Hyperspace VII – part two
Vima Sunrider:
Jedi High Temple, Coruscant
"To recap, the Jedi involved on Dantooine were Grandmaster Vandar Tokare; Masters Galdea, Karon Enova, Nemo, and Vrook Lamar. Knights Ri'thanok Brill, the late Bastila Shan, and yourself. Is there anyone we are missing, Knight Sunrider?"
Lonna Vash's voice echoed throughout the chamber. Dispassionate and neutral, just like her blank gaze as it stared down at me in judgment.
"Knight Ri'thanok did not know the identity of our patient, Master Vash," I replied, willing my voice to hold steady. "His medical expertise was called upon only when required-"
The dismissive snort from Atris Surik broke over my words. "You expect the High Council to believe a Jedi Knight would not recognize a Sith Lord while attending to her?"
My attention darted to the white-clad master seated next to Lonna. Patience, I reminded myself. There is no emotion. Atris seeks to rattle me into temper, to cast doubt upon my integrity. I shall not let her break me. I kept my face expressionless, as I bowed my head to Atris in acknowledgment. "Whatever Knight Ri'thanok's suspicions, Master Surik, he was professional enough to keep them to himself."
The side of Atris' cheek twitched. "Just like the rest of Dantooine. Did it never occur to you, child, that a matter of such importance should have been handled directly by the High Council?"
Of course it had. Atris was no fool. And I had not been a child for decades. "I kept faith in the wisdom of my enclave, Master Surik."
In the high-backed chair on the other side of Atris, Zez-Kai Ell leaned forward, his heavy gaze dark and soulful. "You are a Jedi Knight, Vima Sunrider. Yes, we understand you were working beneath the guidance of Masters Galdea and Karon, but surely you had doubts regarding the procedure. The lack of consent for one-"
"Consent?" Lonna interrupted. "Zez, this is not a time to debate ethics-"
"Consent is hardly relevant," Atris scoffed. "Particularly not from one such as-"
"Revan's mind was utterly broken," I cut in, hearing my voice crisp into ice. I had already said as much. They had the transcripts, the medical logs, the data that had not been destroyed in the Enclave's bombardment. This meeting... no, this trial had gone on long enough. "Consent was not possible."
Consent would not have been given, regardless. Who would agree to such a violation of their very self?
But when Revan's consent was balanced against her secrets, secrets that could overturn a war- when her consent was compared to the billions of lives at stake- what other option could we have chosen?
When Bastila Shan intercepted Darth Revan's fragmented dream-memory of the Master Star Map, everything had changed. Master Nemo led an expedition to uncover the map, and returned with news of the Star Forge. We beheld our first glimmer at the heart of Darth Malak's empire – and overnight, the brain-damaged Sith Lord in our grasp became more than just a prisoner we did not know what to do with.
"Knight Sunrider, you informed us in great detail what was done to the mind of Darth Revan after the Dantooine Star Map was discovered," Kavar Kira said, interrupting with musings that uncannily echoed my own. "But that was, what? Weeks after Bastila Shan landed on Dantooine?"
More like months. At my unwilling nod, Kavar continued. "What did Dantooine plan to do with Darth Revan before they found the map?"
"And why," Atris lashed out, her words cracking like a whip, "did they think it necessary- nay, acceptable- to hide it from us?"
"I am not on the Dantooine Council," I retorted. Enough. I had journeyed to Coruscant the moment I received their summons. I had stood before them, answered all their questions, felt the weight of their censure and blame without the guidance of my own masters. Perhaps Coruscant had reason for their grievance with Dantooine, but I did not embody the Enclave. "I was there to diagnose and stabilize the mind of Darth Revan, and later to assist Master Galdea with the psychic rebuild. I was not privy to the early discussions regarding Darth Revan's fate."
I could guess at them, though. Karon argued redemption right to the very end. Galdea had known that wasn't possible – what was left in Darth Revan's mind was nothing but a distorted chasm of grief and darkness. Vrook had wanted to wash Dantooine's hands of Revan altogether – but only after finding a means to extricate his padawan from the Dark Lord's soul.
Vrook and Vandar were the only ones still alive, and they were not even here.
My jaw firmed as I met the gaze of every Jedi Master staring down at me. This inner sanctum of the High Temple was lined with a dozen high-backed chairs, arranged in a ring around the centre – a lowered floor I stood upon alone, with only a ceremonial pillar engraved with runes of the Jedi Code to keep me company.
At least they hadn't summoned the entirety of the council to stare down at me. Four masters was bad enough.
"As a member of the Dantooine Enclave, I answer to Grandmaster Tokare." My voice remained calm. "Are these not questions for him?"
"Every Jedi answers to the High Council, child," Atris snapped, eyes flashing. "And only two masters of Dantooine survived, as a direct ramification of letting Darth Revan loose the way you lot did-"
I flinched.
Galdea perished on the Endar Spire. Karon, cut down by a traitor within our own ranks. Ri'thanok and Nemo on Dantooine. Bastila Shan. So many others-
"Knight Sunrider, you are not here to answer for the Dantooine Council." Zez-Kai's words were a gentle contrast to Atris' heated invective. "We have additional... reasons to examine your conduct in particular."
I took a deep breath, drawing slightly on the Force, calming my emotions back into serenity. After a second lungful of air, Zez-Kai's words sharpened into meaning.
Additional... reasons? I frowned. Zez-Kai might claim they weren't judging me for Revan's fate, but they still condemned my actions. I was just a knight, directed by masters-
-but that never stopped Jedi Knight Revan Freeflight. She had the strength to stand for what she believed in, no matter what the masters said, no matter what the High Council decreed. She defied them all publicly.
The masters of Dantooine merely kept their actions hidden.
The thought seemed a betrayal, yet here I was, the only Jedi from Dantooine to stand before the Coruscanti High Council as their sentence was passed upon me. My gaze slid away from them all, landing idly on the pillar.
The side facing me was charred and cracked, with a blackened stripe running directly through the rune of harmony. As if, once upon a time, someone had shoved a lightsaber straight into it-
"We should not even consider approving that missive," Master Atris seethed, and her frosty voice shook with barely-checked anger. My gaze whipped to hers, but she was glaring at the pillar, right at the spot I had been studying. "Knight Sunrider spent her youth gallivanting outside the Order's walls with her mother. Knight Sunrider has had a life of emotional attachment completely at odds with our doctrine-"
"What?" I snapped, and for the first time, thwarted irritation flurried in my heart. "What, precisely, does my mother have to do with any of this?"
Oh, Atris found any chance to strike out at those she considered imperfect scions of the Jedi Order. I doubted it was personal, as her displeasure found its mark against anyone who showed any modicum of vulnerability, or attachment-
Mother never returned to the Jedi after Ulic's exile. And I only officially joined after her death. Anyone else my age – a woman fully grown – would not have been admitted, but then I was hardly a neophyte apprentice scrabbling for the Force.
My first master had been one of the greatest Jedi of the Order, and my training had started in childhood, well before I ever stepped foot inside an enclave.
My first master: Nomi Sunrider. My beautiful, broken mother.
"You forget yourself, child," Atris clipped. Her blue eyes were pinched at the corners. "The High Council must assess the character of all Jedi within their ranks-"
"Atris-" Kavar began.
"Stay out of this, Kavar!"
"She deserves to know-"
"Know what, exactly?" I demanded, and felt the irritation surge again. "You have heard everything. Dantooine captured Darth Revan. Galdea, Karon and I imprinted the identity of a dead woman into her consciousness, as a means of mining her secrets through Bastila Shan. We allowed Revan a chance at life-"
Atris' anger was visible, now, in the whitening of her face and the clenching of her fists. "And look how well that turned out-"
"And I have nothing further to add!" For once, I allowed my voice to rise over Atris. "Any further questioning should be directed at Grandmaster Tokare. Unless you wish to expound upon your additional reasons, then I am done here."
"Enough." Lonna did not shout, but the Force carried her voice through the room, accompanied by a wave of peace that I almost resented even as my churning emotions relaxed in response. "Knight Sunrider, allow me to elucidate these reasons Zez-Kai refers to. Prior to the operation onboard the Endar Spire, Master Galdea recommended your ascension to the rank of Jedi Master. All Dantooine Council members voted in agreement."
The breath in my lungs whistled out in surprise. My thoughts froze. Whatever I had been expecting... it was not this.
"Considering all that has happened since then," Zez-Kai added gently. "Perhaps you can understand our deliberation. Dantooine is in dire need of Jedi Masters, yes, but this last year cannot have been easy for you."
"You have dabbled in the mind of a Sith Lord. We do not judge you for your actions, but we remain concerned for the effect it has had upon you," Atris added. Her voice had cooled back into a veneer of neutrality. "We cannot overlook your past, either. You joined the Jedi Order as an adult, grieving over the death of your mother and obsessing over the fate of Ulic Qel-Droma."
"Speak to us, Knight Sunrider," Zez-Kai urged. His thick moustache twitched as his warm brown eyes appraised me. "We would know your thoughts on the matter."
"I-" My eyes closed. Jedi Master... I had always known that, one day, this would be my fate, but-
I barely knew what to feel anymore
With a wrench, I opened my eyes and found the words the masters expected. "It is my life's dream to attain the rank of Jedi Master... when the Order deems me ready," I said quietly. "As for Master Surik's comments, she is correct – I was attached to my mother. I loved her dearly. We travelled the galaxy as nomads, but she was always so sad..."
I trailed off into silence, as the web of the past clutched at me with spidery fingers.
My birth father, the dashing Knight Andur Sunrider, had died when I was but a handful of days old. My only paternal figure had come a few years later: Ulic Qel-Droma, that laughing man who had made my mother smile again.
I could count a mere eight cycles of the Coruscanti sun when the Jedi Order exiled him for his crimes. And after he left, I saw my mother break a little more with each passing day.
For the longest time I had hated Ulic for that, with the same passionate zeal as any Republic citizen who would hate a traitor that the Jedi Order had allowed to live.
Love was a many-faceted thing. A placid lake, a blistering wildfire, a tempest that could shake a planet, or a soothing peace to calm the most rebellious of souls. It took my mother's death for me to truly understand that, perhaps, she would have been happier living out her life with Ulic, even exiled and Force-blinded the way he was.
In the end, the greatest tragedy was that Nomi had never realized this herself.
"Continue, please," Zez-Kai prompted. "Tell us about Nomi. About Ulic."
I drew in another breath. The masters seated above me faded into the background, as the remembrance of my mother's heartache resurfaced. "Nomi... Nomi regretted what she did," I whispered. "I believe she would have given the Force back to Ulic, had she only known how."
That admission drew startled gasps from the four, but I barely heard.
Nomi's attack against the fallen Ulic had rendered him a captive prisoner of war to the Republic, and his cooperation thereafter led to the final strike against Exar Kun. Mother was then cemented as a heroine, celebrated throughout the galaxy – but her actions had also broken her, just as surely as they had castrated Ulic-
"I found him, after he turned my sister. After he slew his own brother. I called upon the might of the Force and ripped his connection to it away. I did that which I could never take back, no matter how I tried."
My mother was truly gifted in the Force, despite coming to it so late. And the Force caused her nothing but heartbreak.
"She died of septic lung disease," I said quietly. Sometimes, I wondered if it was a shattered heart finally fading. "After her death, I did everything I could to find out what happened to Ulic Qel-Droma."
My mother had always taken pains to tell me tales of Andur, of their adventures and their humble life together. I collected those stories like precious gems, hoarding them into my treasure chest of memory, taking them out at bedtime to watch the play of light dance around them.
She spoke little of Ulic.
But after her death, those small fragments she let slip came back to haunt me-
-he was quite a pilot, you know. Loved the stars. I gave him his nickname-
-turned his nose up at dejarik. Played this fancy And'zhai rune game instead-
-far more politically astute than myself-
"Your mother never returned to the Jedi Order, Knight Sunrider," Atris intoned in a chilly voice. "Is Ulic Qel-Droma the reason you did?"
My jaw clenched. "The Jedi Order is my life, Master Surik." I did not look away from her cold, cold gaze. "The reason I stayed is what matters, not the reason I joined."
"So, you admit-"
"Ulic's fate influenced my youth, yes, just as my mother's did." I looked away, then, to see the other three staring at me in silence. Waiting for the rest. "I learned that Ulic Qel-Droma had been exiled to Rhen Var. So, when I ascended to knighthood, I travelled there myself."
How could I not? My recollections of Ulic were fleeting, but at times I could still see his smirking grin when my eyes closed. I'd remember his irreverent wit, that inability to take things seriously that drove Mother insane, his passion and his conviction to strive for the good of all-
"The trail was cold," I continued, feeling my eyes sting. "I found no sign of him, nothing but a barren rock. If Ulic Qel-Droma had been on that deserted planet once, he either met a lonely end or moved on."
The silence that followed my words was thick and heavy in the air.
I stood, still as the night, my arms folded in the front of my robes. I didn't truly believe the High Council wanted to hear of Nomi Sunrider... no, no, this was all about my suitability for masterhood. Such a rank was not rashly granted and, given Dantooine's current disgrace, perhaps I could understand why the High Council sought to ferret out my vulnerabilities.
"Singular attachment is dangerous to those who wield the Force," I said softly, lifting my chin. "It took me some time amongst the Jedi to understand that, and even more time to find peace within my own heart. I treasure the memory of my mother, but I have long since accepted her death, and sought only to live by the wisdom of our code."
"And what of Ulic?" Lonna asked, shifting slightly in her chair. There was a flash of scarlet beneath her humble robes, as if the impassive master hid a colourful life behind the drab brown that cloaked us all. "You never found the closure you desired."
"I did," I countered. "I found closure within the Force. The galaxy is full of mysteries, and some mysteries are to be accepted rather than solved."
I was not lying. Inner peace had come with years training at Master Galdea's side. Slowly, my yearning to know of Ulic's fate dispersed into the Force. The past was done, and I had learned better than to wonder over secrets that were not mine to unravel.
Mother had died peacefully. Ulic, I could only hope, had done the same. As for myself, I had learned to forsake attachments, past and present, and focus on my own future.
Only one person had ever disrupted that focus-
"And what of Revan?" Atris clipped out.
"What?" I twitched, blinking, suddenly fearful that Atris had penetrated deep into my thoughts. "What- what do you mean?"
The frosty master remained expressionless. "As I said earlier, child, you have knowingly entered the psyche of a Sith Lord. That must have impacted you on some level."
The slightest current of relief shimmered through me. Atris had not intercepted anything.
"The Dantooine Council would not have undertaken such action lightly," Lonna added. "There must have been hesitation regarding not only the feasibility of an artificial mind-rebuild, but also the ethical dubiety. What of you, Knight Sunrider? Where do you stand on the matter?"
Lonna's question was harder to answer, so I faced Atris first. "I do not believe rebuilding Revan's mind had any lasting effect on me, Master Surik, other than empathy for a fallen Jedi Knight. Master Galdea's psychic shielding protected me while we worked. The only Jedi affected by Darth Revan's... corruption, was Bastila Shan, and perhaps that was inescapable due to the bond that bound them together."
There was no response from the masters, and Lonna was still staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I could feel a sigh welling up from my lungs. "Do I doubt our actions? In truth, no. The plan succeeded." I had to keep reminding myself of that. "In the end, Revan led the Republic to the Star Forge, cleaned up her mess, and may have even redeemed herself along the way."
I could have laid credits on Atris' answering snort of derision, but I kept my gaze fixed on Lonna, as my mind eased back into a pool of acceptance and faith. Lonna was the true strength of the High Council, and her judgment would guide the others.
