila Shan would die when Taris burned?"
"There have been setbacks, my Lord." Bandon put in, "But the Republic is near collapse. Our goal is in sight."
"Our goal, Bandon?" Malak eyed him, "Your goal is to obey my every command, worm. Nothing more." Bandon fell to one knee, and lowered his head.
"Command me, Lord Malak."
"Bastila Shan is proving to be a thorn in my side." Malak turned back to the viewing window, and Boreal beyond, "Take a cadre of your finest warriors. Hunt her down. Slay her, and bring me her head." He paused to consider his next words, "And this other Jedi who is traveling with her…bring him to me, alive."
"Alive my Lord?"
"There are…questions I wish answered." He said and strode away from the view window. The Chosen instantly formed a protective ring around him as he made his way to the elevators running the length of the ship. Only Bandon remained behind on the command deck. He had orders and a Jedi to slay.
At a gesture from Lord Malak, the central section of the floor of the viewing chamber began to descend down through the lower decks of the vessel.
It was forbidden on pain of death for any of the vessel's thousands of slave workers to look upon the face of Lord Malak, and, as the platform descended through the main crew decks, snarling overseers rushed to assure immediate obedience amongst the work-crews of prisoners under their command. Already recognizing the tell-tale sound of the descending elevator, many of the slaves cowered in terror, gaze fixed at their manacled feet and their endless work momentarily abandoned, as the platform and the dread figure standing upon it moved past them. Others continued working, raising faces in silent question at the sound of the platform's passing, and showing dark empty holes where eyes should be. Assigned to tasks where eyes were deemed unnecessary, these poor wretches had had their sight brutally taken from them by the hands of their overseers.
One chain-gang member, his still intact Republic Navy officer's uniform showing him to have been only recently captured and enslaved into the Sith's service, either ignored or did not understand his overseer's barked warnings. Risking a glance towards the platform as it rumbled past, he was quickly smashed to the ground by the figure of a slave-master wearing the tribal markings of a Gamorrean raider. Snarling in rage, the Gamorrean brought its vibro-axe up and in one swift blow, summarily decapitated the screaming slave. With solemn ceremony, it reached down to pick up the severed head, holding it up in salute to the passing figure of Lord Malak, the slave's dead eyes now permitted to gaze upon the sight that had been forbidden to them in life.
The Sith Lord paid nothing more than a cursory glance at the slave-master before the platform had completely passed the slaves. The platform locked into a base several levels below the Command Deck and Malak marched through the circular blast doors to the corridor beyond. His Chosen knew intrinsically not to follow him to his destination. No one who had ever accompanied Lord Malak to the torture chambers had ever returned, and their screams had echoed through the corridors for days after they were taken.
Finally Malak arrived at his destination. It was a steel blast door, marked simply as "0-4". It was one of ten special chambers he had order constructed in his flagship in the years since Mandelorian War ended. The scent of blood both dried and fresh was thick in the air. Malak pressed the control pad and the blast door swooshed open quickly. The scent of blood was now very strong in his olfactory receptors. From within he could hear two sets of labored breathed and the soft whimpering of a broken soul.
Malak entered the room and instantly noticed the chilled air. His assisted breaths froze before him. The room was bare, save for a single large surgical table in the center. A man, or at least something that vaguely passed for a man, looked up from his operations and smiled, showing too many elongated teeth. Its beady milk white eyes studied the Sith Lord with undisguised hunger and annoyance. The creature known as Prince Jaan scuttled over on six long jointed legs, more reminiscent of a grotesque insect's anatomy rather than anything natural born.
"Lord Malak." The creature hissed and bowed mockingly, "To what do we owe this interruption?"
"I grow impatient." Malak told him and pushed passed the creature to stand next to the surgical table. He looked down at the pitiful life form there. Lying on the table was a broken, used body, barely resembling the beautiful Omwati she had once been. Her golden hair had been shaved, her Jedi robes had been stripped from her toned body, and her soul laid bare by the tortures done to her. The naked woman, Miona Aner, turned to face Malak as he approached. She had no eyes; they had been removed violently many days ago, as part of her excruciation. Her arms, and legs, were gone, severed by surgical bonesaws without anesthesia. Even sightless, Miona Aner was Force sensitive enough to notice Lord Malak's presence.
