The commandos followed Quinlan to the Marauder and waited silently while Tech worked to open the shuttle. The sharp ache in Hunter's temples was fading steadily, even though the leviathan was still alive. He could feel the faint vibrations as the monster threw itself against the chasm walls, struggling against the poison in the depths of the pit, but the constant squeals and shrieks were getting thinner by the second.

With an audible click, the inside locks disengaged. The Marauder's door opened, and the ramp lowered, then unfolded into steps. Wrecker took a hesitant step forward and paused before mounting the steps with Tech close behind him.

When Crosshair didn't move from his position beside the Jedi, Hunter looked over at him. The sniper was watching Quinlan, his gaze faintly startled . . . and Quinlan hadn't noticed, because he was looking towards the dioxis field. The green light reflected unnaturally in his eyes, turning them from their usual hazel to a deep gold.

As if suddenly realizing that the others were there, Quinlan blinked, shook his head, and turned towards the sergeant.

Hunter drew back in shock. Quinlan's eyes were gold. They'd completely changed color. As he stared, a look of confusion crossed the Jedi's face and was gone, replaced with realization and then fear – and then nothing.

"Quinlan?" Wrecker said, from where he stood in the doorway. "Uh – Hunter? You guys coming?"

Another tearing scream split the air. The leviathan's head appeared briefly through the green mist above the edge of the pit, mouth flung open, black fangs extended as it writhed before falling back into the ground. Even in the short time it was visible, Hunter saw the way the acidic poison had burned through its scales and bones.

He took a step towards the ramp, wishing it would die – but Quinlan stayed where he was, unmoved, and watched the edge of the crevasse.

With a sudden movement, Crosshair stalked up the ramp and shoved past Wrecker to disappear into the narrow hallway. Wrecker followed. The Marauder's engines roared to life, sending a cloud of ash into the air. The tremors and noise from the ship nearly drowned out the faint vibrations and screeches of the leviathan in its death-throes.

Then Tech appeared in the doorway, looking in confusion between Hunter to Quinlan. "We are ready for lift-off . . ."

Hunter paused, halfway up the ramp, and glanced down at the Jedi again. Just as he opened his mouth to demand that Quinlan get onboard right now, the pain in his head spiked viciously until it was worse than it ever had been before. He squinted against the sudden watering in his eyes, but before he could do more than gasp out a curse, the pain faded away, suddenly and completely.

Hunter straightened slowly, casting a wary glance around. Apart from the reassuring thrumming of the Marauder's engines, the plains of Malachor were silent and still. The leviathan was dead.

Tech, who had been clinging to the edge of the door, released it and straightened up in an almost mechanical way. "Oh," he murmured disconnectedly. "It is capable of dying."

Quinlan mounted the steps without looking up, stopping when he reached Hunter, who finally turned to board the Marauder.

The sergeant paused in the hallway, distantly wondering why everything in the ship looked so normal, but he didn't have time to think about it. Tech was hurrying into the cockpit, where Wrecker was already strapping into the co-pilot's seat.

Quinlan reached out, hitting the button to close the ramp. As he turned dazedly toward the cargo hold, Hunter moved to stand in front of him. "Quinlan."

The Jedi snapped his head up. The almost fierce glow was fading from his eyes, and they changed back to their usual color even as Hunter watched.

Hunter hesitated, the sudden normality making him forget what he had meant to say, or if he had even meant to say anything.

Quinlan spoke before he could gather his thoughts.

"Skip it, Hunter," he said in a low voice, and pushed past him into the hold.

The Marauder lifted off the surface of the planet with a jolt, and Hunter put a hand against the wall to steady himself. Once the ship had leveled out, he went into the cockpit and stood between Wrecker and Tech, a hand on the back of either chair.

Tech was silent as he angled the ship away from Trayus and guided it in an ascending loop to gain altitude. Hunter watched the Sith academy spiral away beneath them. The five curved pillars surrounding it gleamed blacker than ever in the pale sunlight, which reflected off the wide field of dioxis and cast a green glow on the walls.