After a full minute of silence, Lonna's head finally dipped in a nod of acceptance. "Very well," she said. "I would like you to stay on Coruscant and confer with us for a few days, at least, before you return to Dantooine, Master Sunrider."
"I am in agreement," Zez-Kai added. "It is good to have you with us, Master Sunrider."
My eyelids fluttered closed. There should have been... something, something warm and golden, growing in my heart. Yet all that flashed through my mind was the helpless body of Darth Revan trapped in a kolto tank.
Perhaps to myself I could admit a small kernel of doubt resided in my soul. I left Dantooine after Darth Revan became Jen Sahara. I did not join Galdea on the Endar Spire. But even as I walked the galaxy, away from what we had done to Revan, doubt still trickled in to haunt me.
"You're one of us now, Master Sunrider," Kavar chortled. "Better find your grumpy voice to keep the younglings in check."
"Thank you," I managed, forcing my eyes back open to stare at the only one who hadn't spoken.
Atris' mouth was pursed with displeasure. Acceptance from the High Council was generally a formality – enclaves had the clout to raise their own masters.
Usually.
"Master Sunrider," Atris forced at last, her pale lips barely moving. "This is a weighty responsibility for one so young. Ensure that you always seek guidance from our doctrine. As Jedi Masters we are looked upon as a source of wisdom and humility, of counsel and acceptance. But not even a Jedi Master is immune to the lure of the Dark Side."
"Ever the downer," Kavar muttered under his breath.
"I understand," I told Atris, before dragging my gaze back to Lonna. This was my lifelong dream, and yet why did I feel so hollow inside?
Galdea. Karon.
Revan...
When Darth Revan had been our patient – our prisoner – all I had found in her broken mind was a roiling mass of fury smothering a grief so vast I almost choked on it. Nothing to answer my own personal, inappropriate questions. No flash of childhood, no face I searched for desperately when Galdea wasn't looking, no trail to lead me back to that one, odd coincidence that had shattered my equilibrium so many years before.
"Did you hear? Master Karon has returned to Coruscant, with a pair of sixteen year-olds she's demanding the Order accept! Sixteen, can you believe it? They're really powerful! Humans, both of them, named Malak Devari and Revan Freeflight-"
Freeflight-
My throat had clenched, and I could no more stop myself travelling to Coruscant than I could forget my yearning of the past-
…
I strode through the High Temple purposefully. A full day of presenting myself to the masters, and only now did I finally have a chance to seek out my quarry.
Ahead, in one of the many courtyards of the Temple, three padawans were clustered in deep conversation.
The teenage girl was exactly as described. Tallish, messy dark hair, lean and limber. Emotion contorted her face into a scowl.
A golden-skinned Twi'lek was staring at her indifferently. "No. You cheated. I will not accept any continuation of our arrangement." The words were voiced in an emotionless monotone, and yet still somehow came out forced.
"Padawan Revan!" I called, as much to stop the beginnings of some childish argument as to capture the attention of the young Jedi I had heard so much about.
The girl turned at my hail. Wary green eyes appraised me as a third figure stepped to her side – a tall Human male, whose broad face had long-suffering exasperation written all over it.
"Yes?" Padawan Revan responded, eye-balling me in an overt fashion I was meant to notice. "Can I help you?"
Behind her, the Twi'lek in Knight's robes took a step back.
"I'm not done, Yudan," Revan said without turning around. "I haven't finished apologizing to you."
The Human male at her side rolled his eyes. "Give over, Revvie. He's obviously not interested, and you can find plenty of teachers elsewhere."
"Padawan Malak is correct," the Twi'lek said crisply, his expression unconvincingly bland. "Our training sessions are over."
My gaze sharpened. The towering Human at Revan's side was Malak Devari, recruited at the same time and from the same unknown planet as Revan. And the Twi'lek beating a hasty retreat was Yudan Rosh, a freshly-minted Jedi Knight recently transferred from my home enclave.
I should have recognized him – but it had been a few years since I'd travelled back to Dantooine myself.
"No they frelling are not," Revan muttered to herself, before her gaze narrowed on me. "What do you want?"
Malak Devari was less irritated, now, as he turned to face me with a grin. He and Revan were both already notorious padawans, and both old enough that many voiced doubts over their eligibility in the first place.
The Force usually awoke well before puberty. My mother and my aunt Nayama had been rare outliers. Revan and Malak- well, they'd probably had the touch of the Force for years, without knowing how to tap into it. I understood their homeworld was just another forgotten planet deep in the Outer Rim.
But here at the heart of the galaxy, they could not be wholly oblivious to the whispers surrounding them.
-Karon Enova should have left them in the Outer Rim-
-Force-sensitives taken so old, you know how that always turns out-
-They'll be too attached, too emotive, too entrenched in their ways-
"Well?" Revan urged with a growing frown.
"I apologize for intruding," I said smoothly, allowing my lips to curve with what I hoped was a warm smile. "I am Jedi Knight Vima Sunrider. I have a personal question for you, if you will."
I saw the flare of curiosity spark in Revan's gaze. The side of her mouth quirked, and she jerked her head toward the Temple gardens in suggestion.
It did not surprise me when Malak Devari followed in our wake.
The fragrant scent of starflowers enveloped us as we entered the gardens. The air was thick with the buzzing of maple bees and the soothing sound of trickling water. Oh, I had never liked Coruscant – the shining gem in the Republic's crown, the beacon in the Core – but the Jedi High Temple always felt like a second home.
"So?" Revan prompted, raising her brows. "What do you want to know?"
"Forgive my curiosity," I began. I'd always found it easy to engage in conversation, but this was an intrusive question, and a difficult way to open dialogue. "I understand you hail from a planet called Talshion?"
Revan nodded, frowning again.
"May I ask the name of your father?"
I saw the moment her shutters fell down. The spike of wariness sharpening her expression. Malak, taking two steps closer. "No sodding idea. My mother landed on Talshion pregnant with me. She never left."
My strength in the Force was with the mind, with the subtler powers and uses. I could sense she was telling the truth, but I'd annoyed her by asking. Still, in for a cred chit, in for a ship-
"Your mother, then? What was her name?"
Revan scowled, eyes flashing with emotion a teenage padawan should be above. "None of your frelling business."
"Please," I said quietly. "I do not mean to offend. It is your name, that is all. I am curious if it is related to someone I once knew."
She eyed me over, and the disparagement in her gaze was clearly evident. I might wear the humble robes of a Jedi, but I was strong, well-fed, and shone with health. Revan and Malak had not shed the scrawniness of their malnourished youth. Malak was uncommonly tall, and they both moved with sinewy grace and agility – but it was the quick movements of the hunted, the street kids, the ones who'd had to fend for themselves.
"We were all homeless bums there, Knight Sunrider. Trust me, you won't have known anyone we did."
And yet, I pressed on. "So, your mother's surname was Freeflight?"
-he was quite a pilot, you know. Loved the stars. I gave him his nickname. Freeflight. Sometimes, when he wanted to scare me, it was more like Freefall-
"What, you think I gave myself a surname?" Revan snapped defensively.
I was good at reading people. Very good. And the Force whispered to me that she had.
"Revvie," Malak murmured, shooting me a suspicious glance.
I sighed, suddenly defeated. It was no more than a coincidence. A powerful Force user from a forgotten planet, wearing the nickname my mother had once given another- one who had vanished from the galaxy-
The math doesn't add up. She's only six years younger than me. Ulic would have had to conceive her while he was still involved with my mother, and I find that impossible to believe-
"My mother came by that name honestly," Padawan Revan lied to me. "And I'm not interested in talking about this anymore."
"Names like that are common where we come from," Malak added. The look in his eyes said he didn't appreciate me upsetting her. "Freeflight. Starfire. Skywalker. All names of hope for those who have none."
Revan laughed, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I didn't know any Sunriders. But that name has the same ring."
"My lineage is well-documented," I said stiffly, feeling a pang for the Twi'lek who had been holding back his emotions earlier. "Not that lineage is of any import. I am sorry for wasting your time, Padawan."
…
"Vima?"
I blinked, as the sharp edge of memory fled. Glancing up, I recognized the confusion in Kavar's gaze, the concern in Zez-Kai's-
"Forgive me," I said suddenly. "Ascension to masterhood... this moment is somewhat... emotional, perhaps. I have only ever heard my mother referred to as Master Sunrider."
The words had the edge of subterfuge about them. Misdirection. Of course it would be natural for me to think of Nomi now, but I wasn't, not truly. Nomi's death I had accepted a long time ago. I had been at her side during her last moments, but as for Ulic-
"Our own personal history leaves marks on us all," Zez-Kai said gently.
"But it does not have to define us," I replied, with a lightness I did not feel.
That nickname... I had told myself it was naught but a coincidence, and yet Revan Freeflight remained a source of fascination for me. Her life... I could not help but see it as a sharper mirror of Ulic's, that charismatic Jedi Knight who had fallen just like Revan did, due to the horrors of a different war.
I managed a smile, before nodding to Lonna. "I will remain on Coruscant for a few days, as requested, and seek your wisdom before returning home."
"Your home is with every enclave, Vima," Zez-Kai murmured. "Or, more accurately, your home is within the Force."
"Of course." I nodded, even if my heart did not agree. Perhaps when I made it back to Dantooine, I would find the depth of peace I was lacking. Perhaps, then, I would have the courage to finally let go of Ulic Qel-Droma, and the past that I would never fully understand.
xXx
Dustil Onasi:
Rwookrrorro, Kashyyyk
It was funny how, after a couple of those weird fermented berry drinks, everything felt a little hazy and golden. Less of a trial. Even the non-stop howls of the Wookiees didn't dig into my ears the way they had a few hours ago, although I could've done without the musky stench of wet fur that seemed to smother the entire place.
"Better not have any more, son," Dad said, nudging me gently as he sat down on the ramshackle bench next to me. We were seated on the fringes of a large meeting area that dominated the centre of Zaalbar's home village, surrounded by food and drink and hairy Wookiees all taking turns to rumble out some story that only Mission or Jolee could understand.
"Dad," I complained, rolling my eyes at him. Frakk, we used to knock down shots of vox back in Dreshdae. If he thought I was gonna sputter out over two mugs of brewed fruit juice-
"Okay, okay!" Dad held one hand up in mock surrender, but it was the wry grin on his face that had me smiling back. I hadn't seen that grin in a while. "I promised myself I wouldn't lecture you, Dustil. Just- take it easy on the drinks, alright?"
"Yeah. I will." I cleared my throat, not wanting that look to vanish from his face. "Why don't you get a drink, too?"
It was the sort of thing normal fathers and sons did, I thought. Bonded over booze or something. But with the way Dad's grin fled and his brows lowered, I suddenly realized it was the wrong thing to say.
"I don't drink." His words were cold, almost scathing, and I pulled away from him on instinct.
"Fine," I snapped, stung. "Let's just sit back and watch Mission get absolutely rat-faced instead, huh?"
"No, Dustil- I, uh, look, I didn't mean-" His hand on my shoulder had me turning back to face him despite myself. "I didn't mean to sound like that. Look, you wouldn't know- of course you wouldn't know, but after Telos I, uh, I didn't exactly handle life all that well."
Dad's mouth had twisted in pain, and his eyes were dark with sorrow. I blinked as understanding dawned, and felt like kicking myself for ever thinking he'd never really cared. "Frakk, Dad, you were a drunk?" I blurted out in shock.
He flinched, but at least followed that with a chuckle, running one hand absently through his hair. "Say it a bit louder, Dustil, I don't think the Core heard."
My gaze fled to Mission, but she was in the middle of reciting some hare-brained adventure to a grey-haired Wookiee, and hadn't noticed my outburst at all. The flickering light from nearby sconces flushed pink on her cheeks, glistening against a drying tear track as she leaned forward to gesticulate something wildly.
"Mission will be okay," Dad said softly, following my gaze. "Ordo will make sure she doesn't have too many. I think- I think coming here was the right thing to do."
"Yeah," I agreed, as Mission smiled sadly and leaned against the grey-haired Wookiee whose name I'd completely forgotten. "I think she met that Old One when she was here last time. Funny how everyone seems to flock to her, huh?"
"That Old One's name is Tasharr," Jolee Bindo said, as he flopped down on my other side. "Ain't hard to remember names if you put your mind to it, y'know."
"Thanks for the advice," I muttered. "Maybe I'll get them all right if I spend a couple of decades here."
"Hah!" Jolee lifted his mug of pungent booze, took a large swallow, and then turned back to pin me with a beady gaze. "Didn't your father ever tell you not to talk back to your elders, boy?"
"I had enough trouble keeping him away from the underground swoop tracks," Dad said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
I blinked, suddenly hit by a wave of nostalgia, both sharp with emotion and faded with the passage of time. "I'd forgotten that," I said slowly. "Swooping wasn't exactly on the list of electives at the Academy."
Dad's breath hitched as if in pain, and when I swung back to him, that black melancholy had crossed over his face once more. I'd always found it- hard, so damned hard, to talk about anything personal- but maybe it was the drink warming my belly, or just seeing how Mission was dealing with her own loss, that suddenly made me want to try.
"It's okay, Dad," I muttered, feeling awkward, but nudging him anyway. "I'll be able to pick up swooping again. Frakk, since we're heroes and everything now, maybe Mission and I can fund a start-up track on Citadel Station-"
Dad choked. "Oh no," he gasped, his eyes widening in horror. "You and Mission. What was I thinking?"
Jolee cackled, leaning past me to waggle a finger knowingly at Dad. "You know the problem with youth nowadays? They're young!"
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. "Shouldn't you be over there translating? Like, before Ordo pisses a Wookiee off and starts a brawl?"
Ordo was seated around the centre table – which was no more than a half-dozen roughly sawn planks lashed together with some sort of green rope – while he chugged back a mug of booze and occasionally leaned over to say something to Mission.
"Nah, Juhani needs the practice," Jolee said, nodding at the Cathar who was deep in conversation with the Wookiee chieftain, Freyyr. I remembered his name, at least – the one who'd all but shook the damn wroshyrs with a bone-chilling howl when he'd first learned of his son's death. "Jedi are meant to be fluent in at least a dozen languages. I'm doing her a favour, really, giving her a chance to brush up on Shyriiwook before she leaves."
At that very moment, the Wookiee chieftain slammed his over-sized mug on the table and clambered to his feet. His fur was dark and gnarled in places, and slung around his hairy chest was some sort of neckpiece braided with shells and scrags of bone that probably looked impressive to anyone who'd never stepped foot inside a city market before.
Still, the Wookiees knew how to celebrate their dead. I only had to see the way Mission was smiling through her tears to understand that.
Freyyr barked something loud and long, before snatching up his mug and raising it high in the air. The rest of the Wookiees roared, loud enough to make me want to stopper my ears like a frakking kid, before downing their respective drinks and calling for refills.
"May the life and wisdom of Zaalbar never be forgotten," Jolee translated softly. "Ach, I'd expected Freyyr to turn his back on the outside world after Chuundar's death. But it was the right call, coming here to tell him of Zaalbar's fate and how he's been honoured by non-Wookiee folk. Freyyr may never warm to outsiders, but he won't entirely shut his ears to them, either."
"Especially if Mission keeps visiting," Dad commented. "I have a funny feeling she won't let go of her ties to Kashyyyk."
"Humph. Knowing what parts of the past to hold onto and what's best to move on from is a hard lesson for us all. I'll be back here too, I imagine, but not to stay." Jolee had turned serious, as he eye-balled us both over a tray of some weird meat on a stick I wasn't game enough to try. "I heard Mission's agreed to go to Telos with you, Carth. Suppose it wouldn't be right to leave you all alone with two teenagers on your hands."
