Chapter Three: Unfriendly Territory
Darth Zash was bathed in an emerald glow from the lightsaber that Reyenna had liberated from the young Cathar Jedi. She moved the blade slowly through the air, studying it and listening to its hum as if to another language.
"A consular's blade," she observed.
"Is it powerful?" Reyenna asked.
"Not particularly," Zash said. "Consulars are the intellectuals of the Jedi. Healers, seers, researchers. They study the mysteries of the Force. Relics and secrets from the ancient times. Powers that most Jedi and Sith never even contemplate. How appropriate that you ended up with such a weapon."
She deactivated it and handed it to Reyenna.
"I'm less impressed with how you came by it," Zash added.
"The Cathar Jedi was more skilled than me," Reyenna admitted. "Her weakness was her concern for her friend."
"But if your Da'Shade hadn't arrived, you would be dead. Or worse, a prisoner. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Harkun neglected basic combat training. But I have no use for a weak apprentice."
Reyenna felt her temper surge. "I am no weakling!"
"You can't hold your own against a Jedi barely out of the Academy. How is that anything other than weakness?"
Reyenna's anger took on a will of its own. Before she could stop herself, she had reached out for her Master, knocking Zash back against the wall. She lifted her by the throat, as if throttling her with an invisible fist.
Zash's eyes flicked calmly downward, and the invisible grip shattered. The Sith Lord extended her arms, staying aloft in midair, and hurtled purple lightning. Reyenna somersaulted left, narrowly avoiding her Master's bolts. She drew up to a crouch, activating the lightsaber. Her eyes darted around the chamber, glancing at the door. It was directly in Zash's line of sight, but if she could find a way to distract her, then she might be able to survive long enough to escape.
And then…? If Zash had turned against her, how long could she survive on Dromund Kaas?
Zash laughed. Not an angry or mocking laugh, but a sound of delight. She lowered herself to the ground, her arms falling back to her sides.
Reyenna remained in her defensive posture, but Zash showed no signs of further attack. After a moment, Reyenna deactivated the lightsaber.
"You provoked me deliberately," she said.
"I did," Zash acknowledged. "Too easily, I might add. Passion is power when it serves you. When you serve it, then it's just another weakness. We will fix your weaknesses, apprentice. Starting today, we will identify and annihilate every one of them."
A door opened at the far wall. It had been so perfectly concealed that Reyenna had mistaken it for simply another part of the wall. A human in Sith robes entered. He was small and unassuming in stature, but power emanated from him.
He glanced at Reyenna. "Is this the one?" His voice was mild, utterly emotionless.
Zash nodded. "Reyenna Desme, meet Zain Quelrak. For now, your days will be spent with him. You will treat his commands as if they came from the Emperor himself, and any disobedience of him will be punished with absolute severity."
Zain made a slow circle around Reyenna, his blue eyes focused intently on her. His lips formed a thin, bloodless smirk.
"A powerful Force connection," he said. "Your mind is sharp, but you lack focus. Your mind spills every though and emotion. Willfulness… Fear… Ambition... and layers of pure rage." A pale pink tongue flicked from his mouth, licking his upper lip. "A promising combination."
"She needs blade training as much as Force training," Zash said.
"She'll get it." Zain leaned in, almost whispering in Reyenna's ear. "But first we will break you down. They made you work back in the mines, didn't they? That's good. Because I'm going to work you just as hard."
At first glance, the Mandalorian Enclave seemed an odd inclusion in Kaas City's Citadel. The Mandalorians were not Imperial citizens. They did not submit themselves to Imperial law, or any law but their own. As a rule, the Empire was not welcoming to those who displayed defiance.
The Empire was still more fragile than it pretended, however, and the Mandalorians had played a critical role in its rebirth. Mandalorians had assisted the inexperienced Imperial generals with training and coordination of the attacks and had supplemented Imperial numbers. Without that support, the simultaneous assault on the Korriban listening post and on Coruscant that had so badly shattered the Republic's spirit? It would never have succeeded.
The Empire never officially recognized their role, trumpeting the Occupation of Coruscant as evidence of their own superiority. But when the Citadel was constructed, the westernmost portion was given to these unacknowledged allies. Within their Enclave, the Mandalorians enjoyed full sovereignty - an arrangement that even the Dark Council had respected.
As she and Zarek passed into the Enclave, Mako gazed around eagerly at every walkway and support beam. "Think of the hunters who've walked here before us," she gasped.
"Please don't recite the names of all the past champions," Zarek pleaded.
Mako ducked her head with embarrassment, but she also continued staring about in wonder. She continued to walk purposefully, though, following the directions her implants provided. They went through an archway, then a door. Turned left down a short hall, then down a short flight of stairs.
Mako slowed as they approached a middle-aged woman, who was talking entirely too loudly with a helmeted figure.
"…and then I told him, 'You think that's cold? You should see what I did to the Gamorrean!"
