Nine years later

She could not deny that she liked him. He gave her confidence, and she relied on his experience in matters of the Senate to complement her own knowledge. And he had a passion for politics that he shared with her. Right now, seated on the throne-like chair that dominated the Council Chamber in Theed's Royal Palace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie, fourteen years of age and determined to appear far older, at least in public, caught Cos Palpatine's gaze and almost blushed when he winked at her. Naboo's royalty was not allowed to dawdle once inauguration ceremonies were over. And so it was that on the very first day of her reign Queen Amidala of the Naboo found herself discussing her planet's economy.

She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that her election had been somewhat influenced by the surprising withdrawal of her fiercest competitor. Almanda Dar had been Theed's administrator before the newly elected queen had held that post, at twelve years of age. Back then the older woman had graciously refrained from trying another run in the administrative elections. It had been clear to Padmé then that Almanda Dar was striving for a higher calling. And many kings and queens had been the capital's administrators before ascending Naboo's throne. Nothing unsusual there. Almanda had been well-liked by the people, and very well-liked by the elite of Nubian politicians. In the election race this past year Padmé had known that if Almanda Dar accepted the people's wish to see her in competition she would not refuse. And she had not.

But then ugly rumours had ruined what had been promising to become the culmination of a long and successful political carreer. Almanda Dar had become pregnant. There had been talk of her having an affair with Naboo's quietly competent senator, and Padmé had found that she approved. They seemed the perfect match. But once Almanda Dar's condition became public the gossip had it that the child's father was actually King Veruna himself. It had blemished Almanda Dar's reputation immensely, painting her as a woman who would do just about anything to achieve her goals. Curiously enough Cos Palpatine had distanced himself from his lover, a relationship never fully confirmed, and spent less and less time on Naboo, instead preferring to conduct business with his home world via the holonet. Of course, those rumours had also tainted the king's reputation too. Veruna had ordered an investigation, fuming, and the end result had confirmed what Padmé had quietly been suspecting all along. The child, born only three months ago, was Cos Palpatine's daughter, but nevertheless her mother's career lay in shambles, since the child's true father had not seen fit to clear up those rumours. And King Veruna had been reasonably angry at leaving office in so vile an atmosphere.

Padmé had understood his fury very well. Nubian politicians were very conscious of their reputation, and she was no exception there. Which was why accusations of corruption, of misconduct and of improper behaviour were the stepping stones that could ruin a career, just as they had destroyed that of Almanda Dar. The new mother had retreated from public eyes, but had accepted the well-wishings of the electorate winner with grace and dignity. Padmé still thought fondly of that afternoon, when she had been escorted into Almanda's presence, finding the former administrator in bed, looking luminous. Wrapped in her arms had been her daughter, Yana, who was the cutest child Padmé had ever seen. Almanda had congratulated her on her victory and Padmé felt they had parted as friends.

Looking over at the holo-image of Senator Cos Palpatine she wondered briefly whether he would be spending more time on Naboo now that he was a father. But so far he had not even made any overtures at even proposing to Almanda Dar. Not very proper at all. For a moment Padmé feared that she would have to revise her opinion of the smart senator, but she resolved to have faith in his integrity. He was always full of surprises, and perhaps this time he would surprise her too. Smiling at him, the queen nodded her head, then returned her attention on the Minister of Finance.

Things could not have been better. Not only had he managed to ensure his legacy, he had also managed to bring his scheme a long step further toward its completion. It was a few hours after the first council session had ended, introducing the new queen to her staff. Sidious sat quite comfortably in a low chair, relaxing a bit and enjoying his triumph for once. He did not doubt that Almanda was expecting him to return to her and lay claim to his daughter. But that he would not do. Not yet. There was too much to do here on Coruscant and, admittedly, elsewhere. A sudden frown shadowed his brow as he thought of what trouble was brewing in the Corporate Sector. There had been an awful lot of pirate raids disrupting the ship lanes of the Trade Federation, and those raids, tying up many, many resources of the Neimoidian merchants, could affect his own plans badly, if he did not manage to explot these attacks for his own ends. There was no question that he would have to do something about these unfortunate incidents, since he needed the Trade Federation focused on his future project, the one for which he had selected Padmé Naberrie to assist him as innocent ally.

She had no clue that he had been behind her election, discarding one troublesome candidate for a more pliable one. Naberrie was young, far too young for her office, and that would cost her, and benefit him in turn. She trusted him, he knew, and he would certainly make use of that sentiment. But first things first. Propping himself up in his seat he beckoned at the shadows to his right, and a dark figure materialized beside him, head bowed deferentially, before it went to kneel before the chair.