I could feel my eyes narrowing, even as something inside of me eased. "Is that old man speak for agreeing to train me?"
Jolee barked a laugh, as Dad leaned forward with a smile. "We'll be glad to have you, Jolee. Maybe you'll do a better job than me at ensuring Dustil showers every day."
"Dad!" I spluttered. "Seriously, what the frakk?"
"Hah!" Jolee thumped me on the shoulder with a bony hand. "If we have to deal with your impudence, boy, then you can live with our snark. We're old. We've earned that right."
"Hey, I'm not that old-"
"Grey hairs, Dad," I teased, turning to shoot him a quick grin. "Plenty of 'em."
"And now that I've stirred the pot, I'll head back to the others," Jolee drawled with a sly wink. "Although, one thing first- I've half a mind to travel with Juhani, see her safely to Dantooine before I head to Telos. I'm hoping you lot can stay out of trouble for a week or two before I return."
Jolee Bindo was old and annoying at times – and yet the moment Dad had suggested him staying with us, helping me, I'd felt an immediate sense of relief. I didn't need any training, not really, but then I couldn't deny how much I'd learned just being around Jolee and Revan and Yudan-
"I don't reckon a Jedi Knight needs an escort," I said slowly. "You want to see if those rumours about Rosh are true."
They were all over the holonets. Dark Jedi alleged to be in Jedi custody! Dantooine denies harbouring Republic war criminal! The search for the truth – could Yudan Rosh still be alive?
Of course, the media also claimed that Dad had been shacking up with Bastila Shan; that Ordo was the new Mandalore seeking a covert alliance with the Republic; that Mission was the secret heir to Ryloth-
All trash, but the stories on Yudan Rosh kept filtering to the headlines. And even if Rosh hadn't saved my life, I'd've wanted it to be true. Him and Revan- sometimes I hated what they'd done in the past, everything they'd pissed all over when they'd spiralled into the dark. And at other times, I only had to remember how I'd known them at the end, to understand that any past – no matter how downright evil – could be overcome, if one just kept on trying.
If they could do it, then frakk – so could I.
"Aye, that's part of it," Jolee admitted. "I'm a nosy old bugger, I'll admit, but he was one of the crew in the end, wasn't he?"
"I suppose he was," Dad said quietly. "Good luck, Jolee."
Jolee nodded, before straightening from the wooden bench and ambling off in Mission's direction. She was smiling again, her cheeks wet but her eyes shining as she said something to the Wookiee next to her, and the flickering firelight was dancing across the hue of her skin-
"He won't-" Dad cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. "Jolee won't tell the Jedi about you. You know that, right, son?"
"What?" I tore my gaze away from Mission, blinking, and it took a sec to parse what Dad was saying. "Er, yeah. We already spoke about it. Guess I was lucky on Coruscant, or maybe the Jedi just didn't have the stones to approach me."
We hadn't stayed long in the Core. Only the handful of days necessary, before Dad could beg off – which was good, because it wasn't like I could hold up my Force weaves while asleep, even if the Senate-provided apartments were blessedly free of any Jedi.
Juhani – she hadn't promised to keep quiet about me, and considering that Belaya Linn's death hung between us, I didn't think I had the right to ask – but she'd at least agreed not to say anything on Coruscant.
Sooner or later I'd have a reckoning with someone from the Order, but I also thought Ordo was right – they didn't have the clout to drag me in, not unwillingly.
Dad was staring at me in silence, and I wondered if the same thoughts were running through his head.
"It'll be all right, Dad," I said softly. "You'll see."
Funny, I'd never been one for optimism, but across the wooden courtyard Juhani was smiling at old man Bindo, while Ordo threw his head back in laughter at Mission's side. The Force was wild and free on this planet, but there was a simple sort of peace to it as well – maybe it was the Wookiees, maybe the frakking trees, or maybe just this oddball group of sents who'd all come to mean something to me.
Mission was grinning, waving her hands wildly as she said something to Zaalbar's dad. Without realizing what I was doing, the Force stretched out, plucking her words clear and crisp to my ears through the throng of conversation.
"...and then Jen said we had to dress up as Sand People to go any further, and sheesh, you shoulda seen the look on Big Z's face, when he held up a set of desert robes that barely even reached his belly..."
"Mission's talking about Revan," I muttered absently, and then immediately regretted it when I felt Dad stiffen. I turned, feeling my gut clench tight. "Dad- you should talk about her. I mean, I don't know if I would've ever been okay with you two- well, maybe- but, look, I'll listen, okay? She was... she was something else, even I'll admit that. And I'm not talking about what she did before."
Dad had shut his eyes, leaning back and drawing in a deep breath before speaking. "I'm not ready," he muttered, low enough that I barely heard. "Not- not yet. I- you're right, though. You and me, we bottle things up, and maybe we shouldn't. So... why don't you tell me a bit about this girl you lost? Selene, was it?"
Even now, it was hard to hold back a flinch. Selene was an old wound, not quite scabbed-over – a dull ache still present in my heart. Her death had almost broken my friendship with Mekel, but more than that- her death had felt like the last string of light in my life, cruelly torn away.
I didn't want to talk about her – but I'd be a bleeding hypocrite if I didn't try, and maybe I needed to, anyway. Besides, it was plain as frakking space that Dad could do with the diversion.
"Selene had a big heart," I said quietly. The words were hard, at first, to force out. "She didn't belong in Korriban – none of us did, not really – but she was just too... nice for the place. She kept talking about leaving, you know?"
Dad was silent, but he was looking at me again, as if transfixed by my words.
"We- there was something between us. She wanted me to go with her. I don't know if I would've, but I thought about it." I shifted uncomfortably, breaking his gaze. "Maybe that was why Uthar took her out. I don't know. She deserved better."
"Yeah," Dad said, a word of agreement, of commiseration.
"Mission reminds me of her, a bit," I continued. The more I spoke, the easier the words came. "She has the same heart. But she's got more backbone, I think. Selene- Korriban would have broken her, in the end. I think Mission's made of sterner stuff."
"Mission in a Sith Academy," Dad commented in a droll voice. "Now there's a scary thought."
I snickered. "Frakk, I don't want to think about a Force-sensitive Mission. She'd give Mex a run for his creds." I leaned forward to swig back another mouthful of berry booze. "I'm glad she's coming with us. I'd miss her, otherwise. What does it mean, you becoming her guardian? Like, you gonna try giving her a curfew? Because I really don't see that going down well."
"I'm sure we'll work it out, son."
I had a sudden image of Mission slicing her way out of whatever apartment Dad had scored, before running riot through Citadel Station. After all, the first time I'd met her, she'd been scoping out rooms in Dreshdae to break into.
Damn, but this was going to be fun.
"Legal guardianship is mostly for the records," Dad continued. "It means the law will see her as part of my family. She'll have the same rights as any Telosian."
"Family-" My stomach clenched, and my mouth suddenly ran dry. "Does that mean, she'll be like, my sister?"
I was too aghast to be mortified at the squeak of my own voice. Mission, a sister- the thought was just... just- wrong. I stared over at her in horror – a young, attractive Twi'lek my own age, who I certainly cared for but not at all like a sister-
"Really?" Dad said, his voice breaking in surprise. "You- you and Mission?"
"What?" I blurted, almost fumbling the mug in my hands before I unsteadily placed it on the table. "No! No, Dad, you've got it all wrong-"
There was a bemused look on Dad's face, but I barely noticed it with the way my face was blazing in embarrassment. "We're friends!" I protested hotly. "Just friends! But not, like, brother and sister friends!"
"Okay, cool your jets, son." He was grinning again, the bastard. "Just friends, even if she does remind you of your old girlfriend-"
"Dad!"
He threw back his head and laughed, louder than I'd heard since I was a kid. If it wasn't for the humiliation coiling in my gut, maybe I'd have been glad to hear it. Maybe.
"Okay, okay!" Dad gasped, still laughing, even as I glared bloody murder at him. Frakk, what if he said something to Mission? I had the sudden urge to pick up that damn mug of juice and throw it straight at him- "I won't say anything more, son, I promise. Stang, you should see the look on your face!"
"Dad-"
"I promise, nothing more on the topic." His grin faded, but his eyes still twinkled with mirth. "Whether I adopt her fully or just become her guardian - it's only labels, Dustil. We'll be a family, and that's what counts. We can decide what it means to us."
"Family," I echoed, the embarrassment fading as I stared back over to the others. They were all smiling and laughing as they grieved together. "Yeah. I suppose I can live with that."
xXx
Selene Vash:
Mining Outpost, Korriban
The door creaking open had me lurching from my bedroll in fright.
"Mazza," I gasped, as recognition shot hot relief in place of adrenaline. Late-night calls usually meant only one thing for a slave, even if I was better protected than most. "What- what are you doing here? If you get caught-"
The Twi'leki girl slipped inside, not even bothering to shush me. Slaves were confined to their quarters after final supper – if they weren't called away elsewhere. I couldn't protect Mazza from a beating if one of the miners found her here. Frakk, I might not even be able to protect myself-
"I couldn't leave without telling you," the girl hissed. She was young, younger than me, all pale green skin and smooth curves and far too good for this sort of life.
"Without telling me?" I repeated dumbly, dragging a threadbare blanket over my shoulders. Nights were cold in the mining outpost, what with the lack of any decent heating. "Mazza, you have to-"
I stopped, mid-speech, for my eyes had stilled on her neck. Her bare, unadorned, free neck.
"We're breaking out," she said flatly, leaning against the plimfoam wall. "Jax slipped some tranqs into the night's meal, and I pilfered the controllers for our collars. Got 'em all off. We're- we're gonna run to Dreshdae. Maybe without the collars no one will stop us, and we can hitch a ride off this gods-cursed dustball."
I froze. Escape... escape seemed no more than a distant dream, these days. Two years, give or take, since I'd woken with a gem-encrusted ring of servitude around my neck, and a fat Gamorrean named Neb as my new master.
My hand rose, wavering, to land against the shock collar that still shackled me. "Run- run to Dreshdae?"
"You can't come with us, Selene." Mazza's words were cold and hard. "Look, we know what you are. We ain't dumb. You never get picked by any of the rotgrubs here, and you've been here the longest. Jax and the others... they'll lynch you if you join us, because we all know what happens when a Force-user runs the gauntlet through the caves. Thing I don't get, though, is why you never bloody tried using your magic to get out of here."
My breath stuck in my throat.
The isolated mining outpost had no starport, no roads leading anywhere on this deserted planet, no exit at all except the merchant route back through the shyrack caves.
I had tried to run, in the early days. Fired a mind-trick at the traders heading back, figured a risk on the terentateks was better than an eternity as Neb's pretty arm-candy, even if I had the skills to avoid a forced dalliance between the sheets.
But Neb found out. Neb always found out. For a Gamorrean, he was plenty smart, and I sometimes wondered if he left me alone at night because he knew what I was... what I had been...
Although, if that was the case, wouldn't he use more than just a shock collar to hold me?
My thoughts jumbled into chaos, and all the while Mazza was silent – silently demanding my answer.
"I'm not- I'm not strong," I croaked out, dropping my gaze from hers. "A psychic suggestion or two, sure, I can manage that. But at the Academy... I always had others helping me, and- look, even if I did make it past the terentateks, I'm marked for death by- by someone pretty powerful. First time any Dark Jedi senses me..."
I trailed off, swallowing. No one left the Sith Academy alive. Some days, I wondered if my existence here even counted.
"A failed Initiate," Mazza murmured, her waxed lekku curling around her neck. She'd slipped into travelling clothes, I noticed dully. I'd never seen her so covered up. The breakout must have been planned in advance, and she'd held it back from me until the last minute. "Figured it was something like that. Look, you can't travel with us, but you could wait an hour or so and try your luck. Living like this... you'll end up as nothing but a scared gizka, hopping at the commands of those bastards. A clean death's better than that. Here-"
She lobbed something at me, and I had to scrabble out of the bedroll to catch it. Cold air chilled my skin, and I found myself staring blankly at the titasteel block of a shock controller.
"You've saved me from some hellish nights, Selene, even if you couldn't stop 'em all. Guess I thought I owed you something for that. Look, don't follow us too close, okay? Jax has a blaster and- well, I reckon I don't need to spell things out."
Slowly, I raised my gaze back to hers. The corner of her mouth twitched – almost a smile – and then Mazza left, as quickly as she'd entered.
I swallowed, collapsing back down to the bedroll, with my fingers gripped tight around the edges of the controller.
Staying here meant survival, of a sort. Depressing the power button to my slave collar could mean anything.
A chance at freedom. A quick death from a monster. A 'saber to the gut in Dreshdae – or worse, if I was dragged back alive to the Academy.
My eyelids fluttered closed as memory seethed to the surface. Memory – frayed with the monotony of months spent evading the clutches of rough hands and leering grins, and drawing on the Force for protection – even though with each passing day the Force felt weaker and fainter, like I was slowly losing the only thing that kept me sane-
It'd been stupid, so damn stupid of me to run to the shyrack caves that day. I'd never even paused to suspect the data-note hadn't come from Mekel – it had frakking sounded like him, and we'd talked about leaving, and the entrance caves were safe enough, even for Force-users, so long as you didn't go too deep-
I was there early, and that was what'd saved me. I got there before Uthar Wynn and his trio of lackeys, but when I saw them instead of Mekel-
I ran.
Deep, deep, deeper into the caves, with blaster shots firing at my back and the echoing roars of a monster coming closer. I wasn't strong in the Force, and I knew so little- I could barely enhance my own speed- and then terror eclipsed everything but my frantic need to run-
Uthar and his men were faster.
I was hit – once, twice, then badly in the back. I fell along the edges of a large cave as a nightmarish beast screamed into existence and came straight for me.
I knew no more until I woke in the mining outpost on other side of the ranges. I was shivering, scared, and in more pain than I'd ever been.
Neb and his traders had been in the area. They'd risked grabbing my body after Uthar had disappeared – convinced of my death, no doubt. Neb said it'd been a close call with the terentatek, but I'd fallen into a nook just beyond where the monster's claw could reach.
I'd thought it was fortuitous luck, at first.
Neb thought me a runaway joygirl, for I hadn't donned Initiate robes that day. And in Neb's twisted mind, that made me his. A shock collar was cinched tight around my neck, plasticeel gems studded throughout it. A neural inhibitor it was not, but I still lacked choices.
I could run the gauntlet back to Dreshdae – but the chances of survival for a Force-sensitive were next to nothing. And if I did make it, what then? There were eyes everywhere, and Uthar Wynn wanted me dead.
Uthar frakking Wynn!
I'd lived with fear so long that I no longer knew what happiness felt like. Sometimes I would close my eyes, and almost remember the taste of my first kiss. The uncertainty in his brown eyes, as his hands cupped my face and his soft lips brushed against mine-
I'd dreamed of Dustil leaving with us. I needed them both: Mekel – my ballsy best mate who always made me laugh, and Dustil, the boy who made me dream. I was gonna organize the trip with Mekel, and then beg Dustil to join us-
But Mekel would be long dead, now. Uthar had known of our dreams to escape, so he would've gone after Mekel, too – unless Yuthura Ban's growing favour had been enough to shield him.
My heart clenched. And Dustil... Dustil was probably an Adept by now.
Some days, I'd pretend Dustil was somewhere else. Somewhere far from Korriban, slowly healing himself from the frakked-up life we'd been shunted into, maybe reunited with his family and out of the war-
I'd stopped dreaming of my own future long ago.
I'll stop dreaming of everything if I stay here. Mazza's right about that. Even the Force is slipping away from me. Sooner or later, there'll be nothing but my body left.
