"Boss, you can stop now, he's dead," Byrol said somewhat resignedly from where he was leaning against the wall of the small hide-out they had selected for this interrogation.

It was nice and quiet here, and what was more, no one would suspect what was going on in these deep caves of Nar Shadaa.

"I can see that, Byrol," Alamys Jorka replied just as resignedly and nodded at the Devaronian, signalling for him to dispose of the body. Byrol shrugged, then went forward just as Alamys retreated to leave him more room to operate in the tiny cave.

Deactivating his lightsaber, the former Jedi Master refastened the handle on his belt, then self-consciously tugged his coat over it, so it was not visible at first glance. One could never be too cautious. The body belonged to Indan Fathura, a late spy for none other than Darth Sidious. Tracking the Sith Lord's network was easier than he had anticpated, especially here, where loyalties were being bought and sold cheaply. And Sidious had not been using this particular agent for some time. It was safe to assume that he would not call upon his services in the near future either, so he would not be missed. But what Indan had told Alamys certainly made for a very entertaining tale. Not all of it had been true, of course, but Alamys' experience and his well-honed ability to read emotions allowed him to spot a lie without employing too much of his emotional strength. He had to be careful, after all.

Over the past months Alamys had found one particularly disheartening truth: the only one who could tell him something about Sidious' real plans was the Sith Lord himself. There had been some minor victories along the way, surely, and Alamys was almost ready to make his first move against Darth Sidious. That was the entire reason for employing someone like Byrol in the first place. The Devaronian was a thug, just like most denizens of Nar Shadaa, but he was loyal in his own way, and amazingly indifferent to his master's imperfections, such as his somewhat messy interrogation methods. Alamys had not truly meant to kill Indan Fathura, it had just happened. Of course he knew why that was so. The Motha Virus was still acting up on his system, and now he had to be doubly careful in keeping a level head. But the discomfort was worth it.

A grim smile appeared on his face and was gone. A year had passed since he had implemented his back-up plan, which was supposed to take up the fight if he should fail after all. Unfortunately, the risk of failure was extraordinarily high here. His 'back-up plan' had required him to give up what he had held precious for a long, long time. It had been necessary, Alamys knew, understanding at last, that his command over the Force was not what defined him as what he was. In this battle he had to use everything and everyone he could, including himself. And Alamys knew that he was a foe to be reckoned with even without the aid of the Force. His skills as a swordsmaster had not vanished, and neither had his experience as diplomat and tactician failed him. He was perfectly capable of doing what had to be done without calling upon the Force. It was only a matter of planning.

He looked up when Byrol returned from his task. The Devaronian gave him a dispassionate glance. "What're we gonna do now, boss?"

"Get on with it," Alamys told the alien grimly. "I want you to go into the Corporate Sector and set up camp there - "

"Sure thing."

" - and I want you to assess the various mercenary and pirate groups you can find on the way."

Byrol's jaw dropped. "Boss?"

"I need a fleet, and I need hired arms," the Jedi Master explained coolly. "What's so surprising about that?"

"It costs," Byrol retorted sourly. "And I wonder where you#re going to take the money from."

This time Alamys really did smile. "Byrol, we are talking about mercenaries, pirates. The promise of profit will certainly convince them."

"Only if the risk isn't too high," the Devaronian cautioned him. "They'll want upfront cash."

"Will they?" Alamys' features went blank. "Then I shall get you some credits and you shall get me that fleet."

The Devaronian heaved a sigh. "Sure, boss. Whatever you want."


Alamys Jorka gave a curt nod, then turned away. There was one thing he had found about that would be the first step to achieving revenge, and justice. He had learned, from another agent, that Sidious had been extending searching tendrils into the Corporate Sector, and toward the Trade Federation especially. Alamys had dealt with the Neimoidians before, and he knew them to be keen businesspeople with a strong desire for secure deals. Which meant that they would not look kindly upon risk, and with Alamys Jorka bent on revenge, any deal with Darth Sidious became very risky indeed, and prone to attack and failure. Which was why he needed those mercenaries. But first, credits. Unfortunately Byrol was right about that. But this was Nar Shadaa. Here virtually everything could be bought and sold. Especially knowledge. And Alamys knew a few things that one man in particular would pay good money for. He gave a soft laugh. If Sidious ever found out that his most recent agent was none other than Alamys Jorka, he would certainly not be amused. With luck, he would be dead.

She had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in all her life. For most of the past years Shmi Skywalker had thought of herself as an honest, diginfied woman, who knew right from wrong, and what was a do and what a don't. She had been a slave for too long not to know, and, contrary to some of those sharing her fate, she had accepted the facts of her life. There was no way to change her position, and she tried to make the best of her situation. But now everything had changed. It had begun with a strange sickness that had her concerned at first, then frightened. Because she had known the symptoms all too well. Not from her own experience, but there had been households in which the female slaves were allowed to marry, and there had been other occasions, when a particularly pretty woman might attract her master's attention, but neither had ever seemed possible turn in the life of Shmi Skywalker.

