Reckless

- Vrook Lamar -


Reckless.

It was a character trait I had little time for. An impatience that exhibited a lack of mental discipline – the assuaging of one's desires at the expense of studying the larger design. A bit like allowing one's temper to win: sure, there was visceral satisfaction at first, that heady feeling of triumph- right before reality broke in to slap one over the head with the consequences.

Up until now, recklessness had never been an emotional weakness of mine. I'd more or less prided myself on it.

My fingers were encased in the sound-dampening material of a starpilot's envirosuit. I tapped them against the dash regardless, inordinately irritated at the lack of noise the motion provided.

Recklessness was one of the many traits I'd always damned Revan Freeflight for. Ah, but that comparison burned. Recklessness, overconfidence, and an uncanny knack for landing on her feet that so many damn idiots labelled as luck.

Yet, what could I call my own behaviour right now, if not reckless?

...

"We will enter hyperspace the moment Admiral Gant's fleet arrives in this sector," Forn Dodonna relayed, her lined face folding in a frown as she scrolled through a data-feed on her command table. "General Adashan's fleet has already jumped from Trandosha. He may reach the Star Forge before us, but if he does, it shall only be for a time measured in minutes rather than hours."

Davis Tar'coya harrumphed, shooting me a suspicious glare before turning his black gaze on Dodonna. Ach, but the commodore's consistent resentment of Humans and Jedi both was more than a little tiresome. "And the intercepted comms?" Tar'coya growled.

"Changes nothing," Dodonna clipped out, not even lifting her head. "Malak may know of our advance, but at this proximity we shall reach his stronghold before much of his armada can be successfully recalled. He has over-extended himself across the breadth of the galaxy, under the assumption he would have enough warning should we learn the location of his base. Once Darth Malak and his Star Forge are finished, the remnants of the Sith Empire shall either scatter or yield."

I could hear the burn of disappointment in the greying Admiral's voice, for all that she tried to conceal it. Republic Intelligence was widely regarded, and the discovery that our tactical comms – along with the manifest of command detail – was intercepted directly after delivery had been a hard one to swallow.

Darth Malak will soon know who is leading the Republic vanguard. And who the advisors are.

The thought was acid in my heart. For Malak would waste no time in relaying it to his captive, and I could only imagine his delight in telling Bastila Shan that her master travelled to aid in the destruction of her prison. Of her.

Decades of emotional control should have prepared me for such a bitter scenario. But it didn't.

With a half-choked harrumph that made me sound like even more of an old fool than I was, I muttered a weak excuse for departure and stalked out of Dodonna's strat room.

Bastila. What must you be thinking of me?

All of this damn foolhardy plan, from the minute Galdea had suggested it over the comatose body of a broken Sith Lord, had done nothing but set Bastila Shan up to fail. To fall. No one put the interests of my young, gifted padawan first – not when the likes of Revan and Malak were involved. And now...

There was a thump of a walking stick hobbling behind me.

"What?" I snapped in irritation, as I strode down a restricted corridor of the Meridus. A passing lieutenant threw me a glance of surprise, before diverting his attention to the short figure travelling in my wake. With a mumbled greeting, the Republic officer hurried away.

"Heavy, your heart is," Vandar murmured behind me. "Despair-"

"Spare me your platitudes of the Force, Vandar," I grumbled, even as I paused so he could catch up. I didn't particularly feel like listening to Vandar Tokare, but striding away under the power of my longer limbs seemed a disrespect beneath me. Besides, I knew Vandar. He'd find a way to speak his piece.

"Vrook." The centuries-old Jedi Master sighed as he stepped close. "Both a challenge and a heartache is training a padawan. More for the master than the youngling. You know this."

Aye, I did, and it was part of the reason I had delayed so long before choosing my one and only padawan. Vandar, in contrast, had trained many. But the creaky sadness in his voice told me he was thinking on his last. His failure.

At least I knew my old padawan still lived.

"She'll see this as a betrayal."

"Understand the sacrifices of war, Bastila Shan surely does-"

"Bah! She's spent weeks as a prisoner of a Sith Lord, Vandar. You can't expect me to believe her judgment isn't skewed by now."

He paused, bright blue eyes staring at me steadily. "What will you do?"

That question, right there, set my heart burning. Vandar had sensed my desire earlier, the reckless urge to race out in my scoutship, track down Bastila myself seeing as no else gave a damn about her-

But caution had quickly curtailed that. If Malak captures me, I'll be used against her. What did that matter, now, when all Bastila would see was me advising the Republic front to destroy her?

She'll fall. I knew my padawan well. She was a good woman, who had been protected for much of her young life. I'd been adamant Bastila Shan would not receive accelerated training the likes of which Revan and Malak had, but the war had thrust her into the limelight anyway, with less preparation than was wise. Bastila yearned for acknowledgment, and that was not something I had ever been good at granting.

What would Kylah Aramai's betrayal have done to her?

The thought of Bastila truly falling, devolving into one of Malak's Dark Jedi, blackened my soul with self-recriminations and unyielding despair. I'd never fully appreciated the internal self-doubt that Karon and Zhar and even Vandar exhibited after their apprentices sunk to such depths, but I was beginning to.

"I don't know," I said heavily. Dashing off in my scoutship was a fool's game, I knew that. The Force might enable me to fly a starship with pre-cognizance and skill beyond a normal starpilot, but I could not hope to slip through whatever armada Malak had stationed outside his fortress. Not in a Republic scoutship. My only chance of infiltration would be-

My breath hitched.