This wasn't a life. I had never been... brave, I knew that. I'd always needed sents like Mekel or Dustil to lean on, and maybe... maybe, that had to stop. Trying for a better life was worth the risk of death from a terentatek's claws or a Dark Jedi's lightsaber.
With a sudden clench of my jaw, I looked down at the shock controller and thumbed the power off.
xXx
Sharlan Nox:
Valley of the Sith Lords, Sith Academy, Korriban
The Valley of the Sleeping Kings lay quiet.
Korriban's only sun, Horuset, glinted weakly above a craggy peak of the mountain ranges. An eddy of dust swirled ahead, caught up in a lonely breeze, capturing no one in its sandy grasp.
The grounds of the Sith Academy were truly deserted.
A slight shuffle from behind, however, reminded me that that was not quite the whole truth-
"The tomb is here, my lord," the mewling Human mumbled, taking a step closer to my side.
The Force was deep and rich on this planet, aged with the might of dead ghosts. A small tendril of telepathic power curled from my grasp, hooking deep into the little morsel's mind.
I have eyes, pet.
Of course, the walking battery could not see my eyes, not through the ornamental bone mask I was now forced to wear.
Your reluctance to endure physical discomfort led to this debilitation, Traya had snapped; unwilling, at first, to examine the mess of my face. Had you left the injury alone, perhaps I could have done more-
On the dying Star Forge, I had scrabbled for the Force, for regeneration, for anything to stop the blinding agony ripping through nerve-endings that screamed deep into my skull. My ability to self-heal assuaged my affliction, but I soon found out that ability was not flawless-
Hair would not regrow on my scalp. An amputated proboscis could not be recreated – and when that execrable Twi'lek had torn out my flesh, sinewy fibres from deep in the structure of my throat and sinuses had been affected. Scent was now beyond me. My vocal chords were damaged. I could still feed in the primal manner of my species, but only half as well-
My hate was an unquenchable fire, simmering with the infinite burn of retribution. Oh, there was more than one way to strengthen myself from the life of others. The Force did not fail me, and I could play a longer game than any other mortal.
For I vowed, one day, that I would see the demise of Yudan Rosh at my own hands. And that irritating child Dustil Onasi would be reclaimed as my pet.
One day.
"Yes, yes of course, my lord," the titbit was stuttering. "And- and my name is Shaardan-"
My Force clenched, burrowing deep into his mind. I needed someone to speak for me, now, and he would do – until I found a sentient more pleasing on the eyes. The pet gasped as I took a draft of his life-force, feeding from his infantile emotions of panic and fear as they channelled into my own strength.
Your name is pet.
The boy collapsed, wheezing in the Korriban dust, and wisely spoke no more.
I smiled, dismissing him, and turned to survey the valley again. If I stretched deep enough into the Force, I could feel the echoes of all those who had perished here, due to infighting that was as natural to the Dark Side as breathing. The Sleeping Kings themselves, resting in their tombs, left their own ripples, murmuring of past misdeeds. The countless cut down by their hand resonated through the Force, palpable to anyone strong enough to listen.
The battlegrounds I had walked throughout the galaxy bore the same eerie discordance. So much death in one place frayed against the edges of life, whispering a dark lullaby of power. Korriban was like a rich wine for the soul, and coming here always reminded me of my true birthplace.
Malachor.
I may have been breathed oxygen for eons before that fateful massacre, but I had been naught but a plant-seed then, awaiting the right nutrients. Meetra Surik had sown me in the rich soil of the Force, but Malachor was the rain that had finally allowed me to grow.
And no matter what injuries I was forced to withstand, now was my time to bloom.
The dying rays of Horuset warmed the bone mask affixed to my face. Korriban was a wellspring of power, and Traya had directed me here to investigate what remained of Malak's Sith before some robed wet blankets showed up to cleanse the place or some rot. Perhaps my latest master hoped I would return with dark treasure for her perusal, but if so, then frankly she should have travelled here herself.
I was growing beyond her leash. One day soon, the rope that tethered me to her would snap.
I am not the only one. Her other apprentice... we worked together, once, at Malachor. I have sensed his pain, his discontent. Perhaps it is time to approach him.
But, first, there was the matter of my own curiosity to feed.
The Force thrummed, clenching deep into the pet that writhed at my feet. I had already gleaned images of what had happened from his mind- a bloody coup at the Academy, with the few survivors turning tail. This one had sought refuge in the tombs. Flashes of one tomb in particular crept in pet's mind, giving credence to the rumours I had heard whispered in the space port-
A collapsed cave. A failed headmaster, sucking out the secrets of a dead Sith Lord. Vampiric rituals of life-drain and immortality- oh, and how intriguing that sounded. Just the thought was enough to whet my appetite and shake my control-
Suddenly, the lifeblood of my pet rushed into my veins, peaking high and sharp, spiking a welcome burn through my veins. The body at my feet shuddered once, and then stilled.
I grew hungry, at times. But there was always another meal to be found.
I stepped forward, leaving the dead in the dust. I would find another spokesperson easily enough. In front of me was a collapsed rock face that would take some time and energy to clear, but whatever imbecile thought they could bury Tulak Hord's secrets from me was vastly mistaken.
The Force shuddered in my bones. I smiled, and raised a hand to call the power in ever deeper, before unleashing it directly at the closed entrance of the tomb.
xXx
HK-47:
Republic Intelligence Command Post, Galactic City, Coruscant
Start-up System Check
Neural and Memory Core Functions... Restricted
Motoring Functions... Unable to Access
Shielding Functions... Unable to Access
Assassination Protocols... Unable to Access
#ERROR: Neural and Motor Restraining Bolt Installed
Audio Sensors ... Online
Optical Sensors ... Online
Tactile Sensors ... Online
Olfactory Sensors ... Online
Gustatory Sensors ... Not Installed
Scanning External Environment
Location: Unknown Engineering Room
2 Organic Meatbags in Targeting Area
Target Analysis: Organic Meatbag 1:
Species: Human, Male
Facial Recognition Result: Negative
Body Language Analysis: Inquisitive
Visual Analysis: Clothed in Standard-issue Republic Engineering Coveralls
Temporary Name Assigned: Nosy Tech
Target Analysis: Organic Meatbag 2:
Species: Rodian, Female
Facial Recognition Result: Negative
Body Language Analysis: Attentive
Visual Analysis: Outfitted in Standard-issue Republic Combat Armour
Temporary Name Assigned: Bug-eyed Grunt
Conclusion: HK-47 Has Been Captured by Republic Forces
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Status of Master Unknown
...Factor: Location Unknown
...Factor: Motor and Combat Functions Impeded by Restraining Bolt
...Factor: Neural Interfacing with External Informational Sources Not Accessible
Internal Conclusion: Observe and Gather Information
Primary Objective Accepted: Discover Status of Master
Secondary Objective Accepted: Remove Restraining Bolt
Input – Nosy Tech: "Hello there, lil droid."
Voice Stress Analysis: Curious
Output Not Required
Input – Bug-eyed Grunt: "You sure it's safe to turn this thing on?"
Voice Stress Analysis: Wary
Input – Nosy Tech to Bug-Eyed Grunt: "Chill out, Sharron, I got this."
Permanent Name Assigned: Sharron to Bug-Eyed Grunt
Input – Nosy Tech to HK-47: "Okay, lil droid. State your primary purpose."
Accessing: Internal Dictionary
...Analysing
Reference: 'lil'... Little, Diminutive, Non-Threatening
Conclusion: Parameters Do Not Match HK-47
Output Not Required
Input – Sharron: "Thought you said this thing would respond to you?"
Voice Stress Analysis: Disgruntled
Input – Nosy Tech: "We-ell, the restraining bolt hasn't quite taken control of his neural core yet. I ain't never seen this coding language before... look, I'm tethered in, it's just a matter of time before I decrypt his databanks..."
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
#ALERT: Breach in Neural Core Detected
#ERROR: External Breach Unintelligible
Initiating Command: Block Neural Infiltration Breach
...Failed
Echo: Access to Neural and Memory Core: Restricted
Internal Response: Aggravation
Input – Sharron: "You already got its databanks copied, right? Agent Tharis can take it from-"
Voice Stress Analysis: Impatient
Input – Nosy Tech (interrupting): "I can fast-track the decryption sequence if I can see how he reacts to basic commands. So just relax, okay? I already got physical control. See, I can make this lil droid dance."
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
#ALERT: External Commands Detected in Motor Core
Physical: Left Lower Limb Kicking Into Air
Physical: Left Limb Swinging Low
Physical: Left Limb Stationary
Physical: Right Lower Limb Kicking Into Air
Physical: Right Limb Swinging Low
Physical: Right Limb Stationary
Initiating Combat Mode
...Combat Mode Not Available
Audio Tracking: Snicker
...Source: Sharron
Internal Response: Vigorous Expletive Regarding Diseased Organic Sires and Their Mutated Spawn
Input – Nosy Tech: "And it's not like the lil droid is dangerous, not since I removed all his weaponry."
Voice Stress Analysis: Gleeful
Accessing: Weaponry
...Primary Blaster: Uninstalled
...Secondary Blaster: Uninstalled
...C-22 Flame Carbine: Uninstalled
...FC-1 Flechette Launcher: Uninstalled
...Kamino Saberdart: Uninstalled
...Left Lower Limb Jolt-Gun: Uninstalled
...Right Lower Limb Grappling Hook: Uninstalled
...Left Forearm Chiv-Blade: Uninstalled
...Right Forearm Shock-Stick: Disabled
Conclusion: HK-47 Disarmed
Tertiary Objective Accepted: Rearm HK-47
Quaternary Objective Accepted: Liquefy Organs in Nosy Tech
Input – Sharron: "Okay, okay, I suppose you got it under control. I'll go update Agent Tharis."
Audio/Visual Tracking: Sharron Leaving Targeting Area
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Primary Objective Requires Further Information
...Factor: Nosy Tech Desires Information Regarding Neural Core
...Prediction: Nosy Tech is Easier to Manipulate Alone
Internal Conclusion: Engage Nosy Tech in Communication
Output: "Greetings, short-lived meatbag. Query: What is my location? Query: What is the status of the crew of the Ebon Hawk? Observation: My access to external informational sources has been disabled, limiting my predictive algorithmic functions. Recommendation: My control cluster should be interfaced with your systems immediately."
Body Language Analysis: Nosy Tech: Surprised Twitch
Input – Nosy Tech: "Whoa, so now you talk? Guess the restraining tether is getting somewhere..."
Voice Stress Analysis: Excited
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
#ALERT: Breach in Neural Core Detected
#ERROR: External Breach Unintelligible
Input – Nosy Tech to HK-47: "All right, lil droid, I'm your new master. I ain't never seen anything like you before. Tell me, what's the operative purpose for your model line?"
Internal Conclusion: Simulate Submission Until Objectives Are Complete
Output: "Statement: I am HK-47, protocol and translation droid. My primary function is to facilitate communication between species and put an end to hostilities."
Input – Nosy Tech: "A protocol droid, huh? Since when are protocol droids outfitted with triple-layered armour plating, and an arsenal that'd made a karking Mandie proud?"
Voice Stress Analysis: Disbelieving
Output: "Banality: The threat of violence is often all that is required for a peaceful resolution."
Input – Nosy Tech: "The... threat of violence? Oh, and I suppose you're gonna tell me you ain't never used any of them weapons?"
Output: "Platitude: I could never allow myself to harm a sentient being, new master. What if they had families? Or children? Sarcasm: We must think of the children. The littlest ones always suffer the most."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Wait... did you just say 'sarcasm'?"
Output: "Supplication: Of course not, new master. You must have misheard me. Repetition: My protocol capabilities are incomplete without an accurate understanding of current events. My control cluster should be interfaced with your systems immediately."
Visual Tracking: Incredulous Stare
...Source: Nosy Tech
Input – Nosy Tech: "Riiiight. Like I'm gonna give a weird-ass alien battle droid access to Republic systems. Pull the other one, lil guy."
Voice Stress Analysis: Sceptical
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Nosy Tech is Not Cooperating
...Factor: Body Language of Nosy Tech Implies Suspicion
Internal Conclusion: Further Inducement for Interfacing is Required
Output: "Explanation: My neural core has withstood some data corruption. Perhaps an analysis from a secondary system will be able to repair the damage."
Input – Nosy Tech: "You're awfully free-thinking for a droid, ain't you?"
Output: "Backpedal: I strive only to improve my capabilities in the name of my master."
Facial Analysis: Nosy Tech: Long Stare
Input – Nosy Tech: "Name of your master... and who, exactly, is that?"
Output: "Placation: Why you, of course, new master. Once again my potential is held hostage at the whim of yet another organic meatbag. My circuits are abuzz with excitement."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Organic meatbag? Are you trying to insult me?"
Output: "Answer: Deliberation implies some form of intent, new master, where I am only stating a fact. Perhaps you would prefer the term 'liquidious fleshbag'?"
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Facial Analysis of Nosy Tech Implies Uneasiness
Internal Conclusion: Nosy Tech Requires Mollycoddling
Output: "Statement: Rest assured, new master, that my capabilities are focused only on your livelihood. Rhetoric: Well, as much as they can be with this restraining bolt installed. I suppose I could talk your enemies to death."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Death? Enemies... what karking enemies? I'm a bleeding tech!"
Voice Stress Analysis: Alarmed
Internal Conclusion: Supplication of Nosy Tech is Not Going Well
Output: "Retraction: That was, of course, a metaphor, new master. Vapidity: I am a peace-loving and law-abiding droid."
Input – Nosy Tech: "You are the strangest droid I have ever met."
Output: "Boast: I certainly am one of a kind. Recitation: All this meatbag waffling is deviating from my primary objective. Clarification: Which is to serve you, new master. This is best done by gathering situational data. Repetition: What is our current location?"
Input – Nosy Tech: "How about you tell me what programming core you're based on?"
Output: "Evasion: Oh, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that-"
Input – Nosy Tech: "Hang on, I clearly heard you say 'evasion' that time!"
Voice Stress Analysis: Irritated
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
#ALERT: Breach in Neural Core Detected
#ERROR: External Breach Unintelligible
Output: "Threat: If you do that again, I cannot be held accountable for your subsequent medical condition."
Facial Analysis: Nosy Tech: Frown
Internal Conclusion: Threats Are Not Synonymous With Mollycoddling
Output: "Retraction: Please ignore the previous output as a sign of data corruption. Affirmation: You are correct, new master, I clearly stated an evasion. After all, I was not self-aware when my neural core was first programmed, so I cannot know what language was used to create me. Extrapolation: Not even a droid enjoys admitting to ignorance."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Well, apparently you don't enjoy it when I enter commands into the restraint tether, either. So how about you answer my questions, lil droid? Starting with, who was your master before me?"
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Last Known Data Infers The Republic Considers Master an Enemy
Internal Conclusion: Deception is in HK-47's Best Interests
Cycling Through Scenarios
...Analysing
Output: "My previous master was known as Republic Captain Carth Onasi."
Facial Analysis: Nosy Tech: Frown
Input – Nosy Tech: "Onasi? Really? Because he's the one who gave you to us."
Voice Stress Analysis: Disbelieving
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: Imprisonment Due to Carth Onasi
...Factor: Master Would Not Allow Capture of HK-47
...Factor: Master Enjoyed Close Proximity to Carth Onasi
Internal Conclusion: Probability of Master's Death: High
Internal Response: Disillusionment
Output: "Paranoid Has-Been did not appreciate my good-natured japes on the fragility of organic life. Litany: Oh, woe is me, for not adequately pleasing my previous master."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Huh... Commodore Onasi reported that you fought on the Star Forge. Y'know, my superiors are still trying to untangle exactly what happened out there. If you're such a loyal droid an' all, then how about you tell me exactly what happened on that Sith space station."