"What is thy bidding, master?" The voice was low and composed, neither pompous nor fearful. His apprentice was the epitome of deadly efficiency, and patiently awaiting the day he could prove his newly learned skills to his mentor. Just a few weeks had passed since Darth Maul had completed the building of his very first lightsaber, and the weapon truly was a work of art, imitating the glorious double-bladed lasersword favoured by the infamous Sith Master Exar Kun.

"I wish you to kill someone," the Sith Master breathed. "A Jedi Master." He noticed the surrpised look on Maul's tattooed face with some pleasure. "Fallen from grace, alas, and fallen from power."

A small smile stole onto his lips. He knew who was behind the attacks on the Trade Federation ships. Should have seen those raids coming, in fact. But nine years ago he had not been in a position to send agents of his own into the Corporate Sector to deal a devastating blow to the yet growing network Alamys Jorka had begun to establish on Weyla then. Now he was paying for that inconvenience, but not as badly as Jorka might be hoping. The Jedi Master undoubtedly planned on scaring the Neimoidians off any deal they might otherwise make with the Sith Master. He had to have found out about that particular aspect of Sidous' plans from Fathura on Nar Shadaa, before he killed the agent. Oh yes. Alamys Jorka had plunged headlong into the darkest depth of all possible futures. He had forsaken all of his principles for his revenge upon the Sith Lord who had once been his captor. And he was far too caught up in pursuing his vengeance to realize how easy it was to manipulate him now. Another lesson learned from the master of manipulation, Roj Kell. But Jorka also failed to realize that any attack that he and his mercenary friends were conducting upon the Trade Federation's shipments only served to make them more desperate to take any assistance the Sith might offer against these aggressions. Which was why he would be sending Darth Maul to Weyla.

He knew, of course, that he took a terrible risk in sending Maul against the Jedi Master, but the boy had defeated a far more dangerous opponent already. None other than Sidious' own master, Roj Kell. Thanks to young Maul that scheming krayt dragon of a Sith Lord now dwelled in hopefully miserable exile on the storm-ridden planet called Korriban, the dreaded World of the Dead. Under guard, which goes without saying. With Kell safely out of the way Sidious could be certain that he was the only one left to guide the galaxy's fate. The Jedi Council's power was dwindling, thanks to a few convenient manipulations done and huge bribes offered to the right officials. Mas Amedda, the Galactic Senate's vice-chair and another of Sidious' growing number of accomplices in his quest, was making certain that certain events would fall in place exactly on time. Including the taxation of trade routes that would serve as the spark to ignite the next phase of Sidious' scheme. Know your chosen battle-ground and your opponents. And know your allies before anyone else, his last master had taught him, and Sidious was staying close to that lesson. The battle-ground would be his home-world, Naboo. And by the time Maul had accomplished his mission on Weyla the minor matter of Jorka's annoying attempts at interference would have turned into an advantage for the Sith Lord. For all his knowledge of strategy and tactics, and despite all his empathy for other people's feelings, Alamys Jorka had failed to grasp the workings of politics entirely. A bad overisght on the Jedi Master's part. And so he would play his own role in bringing an end to the Galactic Republic as it had stood for thousands of years. That particular vision of the future cause the Sith Master to give a pleased sigh. But his reverie was broken by his apprenctice, when Maul said:

"Master, forgive me for intruding upon your thoughts, but how am I to accomplish this mission?"

Of course. He had not yet given the boy his mission briefing. Amused with his own daydreaming, Sidious leaned forward and nodded. "Yes, apprentice. I will tell you what to do. This is only your second solo mission, after all, and I dearly hope you will perform better than during your last assignment. That Jedi almost got you back then, not to mention her despicable accomplices."

"Yes, master. I will do better," Maul replied, chastised.

"Good, good. I do not doubt your commitment. Simply remember your focus and shed the ill-conceived notion that you are invulnerable. You are not. And this particular Jedi Master is a very dangerous foe indeed." No need to mention that Alamys had managed to defeat the Sith Lord twice already in their previous encounters. "He is cunning, and he is a superior warrior, far better than you are. Yes," he continued, smiling at Maul's outraged expression, "he is that. And his confidence, my young apprentice, is never to be confused with overconfidence. Understood?"

"Yes, master," Maul retorted between gritted teeth. "I shall be careful."

"You will find his trail on the planet Weyla, in the Corporate Sector. You must be absolutely discreet in this. Do not let anyone survive who has might see you there. The Trade Federation must not know your mission objective, and it must not find out about your existence. Not yet."