-in a Sith ship.

...

The console of the snubfighter blinked at me, counting down the minutes until hyperspace exit. The cockpit was large enough for two, and behind was a small room jammed full of supplies and a closet refresher. Some snubs were offensive craft only; not designed for hyper-travel, but rather a supporting limb of a larger starship's arsenal.

This was an Aurek-class, a snubfighter that had its own internal hyperdrive, a model that had been in production for many decades. I'd flown Aurek-class fighters before. A fair swathe of them had been manufactured for the Republic, and they were still being built today. This one, in particular, had been around since the dawn of the Mandalorian Wars, and no doubt seen more than its fair share of the frontlines.

Of course, it had been retro-fitted since then.

...

"I got every grunt studying this thing, ever since we got our interdiction back online," the head engineer commented, his large blue eyes swivelling around to survey the diagnostics. One limp forearm indicated the underbelly of the common Republic ship. "The stealth tech's wheedled into the thrusters and sublight drive both, so the ship can be well-cloaked at any speed barring a hyper-jump. It's easy enough to activate, too, but understanding the tech's a different skillet of scalefish."

I tried to ignore the ethics of using mild Force persuasion on the Ithorian. The snubfighter in question sat in one of the smaller repair bays of the Meridus, docked and clamped one bay along from my very own scoutship.

"Understanding it- so it won't be an easy task to replicate this technology?" I kept my voice mild and non-threatening, with the slightest hint of Force adding gravity to my words. I didn't like this sort of intel-gathering, but ever since the thought had flashed through my head-

The Meridus captured two of Saul Karath's stealthed snubs. Two of the original six that had targeted the Meridus' gravity-wells.

-it kept taunting me with possibility. Five hours estimated until Gant's fleet would arrive, and then Dodonna would order the jump to hyperspace. Five hours for me to decide on a stupid, reckless course of action that was entirely uncharacteristic.

Yet all I could think of was Bastila. I'd worried that if I took the insane route, I'd end up being used as a means to twist her further. But what if the opposite were true? What if the one thing that might adhere her to the light was witnessing her master risk everything for her safety?

The Ithorian engineer snorted. "Honestly? I reckon it'll take years. Look, we've snagged this tech before, but never undamaged – so this last week's been a real eye-opener, and let me tell ya we ain't even scraped the surface. The OS of the stealth mod is coded in a language we can't crack. The power source of the cloak is a bio-mineral I ain't never seen before. And when ya add in the fact that we've seen the Sith use this tech on an' off for at least a year – but only ever on a handful of their marks – well. I'd lay my creds on them not being able to mass-produce it either."

The engineer's drawling commentary certainly raised an interesting assumption or two. Republic tactical command had encountered cloaked Sith starships before, but only sporadically. That such a massive advantage hadn't been reproduced throughout Darth Malak's fleet indicated the technology was still emerging, difficult to implement, and likely available from only one source.

The Star Forge.

The snub that rested so innocently before me must have visited Darth Malak's stronghold before. And it was housed right next to my scoutship. I had full clearance to open the airlock of this minor repair bay and depart at my leisure. I was under no oath to remain- frankly, some of the brass would be happy to see my back.

My eyes burned as I stared at the Sith snub. What more of a sign from the Force do I need?

I cleared my throat. "Any plans to use this ship in the offensive against the Sith?"

My mind was reeling with a mounting excitement that was as unfamiliar as it was dizzying. But if Dodonna fancied some sort of battle tactic utilizing this spoil of war, then the one sure way to stoke her ire was to sneak this very ship out from underneath her nose.

Last thing I needed was for the Republic brass to distrust the Jedi Order even more. Still, after Atris Surik's shattering revelation to the Senate, it was hard to know if relations could get any worse. While I didn't entirely blame Atris for relaying Dantooine's misguided and highly contentious actions regarding Darth Revan, the fact that she decided to inform the Republic Senate before the Coruscanti Jedi surely said something of fractures within the High Council itself.

The Ithorian's eyelids drooped in confusion. "Eh, I doubt it. What can a single snubfighter do? Nah, this is our chance to study the tech, man! I'll be gassed if they don't send this snub off to one of our bases before the jaunt into hyperspace."

What can a single snubfighter do? What can a single person achieve?

A lot, if the Force was with them.

...

Have faith. Vandar's last words to me, after he'd found me standing alone in the repair bay, internally warring with myself. And may the Force be with you.

It hadn't taken much to convince the engineers to take a break; the Ithorian, for all his enthusiasm, had just about burnt himself out studying Karath's elite snubfighter. All sentients needed sleep, sooner or later.

Vandar had hummed, then; his bright blue eyes dancing over the Aurek-class snub before resting on my scoutship. He said nothing more, merely turned on his heel and left the repair bay in silence.

He'd known. I wasn't sure if it was simple deduction or if the old bat had skimmed my thoughts - and I wouldn't put that sort of sly snooping past him. Too many saw Vandar Tokare as nothing more than a wrinkled old coot who knew nothing past the philosophies of the Jedi. He was an easy one to underestimate.

