"Just mend the damn thing and be done with it," Carth snarled, glaring at the interloper in his chair.
"In a moment," Jolee said absently, familiarizing himself with the controls. It felt good to have a pilot yoke in his hand again. Damned good.
"May I remind you that my arm is still broken?" Carth asked scathingly.
"A few more minutes won't hurt you. Besides, suffering builds character… or so the wookiees tell me…" Jolee said thoughtfully, spinning the Ebon Hawk like a coin, to orient on the next leg of their hyperspace jump. Wouldn't want to be predictable again, which meant no hyperspace lanes.
"Besides, it's broken in five places… more like a tentacle than an arm now," Jolee muttered under his breath.
"The navi-comp's finished the calculations," Carth said sourly, slowed by the use of only one hand… and enough pain to make him more than slightly light-headed… and irritable.
Giving into the inevitable, Jolee input the calculations, and slammed the hyperspace levers forward, perhaps a bit rougher than necessary… the stars elongated into the visual phenomenon that resembled the inner digestive tract of a very strange light-based creature.
"Come along then," Jolee sighed, unstrapping from the pilot's station. They had two hours before the next jump… and a lot of work with a bone stabilizer and micro-kinesis lay in the immediate future.
((()))
"You're lucky to be alive, burc'ya,"(friend), Canderous said grimly, as he helped Kyle peel out of his blackened sith armor and body suit. The voltage of the electricity had been sufficient to destabilize the molecular composite that kept the centimeter thick plastoid plates semi-flexible. Needless to say, that much electricity would be enough to cause severe fourth degree burns and tunneling damage in exposed flesh… Half the plates simply cracked during their removal from the insulated body-suit.
"And here I thought it was skill," Kyle said dryly, wincing a little as some skin came off with the charred body-sleeve.
"Well… maybe some of that too," Canderous allowed… since the electricity had somehow ignored Kyle's unprotected head. The pair felt the ship jump to lightspeed, and could hear Jolee and Carth arguing as they approached the med bay.
"Canderous… if I do turn on the group I want you to kill—" Kyle began quietly.
"—Nu draar!" (absolutely not) Canderous snarled.
"Ret'lini," (just in case), Kyle argued.
"Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?" (do you need a smack in the face, friend?) Canderous threatened.
"Are we interrupting?" Jolee asked bemusedly.
"Usen'ye!" (Bugger off) Canderous and Kyle snapped, unwilling to break eye contact in their argument.
"That sounded less than accommodating," Jolee whispered to Carth knowingly.
"Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah Bastila," (you're no use to Bastila dead) Canderous pointed out, fighting dirty.
Kyle frowned, and opened his mouth to protest.
"Wer'cuy!" (It doesn't matter) the mandalorian said firmly.
"This could be a while," Jolee whispered, sneaking over to one of his cabinets, and quietly left with the nice Gala-tech bone stabilizer he… liberated… on Manaan.
Jolee treated Carth's injuries in the main hold, at the small table… and the mando'a flowing out of the med-bay continued for well over an hour, most of it loud enough to put a wookiee to shame. Jolee could feel Carth's naturally suspicious nature inching towards outright paranoia as the argument continued, since the captain didn't know what the hell they were saying. For all he knew, Revan was trying to talk the mercenary into siding with him against the crew… seizing control… etc.
Jolee didn't think the captain was right. Canderous wouldn't have needed this much convincing. Five minutes, tops… not if Kyle was the one asking.
((()))
The second most powerful Sith on Korriban sat in quiet meditation, deep within the bowels of the Sith Academy. Ancient stone yearned to smother, and crush the life from those that dwelt within, prevented only by leverage and architecture. All of Korriban was Dark Side, but here, the Academy sat at the mouth of the funnel, above the maw that spewed forth the darkness… and devoured the weak.
The second most powerful Sith on Korriban opened her violet eyes, which saw deeply within the thermal range. As such, the dark room was only moderately murky… and she gazed upon the most powerful Sith on the planet… her master.
Yuthura Ban watched the man who had rescued her, shaped her, hardened her… the man that had come closest to the nebulous concept of father. That he was cruel, twisted, and thoroughly wicked had little impact upon her. He was Sith.
In her own way, she loved him, even as he tore at her, making her stronger through his wounds, some upon her body, but most upon her psyche… he was a cleansing, ever hungry flame, burning away the weak parts of her, consuming her.
She adored her captor… even as she hated him, and contemplated how best to kill him. He was growing old, and his eyes were not as strong as they had once been. The violet hued twi'lek shifted position slightly, amused at the thought. As if Master Uthar used his eyes to see. The intricate tattoo that covered his face and bald head also adorned Yuthura's head… homage, as it were… although the symbols were similar, they were also different… just as a child is different in appearance to a parent. Fondly, Yuthura remembered the day, ten years ago, when Uthar had found her… and broken her. The aging human had been so strong then… but although his power had only faded slightly, to one as familiar to it as Yuthura, it was noticeable… and irritating. Soon, she would challenge him… soon, she would assume his place, and begin the cycle anew. She owed him that much, and more. Her thoughts turned to her apprentice…
((()))
I'm getting weaker, Revan realized, as he struggled to keep the kaleidoscope of objects orbiting him. Abstractly, Revan knew he had fifty-seven disparate (and quite small) objects circling him, he could intrinsically feel each object within his mental grip. His eyes fastened on potential object fifty-eight, carefully stretching out with another tendril, until it soaked into the datapad, and he became one with it…
Come… Revan raised his mental hand, and beckoned to the datapad sitting on the holoprojector. It stayed put.
"Come on you little bastard," Kyle hissed, as Revan tugged harder. The pad wiggled a little, but simply slid and fell to the deck with a clatter.
"Damn it," the man sighed.
"Could you not practice with my datapad?" Carth asked, emerging from the corridor that led to the cockpit, his arm splinted. Clearly, the captain was having trust issues, with Jolee at the helm. The old man had crashed his last ship…
Just like that, Revan lost his focus, and gravity reasserted itself on the bolts, memory chips, eating utensils, pots, pans, and several very startled Gizkas… which all fell to the deck in a clattering rain.
"Sorry, captain," Kyle groaned, sitting down at the nearby table, massaging his temples. They had a migraine now.
"What's wrong, Revan?" Carth asked cautiously.
"He's out of practice," Kyle admitted.
"Have you remembered where the Star Map is?" Carth asked tensely.
The man pulled a scrap of flimsy from his tunic, and held it out to Carth, his eyes still clenched shut.
The captain took it, and unrolled the sheet. Most of the page had been filled with cramped, spidery words, without any apparent order. It didn't look anything like Kyle's handwriting…
"Everything he could remember about the Star Map is right there," Kyle said.
"If this is a trick or trap of any kind, I'll kill you, before you endanger the mission," Carth said tensely, heading for his bunk.
"Well, someone didn't drink their geezer juice this morning!" Mission said, popping out of the galley.
"Let him be," Kyle said quietly.
"He's just mad Jolee won't let him fly the ship," Mission decided.
"Probably," Kyle chuckled. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and wiggled his fingers, "You will get us a stack of flatcakes," he intoned evilly.
Mission's face went slack, "I will get you a stack of flatcakes," she said numbly.
"Oh shit," Kyle stammered, "I'm sorry Mission, I didn't think we were actually—"
Mission burst out laughing at him, and Kyle frowned, "That wasn't funny," he complained.
"Are you kidding? I wish I had a recording of your face just now!" Mission walked off to the galley, still giggling.
Does that mean she's grabbing the flatcakes? Revan wondered.
Kyle called out the question, and Mission shouted something obscene back at him, in rode'se.
The rodian smuggler from the Leviathan poked his head out of the port corridor, looking around in confusion.
((What about my mother?)) he asked.
"She was talking to me," Kyle explained.
((Oh)) the rodian slipped the serrated knife back under his jacket.
Rodians were scary… almost as scary as Mandalorians. Almost. With that thought, Kyle felt Revan's presence recede into dormancy… as the shade tried to repair… or at least slow the damage to its psyche.