No, not yet. The Neimoidians had to grow to fear him much more before he would reveal that he was not acting alone. In time they would find out that the Sith Master had a very adept apprentice to do his bidding. But before that day came the Trade Federation would learn that noone challenged the Sith without facing the consequences. He would almost regret Alamys Jorka's death. The man had been amusing, after all. And yet, he had been better entertainment when he had still been in tune with the Motha Virus. Ver the past years, though, Sidious had found some clues that hinted at a supreme sacrifice offered on the Jedi Master's part. In all of his career as a Jedi, Alamys Jorka had preferred to work alone. And in their previous encounters he had never been shy to challenge Sidious to a Force duel. He would have won too, had be been prepared to destroy himself in the process. But something had changed. This man, Sidious was convinced, would only accept another's assistance if he had no other chocie. In Alamys Jorka's case that had to mean that he had given up the Force after all, to heal himself of the Motha Virus' influence. The only way to heal it, as the Sith Master knew very well. Hagen Dycos had done the same, when he had been afflicted by the virus.Then anoterh thought struck him, and prompted him to caution his apprentice once more.

"Maul," he said then. "Be very careful. It could be that this Jedi Master has in his possession a deadly weapon of curious choice. A virus, transferred through blood. Don't let him cut you and don't let his blood touch you."

"No, master." Maul's lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. "A coward's choice of weapon," he sneered. "It will not save his life."

"Your confidence is, as always, boundless," the Sith Master commented drily, but he was smiling. "Kill the Jedi Master, wipe out his gang, then return."

"Master. What is this Jedi's name?"

"His name, apprentice, is Alamys Jorka. You will find a holoimage and reports of him in the library. Prepare yourself. You will leave in the morning."

Alamys Jorka was not quite asleep yet. Lying on the small bunk he called his own aboard the Narawa, a light cruiser of Corellian origins and heavily modified, he was staring up at the gray bulk-head, wondering. Nine years had passed since he had first begun to strike back at his nemesis instead of simply trying to outrun destiny. Nine years since he had forsaken the Force to find some peace of mind and a new focus. That focus, he found again and again, was the child he had never seen. His son. He knew it was a boy, just as he knew that a part of his self would live on in this child. He was wondering what the boy would be doing just then. He did not even know his name, let alone his whereabouts. Had Shmi remained on Ylesia or had she moved on with another master? He had never thought about what might happen to her if she were to become pregrant, if her owner would force her to give the child away, if he would keep them both or sell one or the other. The thought shocked him, and for a fleeting moment he felt something like a bad conscience nagging at the back of his mind. He had implemented a plan without making certain that it would come to fruition at all. Foolish, foolish.

Shaking his head, Alamys put his right arm across his eyes, listening to the quiet hum of the powerful engines purring away somewhere below. The Narawa was on her way home, to one of the small cluster moons orbiting Weyla. After another successful raid and a small fire-fight with the Trade Federations droid ships the pirates and mercenaries of the Narawa's crew where all relieved to be coming to a place of safety. Including the Jedi Master who was their leader in all but name. If asked, th4 men and women of the crews would point to Captain Ushu, the Gammorrean who had been the first to follow Alamys' promise of easy credits, or, if they were of the anti-alien faction, they might mention Commander Trahada, who led the Narawa's own snubfighter squadrons. The tall woman from Corellia was in some ways even nastier than Ushu, and Alamys liked neither of his associates. None of the Narawa pirates, though, would even dream of thinking of the quiet Tyreenese who served in the background, as advisor to their flamboyant captains, colonels and commanders, as their rag-tag band of leaders styled themselves. Alamys did not mind. He provided the credits, the targets and a bit of tactics, if he thought it necessary.

Years ago he would have been disgusted with this kind of exploitation of human and alien resources. For that was what he was doing, if one took away all the fancy words. He was using them in any way he could, to hurt Sidious and his allies in any which way. There was no chance for him to strike at the Sith Master on Coruscant itself, not if he did not want to risk being exposed for what he was by the Jedi Order itself. No. He coud not ever return there. Never again. It was another lifetime, that seemed so very far ago. Most of his memories had faded into that past, and all Alamys now felt for his career as Jedi Master was indifference. He did not care for the men and women who were dying or bleeding for his vengeance, nor did he care for all innocents who might be harmed by his plans. All thsoe worries were burned away by the hatred he felt whenever he thought of Sidious and his despicable scheming. Those were the only times when Alamys could be bothered to feel something else than absolutely nothing. Another exception was thinking of his son.