I'd acted quickly, the unfamiliar recklessness spurring me on, as I readied the repair bay for the supposed departure of my scoutship. I hadn't risked refuelling the Sith ship – the readouts, at least, claimed the tank had enough reserves for a week in hyperspace. Another sign from the Force, or maybe that was purely my own scrabbling for justification. One could see the Force's hand in just about anything – and while Vandar liked to prescribe to that philosophy, I was too cynical to allow it as an excuse from personal responsibility.

One sole transmission from the Meridus had reached me, a handful of seconds after I'd cleared the external airlock.

::Halt! Unknown starpilot, we will open fire-::

I'd shot into hyperspace, likely just as they were scrabbling to activate the interdiction drive. Dodonna was going to flay me alive.

And, now, here I was. Truly alone in space, acting like a reckless idiot.

It felt right, though. For the first time in what seemed like forever, my mind was focused and fixed on one clear objective only. The Republic could take care of the Star Forge and Darth Malak – or maybe blasted, broken Revan Freeflight will, if Vandar turns out to be right yet again – but I was heading for Bastila.

I'd failed to protect her from the frontlines. Failed to stem the exploitation of her gift in the name of the greater good. Failed to shield her from the deception and treachery of her closest peer- one I should have seen through back on Dantooine.

I would not, could not, fail Bastila again.

Attachment. I knew well what the Jedi ethos had to say, being one of the staunchest critics of individual attachment myself. Deep, intense emotions directed at singular individuals were fraught with risk: jealousy, resentment, anger, betrayal- all of these feelings were dangerous to one who could reach the Force. All could tempt one down dark paths that would forever throw shadows over one's future.

A Jedi pulled back from individual attachment, and practiced unconditional love for the many. Everyone was tempted towards unbalanced feelings for others, but someone who truly embraced the Force in the light could rise beyond that, and have the judgment to see all of life as something worth preserving equally.

But Bastila was my padawan, and I had more than just an obligation to her. I cared for the young woman, the closest thing I had to a daughter. I could not ignore her.

I'd rejected a different attachment, once, and spent my life denying the regret it had brought me. Even now, the familiar heaviness still weighed on my heart. I was a servant of the Force, and considered myself blessed for it, but even I had dark moments when I wondered just what sort of life the Force had cost me.

If I closed my eyes, I could still see the flash of a young woman, wild brown hair aloft in the wind, a yearning loneliness in her soul that called to me-

...

She was sitting atop the crumbling stone wall, legs swinging idly as the warm breeze rifled through the strands of her loose hair. It had once been a ritual, where every Baker's Day we'd meet. Ours was as an innocent friendship between two very different souls, and I couldn't even admit to myself how much I treasured it.

That was before.

Now, she turned up rarely. But my feet still traipsed the same trail twice a week, every Baker's Day, one hour before the noon feast. Each time I noted her absence on that derelict wall, my heart would skip a painful beat.

Now it was racing.

I deliberately made my footsteps audible, and saw the slight cock of her head when she heard my approach.

"Bored again?" I asked, striving for a light tone as I vaulted the stonework. This part of Dantooine was dotted with forgotten ruins, marks of civilization long abandoned. Acidic renni-grass grew dominant here, a consequence of land tilled into near-barrenness. Other than the wild kath hounds, the only life to be found on these empty plains was the odd wandering Jedi.

"Yeah." She threw me a guarded smile that only served to illustrate the awkwardness between us. "I've sat through enough history lessons today, no matter what Nomi says. Though from the way she laps it up, you'd think she was Force-sensitive herself."

I didn't miss the twist of sibling resentment in her voice. Oh, there was no doubt Nayama adored her older sister, but she was envious all the same. Nomi was strikingly lovely, and had a sweet temperament coupled with a mettle of morality that made near-all admire her.

It was easy to understand Nayama's ill-feeling. Her sister had bagged a powerful Jedi one step away from ascending to knighthood. While Nayama, in contrast, was merely a Force-blind teenager stuck on a planet full of mystics. She would have been better off boarding with a nearby farm, but it was her ties to Nomi that kept her ensconced in the enclave – and Nomi was too busy proving herself as a pillar of strength to her new husband rather than a hindrance.

And where did that leave Nayama? Jealous and bored and with nothing tangible in her life – all because of her attachment to her sister.

Attachments are dangerous. That is why Jedi break from family. That is why Jedi love all unconditionally, rather than singular individuals. That was why Nomi's marriage should never have been permitted.

I lowered myself next to Nayama, allowing my gaze to slip to her out-stretched hand. Long fingers, lean and wiry like the rest of her, twitching with the desire to do something.

She withdrew her hand swiftly into her lap.

The heat of embarrassment scoured my face, even as I damned myself for the lack of emotional control.

"Why are you here, then?" she asked, her voice abrupt and cool. "Bored from all your Jedi training?"

My mind flashed with a traitorous what-if. That day, when she'd reached out to clasp my hand, a shy invitation warming her brown gaze- what if, instead of snatching my limb away and dove-tailing into a stuttering discourse regarding Jedi and attachments, instead I'd curled my fingers around hers-

Then I'd be making as much a mockery of the Jedi Code as Andur Sunrider is. More, even. Nayama is barely more than a girl, and a good eight cycles younger than me. She is as innocent as a sunrise, and as lonely as a desert. She deserves a man who can be her everything.

"I wanted to- to talk to you," I said, stumbling over the words. "I, ah, I have something to tell you."

I didn't warm to people easily. Never had. The Force had bloomed in me young, and I could barely remember a time before Dantooine. Understanding the mysteries of the Jedi Order was the driving purpose in my life, and that had always been enough.