((()))
"Alright Carth, you've been really annoying, and it's going to stop," Mission said firmly, fists planted on her hips.
Carth looked up from his pistol, which he'd cleaned probably for the bazillionith time, Mission thought, even with his right arm immobilized.
"Very cute. If you got any cuter, you'd pass for a Gamorrean's sister," Carth growled, a little of the spark returning to his eyes.
"Better than a Gamorrean's mother!" Mission shot back.
"Mission, that man is a threat!" Carth retorted.
"Oh… poor baby. He was the Dark Lord. He's not now. GET OVER IT!" Mission yelled. Carth looked at her stonily, and gathered up his blaster and cleaning kit, before he walked away.
"Go on, run!" Mission called angrily. Why were "grown-ups" so stupid sometimes? He was upset with Kyle, for something that wasn't even his fault! And Kyle wasn't Revan. He was Kyle, plus force powers, and a few bad dreams. Most of all, she wanted everything to go back to normal, when people weren't at each other's throats… when they'd been… family. Zaalbar found her, crying, and held her, as he used to when she was younger. He began to hum a lullaby, and Mission curled her fingers in his silky hair. Big brother Zaalbar, Mission realized, had replaced Grif a long time ago. What shook her most, was what Carth had become to her. She'd only known him, like… a few months. Big brother Z… and Uncle Carth…
((()))
Bastila panted, hanging from the rack. She'd lost the focus needed to maintain her technique for blocking pain hours ago. Malak stared at her thoughtfully, tongues of lightning crackling between his fingers idly.
Sweat had caused her hair to clump around her face in strands.
"This power could be yours… anything you wish… all you have to do is reach out… and take it," Malak said.
"I won't fall, Malak," Bastila hissed.
"You've already fallen, Bastila… you just have to admit it," Malak chuckled, smashing her with another burst of lightning.
((()))
Jolee set the ship down gently in Dreshdae, the only colony on Korriban's blasted surface, while Carth watched stonily. It was owned by Czerka, but that was hardly surprising. Czerka owned everything, Revan thought grimly. It felt wrong sitting at the co-pilot's station. Bastila had made a habit of assuming the station whenever she could. Kyle suspected Carth wanted to keep an eye on them. Kyle wondered, deep down… if he might forget who he was… and actually harm his comrades. Revan had been a hero, before he began this war. Revan remembered there had been a very good reason… but not what that reason was. Kyle shook his head free of the cobwebs, focusing on his systems checks as Carth shut down the Ebon Hawk's engines. Revan had far more secret fears. He was fading, the damage done by Malak in prematurely waking him had been extensive, and shattered most of the fragile links Revan had spent months reforming.
"Alright… Revan," Carth said slowly, holding out the scrap of flimsy.
Kyle took the paper, and looked over Revan's hasty scribbles again, trying to jog their memory.
"The Star Map is in one of the Sith Tombs… he doesn't remember which one," Kyle sighed.
"So, how do we get in to these tombs?" Canderous asked expectantly.
"Again, he can't remember, but Dreshdae is built near the tombs, and I scanned the ruins on the way in. There's a lot of excavation equipment, and life forms," Kyle said thoughtfully.
"It feels like there's a lot of Force users there," Jolee said, his eyes closed in a picture of concentration.
"Dark Force users," he finished grimly.
"An academy?" Juhani suggested.
"Maybe…" Jolee grunted.
"It doesn't matter. We need to find a way into those tombs," Carth said grimly.
"Won't the Sith recognize you?" Mission asked.
"I'm just a soldier," Carth shrugged.
"And a decorated war hero," Kyle argued.
"Is there a reason you don't want me coming with you?" Carth demanded.
"Yes. I'm afraid your presence will compromise the mission," Kyle said calmly.
"I'm not letting you walk into the middle of your old friends, so you can stab us in the back!" Carth snarled.
"You are in command, sir," Kyle said.
"Then it's settled. Canderous, HK, and Jolee will accompany me off the ship," Carth said grimly. Juhani was secretly relieved that she would not be required to set foot on such tainted ground. She had a reprieve… for now.
"So I'll just be sitting here while you do what, exactly?" Kyle asked, frustrated.
"This is just an initial reconnaissance," Carth said coolly.
((()))
It was the dream again. The boy ran through the crowded streets, as people stared up, surprised by the roar of engines within high atmosphere. Was this a drill, of some kind?
No you fools, it is your death, the boy thinks acidly, forcing his way through the jelly-like air. Perhaps this time would be different. Perhaps… perhaps he would find mother, before death from the skies could strike, perhaps—
Dustil thrashed out of the narrow bunk, automatically adjusting his shoulders as he hit the stone floor, to roll with his momentum, instead of breaking his clavicle. He'd done it before, about a year ago. That hadn't been very enjoyable. The teenager trembled in the cool air, drenched in sweat, as he fought to force his emotions into submission, to take control. Seven weeks after his twelfth birthday, death had rained from the sky, and destroyed Dustil's world. Of course, Dustil had not been on the surface when this happened. Hard men, dressed as civilians, had burst into his classroom, and dragged him away, to a waiting shuttle. Five minutes later, the shuttle was in low orbit, as a shoal of vessels passed them, approaching the planet… ships like his father's.
Then they had opened fire. Mother… died. Saul, his godfather, had sent his best men to locate Dustil, and Morgana, in the ten minutes between the arrival of the fleet, and the bombardment. The commandos sent to find mother were caught on the ground, and killed, their shuttle slagged. They had done their utmost to save Morgana… but legendary Carth frelling Onasi did nothing. His father saved thousands… but never saved his own family.
Dustil had been numb for a long time, then angry, blaming everyone around him… but eventually, he realized Saul had done his best to protect him… which was more than Carth could claim. Two years had passed since then… and many things had changed.
A willowy figure rose sleepily onto an elbow, soft brown eyes finding him in the gloom of the tiny dormitory.
"Dustil?" the girl asked, trying not to yawn.
"Sorry," Dustil whispered, using a dirty tunic to wipe most of the sweat from his skin, before he climbed back into the narrow bed. It was meant to hold a single adult… but Dustil, was fourteen, and had only begun to sprout. The girl that slept beside him was older by a year… the one who saved him, showed him that even pain, misery, and despair could be harnessed, could be forced to serve.
Beautiful, plain Selene. Dustil knew she was not beautiful to most, her eyes slightly too large, her cheeks too sharp… she had a stretched quality to her, as if she had once stood four feet in height, before some giant had stretched her like molten plastic to a height of five feet. There were many girls at the Academy that drew the envious looks of the older students… Selene was not one of them, which bothered her. She constantly changed the color of her hair, typically weekly, but when she was feeling insecure, daily, or even hourly fluctuations in artificial pigments could occur.
Dustil hardly ever noticed. She was perfect.
"Was it the… nightmare… again?" Selene asked, her mind beginning to properly wake.
"Yes," Dustil whispered. It was a weakness… but Selene was not a threat, could never be a threat.
"It's been… months… since the last one," Selene said, confused.
Dustil had hoped the dream had stopped… but apparently, his subconscious wasn't done tormenting him.
"Let's try to get some sleep," Selene mumbled, as Dustil slid into the narrow bed, built into the wall of the small stone chamber. He could feel the fabric of her nightclothes adhere to his damp skin… and once more wished that he wore no shorts, and that Selene slept in the nude. She let him look, sometimes, and occasionally touch… but that was all. She slept beside him, but she refused to sleep with him. He had a technical idea of what was involved, but the reality was frustratingly elusive to his understanding. He knew Selene liked him, he could feel it, when they touched… but she was also certain he was too young. Sometimes, especially after a particularly long kiss, Dustil felt as if he was on fire, and Selene a pool of cool water… but she always refused… the pool remained frozen, inaccessible to his burning flesh. Occasionally, sparks would shoot from Dustil's fingers, whether he willed it or not, like the discharge of sparkler.