But now she was pregnant, very visibly so. The confusing and shaming part of this predicament was not only that she had no idea how this could have happened, but also that it confirmed her master's wildest worries about her. And, thus reassured, he would be sending her away. Shmi stood in her small chamber, head bowed, hands fodled protectively across her swollen belly, and let her mistress' soothing words wash over her.

"Please, do not be so distressed," she said, helplessly patting the younger woman's back. "My husband has a quic temper, you know, and a soft heart. He won't just send you out into the street."

"He will sell me," Shmi replied, her voice hollow. The truthwas clear to her, and she could tell that it was just as clear to her mistress, by the way th old woman flinched at those words. "And who will have me? I will not be able to work as hard as I could until the child is born and then – I will have to give it away, won't i?" A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away self-consciously.

"Oh Shmi, dear," her mistress sighed. "It would be easier were we to know the father's name. Perhaps he could buy you, or take care of the child."

But there was no man," Shmi insisted stubbornly, even though she knew that no one believed her. Her mistress, though, at least did not blame her for her pregnancy.

The older woman sighed again. "Shmi, it is no shame, and there can be accidents." Her voice dropped lower. "Of course, if you were violated, that would perhaps explain why you cannot remember. But the medic said she excluded that possibility. I – I honestly cannot imagine why you would not tell me."

That had been been three months ago.

Shmi had found no solace, no reassurance even with her mistress, and her master had made his threat come true. For weeks he had complained quite openly about how difficult it was to sell a pregnant female. The Hutts wanted slaves that could work, and the closer Shmi came to her term, the gloomier her master grew. And then her mistress had found someone, a friend of hers, as it turned out. Pi-Lippa was an old woman, older than Shmi's former mistress, but she was kind enough not to mind buying a still vigorous young slave cheaply. Perhaps she did it only to do Shmi's mistress a favour. Pi-Lippa, as it turned out, was not as rich as her former master. She owned a small electronics shop in the port district of Ylesia's capital, and from the very first day Shmi was under the impression that her new owner had bought herself not only someone to help, but also company.

When Shmi gave birth to her son, her beautiful son, Pi-Lippa was there for her, while the nurses worked to deliver the child. It was an easy birth, Shmi was told, but it had still exhausted her. And yet, when one of the attending nurses gently lay the baby against her breasts, Shmi could not help but smile, despite her weariness.

"He is beautiful," she whispered, and raised a hand to gingerly touch his tiny face. "So beautiful."

Beside her, Pi-Lippa was beaming with joy. "What will you name him?" she asked, almost timidly.

Shmi frowned, uncertain. "Honestly, I had not thought about that," she confessed. Truth be told, she had tried to ignore her pregnancy as much as she could. Else her master's cruel jibes would have hurt too much. But now she could ignore this wondrous creature that had grown inside her womb no longer. Her smile deepened, but then she turned questioning eyes on her mistress. "Do you know a name, perhaps? I have none that comes to mind, none I am fond of," she whispered, feeling suddenly very sad.

At once the older woman was beside her and ran her hand down the side of the young mother's face. "Don't worry," she soothed her. "We will find a name for him. A good name. You'll see."

But Shmi was lost in thought. She was trying to remember something, that seemed just out of sight, tantalizing and seductive. A face, a name. Something about the sun. "Anakin," she said aloud. "Anakin!" She gave a soft, tired laugh. "What do you say?" she asked, throwing a worried glance at Pi-Lippa.

The old woman regarded her curiously, but said nothing. She only nodded. Then one of the nurses appeared in Shmi's field of vision, and soon after, she had her tiny son all for herself. Holding him gently, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep, dreaming of Tatooine.

Theed's new administrator looked radiant in her official wardrobe, and for once Darth Sidious allowed himself to cherish the satisfaction he felt over Almanda's electoral victory. Her eyes sought his proudly across the room, and he acknowledged her with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Beside her, King Veruna looked almost relieved, as he always did, when he had navigated the sharp cliffs of his office, even if those cliffs merely were boulders, like the inauguration of the capital's administrator. The man was incompetent, Sidious thought, and almost chuckled when his thoughts remiinded him that he tended to think everyone else beneath his own skills, and that it had cost him painful lessons over the years. While that was true, those lessons were long learned, and he truly was master now. He knew it with all his heart.