The woman broke off, cackling. The helmeted man stood impassively, evidently less amused by the story than the teller was.
Zarek stepped forward. "Crysta Markon?"
The woman looked up at him. "That's me, big guy." She smiled flirtatiously. "What can I do for you?"
Mako cleared her throat. "We are here for the Great Hunt." Full emphasis on the first word. "We've been sponsored by Nem'ro the Hutt."
"Partners, eh?" She took in Mako's cybernetics. "I'm guessing you're tactical?"
"Something like that," Mako replied.
Zarek cut in. "When do we start the Hunt?" he asked impatiently. Crysta was clearly a talker, and he was not interested in conversation.
Crysta frowned. "Well..." She dragged that one word out for at least three syllables. "You're probably not going to like what I'm about to tell you, but there's nothing I can do about it. Understand? It's just the way it is."
Zarek's body tensed. "What is it?" If Nem'ro had double-crossed him and cut them out of the Hunt, then he would fly right back to Hutta and strangle the overgrown slug with his own tail.
"There are a limited number of spots for non-Mandos in the Hunt," Crysta said. "Lots of hunters want in, and the toughest and smartest can usually find sponsors. Lots of competitors, only a few open slots. It's a problem that gets worse with each new Hunt."
Zarek clenched his fists. He had to force himself not to shout at the woman to get to the point.
Mako's eyes darted to him. "So what's the solution?" she asked.
"The Mandos call it 'The Grand Melee.' The sponsored hunters are broken into five groups and fight for the opening. The one who's left standing gets into the Hunt. This year, there are three dozen sponsred hunters on the books. Though it's looking like it'll be less in reality. A few hunters haven't shown up, and others have gotten themselves into fights with the city guard. That's good news for you, since it'll up your odds a little."
Taro Blood. Zarek wondered just how many Imperials were on his payroll. He and Mako would need to be extremely careful. As long as they were here, they would be targets.
"So we fight for the spot?" Zarek guessed.
Crysta nodded. "It's supposed to be seven hunters to a group, but all the incidents will shave that down. You'll still probably have to beat at least four others, though."
Zarek grunted. It wasn't ideal, but there was nothing he could do to change it.
"Rules?" he asked.
"The Hunters go into a circle, 100 square meters. One Hunter for each team. You go in unarmed. No weapons, no armor, no tricks or toys – just you. If you get knocked down or pushed out of the circle, you're done. If your partner helps you, you're done. No other rules. The last man standing wins."
"Why keep it a secret?" Mako asked.
"If people knew about it, we'd start attracting fighters instead of hunters. It'd turn the whole thing into a sideshow. We make sure everyone knows that if they talk about the Melee, every Mandalorian in the galaxy will go after them. No one's been dumb enough to talk yet."
Zarek processed the information. One more barrier. A few years ago, he would have had no doubts about his ability to win the Melee. Now he would need to prepare.
"When does this take place?" he asked.
"Thirteen days," Crysta replied. "Huntmaster extended it to allow some Mandos hiding in Republic space to participate. But in just shy of two weeks, the Melee happens and then the Hunt begins. Anyone not here by then is out, Mando or not."
"Anyplace I can train?" Zarek asked. "I'd rather not use an Imperial facility. They're pretty jumpy about aliens."
"Particularly with someone stacking the deck?" Crysta grinned at their reactions. "I know how I talk, but I ain't no dummy." Crysta turned to Mako. "Your message ID? Easier for me to send you the route to the gym than to tell it to you."
Mako provided her ID. Crysta pulled out her PADD and pressed the screen.
"Got it," Mako said. She turned to Zarek. "Bottom floor. No lift – We have to take the stairs. A lot of stairs."
"Stairs are good cardio," Crysta said. "Mandos don't mess around with their workouts," She flashed another grin. "Train hard, big guy. This isn't going to be easy."
Arkarix Krell had no difficulty finding the hangar where Darth Baras's "delivery" was to be unloaded. He arrived at the hangar a full hour before the scheduled time. He used that interval to complete a full circuit of the building, both inside and out. He sensed awe and fear from the workers, who did their best to avoid looking at him. He opened his mind, probing them for signs of disloyalty or betrayal. He sensed nothing of substance - just fear.
The hangar where the delivery was to occur was a largely open space, with little potential for concealment. A storage closet, which held only cleaning supplies. Some lockers. They were too small to hold a man, though an Ugnaught or Jawa could just about fit, as could various devices. Krell opened each locker. They were all empty.
Crates were stacked in the northwest corner. He walked closer to them. The containers went all the way to the wall, and were stacked halfway to the ceiling. He tested three on the bottom row, and a few additional crates higher up the stack. Every crate he tried was sealed tight. He probed the stack with his Force senses. No life-forms lurked in any of them.
It was almost time for the ship to arrive. Krell hid himself in the storage closet. He stayed in place even after the transport settled, using his senses to monitor the unloading of the package. There was no sign of any intruder.