"We are almost finished." Jaan hissed, "Resisted ten days of excruciation. Most impressive, yes yes." The creature had a habit of referring to itself as "we". It was rumored Prince Jaan had never been born, rather he was simply stitched together by a mad scientist in an attempt to play God. The creature raised a clawed hand above the Jedi's prone body and plunged the surgically grafted metal blades into her soft, yielding flesh. Miona Aner screamed in agony, the sound echoing horribly through the room. Prince Jaan leaned close to her ear and whispered.
"Tell us, and we won't put you back together." It hissed, "Tell us and we let you die, yes yes." The woman would have cried if her tear ducts still functioned. Instead she let out a pathetic whimper and nodded her head.
"Where is the Temple?" Malak asked. Prince Jaan shot the Sith Lord an annoyed look, upset that all his hard work was being taken from him by the Sith. Still, Jaan had sense enough not to question the Sith Lord. When she didn't respond, Jaan twisted his knives. "The coordinates, Jedi."
"Twenty-six degrees, eighteen-forty-four-point-fifty-six. The heart of the tundra." The Jedi wheezed through broken lips, "Seventy degrees, twenty-three-forty-nine-point-sixty-eight."
"What defenses protect the Temple?" Malak hissed.
"You…you trained there…you know there is nothing." Miona Aner wept, "Please…just kill me."
"How many Jedi train at the Temple?" Malak asked. Miona Aner turned her head away from him and let out a sob. She wept in pain for several moments before Malak gestured to Prince Jaan. The torture-master twisted the blades inside the Jedi and she screamed.
"Focus Miona." Malak said with a hint of amusement, "How many Jedi train at the Boreal Temple?"
"Twenty…twenty Knights…two Masters…" Miona Aner bit her lip to fight back another sob, "Over two hundred Padawans and children."
"My thanks, Miona Aner of the Jedi." Malak let the words hang in the air for a moment before turning and leaving the chamber.
"Lord Malak, what should we do with…her?" Prince Jaan hissed at the retreating Sith. Malak looked over his shoulder at the husk on the table.
"Put her back in her cell." Malak said at length, "She may be of use later." Miona screamed in rage and despair.
"No!" She screamed, "Kill me! KILL ME!" her cries of protest were muffled as the blast doors closed behind Malak. She screamed again and Malak knew Prince Jaan would use her body for a few more hours before returning her to the holding cells. It mattered little to him. He had the coordinates.
Lord Malak pulled a small communicator from his robes and keyed in a frequency.
"Admiral Saul." He waited a moment before the nervous tone of the Admiral replied.
+Yes my Lord?+
"Prepare the assault landers. I have the coordinates."
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Bastila looked down at the Jedi lying in her lap and couldn't help but smile. Despite almost drowning, Alexander's features were peaceful. At least, while he slept. Bastila glanced out the window of the Republic submarine as it passed through brightening hues of ocean water. She could just make out a full moon through the midnight blue water. The Jedi in her lap rolled onto his side, and let out an involuntary shiver. He was burning up from his hypothermia, and the meager medical supplies on the submersible had been enough to curb the pain, but little else. He needed fluids; warmth and a full body scan to make sure none of his internal organs had ruptured. It didn't seem like any had, but Bastila was not about to take any chances with his life.
His brush with death had sent her emotions into overdrive, and even in the relative safety of the armored submarine, she watched over him like a mother hawk. Was this what Alexander had felt when she had almost died on Kashyyyk? If so, she couldn't imagine why he had let her out of the medbay, let alone travel the surface of Manaan. Bastila knew she wasn't about to let Alexander tie his own boots, or boil water in the kitchen without her ever present protection. Bastila tightened her grip on the silver thermal blanket draped over Alexander's form and sighed.
How could she possibly explain what happened on the kolto station to her Masters? How could she rationalize the kiss that still burned in her mind? She had loved every second of it, treasured the sensation of her lips on his. It had been a short kiss, but it had been life-changing. It had been her first true kiss, and one she would remember forever. Even with the gut-wrenching horror of almost losing her partner, Bastila couldn't fully explain away her actions. Alex's injuries had only been the catalyst. Faced with the prospect of losing him without saying what she wanted, or doing what she wanted with him had triggered something in her. A desperate need for love, and happiness. Bastila was one woman, and she had one life to live. Why should she ever be denied what was she desired?