"So, talk." Nayama was looking ahead, profile turned from me, as she watched something in the distant hills. I longed for the easiness of our past, even as I accepted it was long gone.

She'd been here for near-on a year, now. I still recalled the flurry of excitement when dashing Andur Sunrider had returned, with his outspoken master and the two sisters in tow. Force-blind nulls, a few of the more acerbic Jedi muttered, as they cast a suspicious eye over the enclave-sanctioned marriage between Andur and Nomi.

Somehow, Nayama and I had fallen in together. Maybe it was a shared loneliness- but I hadn't truly thought I was afflicted by that sort of heartache. Deliberate solitude did not equate to loneliness- I'd always told myself that. I only knew it for a lie after that fateful day, when Nayama retreated from our friendship, hurt pride and insecurity simmering behind a mask of poorly-built indifference.

You are lovely. The words stayed lodged in my head. I would choose you, if the Force had not chosen me. Ach, but I'd never been good with words. And why would she accept them, when the likes of Andur Sunrider had thrown caution to the wind, and found victory in doing so? When his master spoke out against our established ethos, proclaiming that the Order had forgotten the old ways, that once Jedi did not eschew attachment but embraced it instead?

There were enough rumblings of discontent from the Council, but so far the Sunrider marriage seemed to be surviving the fallout. I wasn't sure I would have that sort of strength.

"I'm leaving for Coruscant." The words came out in a rush, twisted as the grimace that sat on my lips. "For padawan training. In ten days."

Her stifled gasp pulled at something in my chest. She still cared; a little, at least.

"P-padawan training? But- you are a padawan!" Nayama had jerked to face me, wide-set eyes hot with emotion. It gave her an exotic look, I'd always thought. Nomi might be the classical beauty, but there was something wild and free about Nayama that drew my gaze.

"Yes." I shrugged uncomfortably, looking down. "There's not enough masters here, Nayama. They're sending the more experienced padawans away."

How could I explain Jedi politics to her? Andur and Nomi's marriage had ruffled tempers in the Core, where the more conservative masters frowned at the liberties Dantooine so often took, and worried over the padawans trained here. And it was true, we were bottom-heavy in the ranks. Another five Force-sensitives had been picked up from the Outer Rim in the last quarter alone, and then there were trouble-makers like the Qel-Droma brats who, frankly, needed at least two masters each just to keep them in check. Whereas I- I hadn't had a dedicated master since Master Yatree left for Coruscant with padawans Karon Enova and Zhar Lestin three years ago.

I didn't want to leave. I'd always disliked Coruscant. While Karon and Zhar were... tolerable, I'd grudgingly admit, I knew next to no-one else there.

"Andur's sitting his knight trials in ten days."

I blinked, jerking back up to meet her gaze. "I- I did not know that."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm not ready, Nayama." Another reason for my transfer. Andur and I had been on Dantooine for the same number of years, but he'd had extensive field training. I was well-aware that the more practical aspects of my Jedi education had fallen short of the mark – and that Coruscant offered more experience and opportunities in that regard.

My stomach turned at the flash of disappointment in her eyes. She moved, once more, to stare into the hills.

"I'll be going too." Her words were so low I barely caught them as the warm breeze stole them away.

"You- you are? Why?"

"Andur has some mission in the Mid Rim once his trials are over. I didn't catch all the details. Not like I really have a choice, anyway." Her distraught sigh softened the edge of bitterness prevalent in her words. "It'll be better when I leave. I think- I think Nomi- she's been worried about me. This place- it's not for me."

I stared, transfixed, at the line of her profile. The curve of her nose tipped up ever-so-slightly at the end. Her hair, the colour of darkened malt, whipped in the wind. I found my gaze lingering over the turn of her face, wondering if this would be the last time I ever saw her.

"That's Exar," she muttered, eyes narrowing.

"What?" I jerked around to the hills that had so captivated her attention, and realized she hadn't been staring blindly at nothing-

The brown-clad figure of a Jedi Knight was stalking purposefully towards us.

Exar Kun. I'd never warmed easily to people, and enigmatic, glib types like Knight Exar least of all. He was the sort who innately knew which words would cut and which would charm, and he used those gifts well. Always with a cool smile on his striking face, while his deep green eyes glimmered with intelligence and his aura shone with barely-checked power.

The Force loved him, and he knew it.

But I certainly didn't expect Nayama to be familiar with him. Sure, I'd seen them in conversation once or twice, but thought nothing of it. Exar was the type of Jedi to use words like null, and I highly doubted he'd ever spend time on the likes of Nayama Da-Boda.

But, as I turned back to observe the pink blush blossoming on her face, I started to wonder if I was wrong.

"Padawan Vrook," Exar called out in greeting. "Friend Nayama."

"Knight," I returned stiffly.

"Exar," Nayama murmured. I must have imagined the breathlessness in her voice. "Are you out showing the kath hounds who's boss again?"

The man gave a lazy chuckle, coming to a halt a few metres from us. "We cannot have predators too close to civilization, my friend." He lingered over the possessive pronoun, and I felt the simmer of malcontent in my gut. The Jedi Code ran through my head instinctively, but it didn't stop my mouth tightening. Green eyes flashed at me, followed by the amused arch of a dark brow. "I am merely trying to comport myself as a Jedi."