As the Marauder soared higher, Hunter caught a glimpse of the leviathan's desiccated body, which lay twisted at the base of a deep chasm. Then they were flying out, once more above grey, featureless land.

Tech turned and looked at him, one hand on the steering yoke, and waited. He probably wanted to know where they were headed next, but Hunter didn't know. They could leave Malachor – or could they? He wanted to, but something told him that Quinlan would argue that decision.

Maybe we'll leave anyway, he thought, folding his arms. Just tie him up until we get back to Coruscant. Let the Jedi Council deal with Zenaya.

Tech was still watching him.

Hunter sighed. "Just . . . get us away from the academy, Tech."

"I am doing so." Tech turned back to his piloting, tapping the fuel gauge to draw Hunter's attention to it. "However, we should refuel before making another hyperspace jump – certainly if we are making the jump back to Nar Shaddaa."

"I don't know what we're doing yet," Hunter admitted. "Let's refuel while we've got the chance."

Tech picked a spot on the map some six kilometers away and turned the shuttle slightly. "It will not take long – assuming, of course, that nothing crawls out of the ground and attempts to devour us."

"Yeah . . . That's getting kinda old." Wrecker pushed himself to his feet and turned hesitantly to face Hunter. "Hey – uh, Hunter . . .?"

"What?"

"It wasn't – just me, was it?"

Hunter frowned. "What wasn't?"

"Seeing Quinlan's eyes turn weird."

"No," Tech replied flatly. "It was not just you."

Wrecker unhappily rubbed at his head, then winced when his hand brushed against the bump on the back of his skull. "I didn't think so."

They were silent until they neared the edge of a flat, featureless plateau that rose dozens of meters into the air. As Tech started the landing sequence, Wrecker headed for the door. "I'll go get the fuel cells," he mumbled.

"I'll give you a hand," Hunter answered, following him out of the cockpit.

When they entered the cargo hold, it was empty of occupants. Hunter didn't mention it, and neither did Wrecker. Together, they rolled the heavy fuel cylinders down the ramp and set to work filling the ship. It took them a lot longer than it should have. Hunter dropped the fuel line twice, and Wrecker almost forgot to seal the airlock when they were done. Nothing stirred for miles around, except for, occasionally, a light shifting of ash.

As they were returning the empty fuel cylinders to the hold, Hunter heard Crosshair muttering something to Tech in the cockpit, but Quinlan wasn't in sight. Hunter paused to glance in the galley and the bunkroom, but both rooms were empty.

"Anyone know where Quinlan is?" he asked, entering the cockpit.

"Yes," said Tech, starting the engines again. "He is in the refresher, suffering one of the most common aftereffects of shock."

"Meaning . . .?"

"That he is ill," Tech said, as though it were an obvious fact.

Hunter eyed him.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and straightened. "He means the Jedi's busy heaving up his guts."

"Got it." Hunter sighed. "Tech, take us into orbit."

Tech obeyed. Everyone waited tensely as they ascended, higher and higher, but the weather didn't change. Nothing went wrong. Hunter was a little surprised to realize that he'd actually expected something to go wrong. The Marauder had taken off and landed on dozens of planets without trouble . . . except for the time they'd crashed, but that was different.

Once they were in orbit, he didn't stay to watch the atmosphere of Malachor turning beneath them. Instead, he headed into the bunkroom. He was stiff and sore, and had been in his armor for days – not to mention that, all of a sudden, he was exhausted.

Hunter stared at his bunk for a long moment, but resisted the temptation to fall into it without cleaning up at least a little. It hadn't bothered him so much while they were in Trayus, but he could still taste cold smoke and the bitter tinge of dioxis in the back of his throat. The ash covering his armor wasn't helping.

Hunter took off his cuirass and tossed it in the general direction of the armor rack, then went back to check on the others. No one had really serious injuries, with the exception of Quinlan, but he should check on Wrecker's concussion . . .

When he stepped into the galley, Crosshair was sitting on the bench, gingerly removing his gloves.