Bastila's previous worries about Alexander's true nature still hung like storm clouds in her mind, but in part she ignored it. She knew the man with her was not Revan Sedire. He was Alexander Stargaze, the object of her affection. What worried her was a two sided coin. On one side, at some point he would need to be told the truth. She was sure he could handle it without reverting back to a Sith, but she was terrified he would leave her. Was he capable of forgiving her? Did she even deserve forgiveness? The other side of that coin was a bone deep fear of what the Jedi Council had planned for him. When Malak was dead and the Sith defeated, what would happen to Alexander? Would he be a hero, or a war-criminal? Would his, albeit unorthodox, tactics and skill be taught for generations to come by the Jedi, or would all records of his existence been purged and the names Alexander Stargaze and Revan Sedire be faded from the Galaxy like astral dust trailing a comet?
"Bastila?" A soft voice called out to her. When the Jedi didn't respond, a small hand touched her shoulder. Bastila looked up at Mission and blinked a few times. "Bastila?"
"Yes, sorry Mission. What is it? Everything alright?" She asked, concern suddenly entering her voice.
"Everything is shiny. I thought I'd let you know we're thirty seconds from docking." Mission looked down at Alexander as he slept in Bastila's lap, "Might want to wake him up. I doubt even together we could carry him back to the Ebon Hawk." Bastila blushed and looked away. Mission giggled happily and walked back to the controls with a noticeable spring in her steps. Bastila gently shook Alexander's shoulder and whispered.
"Alex…Alex, you need to wake up now." She whispered in his ear. He groaned in response and pulled the thermal blanket tight around his shoulders. Bastila shook her head; just like a man. Never wakes up on time.
"Come on, up." She said a little louder. This time he opened his eyes and Bastila sighed sadly at how bloodshot they were. "The sooner you get up, the sooner we can get you back to the Ebon Hawk. And maybe get some warm food in you."
"Mmmm…sounds good to me." He said and slowly sat up. Instantly he put his hand to his forehead and shivered.
"Do you think you could hand feed me?" Alex asked, half serious and half joking. Bastila chuckled.
"Sure, why not."
"Could you wear some revealing lingerie too? I'm thinking red and black lace." Bastila stifled back her shock at his boldness and quickly stood up, stuttering in embarrassment. Despite the pain in his chest, Alex chuckled. He stopped when a bright lance of pain shot through his stomach and he doubled over onto his knees. Blood dripped from his mouth and he spat. It was dark, and red. The color of internal bleeding. Bastila was at his side in an instant and she slung his arm over her shoulder.
"Come on, I'm getting you back to the Ebon Hawk now." She said and turned to Mission, "Call Carth. Let him now we're on our way." As the two Jedi passed by Mission and waited for the auto systems to finish docking, Mission pulled the communicator from her belt.
"I can walk, Bastila." Alex protested. She studied his face for a moment and sighed.
"Fine. But you are heading straight to the Ebon Hawk's medbay, and I'm not sure when I'm letting you leave." She said firmly. When he made to protest again, she placed a single finger on his lips. "No arguing. Do it or I'm relieving you of command of this mission and ordering you to."
"Sounds like an order either way." He said half heartedly. She smiled at this.
"Maybe. But right now I'm ordering you as your partner, not your superior." Bastila said matter-of-factly.
"More than a partner?" He asked. She eyed him cautiously.
"Maybe." She said after a moment, "We need to talk, Alex. When this is all over, you and I need to talk about…this." She motioned to the two of them, "Us. Together." She frowned and shifted closer to him, , "I'm not sure what will happen to us, but...I can't…." she struggled to find the words. She couldn't. Not yet.
"Bastila, it's ok." Alex said after a moment. He reached out and cupped her chin. Bastila looked into his eyes, and smiled sadly. She wanted so bad to make this work, but she didn't know how. Not without losing everything that she was. Just then, Mission jogged up, unintentionally spoiling the mood.
"Hey guys, Carth says there's a problem on the Ebon Hawk." She said quickly. Alex sighed deeply and looked at the ceiling. For the briefest of moments, Bastila was sure she saw a bone-deep weariness in his eyes, in his very soul. A look that said the weight of the Galaxy was on his shoulders. A look that said he had seen more war and death than was allowed to a single person. Something reminiscent of the look she had seen in Revan's eyes; exhaustion, a sense of futility.
"Well there's a switch." He said and chuckled darkly, "Did he say what?"
"He said you two need to see it to believe it."
"Force I hope Carth baked the Galaxy's largest cake and needs help to eat it." Alex said with a smile. Bastila shook her head in amusement. Mission's eyes widened.