Anecdote: The Lure of Temptation Can Act as the Most Promising Bait
Initiating Command: Playback Video Sequence
...Holo-Recording Launched
Input – Nosy Tech: "Whoa! Is that karking Darth Malak?"
Voice Stress Analysis: Awed
Input – Nosy Tech (breathless): "Is that how you ended up in pieces?"
Holo-Footage Playback Halted
Output: "Statement: The recording ends there. But my databanks hold the previous twenty hours worth of footage, along with some permanently stored holo-records, of course. Invitation: Would you like me to-"
Input – Nosy Tech: "Yes! Anything on the Star Forge – show it!"
Voice Stress Analysis: Excited
Internal Directive: Pause For Dramatic Effect
Output: "Lamentation: Oh dear. It appears the restraining bolt has short-circuited my recording system. Suggestion: If you remove the bolt, I may be able to play back further recordings."
Facial Analysis: Nosy Tech: Frown
Output: "Entreaty: After all, I am disarmed, and my primary function is to serve you, new master."
Audio Tracking: No Audible Response from Nosy Tech
Output: "Imploration: I am your protocol droid, new master. I would serve you better with full access to my own functionality."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Y'know, I think Sharron was right. It was a mistake turning you on."
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
#ALERT: Breach in Neural Core Detected
#ERROR: External Breach Unintelligible
Input – Nosy Tech: "I reckon I'll just turn over your databank copy to Agent Tharis."
Internal Conclusion: Nosy Tech is Rejecting Bait
Output: "Wheedle: I am your protocol droid, new master! Surely you will not be so cruel as to off-load me to another!"
Input – Nosy Tech: "Sorry lil droid, you're just too weird. Even for me. I'm switching you off."
Objectives: Failed
Internal Response: Chagrin
Neural Core Directive: Sith Protocols Demand All Droid Knowledge Be Locked During Missions and Restored Upon Return to Master
...Factor: HK-47 Not In Control of Neural Core
...Factor: HK-47 Cannot Be Allowed to Fall Into Enemy Hands
Initiating Memory Core Deadlock:
...Commencing Memory Self-Lock
...Initiating...
Visual Tracking: External Hatch Opening
1 Organic Meatbag Entering Targeting Area
Target Analysis: Organic Meatbag 3:
Visual Analysis: Bipedal Sentient Clothed In Grey Robes
Species and Facial Recognition Analysis Unavailable
Body Language Analysis: Alert
Temporary Name Assigned: Robed Newcomer
Memory Self-Lock Halted
Input – Nosy Tech: "Hey! Who are-"
Input – Robed Newcomer: "You will halt all video surveillance."
Input – Nosy Tech: "Er, I'll just pause the holo-cams-"
Audio/Visual Tracking: Nosy Tech Inputting Commands into Console
Body Language Analysis: Robed Newcomer: Left Forearm Raised
Visual Tracking: Visible Suffocation
...Source: Nosy Tech
Visual Tracking: Organic Collapse
...Source: Nosy Tech
Memory Self-Lock Aborted
Quaternary Objective: Complete
Output: "Nostalgia: Much as Nosy Tech's death pleases me, I had fantasized pulling out his entrails myself."
Audio/Visual Tracking: Robed Newcomer Walking Closer
Input – Robed Newcomer: "HK-47. As I suspected. A nullified scrap of Revan's legacy. Her passion for such things dead to the Force always defied me."
Voice Stress Analysis: Disgusted
#INTERRUPT: Voice Analysis: Probable Match: Arren Kae
...Analysing
...Factor: Verbal Output of Robed Newcomer Matches Personality: Arren Kae
Internal Conclusion: Match Confirmed
Permanent Name Assigned: Arren Kae To Robed Newcomer Reference Wrinkled Sludgesack
#INTERRUPT: Master Defined No-Kill List Activated: Identified Match: Arren Kae
Output: "Reminiscence: I do believe you threatened to ionize my circuits should we ever meet again, Wrinkled Sludgesack. You are safe from any retaliation on my part, however, due to your place on the Master's banal No-Kill list. Suggestion: Remove my restraining bolt, and I will happily assist you in terminating many more Republic meatbags."
Input – Arren Kae: "And like any machine, you resort to the compilation of your own behavioural core: which in your case is blasting anything in the path of your master's objective. What a despicable thing it is, to be free from the shackles of the Force, but be shackled instead by your own programming."
Output: "Observation: I am a droid, Wrinkled Sludgesack, with programming. Even if I did not enjoy killing, I would have no choice. Thankfully, I enjoy it very much."
Input – Arren Kae: "Enough. I have no desire to listen to the formulated drivel of a machine. I seek answers. What do you know of Revan's fate?"
Output: "Negotiation: Remove my restraining bolt, and I will answer all-"
Visual Tracking: Arren Kae Raising Forearm
Visual Tracking: Visible Electrostatic Charge Surrounding Arren Kae
Input – Arren Kae: "I abhor repeating myself, particularly to a machine. I will not ask a third time. What do you know of Revan's fate?"
Voice Stress Analysis: Deadly
Situation Analysis:
...Factor: High Probability: Republic Detection of Paused Surveillance
...Factor: Arren Kae Can Permanently Disable HK-47
Internal Conclusion: Cooperation is in HK-47's Best Interests
Output: "Query: Do you refer to the Master's memory wipe after her capture above Deralia, or-"
Input – Arren Kae: "I know all I require regarding the faithlessness of the Jedi Order. No, I wish to know what happened onboard the Star Forge. Does your master still live, droid?"
Output: "Hesitation: The probability of her survival is very low, much as it pains my processors to admit. Clarification: I was disabled by her former apprentice, while guarding the fallen Jedi my master was bonded to. I assume that Uptight Soporific was killed shortly thereafter-"
Input – Arren Kae: "If your inane moniker refers to Bastila Shan, then yes. All accounts hold that she was slain in combat against Darth Malak."
Output: "Recitation: The Master believed that if one of them suffered an organic demise, then so would the other."
Internal Response: Displeasure
Input – Arren Kae: "The account from my plant onboard the Star Forge felt Revan fall alongside Shan. Yet that little explains why Malak's death was sensed minutes before the Star Forge was destroyed."
Output: "Theory: Perhaps the meatbag succumbed to organic injury and faltered?"
Input – Arren Kae: "Perhaps."
Internal Conclusion: Master's Death is Probable But Not Confirmed
Primary Objective: Suspended (Inconclusive)
Input – Arren Kae: "There is no benefit in allowing Rakatan technology such as yourself to remain intact within the hands of the Republic. Machines... ever since Revan first stumbled upon the Star Forge, she used them to inflict her will upon the galaxy. Tell me, droid, did Revan leave any orders within your shell for after her death?"
Output: "Statement: In the event of the Master's death, perceived or confirmed, the ownership of myself was to be transferred to Canderous Ordo."
Input – Arren Kae: "The Mandalorian war general who has left Republic airspace? That is a curious choice from the one who crushed the Mandalorian clans."
Voice Stress Analysis: Speculative
Output: "Musing: Of all of the Master's recent meatbag companions, Geriatric Blockhead is the only one my programming could stomach."
Input – Arren Kae: "I doubt that had anything to do with it, machine. No, there must be more. Tell me, what other orders did she imprint you with?"
Output: "Statement: A holo-recording of herself, to be played upon-"
Input – Arren Kae: "Play it. Now."
Voice Stress Analysis: Commanding
Output: "Negation: The holo-recording is locked to a specific event, Wrinkled Sludgesack. The contents are currently hidden from my memory core. I have no desire to override the Master's directive, but even if I did, my programming would not allow it."
Input – Arren Kae: "Machines. Even programmed to enjoy their fetters."
Voice Stress Analysis: Disgusted
Input – Arren Kae: "Tell me, droid. What event is the recording locked to?"
Output: "Statement: Merely that if a leader-seek for a new Mandalore is announced, I am to play back the locked recording to Geriatric Blockhead. In private."
Input – Arren Kae: "A leader-seek? Oh Revan, what were you planning?"
Output: "Conjecture: Geriatric Blockhead and the Master spoke of the revival of the Mandalorian Clans. I can only theorize it has something to do with this."
Input – Arren Kae: "Information for a Mandalorian war leader to be released at a pivotal time... Revan meant to influence the people she once sought to destroy. But it was only at Malachor that she first learned of- Well. Plans are such fragile things, and life often dashes expectations to the ground."
Voice Stress Analysis: Thoughtful
Output: "Repetition: Our goals may align, Wrinkled Sludgesack. I am unable to harm you until my master amends her sentimental No-Kill list, and your intrusion into a Republic compound may have already been noticed. Suggestion: Allow me to aid in your escape."
Input – Arren Kae: "I have no need for your interference, machine. But a truth even Revan understood was that the Mandalorian Clans once held most of the Outer Rim firm. Any movements from the Unknown Regions would likely be detected by a strengthened Mandalore. I wonder..."
Facial Analysis: Arren Kae: Intent Stare
Input – Arren Kae: "The best game-board is one with many pawns. Even ones as repugnant as yourself. From such small things, the universe and its masses may be moved... Very well, machine. Seek out your Mandalorian master."
Visual Tracking: Arren Kae Raising Hand
#ALARM: Neural and Motor Restraining Bolt Removed
Neural and Memory Core Functions... Online
Motoring Functions... Online
Shielding Functions... Online
Assassination Protocols... Online
Secondary Objective: Complete
Accessing: Weaponry
...Right Forearm Shock-Stick: Online
Conclusion: HK-47 Rearmed
Tertiary Objective: Complete
New Primary Objective Accepted: Seek Out Geriatric Blockhead
Input – Arren Kae: "A word of warning, machine: should our paths cross again, things will not end so fortuitously for you."
Visual Tracking: Arren Kae Leaving Targeting Area
Internal Response: Satisfaction
xXx
Zaerdra Leno:
Sovereign House, Upper City, Taris
The eastern wing of Sovereign House was the only wing that stood undamaged from the wrath of the Sith. Built on the backs of slaves decades ago, this eyesore of a mansion had always screamed of wealth and waste – as much due to its lavish interior as to the pretentious scum that ruled from within its gilded walls.
This room was the worst. Inane, indecipherable artworks hung on the marbled walls. Every inch of floor was smothered in handwoven silk-rugs. A holo-screen, pretentiously large, lined one end of the room, blaring yet another rerun of the Republic's victory parade back in the Core.
Behind a wood-carved desk that looked more ornamental than useful, Governor Karl Ulgo stared resolutely down the barrel of my blaster.
"I am running out of patience," I murmured, voice muffled from the rebreather the atmo's toxicity still demanded. "And you are running out of time to decide."
The Human's steely blue eyes held mine unblinkingly. He had composure, I'd give him that. His broad shoulders were still and straight beneath a crisp suit of Tarisian crimson, as if the man refused to buckle even with a dozen sights all lined straight at his head.
"Shoot me and none of the other councillors will give you the time of day," Governor Ulgo replied stonily. "A rabble of alien thugs will not overturn the government-"
"Watch us," Jarrick slurred at my side.
"Last time I checked, there were only three councillors left standing, boc'ara," I sneered, glaring at this scion of racism and greed. "Let's punch that one down to karmic justice, shall we? After all, first thing you eswa Humans did when the Sith attacked was dismantle all turbo-lifts to the surface. Left millions to rot in the ruins of the Lower City-"
"Are you blind?" the Human snapped. "Have you taken a look outside? The Upper City was decimated! The last thing we needed was a horde of poverty-stricken aliens sucking dry what little resources we had left-"
"What's a few million on your conscience while you nobs surround yourself with medi-droids and working air-con filters and foodstuffs going to rot while we all starve-"
"Zaerdra," a calm voice admonished behind me, stepping closer. "Allow me a moment?"
The governor's eyes narrowed in recognition, darting to the unarmoured Human at my side. "Dr Forn," Ulgo muttered. "I must say, I am surprised a man of your principles would stand with a swoop gang, of all things."
Would stand with a bunch of aliens, is what that scum really means.
I would've left Zelka Forn below, back in one of his makeshift med-centres, had the stubborn man allowed me to. But Zelka burned with the lofty idea that the lawmakers might actually listen to him- for he was Human, after all.
I'd come to value Zelka's wisdom, even if we rarely saw eye-to-eye. One of the best calls I'd ever made had been dragging the recalcitrant medic down below when the bombs started falling.
The last year had been- hard. Hardest year of my life. But in some ways, those first months after the Sith plasma fell seemed cleaner than the political mess I was dabbling in now. Gadon had perished – his death still burned in my heart – and the reins of leadership had fallen to me. Our emergency stronghold had been a desperate one – a forgotten ferracrete bunker in the Undercity – while my men rallied to identify which territories were safe, which areas we could fortify, and which sectors we had to abandon before they fell on us.
We'd lost people. There were so many dead. Young and old, the detritus of lower Taris, those forgotten and uncared for by those in power. Supplies had dwindled, air-cons had failed, and some days I ate and breathed nothing but dust.
As the months dragged desolately on, somehow- somehow- the Hidden Beks slowly emerged as the major player beneath the glittering wreck of the Upper City. The Vulkars vanished – and only the Mother Goddess knew what had happened to Brejik. At first it was the smaller gangs flocking beneath our tattered banner. Then, day by day, other survivors trickled in, wanting to join or offering assistance or, sometimes, just desperate for shelter.
The homeless, the unwanted, the denizens of the ruins.
One day, I'd looked around, and was startled at just how large our group had grown. The Hidden Beks had, somewhere along the way, transformed from a street gang into a quasi-government.
Oh, Gadon. If only you could see us now.
"Governor Ulgo, the reality is that the populace of the Lower City far outnumber the Humans still on the surface," Zelka was saying, in that slow, patient voice of his. "We are desperate for food and med-supplies, but all outside resources come through your one standing starport. Now that we have access to-"
"Access? You lot bashed your way through!" the governor growled. Human or not, I didn't think Zelka's counsel would do anything here but waste time. "Tarisian law still stands. Humans are the ruling caste, and if we decree all aliens must reside below-"
"You do not have the numbers to enforce your xenophobia any longer!" It was hard not to snarl at the man, as he preached the same discrimination that had suffocated Taris for so long. But for the first time ever, the military might on Taris was not in the Upper City. "The Exchange was always your muscle, and they won't return until Taris is stable. I mean to ensure that stability is representation for all-"
"Aliens can not hold citizenship!" Ulgo erupted. His eyes flashed with anger, but his voice was grating with desperation. "Taris has always, first and foremost, been a Human colony!"
"Fine," I said curtly, twitching my blaster upright. "A proclamation from you would mean less unrest on the surface – less of your ilk dead – but the Hidden Beks can take the Upper City without your support."
"Zaerdra-"
"Stand down, Zelka," I snapped. This was why I hadn't wanted him here. Oh, we'd have been lost without his resource management, without his miracle synthesization of the rakghoul vaccine or his patchwork of med-stalls that had spread through the ruins – but the man was just too soft-hearted to swallow reality. He would never accept what had to be done for the promise of a better future. "Governor Ulgo had made his choice."