Selene slept beside Dustil, because… because he needed it. He needed her close, to help him… to protect him from the memories… and because he couldn't lose her too. He had not been with his mother, and she had died. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice… he couldn't… he would not be his father. Thankfully, his next dream was a memory, and not a nightmare.
"Wait here. I will return shortly," Saul said, giving Dustil one of his (in)famous ice-eyed looks. The one that could turn twelve-year olds into frozen carbonite… especially when they misbehaved.
"Where are you going?" Dustil asked, curious. This world felt dirty, and was covered in reddish dust. The word Korriban had been heard in the conversations among the Leviathan's soldiers, shortly before the admiral had dragged Dustil to the shuttle bay. They had sounded excited… but this weary looking colony was… boring… and the small cantina didn't even have a decent vidscreen.
The man sitting next to Dustil was still in his red armor, although his blaster rifle was strapped to his back. Jordo had been one of the men that rescued Dustil, before the bombardment… and was one of the few men Saul trusted to play baby-sitter. Occasionally, Dustil would once again remember that he'd bit the man's forearm during the sprint for the shuttle… which never failed to embarrass the boy. Dustil liked the scarred veteran. Apparently, the man had served under Saul Karath during the Mandalorian wars.
"You want to see something?" Jordo asked slyly. That tone usually implied something interesting, Dustil knew… like how to field-strip a standard issue blaster rifle, or the proper maintenance of a vibro-blade… although Pazaak was a fun too…
"Sure," Dustil said.
Jordo pulled out his "special" datapad, and tapped several commands into it. Within a few minutes, Dustil realized he was looking at the planet's star port mainframe. From the inside. More importantly, Jordo had access to the landing bay holocams… and they spent a few hours watching the different ships coming and going… making critical observations of pilot performance.
"He's been hitting the spice," Jordo decided, as an aqualish drunkenly slewed his bulk-transport out of the docking bay, nearly hitting a retaining wall.
"So… why are we here?" Dustil asked, bored.
"Admiral Karath's meeting with his superior…" Jordo said vaguely.
"What's so special about this place?" Dustil asked, unimpressed.
"It's a place of power, for the Sith. All the really powerful ones come here, now and again," Jordo shrugged.
That was when Dustil noticed that one of the women, near the back of the cantina was watching them. Dustil studied her, from across the ten meters that separated them. He saw the two fleshy appendages that marked her as a twi'lek. Her skin was violet, a hue he hadn't seen before… her face and head were decorated with intricate, and interlocking geometric tattoos… giving her an almost reptilian appearance. When Dustil met her eyes, by accident, he saw her smile slightly… but her eyes filled him with dread. A paler violet than her skin… they seemed… dead, or maimed, some how. Then she rose, and walked towards their table. Only then did the young boy notice the lightsaber clipped to her belt… although the handle seemed a little short.
She was a Sith. The woman stopped before the booth Jordo and Dustil occupied, sparing a glance for the armored soldier, before returning her gaze to Dustil. Jordo made no movement to speak to her, and continued to diligently study his datapad. It's not that he was ignoring her… he was trying to be forgotten, Dustil concluded.
The silent appraisal continued, and Dustil felt like his skin was being flayed from him beneath those disturbing eyes.
"Who are you?" Dustil asked, finally able to take the silence no longer. Jordo stiffened, which began to worry Dustil.
"Who am I?" the woman repeated, her voice oddly musical, in an earthy sort of way. The question seemed to amuse her, and Dustil felt some of his apprehension fade, though Jordo remained as stiff as a statue.
"You must have arrived on Korriban only recently," the strange woman said. Dustil noticed that the tattoos poked up from the collar of her black tunic… and he idly wondered if she was completely covered in the designs. The twi'lek cocked her head slowly to the side, "But I am in a charitable mood. My name is Yuthura Ban."
She didn't seem terrifying… not like the handful of Sith that Dustil occasionally caught glimpses of onboard the Leviathan. Saul generally tried to keep Dustil from ever meeting them, by accident or design.
"Why were you watching us?" Dustil asked, suspiciously.
The Sith laughed softly, "So insolent… and blind."
Jordo's weapon hand was beginning to twitch, slightly, but this detail was mostly overlooked.
"You are a curious puzzle, human, a puzzle with great power… if your gift can be refined," Yuthura said.
"Power?" Dustil asked warily.
"Something in the recent past gives you strength. It is a twisted, uncontrolled thing, but with the proper instruction, could be harnessed…" the Sith explained.
"You mean… like you?" Dustil asked, not quite sure how he felt about the idea.
"Perhaps... if I let you. Does that interest you?" Yuthura asked, the tips of her lekku curling thoughtfully.
Dustil looked at Jordo… but the man gave no hint one way, or the other for what he thought Dustil should choose.
((()))
"Look... we have a group of newcomers to our little colony. I don't believe I've seen any of them before, have you?" a voice said, posh, grandiose… and cruel. That it belonged to such a beautiful young woman was a shame.
The group slowly turned to face the Sith woman, lounging against a stack of crates. A second Sith stepped into view, though his posture was loose, and open, almost friendly. Jolee checked, but the man was indeed a Sith, or at least, a Dark Force user… but strangely… passive.
"You should move along, kids. You can't handle the trouble we'd give you," Canderous growled, stroking the heavy repeater lovingly.
Any smart sentient would think twice about irritating an armored mandalorian… but the woman was mean, not smart. Or perhaps near sighted?
"Smart-mouthed newcomers, to boot," the idiot woman sneered.
Great, just what we needed. Some punk to steal our lunch credits, Carth thought.
"Looks pretty fresh to me, Lashowe," the man said, as if playing the foil to the woman.
"That's what I thought. Well, strangers... I don't know whether you're aware of this or not, but here on Korriban the Sith do as they please. And I'm Sith. Quite literally, whether you live or die depends upon my whim. What do you think of that?" the pretty blonde asked idly.
"Your whim? You couldn't find your backside with both hands AND your friend's," Canderous scoffed. He hesitated for a moment, considering the young man, "Well… he might be able to find it. He looks sufficiently motivated," the warrior said, noticing how the young man angled his shoulders, positioning himself to cover the idiot woman's flanks from attack.
"Commentary: That's the way to tell the meatbags, Master! Charging weapons, just in case. This should be fun!" HK said gleefully.
"How precocious. I think this one tried to make a joke, don't you?" Lashowe purred to her minion.
"I didn't think it was funny," the passive minion shrugged.
"Neither did I. A brave face, perhaps, but I'm more interested in being amused at the moment, I think. What do you say? Amuse us. Make us laugh, and we just might consider allowing you to live," the woman said coldly.
"Observation: or… we could just kill you," HK suggested. Canderous liked the idea.
"Those are very brave words for such an insignificant creature. Do you not realize how many Sith are here in Dreshdae?" Lashowe demanded.
"Twelve? No, wait, thirteen!" Jolee guessed.
"Nice one, old man," Canderous chuckled.
"Thank you. It takes effort to be properly irreverent at my age," Jolee smirked.
"Looks like this lot's not afraid of us at all, Lashowe," the passive one said, with an actual glint of real humor in his eyes, as he met the gazes of Lashowe's attempted victims.
"Are you going to let me be insulted?!" Lashowe demanded.
"You can insult me, if it makes you feel better, but I'm tired of this," Passive-Sith sighed.
"Fine. I'll deal with you later," Lashowe hissed, glaring at Canderous.
"That sounds promising," Canderous grunted.
"I don't think she's your type, Canderous," Jolee said gloomily.
Canderous frowned, tilting his head to the side as the Sith woman stalked away.
"You're right… she's too… soft," Canderous concluded.
"If you're finished…" Carth said, looking at the hermit and the mandalorian pointedly.