"Carth bakes?" She nearly gasped.
"I dunno. Maybe. You should ask him." Alex said cheerfully, but soon he grew serous, "Listen, Mission, you did good down there. It was a tough situation, and you handled it better than any of us." Mission beamed with pride. Alex gently elbowed Bastila when the Jedi didn't say anything.
"Oh, yes, Mission you performed admirably." Bastila said in her usually, monotone voice. Alex cleared his throat and she sighed, "And I think you should have this back." She pulled a small holo-card from her belt and after a moment, handed it back to the wide eyed Twi'lek.
"I think you and I should go get a drink sometime." Bastila said with a genuine smile, "But just one drink." Mission's face was split in a wide smile and she eagerly took her ID card back. After a second of looking at it, she hugged Bastila tightly. The Jedi was momentarily surprised, but hugged her back. A feeling of…dare she imagine it, sisterhood filled her. Bastila hugged the Twi'lek tighter and looked over at Alex. His red-rimmed eyes shinned at seeing the two reconciled.
As the party left the submarine, Mission excitedly chatted with Bastila who looked dumbstruck at the speed Mission could talk. Still, the Jedi seemed happy. T3-M4 rolled out silently, its compact body showing numerous scuffs and dents, and even scorched paint from blaster rounds. Alexander was the last out. He held the thermal blanket tight across his shoulders and shivered. His skin was still noticeably pale. Pain still throbbed in his body and he tasted blood in his mouth again.
Roland Wann stood on the far side of the docking bay, his arms crossed and his face set in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He stepped down to meet Alexander, taking a noticeable step to bar his way.
"You've returned." He said, not trying to mask his surprise, "I was beginning to think you had been lost too. What happened? Did you find out what went wrong?"
"I'm fine, thanks." Alex said dismissively, and sighed before continuing, "Your construction woke something up."
"Something?" Roland questioned, "Living in the rift by the Kolto?"
"It was a giant Firaxan shark. Its presence drove the Selkath insane. They murdered the station's crew."
"But what of the facility itself?" Roland seemed desperate, "What of the harvester?"
"The harvest suffered from malfunctions and exploded." Roland Wann exploded in anger and he gripped Alex tightly by the chest.
"What? You let the harvester explode?" He screamed, "This will set our operation back years!" Before Alex could respond, or Roland could continue, Bastila appeared as if from nowhere and smashed the enraged Republic operative to the floor. She held her lightsaber in her hands and glared daggers at the startled Republic officer.
"You conduct an illegal mining operation, let dozens of innocent scientists died because of your failures, and we risked our lives to clean up your mess…" Bastila narrowed her eyes, "I have heard the stories of your ineptitude and seen the devastation it has wrought. Your crimes could cost the Republic this world." She activated one blade of her lightsaber, "Choose your next words with exceptional care."
"…maybe…" Roland began and Bastila craned her head as she listened, "Maybe…you should just go, and I'll leave you alone." Bastila deactivated her lightsaber and took Alexander's arm to lead him away.
The embassy personal shuffled from the path of the Jedi as they made their way through. Anyone with half a brain could see the murder burning in Bastila's eyes as she studied the crowds for any threats. She knew she was being overly paranoid, but on a world like Manaan, paranoia was the name of the game.
The blast doors to Ahto slid open and Bastila was greeted by the ever present stench of Manaan again. But after breathing the recycled air of the embassy, submarine and the kolto station, the scent of life invigorated her. She smiled pleasantly and felt Alexander squeeze her hand. She glanced at him and he winked. Bastila blushed and gently tugged his arm up the ramp to Ahto City. The group emerged into the long hallway leading to the city proper and stopped dead in their tracks. Their path was blocked by a dozen armed Selkath officers. One stepped forward and pointed to Alexander.
"Human!" It barked in a brutal accent, "You are under arrest!" The officers approached and Bastila immediately activated her lightsaber.
"On what charge?" She demanded.
"Our spies in the Republic Embassy inform us he traveled to an illegal kolto harvester station on the Hrakert Rift." The Selkath responded, "That same station suffered massive damage and may have damaged the kolto beyond repair. You will answer for these crimes." The Selkath raised their rifles, and Alex could see Bastila was seconds away from fighting. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll go." He said solemnly. Bastila shot him a disbelieving look.
