Hunter leaned both hands against the Marauder's flight instrument panel and peered outside. It was almost eighteen hundred, over two hours since they'd left the academy, and the storm was still raging, driving gusts of wind and ash and sand into the shuttle from all directions. Thirty minutes ago, the green-tinged lightning had started up again. For the most part, the thunder was distant, but every so often a massive clap of thunder would vibrate the entire ship.
As though in opposition to the noise outside, the inside of the Marauder was now unusually quiet. The commandos had removed their armor within ten minutes of getting on board, once they'd realized exactly how much ash and grit had worked its way into all the joints and edges. Then all four of them, including Hunter, had a brief and silent fight over who got to hit the sonic first. Wrecker won, because he nearly always won, and Crosshair and Hunter had cleaned their armor while waiting for their turns. Tech had been too busy cleaning each and every one of his little electronic gadgets and tools and complaining about the dust.
Wrecker had told him to just toss his equipment in the shower – sonic or not, it worked to remove dirt – and Tech had squawked in outrage and promptly listed off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea. Quinlan had sat and listened for a few moments, expression vaguely amused . . . then he'd gotten to his feet, looking abruptly unamused as he wandered to the bunkroom.
After cleaning up, Tech and Crosshair had changed into black outfits very similar to those they'd worn on Nar Shaddaa. Tech wanted to give his armor a thorough cleaning, but not until he finished repairing Crosshair's cuirass. And Crosshair – well, he just hated wearing half his armor. It was all of it or none.
Hunter, though, hadn't felt safe enough to remove his armor for good. Even after Tech helpfully informed him that, should the leviathan decide to attack them, the armor would do absolutely no good and they may as well be comfortable, he didn't want to change. Wrecker said armor was just about as comfortable as anything else, which had started a half-hearted argument, but not for long. No one was in high spirits, and after Quinlan left it was even worse.
As for Vythia . . . she had hardly spoken since first entering the cockpit. She'd murmured a vague thanks to Tech, when he moved his pack aside so she could sit in the co-pilot's chair, and that was all.
Hunter had checked on her a few times, and each time she'd been in exactly the same position: seated with her legs bent beneath her, arms folded across her chest as she gazed unseeingly at the floor. The first time he didn't take much notice, because she appeared to be in deep thought, but now made the fourth time.
Hunter turned away from the viewport to look at her. He knew she was alert, because her gaze flitted up to him briefly before returning to the ground. The look in her eyes was easily readable – she was worried about something.
He took a step forward, still eyeing her. Maybe she was just concerned about the artifacts that had been left on the Phoenix, but there was no reason to be . . . No, she had to be worried about something more important.
"What is on your mind?" she asked in a low voice, not looking up as she spoke.
Hunter hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I was actually gonna ask you the same thing."
"Oh?"
"You're worried about something."
Her voice was only vaguely interested when she replied. "And why does that concern you, Hunter?"
He gestured at the storm. "Because we still can't leave Trayus. And if there's something about it that's worrying you, it's probably well worth worrying about."
"Yes. . ." Vythia smirked, her gaze still fixed on the floor. "Yes, I do seem to have been a bit incautious about Malachor overall, don't I?"
Without knowing why, Hunter felt suddenly apprehensive. "Vythia –"
Vythia ignored him, instead standing with the easy grace that seemed native to Nautolans. Straightening up, she looked him in the eye. "However, we will soon be gone from Trayus and from Malachor."
"Yeah." Hunter frowned a little at her sudden change of attitude. "But we can't leave yet, and if –"
Vythia turned away, dismissing his words. "The leviathan is a concern . . . but I do not believe it will attack as long as we are not in the academy. And if we are attacked, there will be very little we can do to prevent it whether we are inside or out."
Hunter hesitated as she wandered into the hall. Somehow, he didn't think Vythia had really been worrying about the leviathan.
He watched Vythia wander casually along the hall and back several times, as though she were stretching her legs. Then she seated herself again and removed her satchel from where it hung over at her side. Still without looking at Hunter, she set it in her lap, unfastened it, and removed the scroll from Darth Ghant's tomb.