HK considered killing her now, before she became a threat, since the woman was a Sith, and part of an identified hostile faction, her life was meaningless. However, violence had only been implied during their verbal crossfire… lethal action would likely disconcert the Masters (an 87% chance), which had a further 97.6% chance of resulting in being ordered back to the ship… where the chances of further bloodshed fell to only 0.3%... so, with great reluctance, HK did not blow off the meatbag Lashowe's head while her back was turned.
Perhaps later.
The group continued through the dusty colony, towards the convergence of darkside in the distance.
((()))
"When Carth told me to keep an eye on you, I doubt this is what he meant," Mission grumbled, following Kyle through the dusty streets. Her species' homeworld, Ryloth, was supposed to be a dusty desert planet… so, instinctually, she should have felt at home here… but apparently, her instincts preferred the finer things in life. Like environmental controls. Mission thought enviously of Zaalbar, T3, and Juhani guarding the ship. From the sith, and probably the shifty rodian smuggler on board.
"Look, I can't do any good on the ship… and I was never given a direct order to not leave the ship," Kyle pointed out, ill at ease in his mercenary armor. Kyle preferred having an enclosed helmet, Mission noted. Probably worried about getting shot in the face.
"Besides, what's the worse that could happen?" Kyle mused.
Mission groaned. He had to say it…
((()))
Dak Vesser sat in meditation, as his mentor stood nearby, preparing today's lesson for him. He was nineteen, with pleasing, dark features, and even darker eyes… things that had drawn attention from many of the female students in the academy. He had rebuffed them all… which had made him few friends, and several enemies. They weren't her though, could never replace the one he wanted.
"Are you prepared?" Yuthera asked. Dak didn't answer. Even if he said no, she would still proceed… so he simply waited. He wore no tunic, only leggings… and felt when the little creatures landed on his shoulders. Their hooked legs dug into flesh, as they moved to attack… and he let them. Their stingers pierced his flesh repeatedly, and Dak embraced the pain. It was excruciating, but the venom wasn't lethal… however, the victims often wished it was.
Yuthura watched the young teenager. Dak possessed a moderate affinity for the force, but he carried something within him that had the potential to grant him great power. Although barely a man, by most reckoning, his body had hardened into angular lines… a reflection of the exercises and additional training Yuthura inflicted upon him. He had already been trained in Shii-cho by his Jedi Master, the most basic of lightsaber forms. It was intended for younglings… but she had begun introducing elements of her preferred form… Makashi, to him months ago, blending it with his Shii-cho. In some ways, Yuthura knew she was playing with fire. It was dangerous, to invest too much in another, especially one intent on walking the dark path… but something about the boy called out to her. In the six months she had secretly trained him… she had let slip things, small things, about her past, things that could be used against her. All of it had been unintentional… but in the short term, Yuthura could not find it in herself to be concerned… and she noticed, that the bond went both ways…
Despite his youth, he was already one of the better fighters in his class. He might not be the strongest, but he was the most ruthless, in a focused, restrained sort of fashion. It made him hard to counter, and often put the older students off their game… because Dak did not play games. He either won, or almost won… but he never lost.
As the infernal insects began to increase their attacks, Dak focused heavily upon his memories, using them to channel his emotions, and force them into submission beneath his heel. He focused on the day he had lost everything.
The wind was blowing out on Dantooine's plains, making the grass ripple. Dak stood next to his friend. She was upset, trying to hide what she felt. Dak could feel her instincts, as they spoke to her of what lay on the wind… the scent of prey, in the distance. Dak could hear the baying of Kath hounds, in the distance, as they coordinated their attacks, to bring down some unknown prey. Hopefully, it wasn't a settler…
The girl trembled, wishing to be among the hounds… her people had often hunted in small groups on their homeworld… before the mandalorians destroyed it.
Dak wished he could tell her that she didn't have to worry… that if she took off across the grasses, that he would follow. She hid her desire to hunt, because she was afraid it was un-worthy of a Jedi… that it was forbidden… and she was embarrassed because she knew he could sense everything she felt.
"Would it be so wrong?" Dak wondered, staring contemplatively at the distant sunset. His friend's people best hunted in dusk and early night… and the war with her instincts was clearly tearing her apart.
"Such desire is of the Dark side," Juhani whispered.
"Quatra never said that," Dak said reprovingly.
"Yes she did," the Cathar argued.
"She said your fear of that desire was of the Darkside," Dak corrected.
Juhani's ears flattened against her skull, uncertain, but willing to trust her friend's memory.
"I thought…"
"You heard what you expected to hear… but not what was said," Dak said, grinning without showing his teeth. Bared teeth weren't exactly a friendly sight to Cathar.
Juhani looked shaken by such a lapse of perception… and Dak knew what he could do… to help his friend. He slipped over the side of the balcony, and fell to the ground seven meters below, cushioning his fall.
"Dak, what are you doing?" Juhani asked, startled.
"I'm going hunting," he said, fists on his hips… and when he grinned, he did show his teeth.
Juhani growled, an irritated, distressed sound.
"I'm not very good at it though… so I might get killed by myself," Dak said.
"You are a hopeless hunter," Juhani agreed, but she remained where she stood, still convinced giving into her instincts was wrong.
"Not if you came along to protect me," Dak pointed out.
Juhani snarled. She knew he was manipulating her… but she could also sense that there was no malice, that he wished to help her… and she had few friends as it was. Only two, actually… Dak, and Belaya… the other students avoided her… and her temper. She could have endured their scorn, or condescension easily, for she had lived in such before coming to the academy… but not their fear, or pity.
Dak never shielded his emotions from Juhani, (well, except for one). She knew his heart… and knew there was no pity… only admiration.
Juhani dropped to the ground beside him, graceful as always, her balance perfect.
"I'm hungry… shall we hunt?" Dak asked graciously. Juhani glared at him, before turning into the wind, and scenting her prey. She let out a short, coughing snarl… and broke into a steady lope. Dak followed at her flank, as her pack second… merging with her alien thoughts, her instincts, until he too thought as a Cathar might, moved as one… and found release within the simplicity.
A particularly ruthless fire scorpion latched onto Dak's eyelid, and jabbed a stinger into the corner of his eye, the soft place tears came from… and his focus vanished. He screamed, and lashed out, crushing the insect in his fist… and the flood gates opened, as his agony turned to rage… and he unleashed his fury on his attackers.
Yuthera watched impassively. There was still too much love in the boy. He held onto something too dearly, and it sapped his rage. She was working to fix that… but it would take time.
((()))
Finding the entrance to the Sith Academy was distressingly easy…
"This doesn't look promising," Canderous whispered. Carth tugged the hood of his cloak a little lower over his face. The ornate and very functional looking gate into the ruins was closed, and guarded by two Sith troopers in crimson hued armor… trooper elites… and Jolee carefully touched their minds… they were also Dark Jedi… fairly powerful too.
"Those gates are made from phrik," Ordo told Carth quietly, studying his helmet's targeting sensors. That metal was almost as durable as beskar, but easier to work with… and although more common then beskar, it was also harder to actually acquire, due to the hostile conditions it was found in.
"Analysis: confirmed. Based on preliminary scans, gate and wall structure composed of phrik and cortosis alloy, in an 87:13 ratio," HK said, intrigued.
"Commentary: such metallurgy is considered impossible by modern methods."
Jolee felt the Dark Troopers stiffen, as their senses detected the interest of the group, directed towards them. One of the armored men turned,
"You are neither a Sith nor do you bear the medallion of a student of this facility. Leave at once," the Dark trooper on the left demanded, hand moving toward his lightsaber, and not the rifle on his back, noticing the loiterers.
The group retreated hastily.
Carth stared at the doors to the academy from a safe distance. Dustil…
If it wasn't a lie…
But Carth had looked into Admiral Karath's eyes… into the eyes of the man he once was.
"I saved your son… he's on Korriban… the Academy… forgive… me…"
Carth glared at the two men by the gates… I'll forgive you, Saul… the moment I hold my little boy again…
((()))
"She'll do," someone decided, and Mission felt someone pinch her ass.