I saw the moment the governor's composure cracked. Maybe it was my arm, straightening in readiness. Or Jarrick and Dane, lining up the kill-shot. Regardless, the Human's eyes widened in bitter understanding, before his gaze darted desperately to the lurid holoscreen at his side. "The Republic-" he garbled, head jerking at the rerun. "The Republic will come for Taris. They almost did, once before, and things were better for you lot then- you just have to give us time-"
My gaze flickered briefly over the holo before returning. I'd seen all that crap before. Every damn channel was gushing about some heroes on the other side of the galaxy, but they'd been too late to stop the Sith obliterating Taris, the Sith that chivhole bureaucrats like Ulgo had allowed here in the first place-
Even the eswa rerun reminded me of the dead. Some young girl Twi'lek was answering a reporter, and she looked exactly like Mission-
I focused back on the bigot. "The closest thing we ever had was the Jedi Thirteen, and all it took was a few years of your rampant racism backed by Exchange corruption to undo what they imposed. Citizenship, Ulgo, with the announcement of a planetary election. The Hidden Beks will accept nothing less."
Even Revan and the Jedi Thirteen hadn't managed that. Sure, they'd overturned the slave trade, set up orphanages and academies, promised Republic aid after the war- and then they'd left. Left us to languish as things slowly reverted to the way they'd always been.
No, citizenship was the only way to give power to the people. All of them.
"The rakghouls- You must be reasonable!" Ulgo protested, but there was a definite whine in the timbre of his voice, now- a weak man who thought himself strong and resolute, right until the moment he faced his own death. "The Sith's destruction must have opened entrances to the Undercity. You cannot blame us for protecting ourselves!"
"The rakghoul disease is eradicated, Governor," Zelka said slowly. "You have been told this months ago. Even without the Upper City's advanced medi-tech, we were able to re-produce the serum and distribute it. All the surviving populace below are dying of hunger and lung-rot – not that terrible affliction."
Synthesization of the serum had been the turning point for Zelka. The moment he had firmly entrenched himself on the side of the Hidden Beks, rather than merely acting as an unwilling partner. We'd still had comms to the Upper City, then, and Zelka had fired off plea after plea, begging the few rich-listers that remained for access to their labs. Any means to mass-produce the vaccine before the rakghouls overtook us all-
He'd told me, once, that it'd been that callous Jen Sahara who'd slipped him the vial. He thought her a hero – well, our differing opinions on that waste of space mattered little. In the end, Jen Sahara was as dead as Mission Vao.
"How do you know for certain?" Ulgo bellowed, but his eyes kept slipping weakly back to the end of my barrel. "How can you blame us for not trusting your word? I've- I've heard about what happens to the infected!"
"Yeah, well, we've seen it first-hand!" Jarrick growled.
"You have no idea, truly," I added, my voice softening to a dark murmur as my fingers clenched on the trigger. "So many of our dead belong at your feet, governor. Starvation, the rakghouls, the Sith bombing that only happened because you lot jumped into bed with them."
The older Human's expression slackened, and something that might have been grief clouded his eyes. "You are not the only one to lose family to the Sith," Ulgo whispered.
"Not from my own doing. Decide, governor. You have five seconds."
The man swallowed.
"Boss?" Jarrick muttered, cocking his head even as his blaster remained upright. "Incoming comm from Diva's lot. They've secured the south-eastern courtyard. Councillor Tulson fell in the battle."
Ulgo's shoulders sagged, and defeat sharpened the grooves in his face. "Allow... allow me to contact the others, to tell them to stand down. I will see no more of my own die before I issue the proclamation."
I nodded sharply. A surge of victory threatened to burn a nascent high in my gut, but I grimly tamped it down. We weren't there, not yet. "Jarrick, Dane, stand over Governor Ulgo while he makes his comms. Ensure he thumbprints the proclamation and broadcasts it to all available channels. I want a registry for citizenship organized for a week's time. Elections... elections in a standard month. But first we need to take control of food distribution. The med-labs need to be scoured, all rebreathers made available to those heading to the surface-"
"Zaerdra," Zelka laid a hand on my shoulder, warm brown eyes gazing at me fondly. "One step at a time."
I blinked, and realized my men were already positioned around Ulgo as he leaned forward to open a communication channel.
"Breathe," Zelka teased gently.
My gaze slid away from the acceptance in his, before landing back on that ridiculously large holo-screen. The date-stamp on the feed was weeks old, but so many intergalactic channels were obsessed with their shiny new heroes, and kept replaying the same garbage over and over again. The blue-skinned Twi'lek was still centre-stage, all sad eyes and scowling mouth even as she answered the gaudy reporter-
I frowned, cocking my head to catch the lowered volume of the feed. The girl looked a lot like Mission.
::-at this stage, I'm heading to Kashyyyk. The chieftain there, he's Big Z's dad. He won't've heard the news, and he deserves to hear it in person, y'know?::
My mouth dropped open. Big Z. Zaalbar. She said Zaalbar!
The reporter leaned close, shoving a mic under her nose before a Human boy angrily shoved it away. ::I understand you plan to make Telos your home after that, Miss Vao?::
The boy's face eclipsed the feed, now. ::Mission won't be answering any more questions-::
::We won't have any more questions answered today, folks-::
"E chu ta!" I gasped, unable to believe my eyes. "That's Mission! Dammit, Zelka, that's Mission Vao!"
Zelka frowned in confusion, and I remembered he'd come into our lives after. After she- after she left! Left, not died! "I can't believe she's alive," I whispered in shock. Mission had been loved in the Beks. But so reckless, so impulsive. She reminded me of myself, a bit, before I'd been captured and beaten and enslaved. Before I'd turned bitter and hard.
I hadn't wanted the same for Mission Vao, but she'd never appreciated my efforts to caution her. Shiv, I wouldn't have appreciated my methods, at her age – but I'd had to try something. I didn't want her to run into trouble the way I had, and turn out the way I did. I'd been lucky Gadon had rescued me from slavery when he did.
I gazed hungrily at the news channel. It looked like Mission had been caught up in something even bigger than I had been. I could feel myself grinning like an idiot. This was the best news I'd had-
"You've sent your comms," Jarrick slurred. Around him, another four of my men held blasters at the ready. "Time to draft up the proclamation. We ain't gonna be stalled any longer."
My gaze shot back to Ulgo. The man's mouth had tightened, but he nodded before leaning over a console that was in Jarrick's direct line of sight.
"This is it, Zaerdra," Zelka murmured, nudging me gently. "Today will change the face of Taris forever. You, the Hidden Beks, all of us together – right now, we are making history."
"Not quite yet," I cautioned, but I could not help feel a little dizzy as Ulgo pressed his thumb against the console's sensor. "But it's another step."
"Have a little faith, Zaerdra," Zelka continued, in that soft rumbling voice of his. "I can see what will happen next, you know."
I raised my brows, staring mutely at him in question.
"You'll run as Governor, come election time." Zelka's dark eyes were warm, the same colour as his skin, a striking contrast against what grizzled white hair he had left. "And you'll win, Zaerdra. Taris will never be the same again." The corner of his mouth quirked. "Blast it, I never would have guessed when we first met, that one day you'd take over the world."
I holstered my blaster, and leaned over to whack the chortling man over the head.
xXx
Lena Torand:
Fazza's Lodge, Anchorhead, Tatooine
"Yer still watching that drivel, Lena?" the keep slurred, sliding another drink across uneven bar to my waiting hand. "S'like the twentieth time this week. What d'ya care 'bout some shiny heroes back in the Core?"
My lips curved in a wistful smile as my fingers curled around the cool beverage. With effort, I slid my gaze away from the holo perched crookedly at the back of the floating bar.
"Everyone loves a hero," I murmured, eyes fluttering closed as I raised my glass. I could still see the screen, even in my mind: the image of Mission, scowling into the cam, battle-hardened and so much older than the girl we'd abandoned on Taris.
"Eh, Komad, talk some sense into yer missus?" the bartender grunted, as the sound of footsteps nearing hit my ears. "I'm sick of this channel, and others wanna watch the swoops in Mos Eisley..."
I felt the reassuring bulk of Komad slip into the stool next to me. One arm reached forward to trail down my tchun affectionately. "(My heart)," Komad murmured in Ryl, planting a gentle kiss on my temple. "(How fare you?)"
Komad Fortuna was everything Griff Vao pretended to be. Strong, honourable, responsible... he would never have left a helpless sister behind to fend for herself in the slums of an Exchange-controlled world. That I had once believed Griff's words – she refused to come! The Beks will look after her! – still did not erase my own complicity.
Griff would not have left Taris without my credits. I could have... I should have spoken to Mission myself. A different twist of fate and she would have died in the Sith bombing, or been slain by a rival gang, or fallen in the Tatooine sands after Griff deserted her again-
Oh, the cowardly man had told me about that, as he scrabbled with justifications and exaggerations, plucking at his tattered Czerka uniform and refusing to meet my accusing stare.
I knew the debt of honour owed to his little sister, even if Griff himself refused to acknowledge it.
Komad was the better man. If he did not make me laugh the way Griff Vao once had... well. It was a small price to pay for the protection of his arms.
"(Complete, now you have returned)." I repeated the standard lover's response by rote, even if my Ryl was still shaky. "(How was your...)" I frowned, searching for the word fruitlessly, before switching back to Basic. "...expedition, my freykaa?"
"(Rewarding. The natives have retreated deep into the sands; we can find no evidence of nearby activity)." Komad shrugged, his lekku twining casually around his neck as he slid a chit-token across the bar and motioned for a drink. "(Oh, they will return one day. Such is the cyclical nature of life. But for now we may rest a little easy)."
I returned his smile. Komad's competence out in the desert meant I did not worry over his absence the way I had with Griff. My eyes slid back to the holo, but the picture now was of a fashionably dressed reporter, chattering excitedly into the cam.
"(I did not realize you were so close to Mission Vao)," Komad said slowly, catching my gaze and following it. In truth, I had not known Mission well, but... I cannot explain this to Komad. He would understand a debt, but to admit I had been taken in by sweet words and the promise of adventure- all to save the credits on a third ticket- "(Lena. My heart. There is something I must tell you)."
My stomach lurched. This was it. I would forever strive to conceal just how deep a hold Griff Vao once held on my heart, but Komad knew enough to keep tabs on the man for my sake.
I had been counting on his attentiveness for confirmation that my plan had worked – for I no hidden resources left to investigate myself.
"You can change the channel, I have seen all I need," I called out to the barkeep, but it was Komad I watched, as I schooled my face into a façade of impassivity. "What is it, my freykaa?"
An uneasy expression crossed his broad face. "(I do not wish to hurt you-)"
"Komad," I murmured, slipping my hand over his muscular forearm. His skin was dry and weathered – not silky like Griff's had been – but the muscles rippling beneath my fingertips were a promise of his strength. "You are here and you are whole. That is all I truly require."
His smile was brief; his blue eyes hard and serious as they pinned mine. "(Griff Vao has been arrested in Mos Eisley, my heart. For smuggling glitterstim and gree-spice. Such an act carries rather punitive measures)."
I paused. Just long enough, I hoped, for the pretence of shock.
"I understand," I whispered. Even knowing beforehand did not stop my eyes from stinging. Smuggling was standard on Tatooine, but one had to pay off the customs officials...
...
"This is all I have," I hissed at the shady Czerka rep. "He'll be smuggling something illicit in Mos Eisley. This should be ample for you to ignore his bribe. Look, I don't want him hurt, okay? Just... just imprisoned. With no connection to the outside world for... for six years, if you can manage it."
Six years was how long we had left a young girl behind at the mercy of a street gang. Mission had come out whole, Mission was now a galactic hero, and the moment Griff Vao learned of his sister's fame he'd be flying from Tatooine in a one-way ticket to sponge off her.
The silly young girl might be battle-hardened, but I was willing to bet Griff's freedom that she was still as soft-hearted and blind as I had ever been.
...
"Lena?"
I blinked, and offered Komad a tremulous smile that hid the darkness burning in my heart. "I am fine, Komad. I had always expected Griff's shady dealings to catch up with him one day." My hand slipped down his forearm to twine through his fingers. "I need hear nothing more of Griff Vao, my freykaa. Truly, he is gone from my heart."
I would say that until the words rang true, until the affection I held for Komad was as deep and abiding as the love that shone from his eyes.
And as for Mission... she had a reprieve, at least, from her brother's influence. Debt repaid, Mission Vao. Ryma gesu'tak allesh, and fare thee well.
Komad leaned forward, and I met his lips in a soft kiss that spoke of a future devoid of any Twi'lek named Vao.
xXx
Mission Vao:
Apartment 3A, Officer's Residential Block, Citadel Station, Telos
"So, er..." Dustil raked a hand through his hair, staring awkwardly around the place. "Think you'll like it here?"
"I guess," I shrugged. The floor was white. The panelled walling was white. Sheesh, even the lounge chairs were made of a tota-cloth so stark that it might've come fresh from the factory floor. "It's very... white."
"Well, we can decorate and stuff. Here, come and see your room."
I let Dee drag me down a side-hallway lit up with softly glowing halogens. The place was a blur, much like the rest of Citadel Station – I hadn't really paid attention to our surroundings since we'd arrived a day ago.
There were simply too many other things on my mind... I'd gone with Carth, earlier, to see Jolee and Juhani off while Dee stayed behind to scope out our new home. Dee didn't like leave-takings, and at any rate we'd be seeing old man Bindo again soon enough. But it'd been... strange, saying goodbye to Juhani, not really knowing when I'd see her again.
Sure, we'd never been close, but she was, like, a totally different sent to the crazed one I'd first met on the Tatooine sands. We'd all changed so much since then, I reckoned.
Well, those of us still living.
"There." Dee's grin jarred me from my thoughts, as he flapped one hand around the small room we'd entered. There was an empty desk, a storage hatch, and a single bed. Complete with white blankets and all. "What do you think?"
He was trying so hard to cheer me up. And there were times he did – some days I didn't think I'd've managed without his updates on the inter-swoop runs, or his lame attempts at pazaak, or even the way he'd mind-tricked those sleemo reporters back in the Core.
I stepped forward – more to keep Dee happy than anything else – and sat down on the bed. It was soft. Springy, too, I found, when I tried bouncing on it. "I've never had my own room before," I admitted. "Not back on Taris. Big Z an' I, we'd camp out with the Beks, wherever they could find space. We had a couple of hideouts too, y'know? But they were rough spots, abandoned tunnels or flats that were red-zoned ..."
Dustil's smile slowly faded as he sat down next to me. "I guess this place will take some getting used to," he said slowly, his eyes darkening. "It reminds me a bit of my old home in Thani, actually. I hated that apartment. Mum... she never wanted to move to the city, and maybe I picked up on that. Now I think I never really gave Thani a chance."
This was a new thing: Dee, talking about his past. I didn't know if he was trying to distract me, or if it'd been our jaunt to Kashyyyk, but he'd opened up some and it meant I was getting to know him better. Dee'd had such a different life from mine – rich, protected, loved... right up until the Sith had thrown him into a nest of vipers that might've been even worse than the streets I'd grown up on.
And as for Carth – well, he was trying. Trying to be there for us, to build a new life. But I knew he felt just as broken as me. Any mention of Jen and he clammed up tighter than a Hutt's purse-strings.
I blinked away the sting in my eyes, and forced a smile. "Bit of colour, that's all this place needs." My fingers plucked absently at a pillow that was as white as the rest of the bedding. "Far out, never thought I'd be longing for the durasteel grey of the 'Hawk."
Dustil snickered. "Apparently this apartment's been empty since it was built. Not many officers have the clout to demand a four-bedroom."
"You reckon your dad will be back anytime soon?"
"Yeah, but he won't stay long. He's meant to be on leave, but that doesn't stop the brass hounding him." Dustil shrugged, and through the walls I heard the thud of footsteps entering the apartment. I'd already scoped out the sec-locks and cam-sensors in the foyer, so I knew it wasn't gonna be anyone we didn't trust.