I tried to stop the dark flush of embarrassment returning. At least Nayama wouldn't notice my discomfort. She was too busy gazing stupidly at the cocksure man.

"I hear the packs can get quite large, deeper into the hills," Nayama commented. It sounded forced, like she was struggling to find some way to keep the conversation going.

"Not these days." He threw her a wicked smile and, despite myself, I suddenly saw the knight the way a young woman like Nayama must. A tall figure, strong and at ease with himself, lightsabers displaying proudly on a gleaming utility belt. His mop of black curls was matted to his head with sweat, and his olive skin glowed with health. The man looked every inch a warrior, and I tried not to hate him for it.

"You've left your hair unbraided," Exar observed, a cool smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "As wild and untamed as the Dantooine hills."

The pink on Nayama's cheeks deepened, and I knew then I was not imagining anything.

"Are you heading back to the enclave?" I asked, gruff and abrupt, feeling my mood plummet further as Nayama stiffened.

Exar glanced back to me, his gaze darkening with awareness. "Are you looking for an escort, Padawan?" The amusement thrumming in his voice was obvious. "I suppose, even here, the odd kath hound can rear its ugly head. They can be dangerous if you are not prepared."

I scowled at the unjust implication, but Exar had already turned from me, offering an arm of welcome to my companion. I tried to ignore the stab of regret as she stifled a shy giggle and leaned forward to clasp his hand.

...

Nayama didn't bid me farewell from Dantooine. In fact, the next time I saw her was many years later, following in the wake of a man I disliked almost as much as Exar Kun.

The now-grown Nayama, swirling with wild Force, halted my steps. Her hand, intertwined with the runaway padawan I'd resentfully trained with on Coruscant, staggered me into silence.

Jolee Bindo had returned to the Jedi, married to my old friend. Who now shone with the Force, as unexpectedly and brightly as her sister.

::Five minute warning until hyperspace exit.::

The automated alarm from the console wrenched me back to the present. I grimaced. It did no good to dwell on the failures of the past. Nayama was long since dead, and I laid that squarely at the feet of Exar Kun and his innate corruption that had shadowed the galaxy more than a generation ago.

Today, I had a different Sith Lord to elude.

The logs of this vessel had confirmed my suspicions: some months back, an elite six-man squad of Karath's fleet had been sent to the Star Forge. The coordinates had been scrubbed from the logs, but the entry was still earmarked as High Command. It had to be the Forge- which meant this ship's signature would be recognized. Should be recognized. I could only hope my cover story would hold.

The console beeped, an incessant sound that grated. The seconds ticked down as my hands steadied on the controls. With gritted teeth, I slowly eased the snubfighter out of hyperspace.

The minute-long deceleration seemed to take forever. Space-lines of white slowly protracted, before finally- finally- snapping back into real-time.

I had a brief impression of multiple starfighters dotting the black skies in front of me, before a discordant wail screeched throughout the cockpit. The A-236 snub jerked wildly under my grip, and the console lit up in a disarray of flashing alarms. Indecipherable sigils flashed on the screen, before a translation in Galactic Basic appeared beneath:

::Decryption activated.::

The alarm cut off with a whine, the lights blinkered back to normality, and the vessel steadied.

What the blazes was that? No time to puzzle over it, or the foreign symbols, because next followed the lower-pitched beep of starship detection- many upon many, all flickering into friendly green specks on the nav-screen.

Back through the cockpit transparisteel, the sight of the enemy greeted me.

Snubfighters. Strikefighters. Sith warbirds. A vast array of ships, milling around a massive space station that was immediately recognizable from the schematics I had so studied.

Darth Malak's fortress. Darth Revan's discovery. The heart of the Sith Empire. It was colossal, with three elongated fins aimed sharply downwards like a tripod of alien incisors. Sleek snubs assembled near the rise of each tooth, exiting and entering precisely where the plans placed the factory docking bays. Circular trajectories, like three hive minds working in unison, all mobilizing into squadrons of readiness.

Some of the marks hovered in stationary formation, like fire-ants guarding a mountain. There was a group of six visibly closer to me than any other squad. As my attention fixed upon them, they all canted to the left, before levelling into a trajectory aimed directly at me.

My hand jerked straight to the onboard ship communicator.

"This is snubfighter A-236 of Saul Karath's armada, requesting permission to dock." I opened the transmission wide, broadcasting on all available channels. "High Command, please respond. Transmitting the ship's signature now."

I waited, grip tensed on the controls, for a forthcoming reply. None came. The incoming fighters didn't deviate from their course.

"I repeat, this is snubfighter A-236, the sole survivor from Elite X squadron of Admiral Saul Karath's armada. Requesting permission to dock."

The incoming warbirds remained steady on their course. The message had to be picked up somewhere, but the comm still stared blankly back at me. My hands hovered over the stealth mod- but they'd already seen me, the second I'd lurched into realspace.

"Dammit, I'm a friendly!" I growled into the mic, my gaze narrowing as I speculated on the torpedo-range of the Sith snubs. Wouldn't be long, before those bastards could get a lock. "The Leviathan's blown into space-dust, so I'm returning to home base. Is someone going to answer?"

It seemed not. Like a game of who would blink first, except that I was ridiculously outnumbered. The lead snubfighter dipped, and hot red spat from its apex-

My palm slammed on the stealth controls. Acknowledgement bleeped from the ship's computer just as a hazy purple sheen erupted over the transparisteel. My hands, pulling back hard on the thrusters, diving the snub laterally, G-forces slamming me against the pilot's chair-

Turbolaser bolts skimmed past the viewport as the A-236 abruptly changed course.