Perhaps, when he was done with Sidious, he would be able to reclaim the boy. Perhaps he could watch him grow up after all. But first things first. To hurt Sidious he needed to discredit the Sith Master in front of his allies. That would harm him far more than being exposed in public view by someone who woudl be declared a raving lunatic in the course of seconds. The Trade Federarion was Sidious's greatest asset, and if Alamys could manage to make them back out of whatever deal they had brokered with the Sith Lord he would be free to make this crusade more personal. Of course, Alamys had lost most of his Force potential back on Ylesia, but he still had the Motha Virus which continued to curse through his bloodstream, pumping flawed midichlorians through his system at high speed. If he concentrated hard enough he could sense them, like an itch beneath his skin, making him feel filthy. But most of the time he refrained from doing just that. In theory, Alamys was still capable of reaching out to the Force, but only if he pushed through to the core of his emotions, which he had buried deep behind a shield of cold reason. There was only darkness and suffering to be found there.

And yet, that special night that saw the Narawa on her way into a safe haven, Alamys Jorka let his mind drift across that border, let the hungry tendrils of his hatred and anger snap at the shield of carefully constructed indifference, only to remind himself that he was still alive. He was living on, for his vengeance, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind he saw a boy, luminous and kind, like a bright flare in the darkness. Alamys pictured the boy's face, wondered whether his eyes would be blue like his own, whether he would forever remain in bondage or perhaps gaiin his freedom some day. In a single moment of weakness, enmeshed in long-dead memories, Alamys even wondered if his son might not one day become a Jedi Knight. It was a proud vision, and it felt so right. Alamys found the image he had created of his son grow, expanding into infinity, until his mind was swallowed by the light and he awoke, gasping.

"You okay, boss?"

The familiar voice calmed Alamys' thumping heart instantly, and itw as as if a blank mask had fallen over his features and mind. "I am all right, Byrol. Thanks." Sitting up, Alamys Jorka stared off into the distance for a moment longer, trying to remember what it was that had disturbed him so about his vision. Then, long legs swinging over the edge of the bunk, he rose to his feet and stood. The Devaronian, Byrol, was standing outside his cabin, looking worriedly at him. "We have arrived?"

"Yes, boss." Byrol bobbed his head.

"Good." Alamys took a step forward and raised a hand to steady himself against the top of the doorframe of his cabin. "I don't think we should stay home for long. I have a feeling that we've got something big coming our way. Not a chance we should miss," he added, a mirthless smile flashing across his face.

"Sure, boss," Byrol replied cautiously. "Whatever you say."

Lightyears away Shmi Skywalker sat beside her son's small bed, holding on to his trembling body, trying to soothe him. His eyes were huge, and his breathing came raggedly. But, as she held him, she could feel his tiny heart slowing down, his breath lose that desperate edge that had frightened her so moments ago. Running a hand gently through his unruly blond hair, Shmi smiled down at her son fondly.

"Anakin. It was just a dream. You're back now." She pressed a kiss on the crown of his head. "Back with me."

He gulped up a huge lungful of air, then snuggled into her embrace more deeply. "Was not too bad," he murmured against her blouse, making her smile with his defiant display of courage. She had heard him scream in his sleep, after all, and she thought she knew how bad it had been. A nightmare. "Mum?" Anakin's round face was turned up to gaze at her.

"Yes, my darling?"

"Do you think we'll ever go away from here?"

Taken aback, Shmi hesitated. "Go away?" she asked. "You mean if Watto might sell us to an off-worlder?"

"No," Anakin replied gently, with a fierce shake of his head. "I mean free."

"Oh, darling," Shmi sighed, holding her son a little closer still. "I don't think so. That happens only in tales. Not really."

"But I dreamed it," he whispered then, his voice choked with desperate longing. Longing to have that dream come true. "I dreamed I was a Jedi Knight and freed all the slaves on Tatooine. I freed you, Mum," he added more softly, and in that moment, with his blond bangs hanging into his eyes, the earnest expression on his face, he triggered something in her memory that she had believed lost forever. She remembered a night on Ylesia, a man from Tatooine, as charming and earnest as her little boy was, someone she had believed would save her too, back then. Alamys. "Mum? Mum, why are you crying?"

Turning away from her son and hating herself for that weakness, Shmi wiped at her cheeks and tried in vain to stop the tears from falling. He had abandoned her to her fate. If he had known that she was with child, would he have come back, stayed with her? She rose abruptly, unable to look at Anakin as she left. His silence hurt her more than she cared to admit to herself. But she could not tell him. He had asked often enough, awkward questions, the most normal question in the world for a boy who was growing up with just his mother. But she did not even know who Alamys was, what he was. Or where, for that matter. Shmi stepped into her own bedchamber and closed the door behind her, lost in memories. What if – There were so many possibilities. But she had to live with the one she had now.