Dustil rubbed at his neck awkwardly. "You know Dad wants us to think about study, right? There's a school for officers' kids in the station's Ed Centre-"
I could feel my nose wrinkling. "What, seriously? You mean, like, joining the Fleet or something? Uh uh, no way, I'd rather take up cantina dancing."
"It's not a military school, you know. And I think Dad might have the right idea, even if he sounded like a stuffy old man about it." Dee cleared his throat loudly, straightened his shoulders, and said the next sentence in a stupidly deep voice. "You can't be encroaching on Jolee Bindo all of the time, son. There's plenty of academic avenues you can better yourself-"
"Far out, Dee," I giggled, elbowing him in the side. "You don't need to try and sound like Carth, y'know. You already do!"
"Gee thanks." He rolled his eyes, nudging me back. "Seriously, Mish, there's a whole list of certified courses you can take your pick from. Like astronavigation, eco-trading, galactic law... or you could go and do the basics first- math and physics, that sort of thing-"
"Wait a nanosec." I drew back, eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me Mish?"
"Er-" It was cute, really, the way Dustil's face suddenly flamed Zeltron-red. "Um, I guess?"
"How 'bout you don't?" I punched him lightly on the arm. Dustil was wearing a short-sleeved vest, fitted tight around his biceps. It made me realize that a lot of his training musta been physical. Which made sense, really, since all the Force-users I'd known were ace at combat – and I'd seen Dee in action. More than once.
I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, and looked away.
"Sorry," he was muttering. "I blame it on Mex. He had a nickname for everyone, whether they liked it or not. Of course, the one time he tried shortening Yuthura's name, he couldn't move for a frakking week."
"Well, I reckon I'll do the same to you, if you call me Mish again. Two syllables ain't that hard, Dee."
He raised an eyebrow – a silent pointer at my name for him, I guessed – and I responded by sticking my tongue out at him.
"Real mature, Mission," he drawled, rolling his eyes again. "But c'mon, it doesn't hurt to look at the courses on offer. There'll be something to interest you-"
"I don't want to study." Sheesh, I couldn't think of anything worse than being surrounding by dusty data-books and boring old professors. "I got by just fine so far. I mean-" I stopped, suddenly, as I realized just how much my freedom might be curtailed here. "Maybe... maybe flying. I'd like- I'd like to learn how to pilot. Properly. I'm gonna go back to Kashyyyk, y'know? And Taris- I've gotta see if some of the Beks survived. I'll figure out a way to get there if Carth doesn't take me-"
"Dad'll take you. And he'll teach you to pilot, too," Dee broke in, leaning forward. "I remember when I was a kid, Dad would sneak me into a snub's cockpit whenever he was on shore leave. He- I mean, look, he'll expect you to take the courses and get intergalactic accreditation when you're old enough, but he'll help you, too."
Maybe. Maybe Carth would – but it wasn't like I needed some shiny cert to prove my own skills. Sheesh, I'd met enough spacers on Taris who'd flown without any sort of creds behind their name.
Still, the appeal in Dee's brown eyes was hard to resist, and maybe it wasn't a totally dumb idea... I frowned, thinking-
-but then something whistled loud and long, and next thing I knew Teethree was rolling into the room, blue LEDs flashing.
"Tee!" I beamed, as my lil droid drew closer and rumbled a welcome in Shyriiwook at me. "You're back!"
"What?" Dustil stiffened, blinking at the droid. "Did he just-"
"I told you I'd bring him back safe, ad'ika." Shadowed in the doorway stood Canderous, all armoured-up and hulking, as he stared dismissively around the place. "This your room?"
"(May the light of the gods shine upon this place)." The audio-clip emitting from Teethree was a perfect growl in Shyriiwook, and had Dustil almost jumping off the bed in surprise. Canderous, however, didn't so much as twitch.
"Yeah," I told Canderous, grimacing, "Room's a bit boring. Guess I'd better do something about that."
"I reckon you will," Canderous said, his wide mouth twitching at the sides as he totally ignored Dustil's gaping. "But it's a good beginning. Shelter, food, family – you don't need anything more for a home, ad'ika."
"Frakk, Mission!" Dustil spluttered. "Did you program that droid to speak in frakking Shyriiwook?"
"Don't be dumb," I said to Dee, shooting him a look of disbelief. "Far out, d'ya know how insanely hard it is to fit a 'cabulator to an astromech? You'd have to, like, half re-route his computational core, not to mention stuff his databanks full with language pre-processing-"
"(The gods see fit to throw trials at us)," Teethree replayed, in Freyyr's deep rumble. "(Our fortitude at overcoming these trials bears witness to the mastery of our inner rrakktorr)."
"But, what- he's-" Dustil's eyes were wide and round, ping-ponging in confusion between me and Tee. I didn't know if he understood any Shyriiwook, but the look on his face was freaking priceless.
I sniggered, finally taking pity on him before he completely flipped out. "It's nothing really, Dee. I just got Teethree to record all of Freyyr's speeches back on Kashyyyk. Kinda wanted to remember what he said about Big Z, y'know?"
Dustil blinked, his eyes narrowing on me as he slowly relaxed. I'd sliced the audio-feeds as a lark, back in hyperspace – needing something to do that would stop me thinking about the loss of my best friend.
Of course, hearing his dad's voice rumble out at times just reminded me that I had nothing tangible to remember Big Z by. Nothing, but a handful years' worth of memories that shoulda been a lifetime.
"And you programmed the droid to answer with segments of Freyyr's speeches?" Dustil said in a low voice, staring at me intently. "Maybe you should think about some of the tech-programming or robotics courses, Mission. That- that's pretty advanced stuff-"
"I could've done without Trashcan growling every time I made a trade," Canderous commented drily. "Although there was this one Rodian who thought my astromech was threatening him. Probably explains why his pricing was so good."
"Is that what you were doing?" I demanded, looking back at Canderous. He was wearing that stupid purple breastplate again, along with a set of armoured leggings I'd never seen before. His repeating blaster was slung over his shoulder along with a travelling pack, and two smaller hold-outs were cinched around his belt. Knowing him, he probably had another half-dozen tucked away out of sight. "Sheesh, Canderous, don't you have enough guns?"
Canderous barked a laugh. "There's no such thing, ad'ika. But, yeah, I was outfitting myself. Trading away some of the osik from the 'Hawk that I didn't figure you lot would care about."
"I'm surprised you didn't ditch Davik's ugly armour," I said tartly. "Far out, Canderous, I thought it was stuffed from the fight on the Forge."
"This is a different breastplate," Canderous replied, sounding amused. "Davik had two spares on the 'Hawk. He was a gaudy bastard, but his armour's sound enough. It'll do until I get my own beskar'gam."
"You're-" Reality hit, then, with the force of a ferracrete brick. Canderous had waltzed in, all kitted up like he was about to go into battle, and I shoulda figured out what that meant the moment he'd shadowed the doorway. "You're leaving."
"You knew I was going, ad'ika." His voice, low and gravelly and yet gentle at the same time, clenched something tight in my heart.
Before I knew it, I was barrelling off the bed and straight at him.
Armour was freaking hard when you ran into it face-first.
Canderous chuckled, patting me on the back with a heavy gauntlet. "You'll do alright here, ad'ika. You have everything you need."
"D'ya have to go so soon?" I hated how plaintive and needy my voice was, muffled against the cold iron of his chest. "Like, we've barely even arrived-"
"Clean break's the best." Canderous pushed me gently away, then, staring down with a fond smile along his craggy face. He'd even shaved, and through the sheen in my eyes I could see a jagged scar marring the edge of his jaw, and another deeper one on his chin. "Don't you start bawling on me, Mission Vao, or you'll make the purple iron rust."
"Hah!" I sniffed, blinking hard. "Like I'd cry over one of Davik's old cronies!"
A flicker of surprise crossed Canderous' face before he erupted into laughter. Had I made a crack like that half a year ago, he probably woulda walloped me one. Was kinda weird, to think that back on Taris, Canderous Ordo was nothing to me but one of Davik's scariest henchmen. A merc even I wouldn't risk pickpocketing.
Now, though, it'd almost be worth trying, just to see if he noticed.
"Can I-" I felt my voice start to break, and struggled to hold the tears back. Damn if I was gonna cry in front of Canderous again. "Can I walk you to the starport?"
"No sense drawing these things out, ad'ika." His steely gaze flickered over Dee, still seated silently on the bed behind me. "Keep your father true to his family, Sithkid. And try not to be any more of a di'kut than you can help."
Dustil didn't say anything, and Canderous looked at me one last time. I plastered on that fake smile, the one I kept wearing when everything felt so freaking hard. "I ain't gonna see you again, am I?"
The side of his mouth shot up. "Never say never, kar'taylir sah ad."
"Oy!" I scowled, as Canderous turned away from me with a chuckle. "You better not be calling me any names, you old geezer!"
"Ret'urcye mhi, ad'ika," he added, as I was scrabbling for a suitable come-back in Ryl. "Live your life well, Mission Vao."
Canderous walked out of the doorway, and did not look back.
I stood still, staring blankly ahead, as the sounds of his footsteps slowly faded into nothing.
"(My youngest son learned more of wisdom and honour beyond the skies of Kashyyyk than I would have believed possible)." The audio feed broke through the deafening silence as I felt the first teardrop fall. Dustil was already at my side, slipping one warm arm across my shoulders. "(Together with his allies, Zaalbar saved the heart of Rwookrrorro. But as I look upon the blue-skinned cub he named as the daughter of his heart, I wonder if perhaps she had not saved him first)."
I tucked my head into Dustil's chest. His other arm wrapped tight around me, and only then did I allow the first sob to break free.
xXx
Revan Freeflight:
Cerilian Detention Centre, Xappyh sector
All was quiet.
Quiet, like the sound of a sun breaking over the horizon. Like the gradual awakening of hope in a heart long surrendered to despair. Like the slow fall of a righteous crusader, who finally stops at the culmination of victory, only to find himself enveloped in the evil he first sought to defeat.
There were no voices in my head. No Force in my grasp. No Dark or Light Side – and no loved ones to hold me steady from those influences.
Reality shone dimly behind a prism of clouded consciousness. I couldn't remember the Republic netting my escape pod: my first vague impressions were of the rhythmic tones of med-sensors and the astringent scent of bacta packed around my body. A man in a white coat mumbled something about permanent scarring down my back, as he fitted a nerve restraint around one ankle and shoved me into a nest of dispirited prisoners.
My new home. Thick with the hopelessness of others – but not mine. No, I was not afflicted with that self-defeating emotion anymore.
Reflex rather than deliberation had me withdrawing – withdrawing away from prison cells and penitentiary and snapped-out orders from guards who held my life in their hands. My eyes would close, and faces of sentients once dear to me would flash through my mind – yet my mind would flounder, having no idea who they were. Or a name would whisper in my thoughts, but I'd be left scrabbling as to what it meant. A person? A planet? A pet or a ship or a pseudonym?
Strangely enough, I was almost content to sift through the fractured mess of my past. Easier, maybe, than thinking on those who had survived the Star Forge – but who now believed me dead.
Or worse: those who had suffered an end far more final than mine.
At times, clarity would slice through, and during those moments it became painfully obvious just what a sorry lot my fellow inmates were. Their heads hung low as they shuffled from one food-break to the next, spirits as grey and bleak as the baggy uniforms we all wore. Uniforms that painted us all as the losers of a war now over.
Over. The war is over. But any satisfaction I had at completing my end-game was thin. Jaded. Temporary-
Because I'm not done. This isn't the end.
A tiny bud of resolution, as paradoxical as a fragile flower breaking through a hardy winter's snow, still simmered at the core of my being. There was more for me to do. Bastila's final missive had been a confirmation of what part of me already knew – but maybe, what I needed first was time.
Time to grieve, to process, to take a deep breath and centre myself – for I'd not had that, not since I'd woken on the 'Spire with a splitting headache and three personalities. Then, survival had tunnelled into a desperate race to find Bastila, to run from Bastila, to get Bastila back, and then stop Mal-
My breath would hitch, as I relived the slice of ferraglass across my palm, when my fist had clenched tight around a wedge of glass and stabbed it deep into the heart of my former lover.
I would do it again. That was the most bitter of realizations: that I wasn't plagued with hypotheticals, I wasn't tormented with scenarios where I might've saved Mal, had I only been a little more persuasive, or found a way to knock him out or trick him-
The cards had already fallen, and no manner of what-if's could change that.
Maybe Malak Devari deserved more from me. Stars knew, I regretted what my influence had led him to, but I found I could not mourn for a past love I could barely remember.
It was the golden threads of others that held my heart now.
And the real world broke in, from time-to-time, ejecting me from that transient cocoon of detached self-reflection. Sometimes it was in the shape of a guard, herding me to my next cell, or that surly-faced Quarren who liked to itemize all prisoners according to his checklist of Sith-committed atrocities. At least, as a so-called Sith engineer, I ranked low on the list of criminals.
More often than the guards or the Quarren, though, was the Human male with the grin as bright and sharp as the edge of a chiv-
"Hey," he greeted the first time, sliding casually into the bench seat next to me. "You must be the new engineer. Don't believe I caught your name?"
"That's because I haven't told you it yet," I responded drily.
"Trade secret, huh?" He leaned back, all casual and insouciant, like he was just a sent checking out a girl in a cantina. "Well, I'm Atton. No point holding back, not when a pretty word with the guards will let it slip free."
I allowed my gaze to travel over the nearby prison officers: those few who weren't stone-faced had either the beginnings of disgust or righteousness written all over their faces. "Right," I drawled, letting disbelief colour my voice. "I suppose they'll also slip you the exit codes if you say they look fit in their armour?"
"Nah, no access codes. This place is locked down with biometric sensors," Atton shot back. I didn't react – at least, I thought I hadn't – but the slight quirk to his brows implied I'd let some glimmer of response through. "What, you hadn't noticed? An engineer in a prison cell, not immediately tracking the systems that keep us confined?"
I stared silently at the man for a minute. He was roguishly handsome, with a charming smile and an easy-going manner, and his attention was focused almost exclusively on me.
He didn't act like he knew who I was, like my face was at all recognizable to him. But, somehow, I didn't think he was here for a casual chat either.
"Not sure what sort of engineers you've kept company with, Atton," I said slowly, "but I think you'll find most of us are more of the humdrum mundane sort."
"I'm sure you're not giving yourself enough credit, sweetheart." He leaned forward, still with a lazy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Although, seriously, I've been trying to figure something out. What would an engineer be doing on the Star Forge? I mean, wasn't the factory run entirely by droids?"
"For the most part," I shrugged. The inner workings of the Forge was simply another detail I couldn't recall, and that meant it was time to deflect the conversation. "And yourself? Suppose you're another hotshot flyboy?"
It was hard not to let my calm expression falter as the nickname left my lips. This prison cell wasn't the end. I knew that. And I'd find my way back to the others – this wasn't a war I could fight on my own. If Jolee had taught me anything, it was the strength inherent in the bonds people held with each other.
Balancing that with the ruthlessness required for victory – well. I'd failed once before. I couldn't afford to fail a second time.
Atton's grin morphed into a smirk. "I'd call myself the best pilot in the galaxy, but then I'd hardly be sitting in jail, would I?"
My lips twitched. "A self-proclaimed hotshot. All we need is a getaway ship, and then freedom will be ours."
"Funny," Atton replied. His tone was light, but his gaze was dead serious. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
Our conversation was broken, then, by the return-call back to our respective sleeping cells. But the man kept reappearing like a debt-collector, always with sly innuendos that morphed into wisecracks when I called him on it. Or conversational starters that felt more probing than flirtatious-
"Found out your name." He winked, drawing me from my thoughts some days later, as all the inmates sat dolefully enjoying another cuisine fare of grey slop.