"You can't possibly be serious." She hissed, "You need medical attention."
"I don't think the Selkaths will let me bleed to death." He said by way of a joke. Bastila didn't laugh. "Besides, you need to get back to the Ebon Hawk and deal with this other problem. Take Mission and M4 with you. I'll be there before you know it."
"….Alex…"She whispered, trying to mask her fear and failing. As if to emphasize her point, a series of coughs racked Alex's body and when he removed his hand from his mouth, there was dark red blood on it.
"I'll be fine." He said at length. Bastila's jaw line tightened and she glared at the Selkaths.
"Twenty minutes." She said, "If you're not back in twenty minutes, I'm going to come get you." She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and stood aside. The Selkath approached, ripped the thermo-blanket from his shoulders and handcuffed him. Bastila felt her eyes and hands twitch and fought back the urge to strike these Selkaths down. She released a deep sigh and tried to calm her mind.
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Malak stomped down on the chest of the Jedi Knight before him, shattering the man's ribcage and peppering his organs with bone shards. Before the Knight could scream, Malak cut the Jedi's head from his shoulder with one powerful stroke of his lightsaber. All around him, the Jedi Temple burned. His warriors, the Mandelorian Veterans now known as the Subjugators, purged the Jedi from the surface of Boreal.
From down the hallway, Lord Malak saw another human Jedi, a middle-aged woman with long black hair peek out from behind a doorframe. Perhaps the Jedi hadn't seen Malak through the smoke, or perhaps she saw too desperate to care, but a moment later the woman ran from the doorway, ushering an entire class of children with her. They were making for the landing pads, and a possible craft off the planet.
"Firing line across the nave!" Malak roared to the platoon accompanying him. Instantly, over two dozen battle-hardened Sith assault troops leveled blaster rifles at the retreating Jedi and opened fire. The Jedi Knight put herself between the Sith and the children and deflected furiously with twin green lightsabers. But there were simply too many for her, and she was cut down in moments. The children lasted a little longer, being much smaller and each with a training lightsaber. But the Sith were merciless, and one-by-one, the children were gunned down too.
A shout went out through the rampaging Sith, and Malak felt a large pressure in the back of his mind. More Jedi were counter-attacking. It was futile, really. The Sith had amassed a force of thousands outside the temple. There was no victory, no escape. No hope.
The counter-attack consisted of the single remaining Jedi Master and eight of the remaining Jedi Knights. Lord Malak and his Chosen Sith met them head on. The Jedi fought with righteous fury, enraged at the murder of so many of their friends and loved ones. They fought like animals in a corner, hacking and slashing with a grim understanding that came from knowing they were moments from death. Sith troopers and Choosen warriors fell before them. But the Sith were too strong, and fought with a cold efficiency that tore the Jedi down, one-by-one. Malak himself met the Jedi Master head-to-head. He was an old, withered man, well past his prime. Despite his age, he had slain numerous Sith troopers and five of Malak's Chosen retinue before coming to blows with the Sith Lord himself.
Lord Malak rained blows down on the Jedi Master, driving him back with each swing of his powerful arms. Malak smashed through the Jedi's guard, and cut his arms off at the elbows. The Jedi sank to his knees in pain, but stared defiantly up at the Sith.
"We will be avenged." The man hissed through blood laced teeth. Malak gripped the Jedi by his throat and hauled him into the air.
"By whom, old man?" Malak sneered through his face grill. The Sith Lord motioned to the second group of padawans, and the two last Jedi Knights who sought to escape with the children. The Jedi had made it to a blast door, but as it opened, any hopes of survival died. A horde of blood crazed pirates fell upon the Jedi with roaring chainblades, barbed hooks on chains, and poisoned tipped daggers. The Knights fought well, but were soon hacked apart. Tears fell from the Jedi Master's eyes and he turned from the sight, unable to watch as the pirates cut into the panicked children.
"You didn't really think they would escape, did you?" Malak laughed. The Jedi Master turned to him, eye ablaze. Before the Jedi could speak, Malak twisted his hand and snapped the man's neck. The body went limp and the Sith Lord let him fall to the blood stained floor.
"Such is the fate of all who stand in my way." Malak said to no one in particular, but he knew his voice had carried over the entire battle, to every Sith, pirate and dying Jedi. Lord Malak studied the dead Master for a moment and without ceremony, turned from the dead Jedi and walked through the melee. A hovering camera-droid followed him, bobbing up and down at it recorded the massacre. The feed was being projected live in Miona Aner's cell, and the recording would be broadcasted throughout the Galaxy to show the inevitable fate of the Jedi.
