Chapter Three

(please refer to Ch.1 for disclaimer! OP JHunter)

It was an hour later when Jason reached Coronet. By that time, the sun had begun to set, casting the otherwise white clouds in the otherwise blue sky with tints of pink and orange. It was a beautiful sight that he hadn't been able to take in since his adolescence, and he suddenly realized how much he actually missed being there.

Reaching out into the Force, Jason stretched his awareness as far as it would go, searching out pockets of suffering, the local authorities, and just getting a general feel for Coronet's current emotional and political state. As he entered the city proper, shooting down the highway between the massive skyscrapers that made Coronet the largest city on Corellia, he felt that, by and far, nothing untoward was occurring in the city. There were the usual grief of loss, the anger of misfortune...and, of course, the multi-emotional suffering of wherever his old gang was located or heading through.

Deciding to play peacekeeper, and just keep and eye on his old "friends," Jason angled his hotrod towards the exit he knew would take him into the heart of central Coronet. Usually, the central sections of any large city were the most dangerous, especially the southern half of it, and Coronet was no different. His gang's old territory was located down there, constantly waging turf wars with other gangs in the area. When he was still in that circle of "friends," the gang usually held tenuous stalemates with the other groups. He had heard, though, that after his departure, formerly quiet and subdued individuals began to speak up and push for the expansion of their territory.

On his last visit, Jason had slain Valut, the Keldor leader of the gang. Since then, he had no idea what tyrant had risen to power, and, thus, didn't know the current disposition of the gang as a collective.

Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to find out. Indeed, Jason had just turned a corner down a street that was firmly inside his old territory, as easily evidenced by the prolific graffiti that dotted fences, building sides and city mail boxes.

Traveling a little further down the road, his danger sense began to tingle up his spine. Sure enough, fifteen meters ahead, a mixed-race group of about ten beings began to meander their way into his path. They wore ragged clothes, with hoods pulled up over their heads. He spotted a couple Rodians, their green snouts jutting out of the shadows of their hoods. They all carried some sort of crude melee weapon in their dominate hands, trying to hide it behind the protective concealment of their dark clothing, but failing horribly at it.

Jason brought his speeder to a slow, gradual stop before them, leaning back in the seat and putting his arm over the top of the door in a confident manner. His assailants fanned out before him, with a burly male Weequay stepping out in front.

"That's a nice, shiny speeder you got there," he said in broken Basic, showing Jason the metal pipe he held as he absently tapped it against the open palm of his empty hand. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to such a pretty machine, rich boy. So, it'd be best if you gave us some...incentive, to let you through."

"And if I don't?" Jason replied cooly, a smug grin gracing his lips. He didn't adjust his posture any, and radiated confidence into the Force. He knew full well that this would devolve into a brawl, and he wasn't feeling any inclination to change that.

"Well, we'll just have to take the price out of your hide, boy," the Weequay shot back, heading towards the nose of the speeder. He must have thought differently of his tactic, because, half-way there, he adjusted his course to come up alongside Jason's side of the vehicle. He kept rapping his pipe against his opposite palm, trying his best to be intimidating.

"I'd think twice about being a hero, 'pal'," the alien said once he came up to Jason, now resting the pipe against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm a full-blooded Corellian," Jason said, letting his attention drift away from the Weequay. He swept his gaze across the other nine people, his trained warrior's senses taking stock of their stances, what weapons they carried, and what emotions they flooded the Force with. "As such," he continued, making a show of looking at the fingernails of his right hand, "you might have to beat that into my dense head."

The Weequay needed no further prodding. The pipe came off the shoulder, plummeting towards the apex of Jason's skull. The instant before it would have connected, Jason's hand flashed out and caught the weapon, twisting it away from the creature's grasp and tossing it nonchalantly towards the other side of the street. This enraged the Weequay, and he quickly came at Jason with a left hook.

The Jedi leaned his head back, letting the meaty fist sail past barely five centimeters from the tip of his nose. As shock registered on the Weequay's leathery features, Jason quickly open the door, smashing it into his foe's knees. The gangster toppled over the top of the door, landing face-first into the duracrete pavement as Jason somersaulted out of his seat. Given how the Weequay's head smacked against the ground, he surmised that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

By this time, the other gang members realized what had happened, and had begun charging towards Jason. He met them part-way, surprising them with his speed, and drove his right knee into the rib cage of the human male that he came to first. The man's breath left his lungs quite audibly, as he doubled over Jason's leg and dropped to the pavement.

Jason dropped one of the Rodians with a powerful left-handed punch to the forehead, and took out his buddy with a sweeping roundhouse. Both fell in unconscious lumps, leaving only six fighters to contend with. A Gotal came at him with a long length of chain, swinging it towards Jason's ankles in an attempt to sweep his feet from under him. Jason sidestepped the attack, and drove the heel of his boot into the alien's already squashed face. Blood dribbled down from a broken nose as he, too, tumbled to the ground.