"You all set?" Hunter asked, glancing at the bloodstains on the bandaging wrapped around his fingers.

Crosshair raised a critical eyebrow and didn't answer.

Undaunted, Hunter moved to the table, standing across from the sniper. "Because Quinlan said he got you down to the main level by tricking your mind, or something, and that you'd have to sleep it off eventually."

Crosshair grimaced, so faintly it almost wasn't noticeable. "Yeah. That's going to go well. If it happens."

"What do you mean?"

"I slept in Trayus – after we got to the main level – for almost an hour." Crosshair got to his feet and set to work unwinding the old bandages and dropping them fastidiously into the incinerator, one at a time. "But I didn't go back to . . . that."

"You mean being unresponsive?" Hunter asked, rubbing his chin worriedly. "Quinlan had said you didn't know where you were, after he found you."

Crosshair shot him an annoyed look, then huffed. "Yeah. Well, whatever that Force-trick he used on me is – the effect is still . . . there."

Hunter nodded slowly, concerned but not sure what to do about it. "We should have some time before we decide on whatever we're doing next . . . Maybe you can ask Quinlan to – I don't know, turn off whatever he did? Then you can get past it while we're at least sort of safe."

Crosshair didn't answer, instead tucking his gloves into his belt.

Unsteady footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Hunter looked up. "Hey, I think that's him now –"

In two quick movements, Crosshair snatched up the bandaging and bacta spray, then left the galley, closing the bunkroom door behind him.

Hunter was still gazing at the door in confusion when Quinlan wandered into the room.

"Heya, Hunter," he said in a hoarse voice. His face was pale and drawn as he got a bottle of water and slouched wearily down at the table. "Was that Crosshair tearing off again?"

"Yeah . . . Not sure why." Hunter glanced at the Jedi's left forearm, which had bled through the layers of bandaging. "You should let Tech take a look at that. Or I can."

Quinlan didn't answer until he'd taken several careful sips of water. Then he looked up and asked bluntly, "Did my eyes turn yellow?"

"Uh – yeah."

"That's what I was afraid of." The Jedi smirked humorlessly. "You know what . . . Zenaya was right, Hunter, wasn't she? She said I'd make a good Sith."

Hunter took a step towards him, then sat down on the opposite bench, dizzy with exhaustion. "What are you talking about?"

"Ask Tech," Quinlan said, in a careless voice. "He's probably already done the research."

Hunter stared at him, waiting.

Quinlan met his gaze casually, then faltered and looked away. "When people immerse themselves completely in the dark side, their eyes turn yellow or gold. Why, I don't know. Maybe it's a warning to everyone around them."

For some reason, Hunter said, "Zenaya's eyes didn't."

"That's because she didn't let it use her. She used it." Quinlan leaned his elbows against the table, looking sick all over again.

"Quinlan," Hunter said slowly. "Are you telling me you weren't using the dark side?"

"No . . .? I don't – I don't know what I'm saying." He buried his face in his arms briefly before straightening up again and leaning back against the wall. "Hunter . . . where are we?"

"Orbiting Malachor. I wanted to talk with you before leaving it."

"What, you don't want to leave?" He gave another weird half-smile and pushed the water bottle aside. "Good, because we don't really have a choice. We can't just let Zenaya loose on the galaxy."

Hunter shook his head, surprised. "You don't mean for us to stop her on our own?"

Quinlan just looked at him, eyes dark with resolve.

"Quinlan . . ." Hunter said slowly, leaning forward. "We can't stop her. You saw what she did, in the Core. You weren't able to use the Force, and the rest of us never even had a chance. I couldn't move at all. She kept all five of us from moving or even talking, and she wasn't even in the room. Even if we were to find her again, we wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her."

"But we have to." The Jedi shoved his hair back with a trembling hand. "We can't let her go."

"I know." Hunter gestured vaguely. "I thought you'd want to contact the Council, let them . . ."

"HOW?" Quinlan yelled, getting to his feet. "We can't even reach them from here!"