A bitter smile stole upon her lips as she thought of what Anakin had said. I dreamed I was a Jedi Knight and freed all the slaves on Tatooine. A child's dream. And it told her much of how his bonds were chafing at him. He was a restless, inventive little soul, independent-minded and defiant. Anakin bore a confidence that seemed very much at odds with his status as slave. But then, didn't she know that he was special? He was gifted in many things. His empathy for her feelings, or those of friends or owners was astounding. She still recalled how he had soothed her when she had lost them to Watto on a foolish bet. A three year old boy consoling a grown woman who should have known better. The smile lost its bitter edge then and grew fond. Her little boy was indeed special. Perhaps ... Her thoughts halted then, for a heart-beat, before she continued. Perhaps his father was like that too. Perhaps ...

Shaking her head resolutely Shmi slipped back into her bed and refused to admit to her own hopes that had been rekindled by her son's innocent confession of a night's dream. She would not succumb to foolishness, hoping that a knight would save her someday and free her and her little son. He would not come back. And still she lay awake in her bed for a long time, wondering what Alamys was doing, if he remembered her at all. And just before she slipped into sleep again did she ask herself why Anakin had woken screaming from a dream so filled with visions of a happier future.

"It is a trade convoy," Alamys explained, arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the Narawa's main comm console. Across from him sat Captain Ushu, the Gammorean, and Commander Trahada, her cold eyes fixed on the former Jedi Master exclusively. "It will be heavily armed, of course," he continued casually. "We've given them enough opportunity to prepare for our attacks, after all. They've grown cautious."

"Then why do you suggest this operation at all?" Trahada asked, her voice hard. "We don't have nearly enough ships or personnel to conduct such an operation, as you know very well."

Alamys smiled. "But, Commander, this group has ever been open to acquiring new allies. A core group to plan and select targets, head-quartered on the Narawa, with splinter groups joining us as we need them. I confess that by now the traders know most of our ships and allies. We haven't made any changes in years. I thought it was time we did."

"So who've you recruited?" Ushu grunted. "And how much money does that cost us, anyway?"

"Now, now, Captain, we both know that with this harvest we can easily keep our standard of payments, even if we have excess costs to deal with. If your people expect more, you'll have to disappoint them, I fear."

"Who?" Trahada again.

Turning to face the Corellian woman, Jorka unlocked his arms and let them hang loosely at his side. "Ever heard of Jorji Car'das? He runs quite an extensive network, and for a share of this operation's profits he is supplying us with the necessary numbers."

Ushu gave another grunt. "Sounds acceptable. Car'das is a scoundrel, but he's honest."

"Frankly, he's impressed with our past exploits," Alamys offered, aiming at placating both commanders. Trahada still looked too sceptic. "He also tried to goad me into revealing where we invested our credits, by the way," he added, grinning broadly. That brought a laugh from both the Gammorrean and the woman.

"Honest, eh?" Trahada challenged her partner. "No doubt he was trying to find out where he could divide a little of our cash off into his own accounts."

"Possibly," Alamys said dismissively, when Ushu did not reply. "The important thing, though, is that he's helping us. Byrol and I are already working on an attack pattern and the logistics for both our teams and Car'das's. I thought we might be able to strike the convoy at Almania."

"Almania!" Ushu's heavy bulk left his seat at astonishing speed as the Gammorrean jumped up, shocked. "That's Republic space! You always insist that we keep our operations within our sector, Jorka! Why this sudden change?"

"Yes," Trahada chimed in, her eyes narrowed coldly. "Why?"

This was the difficult part, and Alamys was a little angry that his placating gesture had not worked out fully. "I had to meet Car'das half-way to enlist his people at all," he explained. "He doesn't want any trouble in the Corporate Sector. And the Republic won't dare enrage the Trade Federation by insisting on hunting pirates into their territory. We can deal with the Trade Federation here," he took a deep breath, "but we cannot deal with their convoy without Car'das."

Subsiding a bit, Ushu took his seat again. "He has a point," he conceded gruffly, but Trahada was still looking unconvinced.

"Risking the Republic's wrath might not be worth sharing our profits," she announced.

"What is the worst they can do?" Alamys challenged her then. "They could send neutral representatives to support the Trade Federation tracking us down. Jedi, at the worst."

"Jedi Knights," Trahada spat. "They're damn trouble, Jorka!"

"Leave them to me," he replied in a low voice, "if they come at all."

He notied the glance that passed between Trahada and her Gammorrean partner, of course, the insecurity and fear that played in their eyes, but he did not care. Neither of them knew what he had been, and neither of them cared to find out what he was now. They knew the tales from ancient times, of course, about Dark Side warriors and the Sith, but Alamys had never bothered to tell them the truth. He would not start now.