Better bring this to an end before they call into the calvary, Jason thought, reaching behind him to draw his lightsaber. Once the glinting hilt of his customary weapon came into full sight, the last half of the assailants came to an abrupt halt, their faces turning ashen with fear and their assorted weapons succumbing to gravity and falling to the pavement. They all turned and bolted from the scene, disappearing into the murky shadows of alleyways and overpasses.

"Hey, wait!" Jason called after them. "I just need directions! Oh, screw it..." He sighed resignedly, taking stock of the damage he had done around him. Five beings lay at his feet, all knocked out cold, and bleeding from their faces. The Weequay was the first to stagger back to his feet, and the next to flee.

"Not so fast, pal," Jason said, reaching out and grabbing the back of the Weequay's shirt with an invisible fist of the Force. He levitated the alien off the ground, leaving his legs rotating futilely in the air. Fearful whimpers escaped the Weequay's throat as Jason floated him backwards. Once the alien was close enough, he spun him around and looked into the Weequay's inhuman eyes.

"Take me to you leader."

The scene that Jason's eyes relayed to his frontal cortex was familiar to him. It was the same wide alleyway that his former gang had always used as their "headquarters," but it had changed in some subtle, and yet drastic ways. No longer was it adorned with piles of forgotten refuse that used to line the walls, and many of the old drums that used to house fires were gone. Now, most of the lighting was given off by lit sconces that were set equidistant from each other along the walls, replacing the spotty and flickering illumination of ramshackle overhead lights and the fire drums. Even the vagrants that so populated this "safe haven" seemed to be cleaner and more composed, as if they had all suddenly gained self-respect and inherited some credits.

But what really caught his eye was what was situated at the far end of alley. There used to be an old leather chair there, worn and torn by misuse, that was raised up on a handful of shipping crates. There would sit the leader, the King Pin of the gang, like some ruling king. Jason had seen many different people sit in that chair, and had even lusted after its' power in his younger days. Now, the old throne was gone, and in its' place was a much cleaner, and obviously newer, chair that was more befitting the individual that sat reclined in its' nerf hide caress.

She was Trianii, that much was obvious. But, what troubled Jason, was what a member of a usually very matriarchal society was doing leading a common gang of thieves and hoodlums. She would probably have been much more at home, in the Trian System, as the head of a House or such things. However, there she sat, her thin, lithe body dressed in a clean and well-kept dress of a cut he didn't recognize, with a sort of cloak thrown over her shoulders that draped off the edge of the chair like a dark curtain. She was sitting in a reclined position, her feline legs crossed and hung over the arm of the chair. It was a position that exuded both command and control, and yet a sense of calm welcoming to whatever came her direction. Her amber, slit-pupil eyes peered at him from under the black bangs of her hair, dancing in the fire light of the sconces around her. For a moment there was a touch through the Force, but as quickly as it came it was gone.

What the kriff was that? Jason's emerald eyes narrowed slightly, only perceptible by the likes of Boba Fett and others trained to look for such minute muscle twitches. I swear that brush came from that Trianii...but, I don't feel any real affinity for the Force from her. After a few seconds debate, he stretched outward with his feelings, sending a handful of probing tentacles of the Force towards the Trianii in that big chair.

Almost immediately, his probes were thrown off violently, with a great push of mental effort. So, you can use the Force...albeit limited. Those cat eyes narrowed dangerously at Jason as he approached, his previous pretenses of caution now nonexistent. He could feel animosity and suspicion rolling off her in waves, as he came to within a couple strides of her. He simply stood there, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and peering into her eyes.

"So, I see you've cleaned this place up a bit," he said.

"Of course," the cat replied, her voice carrying a sultry tint to it. She twisted in the seat some, bringing herself to look Jason straight-on, her wrapped feet now resting on the pavement. He noted idly that her feet were digitigrade, which would mean that, with her weight on her toes, she would be able to spring off quickly.

"A lot better looking than when I was hanging here," Jason continued, taking a glance around.

"I know. I've heard about you, Jason Hunter. You left here years ago in a stolen Z-95 with Alexi Vonelv shortly after your father was slain."

"I see you keep up on the local history," he said, smiling approvingly. "But don't worry, I'm just swinging through on some personal business."

"I'm sure." She then rose from her seat, standing almost as tall as Jason did. "My name is Onna Alias. As I'm sure you gathered, I lead this lovely organization."

"I figured as much. So, still running with looting and vandalism, or have you increased the operation to include raping and harassing the elderly?"

Onna snickered a little with amusement, a small smile coming to her lips. "I also heard that you had a matter-of-fact sense of humor. I can respect that. I've also heard that you're quite the able fighter, and that you helped push the boundaries of our territory."

