Dark Empire: Jenesis Chapter 6: Cold Conflict, a star wars fanfic

A/N: All 24 phantoms are ranked according to letters of the greek alphabet, and are referred to as such.

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

Episode 2 - Jenesis

Part 6 - Cold Conflict

Telos, Polar Reaches

Marka ran awkwardly. The large plates strapped to the bottom of his artificial feet forced him to waddle slightly as he ran, but they were necessary if he didn't want to sink waist deep into the snow. It was small consolation that all of the seven thousand soldiers following him were in the same predicament, and any enemies they faced would be having similar problems.

The army had run the last ten kilometres to avoid detection before their attack. Sure, the enemy would be waiting in readiness; but there was a huge difference between an enemy ready and waiting for an attack and one that was straining on his sights for the final seconds before you became visible. They had taken enough precautions to prevent the enemy from sensing them easily, probably now they were only sensing the main army moving slowly from drop zone ten kilometres away.

Marka had changed from his usual Jedi robes into a soldiers white winter suit. But instead of wearing their standard armour that went with it, he wore a more flexible custom cuirass, designed to accommodate for his acrobatic movement. It probably wouldn't be much protection against the assassin's 'Bystander' sniper rifles, but it could still save him if he were hit by small arms fire. It wouldn't be any barrier at all to a lightsaber. He carried only his choice weapon, his white-cored, purple rimmed, double-bladed lightsaber. He had made a few adjustments on it over the last few months, making it marginally more powerful and lighter.

He had his senses fully in tune, as he only ever had them in a combat situation. Today he was expending far more energy on them than he normally would, he had to be ready for surprise attacks from phantoms. It was those senses, not all the high tech sensor equipment that the army carried, that told him when they were almost upon the enemy lines. Apparently they also had been taking precautions to prevent detection. Marka signalled to his small army to form up.

The soldiers formed a skirmish formation with practised ease. Riflemen, who where the majority formed the mainstay of the force, and were in groups of ten. A few Snipers, working in pairs of a shooter and spotter, were ready to deploy at the back of the force. Plasma troops were at the front, working in trios, their numbers were around a quarter of that of the number of riflemen. At Marka's next signal, they began to jog forward, carefully holding formation. Officers organised their soldiers in groups, giving orders silently through hand signals. Marka had moved back to the front of the riflemen's ranks, it wasn't a good idea to get in the way of a plasma-hose.

The enemy had dug in, and were sheltering in a series of trenches and bunkers. They spotted the Republic's forces coming, but only when the front ranks were less than a hundred meters away. A few shots started being fired, and the plasma troops started sprinting forward while the riflemen behind them either followed their example or started returning fire. The snipers were starting to deploy, choosing elevated positions, and were lining up their weapons for their first shots.

Marka felt a gun about to be fired at him, and in one smooth motion ignited his weapon and sent the shot back to its sender. Two more immediately followed, the defenders were obviously prioritising the killing of Jedi over the ordinary soldiers. Too bad he was the only one. He deflected one shot high into the air, and dodged the other; aware that he probably would be attracting some phantom's notice before long.

Sure enough, nine kilometres away, halfway up the mountain on the edge of a cliff; a phantom was lining up his telescopic sights. The white-purple blade shone out like a beacon on the battlefield, drawing him to his target. He squinted, and squeezed the trigger.

A soldier was running in front of Marka when the high powered laser bolt lanced straight through him, armour and all, before striking Marka low on the chest and dissipating on his armour. Marka hadn't sensed it, he reacted instantly, leaping into a low dip in the snow so that other enemies wouldn't be able to target him. The assassin though, who was obviously firing from an elevated position, should still be able to aim at his upper parts. He was lucky to be alive, the rifle they used was powerful. Tracing back the trajectory of the shot with his highly in-tune Force senses, he found a patch of ground on the far-away mountain with a suspiciously man-sized area that he couldn't sense at all. He instantly wrapped his senses around the sniper rifle that the phantom was carrying, with particular focus on the point where the trigger was.

He wasn't a moment too soon. The other man was already squeezing the trigger, in a moment the shot would leave his rifle and bury itself in Marka's chest, and this time there wouldn't be any unfortunate soldier to bear the brunt of the rifles power. Marka didn't feel any fear, only cold focus. As the assassin squinted again, he measured the exact trajectory of the shot, and moved his lightsaber with one hand to block. In a split second, the shot left the rifle and travelled nine kilometres; rebounded against Marka's lightsaber, and blazed back to bury itself into the snow fifty meters above the assassins head. It shifted the fragile balance the snow had on the steep slope, and started it moving, picking up more as it surged along.