"Destroy it all!" Malak roared at the top of his lungs, "Leave nothing standing!"
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"This is a problem." Bastila sighed and put her hand to her forehead to easy the headache she was getting.
"What…um…what do we do?" Mission asked hesitantly.
"How could this have happened?" Carth asked.
"This is a real big problem." Bastila repeated, ignoring the Twi'lek and pilot. The entire crew of the Ebon Hawk, save their leader, a fact that caused Bastila no small amount of anger, stood in the kitchen in a semi-circle around the dining table. Their problem was at the table. Their problem had dirty blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and a dirty grey tunic. And was eagerly helping herself to a third serving of dinner.
"Where'd you find her?" Bastila asked. Johlee shrugged.
"In the storage room, searching for something to eat." Johlee Bindo had seen fit to purchase a few more supplies while the Ebon Hawk was docked on Manaan. Some would later be made into the fish stew the young girl was devouring, but most was put into storage. It was while storing the rations and freeze-dried meats that Johlee and Juhani had stumbled upon the girl. She had been trying to steal a package of sweet breads.
"Do we know her name?" Bastila asked. The crew shared looks, before all turning to Canderous. The Jedi eyed the Mandelorian, "Canderous?"
"The girl's name is Sasha." He said and scratched the back of his head, "At least I think it is. She speaks a dialect of Mandelorian. Or sometimes she does. A lot of what she says is complete gibberish."
"You can understand her?" Bastila turned back to the little girl.
"Again, sometimes. A few words here and there." Canderous folded his thick arms across his chest, "but she doesn't seem to like me."
"Big surprise." Juhani said under her breath. The Mandelorian clicked his tongue and glared at the Cathar.
"If I had to guess, I'd say she stowed away on Dantooine." Canderous shook his head and walked away, "Probably lost her parents to Mandelorian raiders. Probably an escaped slave or something." Bastila was about to snap at the Mandelorian, but held her tongue.
"Alex speaks Mandelorian, doesn't he?" Juhani asked after a moment.
"That kid can speak anything." Johlee snorted, "Where is he by the way? Carth and I prepped the medbay."
"I don't want to talk about it." Bastila pushed past the Jedi and sat down next to the girl, Sasha. The young girl seemed to have a bottomless stomach. Sasha's green eyes darted cautiously to the Jedi next to her, but quickly went back to her food. Bastila turned to her companions and motioned for them to leave with a quick tilt of her head. The crew broke apart, each returning to their duties or their rooms to rest.
The young girl finished her bowl and glanced up at Bastila slightly. The Jedi smiled reassuringly and picked up the empty bowl. Sasha gripped it too, and after a short game of tug-o-war, relinquished the bowl to the Jedi. Bastila walked over to the pot of fish stew on the counter and spooned a hearty fourth serving for the girl. As soon as she set the bowl down, Sasha dove in again. Bastila watched her eat with a mixture of trepidation and amusement. This was all they needed; a child.
"Do you understand me?" Bastila asked after a moment. Sasha stopped eating and glanced up.
"Musha gushsa Sasha." The girl said, and obviously satisfied with her answer, began to eat again. Bastila sighed and put a hand to her forehead. This was certainly going to be a problem.
000000
Alexander winced in pain and pressed hard against his chest in a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure there. The bright lights of the judge's personal chambers were migraine bright. He imagined they were set so high to aggravate him. The Selkath judge before him let out his specie's equivalent of a sigh, and looked back down at a datapad.
"Again." He said.
"We've been over this a dozen times." Alex groaned, "How many different ways do you want me to tell the same story?"
"We hurrr…are just trying to understand." The judge replied in its broken dialect of Galactic standard. Alexander sighed and gulped back another blood laced mouthful of saliva.
"You claim a leviathan sized Firaxan shark was awoken by this kolto harvester?" Another Selkath, a lawyer began again.
"Yes." Alex sighed, "I already told you this."
"See it from our perspective." The Judge motioned to a chair, "The kolto harvester doesn't bother us. We already knew of it."
"Excuse me?" A second lawyer interrupted, "What in the name of the Progenitor did you just say?"
"Later Olto." The Judge dismissed the lawyer with a curt wave, "But this leviathan. It is hard to believe you."