And so it was that seven standard days later the Narawa lay in wait at Almania, with the commander of the planet's pitiful security force bribed into silence and Jorji Car'das's team awaiting the Narawa pirates' command. Trahada was in charge of the cruiser's fighters, as always, with Ushu keeping an eye on the targeted convoy and their own unruly forces. Alamys had joined the Gammorrean on the ship's forward bridge, knowing that the Captain's tactical skills might not suffice for an operation that size. Alamys, as trained strategist, would only interfere if it was really necessary. He did not want to lose this crew yet, after all. Byrol was manning tactical, seated right in front of Alamys, who stood with his hands crossed on his back, waiting. The count-down was running, and in a few moments time the alarms would sound, alerting the ship's crew to battle-status. Their most difficult battle to date, Alamys mused. But the most effective, if all went well. Smiling to himself, he thought of a certain senator, who would have a lot of explaining to do when news of this coup reached the Trade Federation.

And then the time was up.

"Attack," Captain Ushu ordered calmly, and the Narawa obediently lurched forward, to take up her battle-position.

They were doing fairly well in the first few exchanges, with Car'das's ships still waiting to join them and surprise the Trade Federation vessels with their appearance. It was only when Ushu bent over the comm console to hail the other pirate group that the trouble began. "They aren't answering," the Gammorrean announced, bewildered, as he turned to face Alamys.

"Impossible." Wrapped in a flaring surge of anger Jorka stepped forward to try himself. There was no signal. "But they are still there," he murmured, looking at the scan read-outs. "Are we being jammed?"

"No signals from the Trade Federation ships," Byrol reported.

"What about other sources?" Alamys asked, frowning. There was something now, elusive. A dark taint on his perception, trying to smother his senses. He wouldn't, would he? No, surely not! It could not be Sidious out there! Whirling away from the dumb-founded Ushu and the patiently waiting Byrol, Alamys made for the exit of the bridge. "Scan that Narawa's hull!" he called over his shoulder. "Have security search the ship! Now!"

"Are we being boarded?" Captain Ushu yelled at the Jedi Master's retreating form.

But Alamys did not answer. Focusing his senses, fully aware of the risk that meant to his mental health, he stormed down the central corridor that led away from the bridge and toward the forward hangars. They would be empty now. Trahada had already taken her fighters out. Upon reaching the hangars, Alamys caught the arm of a flight coordinator, who was hurrying past. "You! When did the last fighters leave from this cluster?"

"A few moments ago," the man answered. "Why'd you ask?"

"And the magnetic field closes two minutes after launch, right?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" the man was looking worried now.


"Could be," Jorka muttered, then let go of the coordinator. He turned his head when he heard someone approaching fast. It was Byrol. The Devaronian was carrying a heavy blaster rifle in both hands, and he seemed very determined.

"I brought your saber too, boss," he told Alamys quietly, and nodded to his belt. Indeed. There hung the familiar cylinder shape of Alamys's lightsaber handle. Byrol was the only one present who knew a bit of his master's past. And yet Alamys found it hard to trust him fully. Until now.

"Thanks. Quick thinking on your part;" the former Jedi Master replied with a grim smile. "Now go back and summon security. I don't know what exactly happened, but chances are that we won't be getting any reinforcements. Just in case, tell Ushu to prepare for retreat." With those words, Alamys took the offered lightsaber and stalked toward the first hangar's door release.

Entering the empty bay, Jorka threw a quick look around, keeping the lightsaber concealed at his side. As his gaze swept across the entire hangar, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no – Wait. A shimmering in the air, as if from a cooling hull. Squinting, Alamys cocked his head to the side. It could be a ship. Cloaked. Walking closer, the Jedi Master hunched his shoulders ever so slightly as his body tensed in anticipation of violence. There was the sound of a door opening in the distance, in the next hangar bay, and Alamys quickened his steps slightly. If whoever had landed a cloaked ship here had slipped out into the corridor, he would move toward the bridge first, Alamys assumed. He needed to intercept

that someone, come what may. As it was, someone had had that same idea before him. When the first volley of blaster fire scorched the partition wall that separated the hangar's bays, Alamys instinctively ducked back, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

Then, taking his lightsaber handle in a two-handed grip that would give him enough surety to make any attack with the weightless blade precise, he brought the weapon up in a high guard position in front of his left shoulder and carefully edged around the partition wall. The blaster was still spewing laser bolts, and Alamys had to take a deep breath before he entered the battle-field. Byrol, for it was the Devaronian, had entered the hangar through the second bay's entry hacth, possibly to assist Alamys in his hunt. While Jorka appreciated the Devaronian's loyalty, seeing his opponent up close caused him to give a heart-felt curse. The intruder was dressed in flowing black robes that were all too familiar, and a red lightsaber spun in his hands so fast that its blurring edge could shield the creature against anything Byrol's heavy rifle had to offer. The Sith warrior was not Sidious, as Alamys noted with some relief. He moved with a grace the Nubian never had possessed, and the soldier in the former Jedi Master recognised the superior skill this fighter displayed almost instantly.