Commander Lanklyn must be the officer directing the unloading. Krell was not impressed. After he ordered the workers out, he returned to the transport and stood with his back to both the storage closet and the outside entrance, effectively blinding himself to the two most likely directions for an attack. The man was clearly intent on speed rather than alertness. Probably impatient to visit the local cantina.
"All right, men!" Lanklyn barked. "Let's hurry up and get this to its owner."
Krell slipped silently out of his hiding place. He approached Lanklyn, unnoticed by the man or the workers, who were struggling to attach antigrav units to a large, coffin-sized crate. The Sith moved closer, step by step.
He cleared his throat loudly. Lanklyn jumped, and one of the workers was startled into dropping the antigrav unit he was trying to secure.
"M-my Lord." Lanklyn bowed. "I didn't see you enter."
"So I noticed," Krell replied dryly. "If I was an enemy, you would all be dead."
He let his contempt drip from his voice. Lanklyn seemed suitably rattled. The worker's hand shook as he picked the antigrav device off the floor and made a second attempt at attaching it.
"I am Arkarix Krell, apprentice to Darth Baras. He wanted me to supervise this delivery. Now I understand why."
This injured Lanklyn's pride enough for him to protest. "This is Dromund Kaas, the capital world of the Empire. This is friendly territory!"
Krell froze him with a glare of pure ice. "There is no such thing as friendly territory," he said firmly. "When you work for Lord Baras, you will bear that in mind."
Lanklyn drew sharply to attention. "Yes, my Lord. We'll get this delivered straight to your Master." He glanced sharply at the clumsy worker. "Is that damn thing on yet?"
"Y-yes, sir!" the man replied.
"Then let's go."
At that moment, a blaster bolt hit the floor directly in front of Lanklyn. Krell turned. Somehow, h had not felt the attacker's approach.
"Not so fast!" The harsh voice echoed around the hangar.
Krell still couldn't sense the assailant, which should have been impossible. He forced his mind away from that, however, focusing on the voice. On differentiating the original sound from the echoes.
"Everyone step away from the box. Kindly cooperate, and no one will have to die today."
Lanklyn's men backed away without hesitation, but the commander stood his ground. Well, at least he wasn't a coward, Krell reflected.
"I'll never doubt Lord Baras again," Lanklyn whispered.
Krell's eyes darted around the hangar. He could tell the assailant was northwest of them. The crates he had dismissed earlier. A well-selected dummy crate, which the man had hidden inside. He must have arrived even earlier than Krell. The entire time he had searched the hangar, the intruder's eyes had been on him.
Never mind that. He was in a crate. Now to pinpoint which one...
"What do we do, my Lord?" Lanklyn asked.
Krell raised his chin and spoke loudly, making sure the intruder could hear. "We kill!"
The man hadn't started by shooting. Probably nervous about shooting the crate - Which meant he was not a marksman. Even if he opened fire now, Krell thought he had a fair chance of deflecting the shot. And if he was foolish enough to keep talking...
He was foolish enough. "I can see you're Sith, stranger, but your bravado is ill-advised."
Center row, on the right but not quite all the way to the wall. One of four possible crates. Krell began advancing to that area.
"I am going to kill you!" he announced. "I will eat you raw, and I will pick my teeth clean with your bones!"
He glared straight at the four containers and drew his lightsaber.
The attacker fired, revealing his exact location. A panicked, wild shot. Krell didn't even bother deflecting it, he just stood and let the bolt fly past him. Then he raised a hand and yanked with his mind. He couldn't sense the man, and so couldn't act against him... but the crate was another matter.
He sent it flying across the room. It struck the opposite wall before tumbling to the floor. Then he tore it open, peeling it with his lightsaber like it was a tin can.
The man inside was dead, neck broken from the impact with either the wall or floor. He was wearing a thin fabric that covered him head to toe. Even the eyes were covered. The fabric there was thin enough for him to see, but still an impediment. Probably the reason for the poor shooting.
Krell stripped the garment away. The attacker was a human, young, ordinary. Without the fabric, Krell could sense the corpse as easily as the rest of the room.
He photographed the body with his PADD, then used the screen to scan his fingerprints. A mercenary, no doubt, of no real importance. More interesting was the garment that had shielded him from Krell's Force senses. It was as light as a jacket. Krell rolled it into a ball and tucked it under his arm. Darth Baras could study it, and hopefully find a flaw in its design.
He turned back to Lanklyn, whose face was white with shock at Krell's display of power.
"We seem to have averted an attempted hijacking," Krell observed. "Shall we deliver the package and report?"
Lanklyn swallowed thickly, nodded. To his credit, his color was already returning. Krell decided he would not report the commander's lax security. Baras might punish him fatally, and that would be a waste. He had courage, and today's lesson would make him a better asset in the future.
"Let's go," Krell said. "Darth Baras will be waiting."