"Slana'pir!" Kyle snarled, rounding on whoever it was. (Mission decided to remember it for future use, after learning what the word meant).
Mission's retort would have made any son of Rodia's blood boil instantly.
Unfortunately, her ass pincher was a fellow Twi'lek… and he'd brought friends.
"A little young for a graduation present," the human with blond dreadlocks noted thoughtfully, his eyes casually dissecting her like meat beneath a butcher's blade. Mission was dissecting them too… but as a professional (if non-professionally trained) thief. Blonde-locks on the left was right handed, carried a vibro-sword on his back, hilt angled over the right shoulder. Tight black jumpsuit, discrete reinforcement and padding. The pouches on his belt hinted at useful and utility type items, not valuables.
"Can I have her second?" the tattooed zabrak teenager on the right asked. He smiled and winked at her, as if he'd just asked her out on a friendly date that involved a holodrama and dinner… instead of restraints, a gag, and likely gang rape. She guessed he was a year older than her… which was way too early (in her opinion) for that much wrongness. This one's got a few screws loose, Mission decided. The zabrak's weapon of choice appeared to be a pair of vibro-blades, strapped to the back of his wide leather belt. Probably favors a reverse-grip fighting style, Mission decided. Idiot.
"Hey, merc, you can go, we just want your little toy," the twi'lek said. His green skin looked sort of sickly, Mission thought.
"I don't think so. I like manly men," Mission said, slapping Kyle's thigh, which startled the commando, "And I don't think the feather in your pants can do more than tickle…" she sneered. It took Green-face a moment to understand the implication… then his face got scary… like the bones under his face were getting sharper.
"You'll regret that," Green-face hissed, pulling a lightsaber from his robes. His eyes promised to do many things to her that she would likely not enjoy, but he would. His thumb flicked, and the blade sprang to life. Its red hue clashed with the Twi'lek's skin color. The pedestrians immediately took notice, and scattered. They didn't want to become the next amusement.
"I just graduated from the Academy. I'm a Sith," Green-face said, advancing on Mission… before his hand flew to his throat, and he began to gag.
"And I'm a Sith Lord," Kyle said quietly, arms crossed, as he casually watched the Twi'lek strangle. Revan felt small pieces of himself fraying, as he used his power… but it was minimal, compared to the satisfaction of killing the upstart fool.
Blonde-locks and Tattoo-freak slowly backed up, as Green-face collapsed face down in the dust, still trying to draw air.
"Our apologies, Lord, you hid your power," Blonde-locks babbled, bowing low enough for his locks to drag in the dirt as he retreated. Mission shot him in the face.
"Oops," she said, unabashed. She looked at Kyle.
"Can I play with him second?" she asked, nodding towards Tattoo-freak, echoing his earlier words. She even winked at the bastard.
Kyle shrugged, "Don't make a mess," he said. Revan curled into a ball… but there was vicious satisfaction, beneath the weariness… as he went back to stitching himself back together…
Mission decided to tighten some of Tattoo-freak's loose screws. Since she was all out of hyperspanners she'd just have to settle for her vibro-blade. It turned out that Tattoo-freak was all ink, and no Force powers. Probably a new student.
And the vibro-blades had been just for show.
((()))
Bastila hung from the rack, panting, as the Dark Lord circled her, "It would be so easy… child. One touch, one taste… and you will realize how the Jedi have plotted to keep you blind…"
The man touched her, and she felt pain, distantly, as the small, jagged blade tugged through the flesh beneath her armpit.
"There is no ignorance…" Malak whispered in her ear.
There is knowledge, Bastila thought reluctantly. Then he did something, through the Force, that set every single nerve in her body ablaze, her meditative trance shattered… and Bastila began to scream, even as she clenched her teeth to stop the screams… and Malak watched, with glittering eyes, as she writhed and pulled at her restraints. He would enjoy breaking this one.
Malak had sensed the strength of the connection between his old master and this woman… and it had not only been one of convenience. It was charged with powerful emotions… things that undermined Bastila's discipline, her control. It was a chink in her armor. Also… there was another aspect to make this exercise deeply satisfying.
Revan loved this woman, Malak had sensed as much… and when Malak had brought his old master to his knees with the power of his lightning… Malak had sensed that same emotion from Bastila, as she sprang to Revan's rescue.
Revan had always been inscrutable and cold… and therefore unassailable. If not for the tide of battle, in which an opportunity presented itself… Malak might never have defeated Revan as he was… but this new Revan? This new Revan had presented Malak with a fatal weakness… one that would be his undoing.
Malak would have preferred a more direct approach… but there was a certain irony in using his old master's tactics to destroy him.
This would be… delicious… Malak thought, staring hungrily at the woman… who was merely a means to an end.
((()))
"That was frustrating," Jolee sighed as he tramped up the Ebon Hawk's boarding ramp. They'd spent six hours discretely surveying the walls of the ruin, looking for an alternate entrance. The short version: there wasn't one. Canderous grumbled about the dust that had worked its way into the folds and creases of his precious weapon. Jolee tuned him out… sensing agitation from somewhere… Ah… Juhani…
The young Cathar was afraid she would return to the dark side, without Bastila to guide her. Jolee supposed it was only fair. Most predatory species were afraid of only a handful of things; deadlier predators, crippling injury, and the unknown. As attuned to her environment as she was, Juhani likely was rarely surprised by the mundane… but isolated as she was, she likely had no idea what was normal for her species, and what should be feared. Her inner self was a roiling battlefield of tumultuous highs and lows, clashing emotions… the perfect breeding ground for the Darkside.
Or so a Jedi would believe.
Jolee found Juhani in the women's dormitory… and the poor thing had her nose buried in one of Bastila's tunics, her master's scent calming her… slightly.
"Something bothering you?" Jolee asked. Juhani's eyes snapped open, and she recoiled slightly. She hadn't heard him, couldn't sense him, and her nostrils were filled with Bastila's scent. Surprise.
"No, Master Jolee…" she stammered. She wanted him to leave.
"Well, I'm going to be an insufferable old man, and badger you until you talk," Jolee said, smiling brightly. Something about Jolee unnerved the Cathar… made her uncomfortable. But that was too bad… because if she wasn't careful, all this worrying would push her right into the place she was fighting hardest to avoid.
"I know I'm not as pretty as Bastila, and I don't have a fancy knighthood… but I have been around the sector a few times, and I could teach you a thing or two…" Jolee said glibly. He waggled his bushy eyebrows at her roguishly… and the Cathar's ears twisted wryly.
"I think to hide my weakness, to ignore my fear would somehow make me stronger, make me worthy of the Jedi," Juhani whispered sadly.
"You know what I hate? Well... you know, lots of things, really. But I'm old and easily annoyed. But that's beside the point. What I really hate are how most people view the Jedi," Jolee said.
Juhani drew back, worried.
"Everyone thinks that Jedi are perfect, that they can do no wrong. They think the Jedi Council is completely incapable of injustice…" Jolee grumbled into his beard.
"You do not agree," Juhani guessed.
"Damn right I disagree. The Jedi are just as capable of imperfection and injustice as anyone else. They may try harder, sure, but sometimes they get it wrong. No doubt you've been on the receiving end of Jedi justice at least once, eh?" Jolee said pointedly.
Juhani looked away. If not for Master Shan's intervention…
"And I'm not even talking about how some of us fall to the dark side. No, that's plenty indication of our fallibility, but it's something else entirely," Jolee continued, and this time Juhani actually considered physically leaving.
"No, I'm talking about how, more often than not, your average robe-wearing Jedi can try to do the right thing and still be completely wrong," Jolee said firmly.
There was pregnant silence after that claim.
"I… I find this conversation… uncomfortable," Juhani admitted.
"Good. Comfortable things are easy, they don't make people take a good, hard look at themselves and others," Jolee said, pleased.
Juhani looked at the old human for several seconds, considering his words… and realized what he meant.
"Master Shan was wrong to save me," Juhani realized.