The ancient parchment was still perfectly intact. The black hand-written hieroglyphs were easily discernible, even from a meter away, despite the passage of time. Hunter observed Vythia studying the words for several long minutes, then left the cockpit to check on the others. He was concerned that Vythia's worry – because he was certain that she'd been worried – had to do with the Prince. Had she realized what Quinlan and the commandos were really after? Her usual confidence had vanished between Trayus and the Marauder. . .
But there was nothing more he could do until the storm had passed and they could get Vythia back to the Phoenix, and Hunter had been standing still for too long.
The rest of his team had also been abnormally quiet for the past two hours. Wrecker was in the bunkroom, comfortably asleep despite the fact that he was still in full armor. He probably hadn't felt any safer than Hunter had.
The sergeant stepped into the bunkroom. The dim light showed that there were only two people in the room. Wrecker was snoring, and Quinlan was still perched on the top bunk, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed.
Quiet voices came from the cargo hold, and Hunter activated the door controls and went in. Tech was sitting cross-legged on the floor, frowning thoughtfully at the inside of Crosshair's cuirass, which lay in front of him on the floor as he observed it. Crosshair had a toothpick between his lips and was and cleaning his rifle. Again.
"Hm," Tech said in a dissatisfied tone. "I suspect that I will need to reinforce this, as the plastoid we have in stock is hardly equal in quality to the material used in our armor."
Crosshair set aside his rifle. "Long as it's not stabbing me anymore, it's fine."
"It is not 'fine'." Tech activated the heat gun he'd been using, then leaned forward to examine the squares of plastoid he had at his disposal. "Saying that a piece of armor is 'fine' indicates that its condition is satisfactory or acceptable, and this is neither."
The sniper eyed him, then crossed his legs and leaned forward, one elbow resting against his knee as he continued to chew on his toothpick.
Tech ignored his sardonic gaze and continued to speak. "There were four punctures in the front and one in the back. I have patched them, but one of them could be punctured by a well-placed laser shot. As a matter of fact, the chances of you being fatally shot, should you wear this armor as it is now, are significantly higher than before it was damaged."
"Just 'significantly higher'?" Hunter asked with a slight smile.
". . .Yes." Tech quirked his mouth and went back to work. "I do not have the mental energy required to calculate exact percentages at the moment."
Hunter sighed. "Yeah, I don't blame you. The sooner we get away from this place, the better."
"You can say that again," Crosshair muttered.
"He could," Tech agreed, not looking up from his work. "But there is not exactly a reason for him to do so."
Crosshair's irritated sigh was punctuated by the click of a toothpick against the pile of armor Tech had left to one side. "Right. Just like there's no reason for you to prattle on, either."
"Well, yes." Tech's tone bordered on patronizing. "Except that I scarcely ever repeat things, and usually have at least –"
A second toothpick hit him in the back of the neck, and he jerked, cutting off the end of his sentence in favor of a sideways glare.
Hunter rolled his eyes, somehow feeling a bit more light-hearted at the normalcy of their interactions. "Long as you two are staying up anyway, I'm going into the barracks to get some rest. Sensors were clear at the last check, five minutes ago."
He started to leave, then paused to speak over his shoulder. "Try not to kill each other before I get back – and Tech, don't tell me that it would be hard for each of you to simultaneously kill the other."
Tech shut his mouth with a chagrined look. Crosshair smirked, but didn't make a snide comment . . . at least, not in Hunter's hearing.
Holding back a yawn, the sergeant went to the bunkroom. He'd already stepped inside when he realized that although Wrecker was still fast asleep, the lights were on full power, and Quinlan was pacing back and forth between the bunks.
"Thought you were sleeping," Hunter commented mildly.
Quinlan stopped short, facing away from him, and didn't answer for several seconds. Then he sighed. "No, I wasn't. I tried to meditate, but there's nothing light left to pull from."
He gestured vaguely, and Hunter followed the motion of his hand to the ammo chest, where the yellow crystal now sat. "You mean –"
"Yeah. All this time, that's the only thing that's been helping. I didn't even realize it."