"So we get back to where we can reach them," Hunter said, surprised at his sudden outburst. "You were able to resist her –"

"Resist her! That's all!"

Hunter stood up, stepping away from the table. "And more Jedi would be able to fight her."

"If they can find her! If she hasn't disappeared to Force-knows-where while no one's watching her! You want us to fly to the edge of civilized space, wait for the Council to answer, wait for them to determine that, yeah, Zenaya is a threat worthy of immediate attention, and then wait some more for them to send a team of Jedi to hunt her down?"

"It would be better than going in alone," Hunter insisted.

"It wouldn't!" Quinlan took an unsteady step towards him and pointed emphatically at the floor. "Because while we're away from Malachor, Zenaya's will be down there, doing whatever she wants – getting whatever artifacts and weapons she wants . . . You can bet that stormbeasts and even leviathans won't slow her down in the least!"

"And we'd slow her down a lot less," Hunter snapped.

"No, we wouldn't. By the time we got back with a team of Jedi, Zenaya will have gotten even more powerful, and she'll be able to destroy them on the spot. What she did in the Core – those were nowhere near her full abilities, Hunter, trust me!"

Hunter gritted his teeth and inhaled slowly. "Then what was your plan, Quinlan? To find her and demand her surrender?"

"No –"

"Then what? You think we can get close to her and she'll just . . . not kill us?"

". . . Yes."

"What?!"

The Jedi pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes, then looked up. "She didn't kill us before, Hunter. Why not? You don't think that was out of the goodness of her heart, do you?"

Hunter had a sudden memory of Zenaya's calculatingly cruel gaze as she studied him through Vythia's eyes. "No," he said. "But Zenaya said we should have left while we had the chance –"

"And then she gave us a chance," finished Quinlan.

"Only to put the leviathan in our way."

"Yeah, but why? She did that so I would kill it. She knew I would . . . just like she knows I'm not going to leave the planet without going after her." Quinlan slumped back down at the table, even paler than before. "Zenaya doesn't know the galaxy anymore, or the powers at play, or whether there are any Sith left. She's incredibly powerful, but she's only one person. You think she'd make it very far on her own, without leaving a trail of destruction and death in her wake?"

"I wouldn't have thought that would concern her . . ." Hunter hesitated, then sat down across from him again.

"It wouldn't . . . except it would bring the Jedi down on her. Even she couldn't defeat twenty of us. She knows we still exist." His voice sank into a mumble. "Zenaya isn't just interested in living for her own sake. She has goals for the Sith Empire, which she can't further without guidance – and without staying alive. She'll manage without help, if she has to, but for her it's well worth the risk of leaving us – all of us – alive. If we leave, no great loss to her. If we die, no great loss. If we get help and return and she feels that she can't win, she won't bother waiting around. She'll escape Malachor, and we'll never find her again."

Hunter gazed at him, still not really sure he understood. "Quinlan – how do you know all this?"

Quinlan's gaze flickered to the cut on his forearm. "I don't know. I just do. I understood it as soon as I killed the leviathan."

There was a short pause. Hunter listened to the utter silence from the cockpit, sure that Tech and Wrecker had heard everything. And Crosshair, on the other side of the bunkroom door, would have heard everything as well. Hunter didn't care, but he wondered why they hadn't barged in to give their opinions. . .

Quinlan was still watching him. When Hunter met his gaze, the Jedi spoke in a flat voice. "Hunter, we have to kill her."

"But you know we can't." Now it was Hunter's turn to press both hands against his eyes in exasperated weariness. "You just told me it was no great loss to Zenaya if we leave because it's no threat to her if we decide to go back. We'd never manage to kill her."

". . . I know."

Hunter lowered his hands slowly, eyeing him with suspicion as he realized that Quinlan had never answered when asked what his plan was. "What do you suggest?" he asked. "You want us to orbit Malachor until she leaves so we can shoot down the Phoenix?"

"No."

"Then what is your plan?"