"No," Jolee sighed, pinching his nose, "She was wrong to coddle you. She became a crutch. Oh, she thought she was helping… but she was just making you reliant on her composure and discipline," Jolee explained.
"But…" Juhani began to protest.
"Not finished," Jolee interrupted, "At first, it was acceptable, but after a while, she should have begun to wean you off… not increase her assistance… because you've had zero growth," Jolee said, crossing his arms.
"But, you have not been with us long—" Juhani said, rising to Master Shan's defense.
"Long enough," Jolee said firmly.
Juhani subsided unhappily.
"It's time to choose who you wish to be… because it may seem inevitable… and the Council always preaches about how once upon the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, etc, etc… but they're wrong. It's a choice, made ever day, every hour, or if it's really difficult, every second upon what kind of person you want to be," Jolee said sternly.
Juhani looked at the wrinkled human… weighing his words…
And they struck a chord in her. In the end, it was always a choice, wasn't it?
((()))
Carth grumbled and glared at the holorecordings HK-47 had made of the academy's exterior. He kept analyzing it, looking for a way in. He manipulated the image, and the construct shifted ninety degrees.
Kyle watched from where he sat at the table in the main hold… still a little shaken from watching Revan kill the twi'lek. Oh, Kyle had wished to kill him as well… but that had simply been because the bastard had threatened someone under his protection. Revan had killed him simply because he wished to kill something. It made Kyle feel sullied.
You dislike me? Revan thought, bemused, stirred from his slumber. Considering the commando was the intruder, for him to view Revan as an unwanted interloper was… amusing.
Kyle shrugged, "You're a monster."
And you are a fighter of monsters, Revan observed.
"Sometimes," Kyle agreed, his thoughts uncomfortable.
The Devaronian.
"Ricki…" Kyle sighed.
I find it interesting… that you would begrudge my aid, now that we must be allies… when you did not begrudge the Devaronian…
"Shut up," Kyle snarled, ignoring his tormentor.
He killed women, children, men… he did this outside of war. He did this in homes, in peace, Revan whispered.
"He couldn't help it… and after Deralia, it was different. He changed. He saved my life," Kyle said firmly.
You were useful… and besides, even psychopaths can feel fondness… for their pets. You say he changed? I can see your memories, Hollow One. I find it… odd… that Republic Commando Squad Black Sigma Seven had twenty-three casualties during its seven year existence… but death never seemed to find you, or your… friend… Revan said thoughtfully.
"Luck… and we were always given impossible missions. That was the whole point of the unit," Kyle argued.
Perhaps… but… what if it was more than coincidence? What if you survived… because one of the monsters was on your side? Just your side. A side of two. Think of all the squad mates that died… they might have lived, if you killed the monster.
Or perhaps they would have died anyway, and you as well, without accomplishing any of the victories that saved others… perhaps their murders were necessary, for the greater good? To appease the appetite of the monster, so that it might save many more?
Kyle stilled, and he became truly aware… and he smiled, his emotions solidifying.
"Nice try," Kyle said, disconcerted at how easily the bastard had been playing with his head.
Because it's MY head, Revan observed sourly.
No one noticed Kyle's whispered conversation with himself, since Carth was too focused on the holoprojector. Revan reluctantly returned to his rest, unwilling to waste any strength on continued banter.
Kyle caught sight of something though that made him sit up.
"Wait, captain…" Kyle said, moving over to the projection.
"What?" Carth demanded warily.
Kyle studied the image carefully.
"I think… there might be a way in," Kyle said, studying the guards. Carth looked at the man… who held the memories of a hero, and a monster. A man that might be either one, at any particular moment… and a man, that was offering Carth hope… a dangerous situation… but one Carth had no choice or control over… not where Dustil was concerned.
((()))
"So, why aren't you asking the rodian for this?" Canderous asked, looking at the list.
Kyle held Ordo's gaze for several telling seconds.
"Alright, obviously he can't be trusted, but he'll have better contacts than me," Canderous said.
"I never said not to use the Rodian… but he might be less likely to betray us, if a certain hard-case mando'ad put the fear of haran in him… and accompanied him... discretely," Kyle hinted. Mando's didn't have a hell. Haran literally meant utter destruction… or something similar, if Kyle remembered correctly. It wasn't a good thing, he was certain of that. Canderous sighed, "Fine… but I'm leaving ordi'ka here. Something in this dust is making the galven circuitry twitchy."
"Is it serious?" Kyle asked, concerned. Canderous loved that weapon.
"Nothing a few hours of fine-tuning won't fix… but it'll be easier to move around if I'm… tooled down," Ordo grunted, gesturing to his more discrete weaponry. (And yes, he could do discrete, when he felt like it… he just didn't often bother with it.)
All that was left was convincing a certain chakaar to play ball… and Ordo was looking forward to it. Besides, the smuggler was probably restless, confined to the ship as he was…
((()))
"Me get these things, good deal, yeah?" the smuggler asked, looking at the datapad.
"Show me the goods, and we'll determine your cut from there," Kyle agreed. The rodian considered the offer for several seconds, before nodding.
"May take time. Hard to find, illegal," the smuggler hedged.
"Sooner is better than later, but discretion takes priority," Kyle said calmly.
"Me get these," the rodian promised, and disappeared down the ramp.
We should have threatened him, Revan observed, so the he will not betray us… or at least, not betray us lightly.
"Have some faith," Kyle whispered.
I have faith in little enough as it is, what would warrant such faith in that creature? Revan asked sourly.
"Greed," Kyle said simply… "and Canderous."
((()))
Mission and T3 were busy through the night working on the documents Kyle had asked for (with Carth's permission). It was a precision job, made more complicated by the fact that she didn't have the chits to encode the information on. At least, not yet. She also hadn't told Carth about their little misadventure… and Kyle hadn't mentioned his new lightsaber. It was somewhat difficult for T3 to breach the firewall the planetary Sith garrison employed… but not impossible… nor very difficult, to update the base's roster with transferred assets, fresh from redeployment… to the academy. After all, no one ever turned down free troops.
((()))
((Lurze Kesh. I believe I told you what would happen, should I ever see your face again)) the rodian proprietor said calmly, wiping down the counter of his cantina.
((But, Mika, I have a client for you!)) Lurze pleaded, warily eying Mika Dorin. Things had ended badly in their last business dealing… but it wasn't Lurze's fault that the buyer had double crossed Dorin… Lurze hadn't been paid either. They were both victims.
((I am tired of your clients)) Mika said, turning his back on the smuggler, to begin restocking bottles of various ales and liquors on the shelf behind the bar. Lurze crept closer, until he was leaning on the bar, ((But, I vouch for these clients. They are honorable, and their credit is good—))
Mika spun, snatching Lurze by the proboscis, and yanked his head down. At the same time, a serrated knife appeared in the bar keep's hand. Lurze recognized the death blade. He had a few scars from it already.
((I keep my promises)) Mika said harshly, before the knife flashed, and agony exploded in Lurze's head.
Mika let go, and returned to calmly restocking the bar, while Lurze whimpered, and clutched at the bleeding stump on his head… half deafened. His left auditory antennae lay on the bar, leaking greenish blood.
((Now… tell me of these clients…)) Mika commanded.
((()))
Canderous kept an eye on the exchange from across the street, just another armored mercenary. Without ord'ika to draw attention to him, most people actually ignored him. Fools.
Ordo perked up, when the bar keep sliced off an antennae… but that was all… and they were back to talking again. Ordo's rode'se was passable, but only the trade dialect, that the different clans used to communicate… but this was a clan dialect… and Canderous didn't know it. He was good at body language though, even if it was different between species. The barkeep was clearly demanding something from the smuggler, before he would agree to the smuggler's request. Interesting. The datapad exchanged hands however, before the bar keep dismissed the injured smuggler.
Very interesting…
((()))
Mika Dorin watched Lurze leave, and glanced at the datapad. Many of the items were common place, but difficult to acquire on the sly… or within the timetable specified. Only a couple would prove challenging though. Besides, cost was not an issue to the rodian… not if Lurze actually accomplished his part of the bargain.