"Well, I don't like sounding too bold," said Jason, shrugging nonchalantly. "But, I've won my fair share of fights. And those goons you had as a welcoming committee didn't prove too much of a problem."

Onna Alias chuckled lightly, stepping off her small pedestal and approaching Jason. "Yes, as I have also heard. Ston, the Weequay who brought you here, relayed that much to me." Jason remembered idly that the alien he had apprehended had left him at the mouth of the alley and made a quick approach to Onna's throne.

"Given your history with this illustrious gang, why don't you come join me in my private room? I would wish to speak with you." She gave Jason no time to respond, immediately turning and heading for a door towards the back of the alley. He shrugged slightly, and decided to follow. I don't think I have much to worry about from her. She doesn't seem too dangerous.

He was lead through the door, which was wooden and showed signs of its' rough usage, and into the small hallway beyond. It was more brightly lit than he had originally expected, and staircase lead up to the higher levels of the building.

"I remember this place," Jason said, taking a look around at all the old graffiti on the permacrete walls. "We never really used it too much, except as a warehouse were we stockpiled what we stole, and what weapons we had gotten our illegal little hands on."

"We've since converted it," Onna replied, not even turning to look over her shoulder at her visitor. They climbed a long series of stairs, ascending to what was probably the top floor of the building–which it only had three stories–and the Trianii inserted an old key into the lock of the door that they came too. She turned it a couple times, and opened the door into a spacious room. It was obviously a loft, as Jason could see a small balcony at the opposite side of the room, beyond a transparasteel sliding door.

"Nice place you've got here," said Jason, looking around. There was a desk at one side, which was apparently were Onna dealt with the business of running the gang. It had few adornments, the top surface being largely uncluttered. At the opposite side of the room, there was a large, comfortable-looking couch with a handful of pillows tossed about it. Near that, behind a curtain that was pulled haphazardly to the side, he could see a bed that he assumed was Onna's. In the middle of the room, there was a big rug that took up almost the entire empty space.

"Thank you, I try," replied Onna, crossing to a small table with a few bottles of alcohol sitting on it. "Care for a drink?"

"Sure. I'll take a glass of Whyren's Reserve, if you've got it."

"Of course. That's one of our most sought-after trophies." She plucked a couple of glasses from a cupboard underneath the table, and poured a liberal amount of the amber liquid into both. Jason noticed that her hands–paws, really–moved with a smooth deftness that belied her prowess in combat.

She's definately an agile one, he thought, moving to meet her half-way and taking the proffered drink. He took a deep sip of the whiskey, Corellia's finest, and basked in the rich, savory task as it washed over his tongue. It had been quite a while since he had enjoyed a snifter of his favorite beverage.

"Would you mind if I had a smoke with this whiskey?" he asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one of his jacket's inside pockets.

"No, of course not. I was about to have one myself." Onna picked up a pack of her own from her desk, and a lighter, too. "I see that we have similar tastes," she said as she lit both of their cigarettes. Jason nodded his appreciation, and took a look out the long window to his left. He spied an ashtray sitting on the banister.

"Mind if we go outside?" Onna nodded, and lead the way outside. Jason took a deep drag off the end of his cigarette, or "death stick" as they so lovingly referred, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He had most certainly felt the Force move through her, and didn't quite know how to react to that. Normally, as far as usual Brotherhood operations went, was that if he came across another user of the Force, he would simply cut them down. But, this woman didn't carry a dangerous air about her, and didn't seem inclined to attack him. Not to mention that her powers were really limited. As if she had once been powerful, but then, suddenly, forgot how to use them.

However, she beat him to the punch. "What brings you back to Coronet?"

"Business," he replied, taking off his ratty cap and stuffing it into a back pocket.

"Personal or professional?"

"Personal. But, I don't feel like sharing too much about that."

"Can't say I blame you." Suddenly, the commanding attitude she had carried before had evaporated, left with a sense of world-weary contentedness. "Trust isn't what it used to be, especially around here. What, with Sal-Solo being president and all."

"Yeah, I've heard about him," Jason replied, joining Onna to lean against the railing. He took another drag and flicked the ashes over the side of the building. "Related to Han Solo, right? Cousin, or something like that?"

"Cousin indeed. Though, for as untrustworthy as Solo had been during his smuggling days, his cousin is much more so. I don't know how he got elected in the first place."

The conversation went silent for a minute or so, both of them looking out at the Corellian night over the tops of the surrounding buildings. Jason finished his cigarette before Onna and lit himself another before taking a sip of his whiskey.

"So..." he began, still trying to gather his thoughts. "Just out of curiosity, what do you know about the Force?" This startled Onna for a moment. He would never have known, however, without the aid of the Force, because her posture didn't show any reaction to his question.