A proximity alarm wailed belatedly before sputtering into silence. Trigger-happy bastards! I veered into an evasive roll, the specks of distant snubfighters now a vague violet as the stealth tech encased me in an illusion of refuge. I was cloaked, but that didn't mean safe. With another draw on the steering column, I canted the A-236 back in the direction of the Forge, now some degrees askew from the hostile snubs.

Blood pulsed in my ears. If the Sith weren't even going to talk-

An incoming message blinked on the comm.

::Er, unknown starfighter,:: a young voice croaked. A holo-image blinkered into existence on the nav-stand, sharpening into the image of a spotty youth who couldn't be old enough to be manning comms anywhere outside of a virtual-gaming complex. ::This is Lieutenant Jha'hasi. Um, we can still detect you.::

Jha'hasi had the wide-eyed look of a gormless tach, one corner of his mouth drooping in an uncomfortable grimace. He blinked, leaning forward to peer into the holo-cam.

"Yes, I'm sure you can," I snapped back, glancing down briefly at the nav-screen. The ship's diagrammatic revealed the Sith warbirds were thinning out, shifting course- but not directly gunning for me. "Explains why you're hailing me now, right?"

Actually, it was a pretty solid assumption that Forge command could track their cloaked snubs – but whether that was relayed onto ships without the stealthing mod was another story.

::We request- er, demand that you uncloak now, and ready yourself for an escort back to base.::

"And I request that someone other than a damn greenhorn speak to me over the comm," I growled. "I didn't survive the Leviathan to get blasted by a delinquent who can't distinguish between bogey and friendly!"

Still, the Sith were talking to me now. I felt my blood-pressure ease, my mind sharpen. Steady. Focus. Make the act convincing.

I was getting closer to the Star Forge. A massive bay door gaped open from the nearest fin, and from here I could see multiple vessels exiting the factory, even as two swarmed back in. I'd shot past one squad, but directly in my path were at least another twenty marks. Two of them shimmered, before disappearing entirely.

Ah, damnation. I glanced sideways to the nav-screen. They weren't there, either.

A scuffling sound of static erupted over the comm, before the youngling was unceremoniously pushed out of view.

::Unknown starfighter, identify yourself and report.:: The voice was dead calm and levelled with authority. The weathered face that stared back belonged to a Zabrak male, who was capped with a ridiculous military hat tilted askew over one horn. The lack of introduction was not inviting.

Play it cool. I'm a Sith starpilot who wants nothing more than to fight the Republic. I cleared my throat. "Star Forge, this is Captain Elias Troystar of the A-236 Aurek-class snubfighter from the late Admiral Karath's armada. I'm sure you're aware of the rout in the Edean sector. I only just made it out. My squad's all gone. Requesting permission to dock, sir."

My cover story had the right details- the luckless pilot of this snub was sitting pretty in a prison cell in one of Dodonna's transport ships. While I didn't know what the interrogation team had gleaned from him in terms of intel, his name had been an easy find on the Meridus' detainment register. The Sith landing protocol had been a quick study from the snub's internal logs. It seemed like all the details had fallen into place for me, like it was meant to be. Now if only I could convince the Sith-

The Zabrak had folded his arms. Black tattoos formed a lattice of lines on his cheeks and forehead, adding to a formidable presence. I couldn't tell if the man was suspicious or indifferent. ::Didn't feel like seeing the battle out, Troystar?::

I eyed over the general stripes on the Zabrak's shoulders. "I held the line, sir, right up 'til the Leviathan issued evac orders. Seemed like a choice between turning into a smear of space-dust or retreating to fight another day. I'm interested in claiming more Republic scalps, not adding to their kill-count."

A hairless brow raised sceptically at my reply. ::Mind explaining why you're here, Captain? Our lord sends out starships from here to link-up with fleets throughout the galaxy. They are not expected to return. Not to the Forge.::

That wasn't a surprise, not with the coordinates missing from the logs. It was probably a safeguard if the ship was captured- up until now, the Star Forge's location had been a closely-guarded secret. I forced a nonchalant shrug. "Well, sir, this is an Aurek-class snubfighter. I have, at max, a week's worth of fuel onboard. Not enough to meet up with Admiral Sara on the Rodian front, or, frankly any of the offensives in the Mid Rim-"

::Enough,:: he interrupted. Impatience furrowed his brow. ::Aurek-class snubs are widely spread throughout our enemy's forces, so I'm sure you can appreciate our immediate reaction. We're expecting an enemy assault within hours.::

"Indeed," I bit out. "Why do you think I returned home?"

The Zabrak's eyes tightened.

"Sir," I tacked on. Easy does it, Vrook. Play the part of a battle-angry pilot, not an insubordinate one.

::You privy to the enemy's plans, Troystar?::

I snorted, struggling for an outward display of scorn even as I scrabbled for a plausible riposte. "Republic comms aren't hard to crack, sir," I fired back, shooting off an inward apology to Dodonna. "And the Leviathan agents weren't exactly circumspect with their intel. Gossip of a Republic assault on the Forge was a bit of an open secret over the airwaves."

::Sloppy.:: The disapproving tones of the general lay thick through the comm. ::Not what I expect from Saul Karath.::

I debated an answer to that, before leaning on silence as the best rejoinder.