Chances were that he had already sensed Alamys' approach and would be reacting any time now. Someone had tried to dampen Jorka's senses earlier, which had to mean that this Sith Lord was acutely aware of who Alamys was. Indeed, by the time Alamys had taken the next few steps toward the two combatants in the second hangar bay, the black-robed attacker spun in a onehundredeighty degree angle that put him in position to keep an eye on both the Devaronian and the approaching Jedi. Yellow eyes, set into a black and red tattooed face, tracked Alamys' every move.

"Byrol, get out of here," Jorka snapped and ignited his own lightsaber.

But, seeing his quarry distracted by Alamys' appearance, the Devaronian opened fire again. With a casual gesture of his gloved left hand, the Sith Lord sent the unlucky Byrol crashing into the bulkhead at his back. With a slow smile, exposing sharp teeth, the warrior then reached up to unclasp his long cloak to allow him more freedom of movement. Alamys gave him a contemptuous smirk, seemingly waiting for the other to ready himself. But this was no time for fair play. The moment the Sith Lord's fingers closed about the clasp Alamys lunged at him in an all-out attack that turned into a slide and duck movement once the Sith's lightsaber blade came up to skewer him. Using the slick deck to power his momentum, Alamys skidded past his opponent and managed a shallow cut to the Sith Lord's left thigh. It took him a moment to catch his balance again and turn back, though, and he was quite surprised by his adversary's speed when the man/creature met him readily, driving him back with a set of quick attacking jabs.

With his initial attack having left next to no impression, Alamys Jorka was forced to evaluate his opponent more closely. The creature was young, younger than he was, a superior swordsman, quick, ferocious, focused, and, what was worse, he could forsee any move Jorka made even before he could execute it. Frankly, things did not look too good. Meeting the horned alien's yellow-eyed gaze again, Alamys decided on a gamble. If the Force could be of no use, his experience would have to suffice. The Sith moved toward him again, his blade meeting Alamys' white one repeatedly, until Alamys twisted his lightsaber away in the last instant, catching his opponent off guard. By then they had reached the bulkhead, and the Sith's blade cut deeply into the metal, giving Alamys a brief opening to attack himself, with the other man half-turned away from him.

He almost impaled himself on the second blade that sprang forward from the other end of the Sith Lord's lightsaber handle quite unexpectedly.

Jumping back with a vivid curse, Alamys did not waste any time with reassessments. Once the Sith, a Zabrak, as he recalled the species was called, whirled to face him, Jorka ducked low in a crouching ready position, daring his adversary to strike. And that the Zabrak did, with Alamys methodically parrying the blades coming at him in rapid succession, drawing the Sith closer and still remaining low. When the Zabrak's left boot heel got caught in the deep gourges his own blades had ripped into the deck, Alamys almost laughed then, but his own situation had not been greatly altered by the younger man's blunder. Acting quickly, Jorka brought his lightsaber blade around in a wide arc, holing it with only his right hand, and managed to cut across his adversary's stomach. Unfortunately the Zabrak was unfazed by the inflicted wound and when he broke loose from the small obstacle presented by his caught boot-heel, let himself fall forward, thereby depriving Alamys of any room to maneuver with his weapon. In fact, though, Jorka had seen that reaction coming, if not so fast. When the Sith brought his arm around Alamys was reeling back even before the Zabrak's fist hit his shoulder and would have paralysed his side, had he managed to score a hit on the nerve cluster positioned there.

Alamys let his lightsaber handle fly with an bit-off scream and twisted twisted his around its own axis, just as his opponent had intended it, and as the Jedi Master fell to his knees, using his hands to cushion his fall, he heard the Sith Lord's lightsaber humming behind him, rising steadily. He could picture his adversary's triumphant stance, blades raised above his head, ready to strike at the downed Jedi. Jorka's lightaber, carefully positioned so he was shielding its exact position with his torso, slid toward him as he gently coaxed it in his direction. The Sith's blade was descending in a loud roar of power at his back just as he locked the fingers of his right hand around his own weapon's handle. He turned just in time to deflect the red beam of light before it could sever his spine and killed his arm's forceful upward swing with his left hand, that came down hard on his right forearm. Then, kicking out his legs, Alamys swept the Zabrak off his feet and stabbed viciously into the alien's unprotected flank. The warrior instinctively curled around his injured side, allowing Jorka to rise and prepare himself anew.

"Your master should have known better than to send a mere child against me," he teased the Sith Lord, who was slowly climbing to his feet, one hand pressed to his scorched side, his tattooed face fixed into a mask of rage. This Zabrak could only be Sidious' apprentice. Who else would have cared to track him down?