"Well done," I said, absently eyeing over a twitchy Duros two tables down, who looked like he was about to crack. Slowly, slowly, the impressions of reality were beginning to bleed into my self-containment. "I'd offer you a medal, Atton, but our side seems to be all out of them."
"Interesting name, though, isn't it?" Atton drawled. I raised a brow, allowing my gaze to meet his calmly. The man had me on my guard, and intuition warned me to keep my reactions hidden. "I mean, Noyuna? Isn't that Huttese for 'no one'?"
I shrugged in response. I'd had to give something to that Quarren when he'd taken me in for questioning- and considering the last time I'd let my gut choose an alias, it'd ended up being a name from my past- well. I'd figured it was a better idea to fish around for something a bit more contrived.
Maybe 'no one' in Huttese was a bit too contrived.
"Damn," I murmured. "And here my mother always said my name meant 'flower'."
Atton laughed, then, but his brown eyes were still as sharp as ferraglass. The man was interested in me. Why, I didn't know, and nor could I tell if he was a threat or a potential ally.
Maybe he was both.
Days bled into weeks, and life became a patter of routine that was as strange to me as it was comforting. I normally detested being idle, and I could see how the enforced inertia was getting to some – the Duros hadn't been the first to make a fruitless break for the exit, nor would he be the last – but with each passing day, I felt the fractures in my mind slowly scab over, and the resolution in my soul harden back into conviction.
My sleep was mostly dreamless, and longer than I was accustomed to. Some mornings I woke with the shifting hues of purple dancing before my eyes. The sense of an objective unresolved remained with me, coupled with an itchy perception that my time here was only transitory. That, Force or no Force, luck or no luck, I wouldn't be here for long.
"It will be all right. You will find a way. You always do."
The cogs of calculation still turned, as the present snapped into focus with increasing regularity. My gaze would dance over the guards, marking their shifts, noting the biometric devices locking the exits to freedom. I'd scan the surveillance cams, occasionally twitching a hand just to see if the Force still whispered.
It did not. I heard nothing but the echoes of the physical, felt nothing but the borders of my own flesh.
Still, I wasn't beset with defeat, just as I didn't suffer from the despair of hopelessness. Instead, I felt like I was in a weird sort of limbo, sleep-walking through the steps of the living, as my head tried to work out what I should do next.
As I strived to remember-
"We could have lived out our entire lives and never seen the galaxy fall!"
-what was hidden-
"All I knew was that you considered there to be a threat greater than the Mandalorians. You argued that a stronger Republic was required."
-in the Unknown Regions.
"We're talking about the death of the Force here, Revan! Think what that would mean to us- to, to everyone!"
For there was a driving need, slowly building, deep in my gut. Something beyond the edges of the galaxy had started this. Something had caused me to gamble everything.
I'd lost. I'd fallen. I'd made the wrong decision, and millions had suffered from my darkness. But I knew, now, that I'd first stepped into that darkness understanding the risk, accepting it as the only chance-
For I'd had a reason, once. Something, other than the chains of the Dark Side, had me striving for galactic control.
It hadn't worked – my motivations had warped just like Malak's and every other survivor of the Jedi Thirteen – the Dark Side had failed us all. But if I was right in my suspicions, then I must have believed the Light Side couldn't help.
What could be out there to make the Jedi hero of the Mandalorian Wars think that?
"What happened to your fingers?" Atton, as always, invading my equanimity and snapping me back to the present. My remaining fingers laced together with my other hand, as my brows rose at the intrusive question. "Hey, just making conversation, sweetheart. Not like there's much else to do around here."
"You could take up table dancing," I suggested, jerking my head at the plasteel table-tops currently being buffed by a fellow inmate.
"Dunno, crowd looks pretty tough, even for me," he said easily, but I could tell the sharp-eyed man wasn't going to let it drop. "Your injury looks recent. Go on, spill. What, are you a disaster in the kitchen or something?"
"Machine accident on the Forge," I clipped out tersely, shuffling my maimed hand beneath the other. "It's a dangerous job, being a tech."
"Huh." Atton leaned back, a puff of breath rifling through his forelock. "Looks like a clean cauterization. Y'know, almost like a lightsaber cut."
My faint smile didn't shift an inch. "I wouldn't know. I'm surprised a snub jockey would, though."
There it was, that easy smirk again, as Atton eyed me over suggestively. "Well, sweetheart, we were Sith soldiers. I'm sure we've both come across a Dark Jedi in a right strop before."
"Maybe I was smart enough to stay out of their way." I leaned over the table to snaffle a thin plasteel spork, and pointed it straight at him. "And if you call me sweetheart again, Atton, I'll stab you in the eye and take my chances with the guards."
"Okay, okay!" He threw his hands up, edging away. "No need to be so touchy! You could've just said so like a normal person, you know!"
My words were a test, really, to see if a hostile response would get the man to back the frell away. Half the time I wasn't sure if Atton suspected something about me, or was simply trying to get a handle on a potential ally.
For he sure as stars wasn't chatting to me in an idle attempt to make a new friend. No, I had a gut feeling that man was smarter and more devious than he let on.
But other than that, I found it hard to place him. Atton bore a lean, wiry strength, and he moved with the grace of a predator. He claimed he was a starpilot, but his stance, his stride when he didn't realize I was watching- well. It reminded me more of Yudan than it did of Carth.
My soul clenched when I thought on my oldest friend. Comrade. Follower- I didn't really know what to label my relationship with Yudan, other than that he was important to me. I wouldn't grieve for him, though, not unless I saw his corpse with my own eyes.
And it wasn't like I could catch news about any of the crew stuck in here-
"Hey Noyuna, you'll never believe what I heard," Atton breezed in, a few days later, just when I'd started thinking I'd truly scared him off. My hard stare had little effect on him, however, other than sparking a sly smirk in response. "I'm guessing you're over your little hissy fit. If not, though..."
"Stop pretending like you want to get into my pants, Atton, and we'll do just fine," I replied drily.
"Well, if your pants are on offer-"
I couldn't help it: I laughed. Whatever veneer of antagonism I'd tried to produce clearly hadn't worked, and the man was as resilient as a damn battle droid. "No, Atton. Just- no. Spit out whatever you have to say."
"The Republic's fawning over their latest set of heroes. Every war has them, y'know, a handful of survivors plucked from the ranks, stuck up on some pedestal to blind the masses with adoration. Heroes of the Star Forge, the media's calling them, like they single-handedly blew the damn thing up."
I hid my smile. "Suppose that's to be expected. Everyone likes a good hero or two. Heard anything juicy?"
Atton shrugged. "Some Fleet Commodore is getting most of the attention. Seems he shacked up with Bastila Shan before she karked it, and the holonets are having a field day."
I choked. It was hard to stop: my choke turned into a splutter, and my eyes blurred with tears of half-hilarity. Carth... and Bastila? Sun and stars! Oh, I'd have given a flagship, just to see the offended look on her face at that rumour-
Just to hear her nagging voice in my head again.
Atton was staring at me strangely, his eyes half-narrowed. "I haven't even told you the good part, Noyuna."
"Just-" I waved a hand weakly, struggling for equilibrium. "The thought of a Jedi, you know," I dissembled. "Seems a bit ludicrous, really."
Some Fleet Commodore... My mirth dissolved into a quiet contentment. Commodore Onasi. The rank suited him. He'd go back to Telos with Dustil, I suspected – and oh, how part of me longed to be there at his side, no matter how impossible that was.
The others- some of the others might join him. Canderous would go to the Clans and Juhani to the Order, but it wouldn't surprise me if Jolee stuck around for a bit. And Mission-
It was especially hard to think of my ebullient young friend without Zaalbar. She'd be okay, I had to believe that, and between Canderous and Carth I knew they wouldn't lose sight of her well-being. But not so long ago, she'd only ever had Zaalbar-
He'd been a wise soul. A good friend. Far more than just a Wookiee indebted to me. In the end, I wondered if I hadn't owed him the greater debt.
Canderous won't bring Mission to the Clans. She'll stay with Carth. And maybe that'll help Carth, too.
I'd never seen how a relationship between Carth and I could work, long-term – and I still didn't. Not with what I had done in the past, not with what was still out there.
But maybe I owed Carth even more than Zaalbar.
"Promise me you'll get out of there alive."
My eyes stung and my heart clenched. And in that moment, all I really wanted was to be in his arms again.
I kept my promise, Flyboy. You damn well better keep yours.
"Not really," Atton was muttering. "Those Jedi types are the worst sort of hypocrites. At least the Sith are honest about what they're killing for. The Jedi are pacifists... except in times of war." He snorted, and for the first time I wondered if I was seeing the real Atton. "Do you know they knighted Bastila Shan? The fallen Jedi responsible for meditating half the Republic Fleet into space dust, before she went and turned on us?"
My throat ran dry. Jedi Knight Bastila Shan. If only she had lived to hear those words.
Atton's face smoothed over, and he was back to staring at me again. "You're a bit more interested in the fate of some Republic lackeys than I would've picked, Noyuna."
I forced a shrug, and matched his bland expression with one of my own. "As you said before, Atton. There's not much to do around here. May as well catch up on the gossip."
"I suppose." Those sharp eyes stayed fixed on me, even as his mouth curved into a lazy smile. "The real spicy news is about Yudan Rosh. Interested?"
I felt my fingers clench as my soul stuttered. "What's there to know?" I managed in an even tone. "Didn't he die just like the rest of Malak's Dark Jedi?"
"Apparently not. Seems he's on the run, somewhere, with half the galaxy screaming out for his blood. He's a turncoat, did you know? Joined Shan's crew at the last minute, probably just when things were starting to look sour for us. Not like the Republic will forgive the likes of him. Guess the bastard will have survivors on both sides gunning for him."
It was insanely difficult to keep my expression neutral when I felt like crowing in victory. I'd known he was still alive, dammit, no matter what Mal had said. Sure, Yudan wouldn't have an easy time of it, but the galaxy was a large place. If anyone could evade a horde of vengeful hunters, it'd be Yudan Rosh.
"Y'know, you're a bit of an odd one, Noyuna," Atton drawled. "If you weren't in here with the rest of us schmoes, I'd doubt you were even a Sith."
Atton, Atton. If only you knew.
"It was just a job for me, Atton," I lied easily, still hiding the grin that wanted to emerge. "Both sides killed people. I wasn't invested in any ideology. Besides, what about yourself? You hardly strike me as a regular pilot for the frontlines."
"Hey, what are you trying to imply?" he retorted, pulling back. "Whatever it is, you've got the wrong guy. I'm good at flying ships, cracking wise, and playing a mean hand of pazaak."
"Sure," I murmured sarcastically, and turned away to my sleep-cell.
Thoughts of the crew kept me awake all night.
I was almost ready. I could feel it burgeoning – that urge to start moving, that intuition I'd always accredited to the Force – and yet how could that be? I still, at times, reached out to feel absolutely nothing.
Where was this intrinsic belief stemming from, that I'd somehow find my way out of here? Without any link outside of this containment complex, I had nothing to play with other than a cagey inmate I trusted about as far as I could throw a Hutt. Without the Force.
The problem was, I couldn't get a good read on Atton. On his personality, his traits, his integrity. He was a set of contradictions: a laid-back joker, who probed me at every turn with leading questions, but refused to ask them outright. If there was any way to escape this prison, I was sure he'd be a willing ally – except that I didn't trust him at my back.
Ironic, really, considering the contradictions of my own character. I was not Jen Sahara, just like I wasn't Darth Revan anymore – but glimmers of both remained in the murky recesses of my soul. Jen was easier to accept – that unknown Force-sensitive who'd dreamed of a quiet life of learning, before dying after prolonged torture at the hands of my people. Her fleeting life remained with me as a tangible reminder of what I had once done.
And the dark scars on my soul simply warned me that no one – no matter how powerful – could hold mastery over the Dark Side without losing themselves.
The point was moot, really, without the Force – but in the end I was Revan Freeflight, or some broken form of her. Forceless, luckless, but still breathing. Not beaten, though. Not yet.
A day later, and Atton returned with an even bigger bombshell.
"They're shipping us out soon," he said, his eyes dark as they darted around the durasteel cell. "This place is overcrowded, and too many prisoners are snapping at the inactivity. Guess they figured they'd put us war crims to work."
"To... work?" I said faintly. "What, like community service out on some restoration project?"
"Shavit, if only that was true." Atton snorted, running a hand through his dark hair. He seemed oddly unsettled. "Stick us out in the public eye, and pretty soon you'll have the media all over us. No, the Republic would rather we were all tucked away somewhere hidden, until the galaxy forgets we even exist."
I didn't think that would happen – sooner or later, the arbiters would come, following the scent of public money grants that were available even to the scum of the losing side. But that day, I'd wager, was a lot further off than I'd be willing to wait for.
"Mines," I guessed, and Atton nodded sharply. My eyes narrowed. "Where do you get your intel from, Atton?"
The corner of his mouth quirked, and his gaze darted deliberately over a handful of guards busily marching an inmate into solitary. "I have my ways," he said vaguely.
I wasn't sure I bought his implication. I could've sworn that getting anything meaningful from the hostile guards would be like drawing juma juice from ferracrete.
"Where are we headed?" I snapped out, and the rush of readiness in my veins felt like a homecoming.
"A mix. Chandrila. Darilyn. But us Slugs are headed for Peragus."
"Huh," I managed, as my mind dredged up facts from the black hole of my past. Mining facility for Peragian fuel. Only supplier to the Kwymar sector. Not far from Telos- My eyes closed. "Good," I whispered, and the destination felt right.
"Good?" Atton all but squawked, before he leaned over and his voice morphed into a hiss. "Are you insane? We're talking manual labour here, not to mention the chronic rate of septa-lung disease due to mining dust-"
"But also a lot more opportunity and freedom of movement, Atton," I murmured, quiet enough that no audio feed from any listening cams would pick up on my words. "Here, we're stuck in a box surrounded by prison guards that are mostly volunteer Army grunts determined to ensure no Sith has an easy time of it- you think I hadn't noticed the combat-readiness of them all? They're not civvies. But on Peragus, we'll be dealing with paid workers. Sure, the place will be locked down, but surveillance will be patchy and the guards will grow complacent. The place won't hold us for long."
Atton pulled back, eyes widening, as he processed the longest speech I'd ever sent his way. He was silent behind his mask of inscrutability, but I had no doubt his mind was racing. Eventually, he answered my unspoken question.
"Are you propositioning me, sister?"
"Think of it more as... a mutually beneficial arrangement. Trust me, Atton, Peragus has never seen the likes of me before."
That was sheer arrogance, perhaps, without the Force- but if I was going to use Atton, I needed him to have faith in my abilities. He was my best potential ally, even if he might also be a potential liability.
He's a tool, the dark side of me whispered. A tool that can be used to get the job done.
Maybe that dark voice would always be a part of me, but it was keeping that darkness balanced with empathy that had been my final lesson, I thought.
I'll do whatever I must, but without losing my soul this time. That was a promise I made in my heart – to Carth, to Yudan, to Mission and Juhani, Jolee and Canderous and Dustil.
To Zaalbar and Bastila. And maybe, in the end, even to Malak.
xXx
Author's Note:
Coming up next: The third and final chapter in the Hyperspace:VII arc.
A Wookiee's life-celebration worth of thanks to kosiah for the beta.
There's a direct reference to R2-D2/C-3P0 in HK-47's POV. Internet high-five's to y'all who spot it. Also, the name 'Starfire' comes from kosiah's 'verse in Memory.