"The only one I've got left," Quinlan answered. He frowned for a moment, then started to get up.

Hunter grabbed his wrist and shoved him back down into his seat.

Quinlan looked up, not even bothering to pull free. "Hunter – the fewer people know, the less of a chance she has of finding out."

"I don't care," Hunter said in a low voice, releasing him. "Because I'm not ordering Tech to land this ship until you tell me how you plan to kill her."

Quinlan went quiet for several long, slow seconds, then relented. "Zenaya said it herself. She said I would have made an excellent Sith. . . that it was a pity I refused to use the dark side – and then something else, which I didn't really hear."

"She said, 'Perhaps you will still learn, given time.' Wait – you think she wants . . ."

"She wants an apprentice."

Hunter sat and stared at him, then shook his head in disbelief. "You are not –"

"It's the only way to get close enough to her."

"You think she won't know you're lying?"

The Jedi pushed himself to his feet and stared down at him. "Do you have a better idea?"

Hunter didn't answer.

"You were right," Quinlan said, almost reflectively. "There's no way we'd win against Zenaya in a battle. But we can track the Phoenix, maybe put it out of commission to keep her on the planet. Then, if my plan fails, it won't matter the same way because she won't have a way to get off the planet."

"Until she takes the Marauder," Hunter argued, getting up.

"No, because you guys would stay in orbit," Quinlan explained. "Then if I get killed you can go for help."

For an instant, Hunter felt a sudden and powerful desire to punch the Jedi in the face for his presumption. He settled for a glare instead.

Quinlan wavered against the door, hardly noticing, and murmured, "Kinda funny that no one else has said anything. We were talking pretty loud."

"As a matter of fact, you were yelling," Tech said, appearing in the hallway in clean clothes. He shot an irritated glower at the back of Quinlan's head and disappeared into the cargo hold. His voice floated back out. "I did not say anything because I was busy trying to calculate when you could possibly have sustained brain damage in the past half hour."

"I – didn't?" Quinlan said hesitantly.

"Then why did you make such an incredibly asinine statement?" The trapdoor slammed loudly, and Tech reappeared, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "Excuse me, Wrecker."

Wrecker entered the room in front of him.

Hunter blinked, wondering how long the two of them had been hovering around outside the galley. The bunkroom door stayed closed.

"Didn't know you were there, Wrecker," he said into the awkward silence.

"Yeah. I didn't say anything 'cause I still don't have any ideas. . ." Wrecker stopped next to Quinlan and glared down at him. "Apart from yours, which is stupid."

Quinlan shrugged tiredly. "I know."

Tech held up his datapad. "In the interests of saving you time, Quinlan: I have locked the ship controls. We are in orbit until Hunter says otherwise, and I suggest you do not try any of your devious Shadow methods. I have had ample time to observe them and prepare for such eventualities as the one we are currently in."

"Yeah?" Hunter asked.

Tech nodded. "The ship computers will lock down his datapad if he attempt to access any of the ship functions."

Quinlan didn't answer, except to smirk faintly.

"Good," said Hunter. Now that they'd stopped arguing, he was remembering how tired he was. It looked like Quinlan had the same problem.

Hunter sighed. "Tech, you got your medkit?"

"Yes." Tech handed it over. "I did not check on Quinlan, apart from administering a hypo to deal with the more immediate reactions of shock, but the rest of us have been checked." He hesitated. "Quinlan will most likely require stitches, or at least proper bandaging. I could –"

"I'll handle it," Hunter said wearily. "What's everyone else's status? Your arms doing better?"

"Yes. Apart from slightly strained muscles, I am unharmed. I ran a scan on Wrecker's concussion, which is healing well. Crosshair denied the existence of notable injuries. In fact, the main complaint for all of us appears to be excessive fatigue."

"Yeah," Wrecker said. "We were just waiting to hit the sack until we knew what was going on."

Hunter glanced at him and nodded his thanks. "Well, we're not landing any time soon. Get cleaned up and get some sleep."