Hunter glanced between the Jedi and the crystal, then walked over to the ammo chest. He picked up the small crystal and held it up, studying it. The light gleamed quietly on its surface, but something about it was different. The interior glow, which had always been subtle, was now gone. "It's . . . It doesn't have any more – energy?"
"It doesn't have any more life," retorted Quinlan. "It's dead."
Hunter blinked. "Quinlan, it's a crystal, how can –"
"It's a kyber crystal. Kyber means living." Quinlan rubbed his forehead and turned away to resume his pacing. "They seem to occur like . . . like Force-sensitives do. No one knows why, but –" He frowned a little. "They're grown from pure Force energy, as far as anyone knows. Each crystal changes to match its owner's nature when they're selected, which is why there are different colors of lightsaber blades."
Hunter gazed down at the crystal again. What Quinlan was saying was interesting, but he had to wonder why the Jedi was rambling about it.
"The crystals are also inherently light," Quinlan continued "They're attuned to the Light side – again, just like Jedi. Hunter, do you know why Sith have red lightsabers?"
"No . . .?"
"Because they literally force their kyber crystals to channel the dark side. If the Sith isn't careful, he'll shatter his crystal, because it resists being turned, but if he's successful, he can make the crystal bleed. That's why it's red. And . . . either way, the crystal is no longer part of the light."
Hunter gazed down at the yellow crystal again, mildly surprised by this ability, but not sure why he was mentioning it. Then Quinlan's words really registered, and Hunter jerked his head up to stare at him. "Wait. Are you saying –"
"I'm saying that the only way for me to use the Force right now is if I decide to use the dark side." Quinlan bit his lip and glaring at the ground. "And if we stay here much longer, I'm not sure I'll have a choice."
"But –" Hunter shook his head in confusion. "You shouldn't need to use it, we're on the ship –"
Quinlan wasn't listening. "Do you know who that crystal belonged to?"
Hunter closed his hand around the kyber crystal and turned fully to face him. "No."
"It belonged to Bastila Shan, one of the most powerful Jedi of all time. She – her strength in the light side . . . the crystal didn't have her power, because it isn't her, but it matched her. It was the strongest I've ever felt. I didn't know any of that until I was touching it, in the cargo hold, because the power wasn't masking its memory anymore, but Hunter . . . her crystal was a lot more powerful than even Master Yoda's. And now it's drained."
Hunter stared, surprised by his rapid speech. "But you shouldn't have to use it again," he said. "Why does it matter?"
Quinlan slammed his fist into the outside of Crosshair's bunk and spun around to face him. "Because even Bastila Shan's power couldn't defeat that thing, Hunter, that's why! The dark presence retreated. That's all!"
On the other side of the room, Wrecker stirred and mumbled something.
Both Hunter and Quinlan turned to gaze at him before looking back at each other for a long moment. Then Quinlan sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, slumping down to sit on the weapons locker.
Hunter seated himself on the ammo crate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, then asked, "Do you think you'll have to fight the presence?"
". . . No, I don't – I don't know if I'll have to fight it . . . It's not anywhere around right now. Even the leviathan isn't."
Hunter tilted his head, remembering their earlier conversation. "You said the leviathan attacked the crystal instead of you. Isn't that what – killed – it? Drained it?"
"Yeah." The Jedi clenched his hands. "It is. But I kind of expected that to happen, I expected the crystal to be killed, I just didn't think the dark would be so much stronger than one of the strongest light-side users ever."
Hunter opened his fingers and studied the crystal again. "You said it yourself, this didn't actually have her power. If you hadn't had it earlier, then . . .?"
"We'd have gotten to the ship," Quinlan said glumly. "Eventually, I mean. But I probably wouldn't have recognized just how powerful that presence is."
"Any idea what it is?"
"No. I couldn't really feel anything from it except hate."
Hunter wondered briefly what hatred felt like, but then Quinlan went on, his tone thoughtful. "Hate – and it had a goal. It was single-minded. I think . . . maybe I was right, and it is some sort of pure dark entity."
"Do I even want to know?"
"No." Quinlan paused. "Actually . . . you know what, Hunter, I've never actually heard of a pure Force entity. I don't even know if that kind of thing exists."