Just today an informant had brought news, that Alamys Jorka had been seen on Nar Shadaa, again, and Sidious felt strangely astounded at the Jedi Master's stupidity. Why would he return there anyway? He had, just to be on the safe side, contacted Indan Fathura, another agent of his on the Smuggler's Moon. But Fathura, as it turned out, had vanished without a trace. So he had seen himself forced to promote the latest addition to his network of informants. The man seemed reliable ennough. And apparently he was tracing Alamys Jorka with more success than the unfortunate bounty-hunter who had claimed the killing of the Jedi Master all those years ago. For now, though, Sidious had ordered the agent to only keep an eye on the man and find out what he was planning to do. And, of course, he had other things to deal with than the renegade Jedi. That was, he had to deal with another renegade Jedi Master. Dooku.

With Almanda Dar's position secured for now, and her affections for him still growing strong, Darth Sidious knew that he would soon be elected to represent the Naboo in the Galactic Senate of Coruscant. And of course, Mas Amedda would also lend aid in that endeavour. Things could not possibly be better for introducing Count Dooku into his little scheme. But first, he needed something to convince the Jedi Master to join him. Something substantial, and something that would strengthen the Count's separatist movement. A government scandal, perhaps, involving the Jedi. Not paying any more attention to the proceedings around him, Darth Sidous was lost in thought. If he could somehow discredit the Jedi, and the Galactic Senate, he might achieve a better standing with Dooku's supporters. But first ... First he needed to take very careful steps to reintroduce the Sith into this galaxy. He was master, after all. And a Sith Master was master of all.

Looking up sharply, he flashed a smile at Almanda, then turned to leave. He made his way to his office briskly, and made Shya Kee jump up in surprise when he entered so unexpectedly, but he barely noticed her flustered state. "I want you to summon my newest agent, Wu Ziryll. He is to meet me in five standard days at Roa Space Station."

"And that other assignment? Is he to abandon that?" she asked carefully.

"I am fully confident that he can continue that assignment once he has performed that other little task for me. Five days," he reminded her. "And," he added in a soft voice, "make certain that the same invitation goes to Count Dooku. With one small distinction. He is to meet me at the same location in seven standard days."

"What if he arrives earlier than that?"

"Yes," he purred, "what if? There is no risk involved for me, my dear."

"Of course, master," she replied hastily, lowering her gaze demurely. "And your – lady? What will you be telling her?"

"That is none of your concern, Shya. And now get to work."

The message reached him in transit to Obroa-skai, and was more than unwelcome, especially when he had read its contents for the second time. This came at a very awkward time indeed. He was on his way to Weyla, where he was supposed to meet Byrol and begin negotiations with diverse representatives of the mercenary and pirate groups raiding the Perlmanian Trade Route into the Corporate Sector. With the credits he had received for his latest job, Alamys felt confident that he could interest them, at the very least. To be now summoned to meet his contractor came at the most inopportune of moments. He did not feel ready yet to face Sidious again. This summons could kill him, or delay his plans of revenge immensely. On the other hand, it was also an opportunity to gain intimate knowledge of the Sith Lord's own plans.

When he had introduced himself as Wu Ziryll, Alamys had never even considered the possibility of meeting the Sith face to face. Usually, Sidious did not bother with personal contact to his agents, as he had been relieved to find out. And so far the Jedi Master had been pretty certain that Sidious had no clue as to who he had acquired as latest addition to his network of agents. For now, he should not find out either. Fortunately, there were a few factors that would play in Alamys' favour. The first, and most important, was his own presence in the Force. During the little interlude on Ylesia Alamys had given up most of his innate power, and what remained was only what the Motha Virus granted him. Which should make him a pretty unremarkable force in contrast to Sidious. The Sith Lord would never suspect who was facing him, especially not with the second detail, that came into play. Fed up with his weakening bone-structure and the consequences that growing weakness entailed, Alamys had finally decided to let his own principles stand back in favour of a more practical approach.

Alamys Jorka had never been someone who liked having to resort to subterfuge, had always been someone who detested hiding his own abilities, beliefs and intentions. Therefore he never wore armour, not even in battle. Ever since he had been infected with the virus, though, his attitude had been changing, on almost all levels of his own ethics and morals. This included forgoing honesty for a chance at surviving long enough to get his revenge. Therefore Alamys had had Byrol order a set of full-body armour for him, which served both as disguise as well as protection. It had been modeled after the now rare armoured suits that the warriors of the Mandalorian supercommandos had used to wear. There were still a few survivors around, some would-be Mandalorians too, as Alamys knew very well. He had fought these supercommandos in his younger days, and therefore the disguise made much sense to him. He knew how they acted, how they moved, their code of honour and their fighting style. And he knew enough of their history to fool Sidious, that he was certain of.