"Already did the first part," Wrecker answered. "Figured I'd hafta fight you for the sonic if I didn't." He elbowed Hunter gently – for him – on the way by, but his cheerful attitude did not extend to his face. When he entered the bunkroom, he left the door open.

Tech fidgeted with his datapad, then turned back to Hunter. "I have found no information about Zenaya."

"We've got plenty," Hunter answered, taking the datapad. He glanced at the open article, which seemed to be detailing physical results of using the dark side. Absently, he closed the article and handed it back.

Tech gazed at the empty screen for a long moment; then, with a despondent huff, he tossed the datapad on the table before drifting into the bunkroom.

"Hunter," Quinlan said quietly, his words indistinct. "Any chance you can get Crosshair to not shoot me if I go in there?"

"He wouldn't shoot you." Hunter frowned and studied the open medkit, then glanced up as a new thought entered his head. "I mean, maybe with a stun round if he got really mad, but –"

"How much you want to bet he saw my eyes?" Quinlan interrupted.

"He probably did, but that's not . . ." Hunter rubbed at his jaw. Crosshair was very obviously avoiding the Jedi, but why would it have anything to do with Quinlan using the dark side? Hunter had assumed he just didn't want anyone tricking his mind again. That was understandable . . . except that Quinlan wouldn't do anything unless it was necessary.

"Hunter?" Quinlan's words were even more slurred now, but he remained stubbornly upright. "Stop standing there looking confused. It's 'cause of Ghant's eyes."

Oh. Hunter blinked twice, then exhaled. "He's not going to shoot you. Now sit down and let me check your arm before we both pass out."

Quinlan jacked himself slowly away from the wall and picked up a hypo from the medkit.

Hunter wondered whether giving himself a stim shot would keep him from getting sick to his stomach. Crosshair was the one who handled stitches, the few times they were necessary. Tech had never managed to make himself give anyone stitches, not even those that didn't require a needle. Wrecker's hands were too clumsy, and Hunter was pretty much useless at anything except emergency field care.

The sound of a second empty hypo landing on the table caught Hunter's attention, and he glanced up. Quinlan had given himself a stim and pain meds, and was now fumbling with the bandaging around his forearm.

Hunter reached out automatically to help him. The injury had stopped bleeding heavily, thanks to the pressure from the bandages. But even though the knife had been sharp enough to leave clean edges, the cut was significantly longer than he'd at first realized. Definitely going to need sutures.

Quinlan was gazing blankly at it, looking completely unaffected.

Hunter hoped the Jedi wasn't about to pass out, then had to wait out a sudden wave of lightheadedness. Forget that, I hope I'm not about to pass out.

As he picked up the sutures, Quinlan said tensely, "I'll do it."

Hunter huffed through his nose and ignored him. Yeah, right. Giving yourself sutures on a twenty-something centimeter cut with only one hand. . .

When he caught the Jedi's wrist, intending to clean the injury, Quinlan shoved his hand aside with an angry look. "I said I'll do it," he snapped.

Hunter stepped back, a little surprised by his vehemence, then reached for his arm again. "You're going to need help."

"No. I'm not." Quinlan snatched the sutures and a tube of bacta from the table and stalked into the cargo hold.

Hunter stared after him, feeling more confused than before. After a few seconds, he sat down on the end of one bench and leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, and waited. He might have dozed off, but it couldn't have been for long, because only a few minutes had passed when he was jerked to awareness by Wrecker, who was getting a water bottle.

Hunter watched him idly, then felt someone studying him. He tilted his head to look up at Crosshair, who was standing tensely in the doorway.

There was a long silence.

"Uh," said Wrecker. "Hunter, you gonna just sit there?"

Hunter thought about it. "No?" he said eventually.

Wrecker did not look impressed.

Crosshair straightened. "Come on, Sarge. If we hear a thud, you can always send Wrecker in to scrape the Jedi off the floor."


Random interesting fact: while reading an article about Bastila Shan, I came across something I had not remembered. When she was captured in the game, she was taken to Malak's flagship, the Leviathan.