Several long, silent minutes passed while Quinlan stared into space and Hunter rotated the crystal between his fingers. Finally, the Jedi glanced back at him and Hunter gestured to his hand. "Can it still be used in a lightsaber?"
"Yeah. It still works as a power source, just not –" He gave a very dry smirk. "Not as a light source."
"Hm. Very funny." Hunter got to his feet. "Maybe you'd better keep it with you, then."
Quinlan nodded and held out a hand, and Hunter dropped the crystal into it. "What about our actual mission? Arriving at Nar Shaddaa at the same time as Vythia . . ."
"You mean because of the Prince." Quinlan drummed his fingers against his knees, then stood. "Well, we're still going to take all his artifacts and blow them to bits, preferably in the middle of space. I'd really hoped that coming here would help us learn more about the Sith lord – I can't imagine that Vythia just knew where to find all these artifacts. The Prince must have gotten that information from someone. If only we could trace it back. . ."
A sudden, peculiar silence descended on the ship, and for an instant Hunter was disoriented by the abrupt switch from constant motion outside to utter stillness. "The storm stopped," he muttered. "Why . . .?"
Quinlan shoved the crystal into his tunic and headed for the door.
Hunter hurried to wake Wrecker. "Come on," he ordered, when Wrecker gazed blearily up at him. "We're getting Vythia back to her ship, and then –"
The sound of a faint thump, followed by the Marauder's door hissing open, made him spin. It was instinct more than anything else that had him grabbing his helmet from his bed. He yanked it over his head and darted through the door, just in time to see the ship's main door closing as Crosshair wavered dizzily into the wall.
Tech rushed into the hall, then dropped to his knees. "Sleeping agent!" he gasped, pointing to a small, open bottle that stood in the cockpit door.
Wrecker shoved his way past Hunter to grab it.
Quinlan braced himself with one hand against the wall, his other arm crooked over his nose and mouth as a shield. "Where's Vythia?!"
Wrecker slammed into the cockpit, sealing the small vial as he did so. "She's not here!" he yelled.
"Just left," Crosshair answered slowly, words slurring together. "Didn't notice her behind me."
Hunter rushed to the door and opened it. Vythia's tracks were clearly visible in the loose, deep ash that coated the ground. She'd been running. The tracks went away from the ship, over the new dioxis vent that had opened, and straight back to the academy.
"She . . . went back in," he said disbelievingly.
Nobody answered him. Hunter took a deep breath, staring right and left at the completely still, silent plains. Why did she leave? What could she possibly want that's so important she went back in by herself, for Force's sake?
"We've got to do something," Wrecker said.
"We –" Quinlan cut himself off sharply.
Hunter continued to stare at the academy. He already knew their options. They could run, catch up with her, and drag her back to the ship. They could follow her at a distance, try to see what she was up to. They could leave her.
"Hunter," Wrecker said, his voice low. "We've gotta get her out of there."
"She went in on her own," Hunter answered, turning to look at his team. "And she didn't want us to stop her."
"Must've thought she could get something on her own," Wrecker said.
"She . . . had the . . . scroll," Tech murmured. "In her . . . hand."
Quinlan wavered unsteadily over to the door – he hadn't breathed in as much as the other two, but it had been enough. Crosshair was half-sitting, half-kneeling, slumped sideways against the wall with his eyes shut. Tech was a little more alert, but not by much.
Hunter's gaze went to the small vial Wrecker still had in his hand. He took it, glanced at it for a moment, then stuffed it into one of his belt pouches. "We're going after her," he said. "Wrecker, you're with me. Quinlan, stay with the others."
"What are you – doing?" Quinlan demanded.
Hunter grabbed his pistol and checked the charge. "We're going to see what she's up to and stop her before she gets us all killed."
"Hunter, no – not at night."
"It's still a couple hours until sunset," Hunter said. He put a hand on the floor and hopped down to the ground. "We'll move fast."
Wrecker jumped down beside him. "She's gonna get herself killed," he said, as though trying to explain it better.
Hunter shook his head, because that was not his first reason for going after her, then unsheathed and sheathed his vibroblade to test it. "You three stay here."