With the destruction of Taris, Mika had believed his investment had been lost… especially when he received no word from his spies on Davik's whereabouts. It was no small pittance… but it would not ruin him either. Set him back several years yes… but Mika was a patient hunter.
Several of his contacts had notified him though, that the Ebon Hawk had arrived at the space port. True, she was using an unfamiliar IFF transponder, but the destruction of a planet might make anyone twitchy… and the crew were unknowns, but Davik's organization was large, and turnover among the lethally fickle crime lord's staff was high. It was possible the crew did not realize they carried merchandise that belonged to Mika. He knew Lurze had been seen leaving the ship… so access was no issue. Hopefully, his fear of Mika would motivate the fool into retrieving the merchandise, without checking its contents… but if he did, then Mika would simply kill the greedy idiot… and reclaim his product.
Mika was a patient killer… and his weapon was information.
((()))
"You didn't have to accompany me," Kyle said, studying the ruins again… forced to use a set of hand macrobinoculars from atop the building he'd scaled. Carth grunted, his fingers clutching rather tightly to the maintenance ladder, but made no comment.
Kyle frowned, looking at the structure… trying to knock some memories loose. Anything would help. The star map was probably somewhere in the academy… or nearby… but they couldn't be sure. Kyle was hoping Revan might remember the general location… because they couldn't afford to waste this much effort and time, especially if the map wasn't even here.
((()))
"How was I supposed to know?" Mission demanded, staring out of the cockpit, at the fuzzy scruff-ball clinging to the side of the Ebon Hawk's starboard tine. Apparently she hadn't cut power to all of the systems. With the ramp down, Mission hadn't considered life support… and Zaalbar had a patch of fur missing now… but it wasn't even a really big patch or anything. Hardly noticeable. Really.
He didn't look happy. Mission kept the comlink off a little while longer, then flicked it on. Angry howling filled the cockpit, and Mission hastily muted the tirade again. It wasn't even constructive criticism, she'd already fixed her mistake and cut power to life support, so what was the problem? She waved out the window at her friend, helplessly: nice wookiee…
Besides, she was sort of distracted, after all! Grumpily, she stalked back to the work station.
((()))
"Back already?" the young twi'lek female asked, surprised. Lurze nodded quickly, "Items ready soon. Good contacts," he promised. The young female shrugged, and went back to typing. Lurze nervously walked into the port cargo bay, and checked for witnesses… he was dizzy, with only one antennae for balance and perception… but he believed he was alone. Swiftly, he moved to the bay ribbing Mika had indicated, and his sensitive fingertips probed for the concealed keypad… which would open to the code Red-47.
Mission really didn't trust the rodian… something about faceted eyes that never blinked tended to make her suspicious… and he was acting twitchier than normal… so Mission followed him. She found him crouched by the side of the port cargo bay, fiddling with something. Sabotage?
"And what, exactly do you think you're doing?" Mission asked, hands on her hips. The rodian smuggler froze, one hand deep within a secret compartment… one Kyle and Zaalbar hadn't installed. One of the outer support ribs in the bay was apparently hollow.
"Err. Nothing. Yes, very much nothing," the slimy corespawn decided quickly.
How did he find the compartment? Mission wondered suspiciously… and what was in it?
She moved closer, curious… before something shoved her aside, and a knife passed through the air where she'd been standing. Juhani's lightsaber hummed, inches away from the smuggler's neck.
"… me thinks surrender. Good idea, yeah?" the creep said nervously.
"You… you…" insults failed her. She'd been this close to getting killed by some stupid thug. After everything scarier, that hadn't been able to. It rattled her, because it was so unexpected.
Mission drew her hold out blaster and plugged the smuggler several times. When he was limp on the ground, Mission remembered the weapon was still on stun. Oh, she'd fix that right away. Mission flicked the tiny lever, and took aim again.
"Mission. Don't," Juhani said quietly, lightsaber on her belt once more.
"The bastard tried to kill me!" Mission yelled.
"And he failed. Let the Captain deal with him," Juhani said, nostrils flaring.
"Fine," Mission snapped.
Then she glanced at the open compartment.
What could be so important…
First though, she needed some tape… a lot of it. Mission's rather malicious gaze fell on the unconscious rodian. He was going to resemble the insult hutt-slug, very soon.
"Query: I detected weapons fire," HK said, eagerly, as he entered the cargo hold, weapon charged.
"HK… find me some tape…" Mission said wickedly. HK tilted his head, bemused. There were many uses for industrial adhesive strips… in regards to lethal application…
Considering that the rodian meatbag was unconscious, the likelihood of being used as a restraint was 78%... with a further 67% chance that interrogation would soon follow… something the masters might permit him to apply his expertise too…
"Statement: of course master, I live to serve," he said slyly.
((()))
Carth was glad to be off the maintenance scaffolding… which had shuddered slightly with every breath of wind. He didn't mind heights, but he did take exception to precarious holds…
Carth turned around, and saw Revan sitting in the reddish dust, his boots off, kneading his toes through the dirt. He had a strange expression on his face.
"Now what are you doing?" Carth demanded.
The man looked up, "An experiment, sir," Kyle said.
There was a subtle shift in the man's expression, and a stranger was looking out of those eyes, "We're trying to see if tactile stimulation awakens any of Revan's memories," the former sith lord explained.
"And?" Carth asked.
Kyle shrugged, "Nothing so far."
((()))
Carth and Kyle walked up the boarding ramp, frustrated, and stopped cold, confronted by two teenage alien girls, with a wriggling shape on the deck between them… and a bemused assassin droid in the background. Carth's first thought, was that they'd abducted one of the Sith.
"What happened here?" Carth asked. Whatever it was, had been covered in a cocoon of packing tape. He saw something that might have been an airhole… but the thing looked like a slug of some kind.
"The rodian tried to kill me," Mission said coolly, fingers clenched on the hilt of her sheathed vibro-blade.
((What?)) Zaalbar growled, just now walking up the ramp, his repairs finished. For a moment, he looked every inch a predator.
"No one was injured. I thought the decision of his fate best left to you, captain," Juhani said calmly… though Revan felt the cathar's agitation bubbling behind her placid golden eyes.
"Why did he try to kill you?" Carth asked, hand dropping to his blaster.
"For about 27,000 credits… or at least, that's what the rough street value would be," Mission said.
"Street value of what?" Carth asked, startled.
"Twelve high-grade pure glitterstim vials without any additives," Mission said casually.
Carth choked, that was probably as much as the ship was worth.
"Although, I bet I can get triple that price from Duro, with the Sith blockade and all, the glit-biters are probably getting pretty desperate right about now," Mission said thoughtfully.
The grub wriggled in agitation, and Carth looked down at the blind creature.
"Are you sure he tried to kill you?" Carth asked.
"Yeah… Throwing a vibro-blade at my face… tends to be a little fatal for twi'leks," Mission said with false bravado.
Carth reached over, and activated the boarding ramp, closing it behind him, as he drew his blaster. He looked at Juhani.
"Did he intend to kill her?" Carth asked.
Juhani's eyes became… feral…
"It was his intent that alerted me. Yes. He meant her to die, or be too injured to stop him," Juhani said.
Carth nodded, and leveled his blaster. It had been years since he'd executed anyone. He fired once, then looked at HK-47.
"I trust you can clean this up?"
"Statement: with pleasure, master," the droid growled, grabbing the dead rodian's ankles roughly, hitting the ramp release. Apparently, HK took the attempted assassination of a master as a personal insult… especially since HK hadn't been in the vicinity… or responsible.
Carth was fairly sure the body would disappear, quite soon, and never be found.
((()))
"What did I miss?" Canderous asked. He could practically taste the tension the minute he entered the ship.
"The rodian tried to kill me, and Carth blasted his slimy brains," Mission said, bored, as she continued to work on forging the personnel documents.