The Zabrak's gaze was stony as he appraised me. All he'd be seeing in return was a starpilot's targeting helm, orange visor occluding what was visible of my face. I had no idea if Darth Malak's home base had dossiers on Karath's doomed crew, but at least the pilot I was impersonating had been a male Human.

::Alright, Captain, time for you to uncloak before Zephyr-3 gets a twitchy trigger finger.:: The corner of the Zabrak's hard mouth curved. ::She's got you on lock, Troystar. I suggest you don't give her an excuse for target practice before the real fun begins.::

My gaze snapped to the nav-screen as something lurched in my gut. Dozens of green blips were visible, but nothing close enough for immediate danger- the two marks that vanished earlier. Could they track me? Through the trace of the comms, maybe. Wasn't like I had much of a choice but to go forward with my cover story, and hope the hard-bitten general bought it.

Trust in the Force. I could almost hear Vandar's damn voice in my head. Well, I'd come this blasted far-

The purple hue of the stealth tech crackled before vanishing. A second after deactivation, two specks of green dotted into existence on the nav-screen- right on my tail.

The Zabrak was wearing a grin as cold and sharp as his damn flinty gaze. ::I've tacked your comm-signal onto Zephyr squad, Troystar. Your new designation is Zephyr-13.:: He leaned back. ::Get some kills under your belt. Maybe it'll make up for running out on the Leviathan::

I was just starting to realize a dock wasn't forthcoming when the general stood, with the shadow of that spotty lieutenant hovering at his side. Blast it! I'd been counting on getting pulled in to dock for a debrief. Surely, I'd thought, some slimy Sith officer would want to grill a lone survivor from the Leviathan-

I leaned forward in desperation. "General-"

::Hop to it, Captain,:: the general growled as he stepped away and the stuttering greenhorn slid into the chair. The general's last words were muffled- ::I have enough to prepare for without micromanaging a rogue runaway, Lieutenant. His signature's authentic. Don't bother me again unless there's an actual Republic bug to squash.::

Force, I have to get on the damn Star Forge, not join the blasted Sith fleet!

Lieutenant Jha'hasi muttered a cowed sir before turning to face the cam, a forced smile on his face that wavered into a pained grimace. ::Zephyr-13, you heard General Daelidar. You need to form-up behind-::

"I'm flying on fumes here, Lieutenant," I cut in, trying to edge my tone into neutral. If spotty idiot was back in charge, I'd have to play him. Might be easier than the general, now that the Sith aren't trying to shoot me. "I need to dock and refuel."

The kid frowned, one hand scratching at the fuzz on his face. ::I'm looking at your readouts, Zephyr-13. You've got more than a quarter-::

So said my diagnostics, too. I pasted on a smile. "Damn internal specs have been unreliable since the stealth mod was installed. A-231 sputtered out in the middle of a dogfight, Lieutenant. We all learned quick to refuel before the quarter-mark was hit."

Jha'hasi blinked. ::Um, that's news to me, Captain.::

"Apologies, Lieutenant, I'll be sure to log it with Quality after the battle," I replied in a bland tone. Easy, I warned myself, as Jha'hasi flushed a mottled red. Intimidate the kid, don't annoy him. I lowered my voice. "Look, all I want to do is kill those bastards who got my comrades. Please, get me docked and refuelled, so I can do just that."

Jha'hasi's head twitched sideways, as if he was looking to the general's retreating form for assistance. His young shoulders slumped, before he turned back to me with a long-suffering sigh. I wondered, not for the first time, just how depleted the ranks of Darth Malak's experienced nav-officers were.

::Alright, fine. I can get you a window to refuel in the Anterior factory bay, Captain.:: The kid frowned, leaning over a console. ::I've got a spot- er, dock F14 is empty. Fly on in, and comm the dockmaster for entry. I'll let Zephyr-1 know that you'll form up within thirty minutes.::

"Thank you, Lieutenant." I switched the comm off. It was only then that I realized my hands were shaking.

So far, so good. I took a deep breath in. My pulse was steady, my head clear. One second, to re-focus myself. Alright. Game on. The Force is with me.

My hands twitched a slight adjustment to the trajectory, aiming the snub straight for the midsection of Forge's closest fin. Landing protocol should be easy to follow. Wouldn't be long now, before I took my first steps on that cursed space station. Smooth flying from here on in-

The comm blinked again. My jaw clenched in a forced smile as I leaned forward to answer it.

::Er, you're heading to the wrong bay.::

Great. Stuttering Greenhorn was back. And I was a fool for assuming the nearest factory bay was my designated destination. I sighed noisily over the comm. "Useful. Even more useful would be some actual directions."

I heard a faint snigger over the airwaves, which made me wonder just who else was listening in. The kid grimaced. ::Sure, yeah, it's the factory bay to the left. My left. So, um, your right.::

Jha'hasi's expression was pained, like he'd just bitten into something rotten. I wondered whether he'd survive the day, and felt vaguely sad despite my irritation. Kids like this one, on both sides, were nothing more than numbers. Despite the horrors Kun had unleashed a generation ago, nothing had truly changed.