"Sir, please." Olto interrupted, "This is hardly a conversation for an off-worlder." The judge glared hard at the lawyer who back off quickly.
"Why is this firaxan shark such a big deal?" Alex asked after a moment.
"It is a story, a religious story if you will." The judge told him, "I will not go into detail, but we believe the Selkath are genetic descendants of the firaxan. Specifically, leviathan firaxan. We thought them extinct. But I will ask you this; did you kill this leviathan?"
Alex stiffened, and he knew he had to choose his word carefully, "No sir, I did not. In fact, I destroyed the kolto harvester specifically so I did not have to harm the firaxan." The judge let out a deep sigh and slumped back in his chair.
"This is good to hear." He nodded his head, "You may not have realized it, but you have saved the face of the Republic on this world." He pressed his finger to a data-slate, "I see no reason to detain you any longer. I would ask you to keep this conversation private, though."
The two lawyers glared at the Jedi as he made to get up.
"One more thing." The judge said, "It seems some Republic operative, operating outside the bounds of their government, stole into the Sith embassy and rescued several of our youths who had gone missing. The Sith are trying hard to down play it, but it's a PR nightmare." The judge paused, "You would not happen to know anything about this, would you?" Alex grinned.
"I'm sorry sir, I don't know a thing about that."
"Shame." The judge returned to a data-slate and motioned for Alexander to leave. With one hand clutching his chest, the Jedi walked out of the judge's chambers, and headed back to the Atho City.
The walk back to the Ebon Hawk was easily the worst five minutes of Alexander's life. The pain in his chest was almost cripplingly powerful. When the sight of the Ebon Hawk finally came into view, he let out a relaxing sigh.
Hey, anyone home? He spoke directly into Bastila's mind. There was no verbal response, but not ten seconds later, the landing ramp bore down, and Bastila sprinted to meet her partner. Forgetting momentarily about his injuries, Bastila embraced him fiercely. After a moment, she looked up at his tired, drawn face.
"You're late." She said after a moment. He laughed, but it soon descended into coughing. More blood leaked from his mouth. "Come on, there's a warm bed with your name on it."
"Sounds like a plan." He said at length, "But I'll need someone to share it with." Bastila nuzzled against his neck.
"I think that can be arranged. But keep your hands to yourself."
"No promises."
00000
Boreal burned. Mesmerized, Malak watched as the planet below entered its final death throes. The ice had melted and burned off hours ago, laying bare the broken and dried expanses of once hidden ice-flows. Everywhere, bright lines of fire criss-crossed the planet's surface; rivers, lakes, entire oceans of molten magma flowing up through gaping, bleeding rents in the planetary crust as the planet itself began to break apart. The whole southern hemisphere was ablaze, covered in magma as the planet's molten heart bled out of the continent sized whole the amassed firepower of the Sith fleet had inflicted. Giant earthquakes shook the planet from pole to pole, forming and then reforming its burning topography into an ever changing series of different, fiery visions of Hell. The planet's biosphere was gone; its oxygen-rich atmosphere had ignited at the first firing of the Sith's planet killer weapon systems- and Malak assumed all indigenous life was not extinct. He had personally seen to the destruction of the Jedi on this world. Perhaps they had missed a handful of padawans, or an errant Knight. Perhaps they had survived the initial firestorm that had scoured clean the surface, hiding in shelters deep below the ground, but nothing could have survived the resultant seismic catastrophe as the fleets coruscating energy beams tore apart the planetary crust and ripped into the underlying rock strata, finally cutting through into the planet's molten core.
Malak felt oddly nostalgic, remembering other such moments of triumph, other such spectacles of destruction. He remembered standing next to that arrogant bastard Revan on the Sith Lord's long destroyed battle barge, watching wave after fiery wave of bioweapon missiles, and seismic charges raining down on a dozen different planets. His thoughts were replaced by a bitter hatred, one that could only come from a lifetime of living in a man's shadow. Knowing Revan was dead was such a sweet thing to him. Better than the richest food, or pleasurable activity. The surface of Boreal was almost entirely ablaze now. A gout of fiery magma hundreds of kilometers long erupted from the burning surface and exploded high in orbit. The Leviathan shook from the gravitational field the dying planet was pulsing into the void.
"Helm, take us out of orbit." Malak ordered, "We've seen enough."
+Destination, my Lord?+
Malak smiled, and told him.