"Hnh…" Ordo grunted. That might make pickup of their order difficult… probably should have kept the hut'une alive… until after the pick-up…
((()))
Selene woke first, and was dressed by the time Dustil managed to ooze out of the bed… but she didn't leave without him, for breakfast. She might not be attractive, but she had a vulnerable air to her, which sometimes caused the more predatory students to pounce. Strength in numbers. Especially around the apprentices, Shaardan, or Mekel. Especially Mekel, Dustil thought grimly… although Selene quietly dreaded the coming lessons. They were finally being introduced to lightsaber combat… now that they had a competent understanding of utilizing the Force. In theory.
They were on their way to the training hall, keeping an eye out for Shaardan and / or Mekel. They didn't even notice the man who fell into step with them.
"Student! True or false; it is our passion that fuels the Force." Uthar suddenly spoke, startling the pair. They hadn't even noticed the older man.
"True," Dustil replied.
"Victory by any means is desirable," Uthar said harshly.
"False."
"There is nothing worse than love," the headmaster sneered.
"False," Dustil said firmly.
The Sith Master stared at him for several moments, then nodded once, before he suddenly took the next corridor, disappearing in a snap of black cloth. Selene and Dustil cautiously resumed their journey, rattled. Uthar had never been accused of possessing a great deal of sanity…
((()))
"Just because he's dead, doesn't mean we can't finish the transaction," Kyle argued.
"No, but it will probably cost extra," Canderous sighed. Carth glanced between the two comrades, thoughtfully.
"But, we've got the spice," Mission pointed out.
"It's a good bargaining chip," Kyle agreed.
"But depending on who we're dealing with, it might just be the motivation they need to double-cross us," Jolee said darkly.
"It is a lot of money," Canderous shrugged.
"Observation: a show of force is often sufficient to maintain business protocols… at least, until both participants leave the vicinity…" HK commented.
"And only an idiot tries to double cross a mandalorian," Kyle said, looking pointedly at Canderous.
"More babysitting…" Ordo sighed.
((()))
Mika studied the report with considerable interest. Ziagrom's information was rarely wrong… apparently, a rumor was spreading through the Sith fleet like wildfire… that Darth Revan had returned. Oh, there had been many summary executions aboard the Leviathan, data purges, and memory wipes… but information can never be entirely suppressed… something always escaped the censure. Of far more interest to Mika was the coinciding report from Hulas, of a vessel that was seized by the Leviathan, and later escaped… an event, that occurred within the time frame that Revan was rumored to have been on board…
Interesting… and now the Ebon Hawk was here, on Korriban… Mika contacted his operatives, and reassigned them… this was important… for the future of the GenoHaradan, and coincidentally, the Republic.
((()))
"The Dreshdae Cantina?" Kyle asked. Somewhat lacking in imagination…
"Oh, look, there's some Pazaak tables…" Mission whispered, distracted.
((Mission...)) Zaalbar growled.
Maybe later, Mission decided.
Canderous entered first, ord'ika strapped to his back, but not in hand.
The establishment was suspiciously empty.
((Please close the door)) the bar keep called, inspecting the labels of two bottles.
Kyle frowned at Canderous, but the mercenary shrugged. If it was a trap, they'd deal with it.
((How may I help you?)) the rodian asked.
"An… associate of ours arranged for certain items to be procured," Kyle said carefully.
((Who is this associate?)) the rodian asked.
"His name was Lurze," Kyle said.
((Killing the intermediary is considered poor business acumen by most)) the rodian observed.
"Well I don't like getting stabbed in the face," Mission snapped. Those glittering eyes studied her soullessly.
"We were forced to remove Lurze… but still wish to finish our business," Kyle said calmly.
((Your order is ready… but I am curious… which of you is Darth Revan?)) the rodian asked.
Jolee stiffened by the door.
"Revan died in battle months ago," Carth said forcefully.
((Perhaps… or perhaps not…)) the rodian said, staring intently at Kyle.
"What does it matter… hypothetically?" Kyle asked quietly.
((It matters a great deal… hypothetically, of course. If Revan were to return, and resume leadership of the Sith, or destroy the Sith, my business interests would be secure. Malak is unpredictable and illogical in his desire for pointless bloodshed. If Revan were to require assistance, my organization would of course lend its full support.)) the rodian said thoughtfully.
Kyle raised an eyebrow.
((Hypothetically, of course.)) the rodian said, graciously.
"He's not lying," Jolee grunted, "or at least, not about anything he's said so far…"
Kyle looked at Carth for several seconds, a question, and reluctantly, Carth nodded his head.
"I am Revan," Kyle admitted.
((A pleasure to meet you. I am Mika Dorin,)) the rodian said.
"How exactly might you help us?" Carth asked suspiciously.
((You plan to infiltrate the nearby academy, posing as guards, correct?)) Mika asked.
"How did you—" Mission started to ask. Duh… the items are kind of specific in their usage…
Mika ignored her, ((I have a contact within the academy.))
"And your assistance is out of the goodness of your heart?" Carth asked suspiciously.
((Of course not. If your infiltration is detected, it could compromise my agent's cover… and will certainly make it more difficult to obtain information from within the academy,)) Mika shrugged.
"What are you suggesting?" Carth asked.
((We will organize your infiltration, and assist to minimize your risk of discovery,)) Mika offered.
((()))
"I can't believe I spent the last sixteen hours working on your fake papers," Mission complained, aggravated. Mika had inspected Mission's work and declared it exceptionally good for a novice… before declaring it insufficient. He had asked them to return within six hours, their cover identities, and insertion method would be ready by then.
"I still don't trust him," Carth said, pacing suspiciously in the main hold. In retrospect, he should have been more cautious. A lot more. He was slipping, losing his focus this close to Dustil. It was a distraction… and a potentially fatal one. He was rushing things.
"We don't have to trust him, but we can trust his intentions," Jolee said.
"Why?" Carth demanded sharply.
"Because people like him have an honor-code… sort of have to, when you don't obey common law… otherwise, you're an easy target," Jolee explained.
"Just because you couldn't sense any deception, doesn't mean we can trust him!" Carth snapped.
"You're not listening," Jolee grumbled.
((()))
Selene looked up from the datapad, and glanced over at Dustil. His eyes were fixed on his own pad, but they were lost in the distance. He was daydreaming… Sometimes, she wished he were older… he was a formidable ally now, but in two or three years… he might have even given Shaardan pause.
But if he were older… would he have noticed me? Selene wondered. More importantly… would they be friends… or would she have just been one of his victims?
Selene moved to Dustil's side, and kissed his ear, jolting him from his reverie.
"What was that for?" he asked. She could sense his heart rate automatically increase, his body hopeful that this time, one thing would lead to another… but as always, she let it progress to this, and that was all. But in a year, or two… she would probably let events unfold as Dustil wished. He would wait. For her, she was certain of this.
Selene smiled, and returned to her seat, to continue studying. Dustil grumbled, but eventually calmed from her touch, enough to focus on something as uninteresting as learning.
((()))
The chamberlain of the Sith Academy nodded thoughtfully to himself.
((It will be difficult… but I believe it can be done. There have been several deaths among the faculty and staff… petty rivalries, of course)) Adrenas told his handler. There was silence over the shielded comlink.
((Take no unnecessary risks. Your placement was difficult to arrange… and a second agent might never succeed…)) Mika warned.
((Understood)) Adrenas said, deactivating the comlink. Although the GenoHaradan was an ancient order of assassins, Adrenas himself was not employed in such a fashion. True, he was deadlier than most, but his skill set was not molded towards infiltration with deadly intent, but rather collecting information. Without information from the left hand, the more lethal right hand would not know where to bury the dagger for best effect.
He was the master of maintenance and resupply for the Academy… possibly the best position a spy could ask for… and it was also quietly respected by most, especially since he was more than competent at it. This earned him protection from casual harassment, since guards always appreciated the small packages he could arrange for them, upon request.
He was good at his job.
Both of them.