"Are you a philosopher of some sort?" she asked, finishing her smoke and flicking the butt out into the street below. She quickly drained the contents of her glass and set it on a small, low-sitting table behind her.

"Of some sort," Jason replied, turning to face her. "I only ask because I felt something...peculiar back in the alley."

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" Onna asked, her voice low and dangerous as she turned an angry look on Jason.

"After a fashion," he responded. He had an internal debate about showing her his lightsaber, and decided that it might be an interesting conversation piece, if anything. "But, not of the same stream that Luke Skywalker churns out on Yavin. I hail to a different calling."

"So, a Sith then." Onna's voice was only minutely less suspicious than before, but not a whole lot.

"Not precisely." Jason reached behind him and pulled his lightsaber from its' secret hiding place on his back, and watched Onna recoil visibly at the sight of his weapon. "Don't worry, I'm not going to decapitate you. I am Jason Hunter, Prelate of the Obelisk Order of the Brotherhood of Dark Jedi. I do, however, disagree with a few key teachings of my fellows, especially with those who use the Force to strike down random people who look at them funny. I may be a Dark Jedi, but I'm one of the nicer ones."

"Good to hear." Her voice was a little shaky now, still unnerved at the sight of a lightsaber. However, a split-second later, she regained control of herself and became much more calm. "I guess you were right in asking what I know of the Force. But, I don't want to talk about this in the open, so I think we should go back indoors."

"Probably a good idea," Jason agreed, quickly hiding his lightsaber in one of his jacket pockets. He cast a cursory glance at the buildings around them, probing outwards with his senses, but didn't feel anyone watching or listening to them. He took a drag from his cigarette and followed his feline escort back inside.

"I can feel the flow of the Force," Onna said, once she had closed the door behind them. "But, I don't know why, and I can't really use it too well. It's almost like I used to be a Jedi, but the power was violently stripped from me years ago...almost more like I forgot how to use the Force."

Her statement went along with he had already felt from her: an almost endless well of potential, but a very limited grasp of it. As if the Force was water that filled up a massive physical well, but the rope that held the bucket that was used to remove it was too short.

"I agree. I can feel that much from you. I can't say that I know what it's like, but I can say that I offer my services to help you find it again. I'm not against helping fellow Force-sensitives find their way to the Force. Just so long as they use that power for, at least mostly, unselfish reasons."

"You don't sound like the typical Dark Jedi," Onna said, smiling again with some amusement.

"I used to be," Jason replied, taking his lightsaber out of the pocket and looking at it. "But, I spent a bit of time at Skywalker's Academy, and learned new things. I now take a much wider look at the Force. To me, it's not polarized like the Jedi preach it is. The Force can be used for evil, as much as it can be used for good. 'Dark' and 'Light' are merely the limitations that we, as sentient beings, put to it."

"Interesting philosophy."

"I spend some time studying the different schools of Force usage."

"So, why are you really here?"

"I come seeking answers to a heritage that I had never known about before. Skywalker gave me a disk with some...uh, interesting information on it."

"I see." Onna began to pace a little, and apparently decided that she needed another drink. She poured herself another glass of Whyren's Reserve and took a couple of sips before turning back to Jason. "I want to come with you."

This took him as a surprise. He could feel his eyes widening with the shock. "Why?"

"Because I don't know anything about my past, and I desperately want to find out why, and what I did before I lost my memory."

"So...you've got some amnesia, or something?"

"That's what I'm told," she said, walking back to Jason. She swirled the whiskey around the glass, looking at it with a kind of interest. "I feel echoes of it, though. Like, before I lost my memory, my life was marked by a darkness, and that my last moments of knowing were anguish and fear. And I want to know why. Maybe...we can help each other learn about our pasts?"

"I have no issue with that," Jason responded, nodding slightly. What am I getting myself into? His mind flashed with a series of possible outcomes for this partnership, but they all came down to, simply, that this is what the Force willed it to be.

"Good." Her feline lips curled with a smile. "Shall we start in the morning, then?"

"The morning it is. I'll be back at around oh-seven-hundred, and we'll head over to my father's house."

"Where are you going to stay?" she inquired.

"I was just going to go curl up in my speeder."

"No, I can't have that. You'll stay here tonight."

"What, in the warehouse? Another room?"

"No, in here. Will you be alright on the couch?"

"Oh, absolutely. I don't want to impose, though."

"Oh, no problem." Onna then turned and went to a small cabinet and removed a couple of blankets. When she returned, she handed them to Jason. "After all, if we're going to being working together, we might as well learn how to live with each other, right?"

"Right," said Jason, taking the blankets and looking over at the long couch against a wall. "Well, start our mutual search in the morning then."

"Yes, I look forward to it."

(well that is it fr now, I will have the next chapter posted soon! Please read and review!

And if you would like o visit the website I have on my profile, enter the # 974 to view my Dossier! The Dark-Side welcomes you...)