It was then that Byrol had sufficiently recovered to interfere. Unfortunately his angry scream startled Alamys more than it did the Sith. The Devaronian shot forward with a predator's grace, scooped up the blaster rifle he had lost in the Sith's initial attack, and brought it up smartly to shoot the Sith warrior straight in the face as the Zabrak turned to meet him. Two things then happened at once. First, Byrol never made it, and instead found himself beheaded by one of the red blades, that came up quite unexpectedly, and second, a missile exploded against the Narawa's side. Both Alamys and his adversary were thrown to the deck, each faring quite differently. While the Zabrak elegantly rolled around to face the outer hull on one knee, for balance as well as to be ready in case Alamys used this momentary distraction to attack, Jorka crashed against the partition wall and felt something crack in his right hipbone. Pain stabbed down his leg, cramping muscles and numbing them. He slid down to the deck, eyes closed in agony, and cursed his fate with a low oath. More impacts now, and, barely perceptible amidst the shaking of the ship and the low hum of the engines, the sound of approaching feet.

"No boy," the Zabrak said calmly, his voice surprisingly deep and measured. "A match for you, Master Jorka. You are an able warrior," he added, and Alamys thought he could hear admiration in the younger man's tone. Not that he cared.

"How did you find out about this operation?" Alamys asked between gritted teeth. The Sith

was only a few steps away now, and, holding his hip – he just new part of the bone had splintered off and was now stuck in his flesh – tried to rise again. Almost immediately he found himself pushed back against the wall by an unseen force.

Shrugging, the Zabrak actived one of his blades and stopped. "I knew your headquarters to be close to Weyla. It took only little effort to learn more about your pirates, and your plans."

"So you alerted the Republic."

The Sith nodded solemnly. "Your ships will be wiped out, and the praise will go to the Republic and my master, of course."

It was true. Alamys had counted on discrediting Sidious in front of the Trade Federation, but with a single blow the Sith Master had put his old nemesis out of the game. He would take credit, and gain the trust of his allies anew. "A pity," Alamys sighed, shoulders sagging.

It took only that small gesture to convince the younger Sith that his prey was defeated, and in that moment the Jedi Master felt nothing but contempt for, yes, this boy. Mustering all of his reserves, Force-wise as well as physically, he launched himself at his opponent again, lightsaber flashing in his hands. Parry left, block right, step back and left, cut down, reverse and up, spin, strike. Yes! With his back to the Zabrak, Alamys felt his blade, thrust back above his injured hip, eat deeply into the Sith warrior's flesh. The young man cried out, then gave a loud moan of pain. Alamys did not hesitate. Whirling around to face the Sith again he struck once more – But his blade never found its mark. Instead of falling back with the injury, the Zabrak had stepped forward, and now stood so close he could easily catch Alamys' arm, drag it down and break it cleanly over his thigh. His elbow impacted against Alamys' left cheek and almost knocked him out before he was flung to the deck unceremoniously. Only then, with Alamys white-faced and rigid with pain, did the Zabrak allow himself to hunch over and take a laboured breath. He was hurt very badly, Alamys saw now, not that this discovery was of much use to him.

"You're not going to get away," the Sith panted, his yellow eyes blazing furiously. "The ship's going to blow, and you will perish with it."

Only belatedly did Alamys notice the desperate wail of the evacuation alarm, that filled the hangar with a loud siren song. If the Sith wanted to get away he'd need to leave imemdiately. Alamys wasted no time. Ignoring the mind.numbing pain in his broken arm and injured hip he turned on his stomach and started to crawl for the hangar door determinedly. Unfortunately the Sith used just that moment to deliver a vicious kick at the Jedi Master's head, and his world went dark instantly. By the time he came to the Sithw as gone and the Narawa's alarms were blaring at full volume. But the ship was already out of control, and Alamys could guess easily that the cruiser's shields would fail anytime soon. Mustering all of his strength he hobbled toward the hangar door and barely made it inside before the hangar was hit by another missile and the containment field separating the bay from space imploded. The gravity controls were next to go off line, and Alamys suddenly found himself floating upside down in the ship's outer corridor. It took a supreme effort to grab one of the emergency holds in the ceiling and haul himself along the winding hallway with just one good arm, but he managed somehow.

"Jorka!" It was Captain Ushu, a bleeding gash raked across his pig-like visage. He grabbed the Jedi Master's waist, causing Alamys to cough up painfully, and towed him along. "She's gonna go soon. Got to get to the escape pods."

But Alamys was barely conscious of the captain's valiant efforts to save them both. He was already wondering how exactly he would plan his payback for this disaster. Nothing as petty as attacking prospective allies and disrupting trade. No. This time it would be personal.