Without waiting for an answer, he darted across the ash and sand toward the academy, Wrecker at his heels. Vythia had a goal, she'd had a goal all along. Even if it was, as Quinlan suspected, just obtaining more artifacts . . .
That second scroll, he realized, skidding to a halt outside the academy doors to peer inside. She read something on it, and found an artifact on the first floor, and thought she could get it on her own. She must have thought we'd stop her –
If that was the case, she'd have been absolutely right.
They headed all the way to the first fork before pausing. Hunter stopped in the center of the corridor, then dropped to his knees, placing both gloved hands flat against the stones. He could feel . . . footsteps. Running footsteps, heading back towards the center of the academy.
Hunter straightened, suddenly afraid, and yelled, "Vythia!" His voice echoed and bounced down the corridor, but there was no answer.
Wrecker broke into a run, clambering over the piled rocks and sprinting for the center. Hunter followed, farther and farther behind as the seconds passed. Vythia had gotten farther in a shorter time than he'd have guessed was possible.
Hunter wasn't stopping to check corners and corridors now. He was running as hard as he could, driven by some strange panic that he didn't understand, and still Wrecker got farther and farther away from him. He leaped over a pile of fallen masonry, landed badly, and stumbled, catching himself against the wall.
His hand was there only an instant, and he'd run another three steps before he recognized that he'd felt a strange movement . . . not Vythia's, not Wrecker's –
"Wrecker, wait!" Hunter skidded to a halt and pressed his hand against the stone again. Dry, rasping vibrations, moving swiftly towards them –
Too late, he realized that Vythia's footsteps hadn't stopped, and neither had Wrecker's. Hunter swung around, activating his comm even as he sprinted towards the center. "WRECKER!"
But the corridor ahead of him was empty. Hunter drew his knife as he raced the last ten meters, only to skid to a halt as he reached the center.
Wrecker stood motionless, his blaster raised. Vythia was twelve meters in front of him, facing away, whip and knife in either hand. The scroll lay forgotten on the floor beside her. Both Wrecker and Vythia were staring up, at the opposite end of the room.
Hunter followed their gaze.
The serpentine creature facing them was bigger than anything he had ever seen before. A thin, dead-white body stretched out through the opposite door, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond. Its head, which hovered at the end of a long, thin neck, had the face of a dragon-lizard. Three long, gleaming white tentacles hung down on each side of its narrow jaws and moved slowly, independent of one another. The face had two pairs of solid black, slit-shaped eyes that glared intelligently down at Hunter.
With a rippling of muscle, the leviathan slid forward a meter. Its fanged mouth swung open, and everything inside – tongue, teeth, flesh – was a pure, glistening black.
Hunter tightened his grip on his knife.
The leviathan drew in its breath in a long, audible hiss, and Wrecker slammed to both knees with a pained grunt.
Hunter had only taken two steps forward when another hiss sounded, and a needle stabbed him in both temples. The feeling was so physically sharp that he nearly reached up, instinctively wanting to yank it out, before realizing that it was not a physical weapon at all.
The frontmost pair of twitching tentacles lowered toward Wrecker, and Vythia jumped into their path and lifted her whip to block them. The glowing blade left only a slight burn on the clammy white scales as they brushed against it, but they jerked back.
Another intake of breath – Hunter was already staggering toward Wrecker, firing up at the leviathan as Vythia let out a sharp gasp and pressed her knife-hand against her chest. His shots did about as much good as her whip had done, but he kept firing. They had to retreat to the hall and run – they could lift off if they were fast enough –
Hunter wavered in place and braced one hand across the other, trying to get a direct shot into its eyes. He fired, and it twitched smoothly aside, catching the laser on its scales. As it dodged his next shots, it gave another slight hiss, and Vythia crumpled to the ground, her whip deactivating. The leviathan was toying with them.
Then, three voices sounded in the hall behind them, shouting their names repeatedly, and Hunter didn't know whether to curse or call back.
Another tentacle swooped down, and Wrecker was there to meet it, his vibroblade gashing it heavily. The leviathan didn't bleed, but the half-severed tentacle flopped loosely for an instant. Strange echoes, like screams from people from a long time ago, sounded all around him as the rest of the team rushed into the room to his left.