"Understood." I gave the boy a curt nod, bit back an acidic retort about his communication skills, and flicked the communicator shut once more.

xXx

I wasn't interrupted again. And as the Star Forge slowly eclipsed the entirety of my view, a great heaviness weighed on my soul. A creeping desolation, as if this entire plan was doomed from the start. It wasn't reckless, it was flat-out insane-

This place reeks of the Dark Side. Despair was but one of many paths, and I knew the taste well. I also knew that the best counter was beyond me- I couldn't reach out to the Force. Not here. Not so close to Darth Malak.

The dockmaster had commed through an approach vector and landing coordinates. I'd been surprised to see it was a droid, a sleek cinereal protocol droid that issued forth automated docking instructions. That's a good thing. One less sentient to placate or win over. My Aurek-class snub hovered, pausing just outside an external airlock at the anterior maw of the Star Forge, waiting for the chance to enter.

The delay itself, transmitted from the dockmaster as an estimated eight minutes, was gruelling. I was so close, and yet felt so far away. That insidious trickle of doubt returned, the creeping belief that everything was about to go belly-up in the worst of ways-

Patience. Faith. Master them both. The Dark Side shall not prevail. With a deep cleansing breath, I cleared my mind and waited.

When an airlock finally opened and spat out three enemy marks, I slowly edged the A-236 into the heart of Darth Malak's empire.

As the ship crept ever forward, I tightened my focus inward. Kept the Force around me small. It wasn't possible to make one's signature entirely vanish, but dampening it was a skill I had some proficiency with. Maybe, if Malak was searching for an intruder he might hiccup on me, but it was a risk I'd accepted when I first jumped into this stolen craft.

He'll be concentrating on the Republic advance. His focus will be on Bastila. On Revan. So long as I don't cast any attention to my presence, I can slip through his fortress without him even realizing.

The turbine compressor whined as I cleared the airlock into the internal docking bay. The room beyond was- colossal. Larger than I expected, even from the outside. Rows of individual docks, many empty, spanned the massive hangar. The ground was teeming with flight-bots and astromechs and protocol droids. Refuelling gigs lined up in columns between the bays.

The snub held steady as my gaze spanned the hangar through the viewport. I'd seen enough docking bays in my time: large military bases housing dozens of strikefighters on Coruscant, on Duro, on the Chandrilan moon... but this one pipped them all for sheer size. Only snubs here, though. Out in the field, we've seen Forge-created destroyers, cruisers, transports-

But there were two more factory docks on the other fins of the Forge. Possibly meant for the deployment of the larger warbirds. A chill crept down my spine as I suddenly saw first-hand the military might that Darth Revan had brought into being.

The console blinked with a docking designation. Nearby, a display panel secured by a large robotic arm blinkered with the letters F14. With an inward breath, I flew the snub slowly forward before descending.

As the snub touched down on the launch pad, I killed the repulsors and powered the engine down. The lights on the dash winked out as I glanced sideways through the viewport. From here, near a dozen alien warbirds were visible, sleek and elongated and unique to the Sith armada. My craft may have been one of Karath's elite, but I was well-aware of just how badly it stuck out.

Move. My limbs moved automatically, unbuckling the safety harness, opening the cockpit window. An automated refuelling gig was already wheeling closer, along with an astromech droid that bleeped at me in surprise. If the Force wills it, this entire dock is run by droids. No one to question why I am suddenly leaving-

With a wrench, I pulled myself upright and clambered out of the snub.

My booted feet echoed as they landed on the shiny floor with a thud.

-glimpses of the truth can be found here-

I glanced around wildly- a column of crates blocked my view in two directions, but to the right I could see various launch pads dotting along in a row to a distant wall of the hangar. The closest snub was some five docks away, with a suited pilot sitting ready in an open cockpit. He paid me no mind, leaning over the dash of his readied ship.

Move. Get out of here. I lifted my chin, and began walking. I need to find a soldier or an engineer. Change out of this flight suit. Find an outfit to blend in-

-draw deep. you can find what you're looking for. you can find Bastila-

My breath caught in my throat. The urge to embrace the Force swelled: to search for my padawan using my strength, for surely that was the only way to locate her in a station the size of this one-

-yes, and there is great power here. you will find her, if only you reach out-

Oh, that dark desire was dangerous. I could not draw Darth Malak's attention. I knew that. So why was I even considering it?

-because you can't find Bastila without it-

No. No. I drew tight, tightly, tighter within myself. I was small, insignificant really, not noticeable-

The whispering voice ebbed before fading. The Dark Side... I knew it would be strong here, but I'd been an idiot to believe it would be easy to remain unaffected. I'd always thought Revan Freeflight and Malak Devari had been well-scarred, corrupted even, before Malachor- they would have thrown up little defence against the constant pull of temptation that emanated here.

Something alien and ancient and massive brushed against my soul before moving away. A presence, perhaps; or merely a coalesced corruption of the Force. And I knew, then, that Darth Malak sensing me wasn't the only danger I faced.

I had to stay sane. I had to stay true. Which meant doing things the old-fashioned way. Sneak. Lie. Impersonate the enemy, and don't get caught. I would risk delving into the Force only if I had to, only with the lightest of touches, only if there was no other way to find Bastila.

The Force had led me here. Surely, it would guide me to my padawan. I kept walking, focused on that distant wall, on a nearby exit that offered a glimmer of hope.

Recklessness had always paid off for the likes of Revan Freeflight. Force-willing, maybe it would for me.

xXx

Author's Note:
Coming up next: Multi-POV as the end-game finally opens.

A flight-squad's worth of thanks to kosiah for the beta.