But what was the Sith Lord planning to do on Roa Station? The station was in orbit around the planet Malastare, a vibrant world full of dangers, and deeply enmeshed in the trade network that also included the Neimoidians' Trade Federation, and a few other corporate worlds. In fatc, it made perfect sense for Sidious to visit there, with what Alamys had uncovered about his plans so far. Still, that did not answer the question of the what was he aiming at there? Well. No doubt he would find out soon enough.

Four days later Wu Ziryll made his arrival on Roa Station, a day in advance of the prearranged meeting with the Sith Lord. He wanted to first get a feel for the place, check on escpae routes and possible traps he could use to his own advantage. Republic presence was low on this station, making it easier for him to move around unchallenged. The remaining Mandalorians were outlaws still, and it would certainly not do for him to be arrested by some overeager Republic military commander. Not now, not ever. Mouth twisting in distaste, Alamys imagined Master Yoda's face, should he find one of his two missing Jedi Master's returned ot the Temple under such ridiculous circumstances. Explaining his disappearance alone would be very awkward, especially considering that Alamys had been working solo for the past years on a project that the council would claim to not onyl be too dangerous, but also highly questionable for him to take on alone.

No, no. Better not to get the Jedi involved. They would mess up anyway.

Alamys had sent a message to Byrol, using their special code to prevent anyone who, by chance, might be tracking his transmissions from getting the wrong ideas about Wu Ziryll. He was a Mandalorian warrior, a fugitive and mercenary. He held contacts to the Corporate Sector and quite a few illegal fringe groups. He was – in no way – connected to Coruscant, or the Jedi Order. It came to Alamys only then, as he repeated these facts to himself, that actually they were right on target, and described his situation well enough. Except for the Mandalorian origins. A humourless smile crossed his face beneath the helmet. It seemed as if he had retained some of his principles after all.

Crossing a walkway. Alamys Jorak aka Wu Ziryll idly watch the traffic pass. Even on this station speeders zipped along the busy lanes, apart from cargo barges and public transport. It was then that he spotted an especially important-looking vehicle, a sleek black thin with tinted windows. He decided to follow it immediately. Adopting the smooth gait of the Mandalorian supercommandos, one hand always hovering over the handle of his blaster, Alamys stalked the speeder cautiously, moving by instinct and memory alone. He had spent hours memorizing Roa Station's schematics and layout, after all, and now that effort was paying off. And it was far less obvious to not follow the speeder's route directly. He met the vehicle again in Roa Station's finer part, a closed off section, really, sporting expensive hostels, clubs, and other entertainment. For Alamys Jorka it was not really a problem to gain access there, and he took great pains not to accidentally leave a nice proof-print on some security camera. He could not know whether Sidious had not arrived early too, and it would not do for his 'employer' to believe his agent to be careless.

The Jedi Master dropped lightly onto a deserted balcony, deftly avoiding the invisible net of motion detectors, which crisscrossed the front and sides of the balcony. From his perch, he had an excellent view on the black limousine speeder below. The passenger compartment's door slid aside noiselessly, allowing a tall figure to emerge. Alamys gave a grunt of surprise, when he recognised the man. Dooku. What in Sith's hells was the count doing here of all places? He had lost Dooku's trail back on Raxus Prime, years ago. To find him now, here on Roa Station, with Sidious arriving any minute now, was breath-taking confirmation of what he had been suspecting for quite some time. Dooku was in league with the Sith. On Raxus Prime, the count had railed publicly against the Jedi Order, and the Republic, stirring the emotion sof the dissatisfied among the republic's citizens, and back then Alamys had already seen the possibilities this uproar opened up for Sidious, whatever he was planning.

If the Sith Lord wanted to remain undetected, until he had secured his position, he would need to use someone else to be the focus of the Republic's attention, someone who kept the Jedi's eyes trained on other things than Sidious' scheming. Which meant that Alamys had accidentally stumbled into something very big that would be happening here, on Roa Station, or perhaps, which, as he suddenly realised, was even more likely, on Malastare itself. His mind was racing, searching for the most plausible option, which presented itself in breath-taking clarity. The Jedi Order, on behalf of the Republic, had tried to wipe out the warriors of the Mandalorian supercommandos completely, but had obviously failed in that task. And Malastare, a world as independent as it could be without leaving the Republic, would make the perfect stage for an attack by terrorist elements that the government had failed to eliminate decades ago. It would undermine Dooku's stance, that the Republic was unable to promote and uphold order, that it neglected the more distant worlds of its realm, and that the Jedi Order was also as indifferent and inefficient as the government of the Republic itself.

In that, Alamys had to admit, the count was not all that wrong. Of course, first he needed to confirm whether his assumption was right at all. And that confirmation, he knew with every fiber of his being, he would have tomorrow.

TBC