The phantom was about to fire his third shot when the rumbling alerted him. He turned just in time to see the avalanche almost on top of him, then it hit. He was caught in it, and pushed almost immediately off the cliff top. With desperate agility he managed to grab onto a protruding rock, and hung for his life as the snow sprayed over his head. His rifle clattered on the jagged rocks far below.

Marka raised himself off the snow, and used the Force to enhance his vision; scanning the mountain. The small avalanche had subsided, and the phantom was now hanging almost comically from an outstretched rock. He took the dead soldiers rifle -the one who had inadvertently saved his life- and aimed, judging carefully the trajectory before squeezing the trigger. The phantom was hit squarely between the shoulder blades, he lost his grip on the rock and fell hundreds of meters before vanishing from sight. Marka's eyes narrowed in satisfaction, one less phantom to harry the Jedi.

The plasma troops who had survived the run over the dead ground were now on top of the enemy, and were unleashing jets of burning plasma. Men were screaming like only one burning to death can scream. The returning fire slackened noticeably as the plasma troops smoked out the bunkers and trenches. Steam from the melting snow created a huge fog-bank, making vision impossible beyond twenty meters. That was to Marka's advantage, if there were any more assassins sniping from the mountain they would find it impossible to target him. He realised that it would be a favourable tactic for the Republic, if not a preconceived one.

Meanwhile the shooting was slackening off, the remaining defenders quickly giving up the fight. The Republic forces were readily accepting their surrender, disarming them and strapping them tightly with Durasteel cuffs. That would change, Marka knew, as soon as the soldiers got used to the idea that they were on the losing side. Then would be difficult, if not impossible to prevent atrocities. He shrugged, it wasn't an issue yet. What was an issue was that the enemy forces makeup wasn't mercenaries, most seemed to be civilians of various races given weapons and rudimentary training. Korgul somehow had armed allies in the Republic.

He walked around the battlefield, exchanging a few words of encouragement with his surviving soldiers. They all smiled when he stopped to talk to them. It wasn't something that he normally did, Lorn though had suggest that a little encouragement to his men went a long way. Marka had listened to him, the other man had far more experience than he. He had only served as a field commander on a few occasions in the Sith Empire, and only ever in mock battles. It was his first real battle, short as it had been, unless he counted the attack on the Sedan academy; but that had just been chaos. Marka then checked on the wounded, there were well over a thousand needing medical attention from both sides. Other Jedi might have used the Force to heal a few of them, but Marka knew the fight was far from over, and couldn't afford to tire himself more than necessary. Perhaps when the fighting was over he would do what he could, healing was not one of his best abilities.

Officers came to him to account for their losses, and Lt. Colonel Waldis gave him a final tally. In the few minutes of fighting, they had lost 435 men with 908 wounded. 52 of them were most likely to die, and 197 would likely never fight again. The enemy had lost around 700, with 600 wounded and 1200 captured. Marka quickly worked out that they still had about 5700 men fighting fit, and with 1300 casualties for 2500 enemy out of action it wasn't a bad days work. Especially since they had been attacking an enemy strongpoint.

"Marshal Cabanic, we're picking up multiple signals of hostile forces approaching," panted a kiffar lieutenant, after running up to him. He was wearing a complex communication array on his back which would encode and decode messages sent and received. The codes were there so that the enemy were prevented from listening in on the Republic fleets warnings and commands, at least until they had spent hours decoding them, by which time it wouldn't matter. He was also linked up to their mobile sensor array that had been set up at their drop point.

Since when had he become a marshal? Regardless, this proved that the enemy had been anticipating their attack. Moreover, they had been counting on it. "How many?" he said calmly, trying to portray an image of confidence in front of his tired and worried officers.

"Over ten thousand, sir."

Marka tightened his jaw, the Lt. Colonel nearby started swearing. If the enemy had been detected it meant that they were supported by armour, among his force they had precious little to take on war-Mech's. With that number of enemies, they were up against far more than they had initially anticipated. At best Korgul had only the support of a single planet, at worst he controlled an entire faction in the Republic. With a war with the true Sith looming, this could be potentially devastating. Whoever they were, they had to be subdued quickly. The Republic couldn't fight a war on two fronts.

"Call in the second wave, tell Kaah to move as quickly as possible," Marka ordered, "and the third wave must get ready for immediate deployment, we may need them as well."

The enemy hostiles had begun to fire at range into the mist, creating streaking and flashing lights across it. Casualties were few, for they couldn't see their targets. Marka ordered his men into the trenches, which most of them were already in, and warned them not to fire until they could see their targets. It was now a case of how long they could hold out, without any heavy equipment they would be likely pulverised until the second wave arrived. That could be a good ten minutes.

Ten minutes of death.

The Indaba, Telos orbit

"Admiral, we're receiving multiple contacts coming out of hyperspace," said the man at the sensor station on the bridge.

"Hostiles?" Lorn asked.

"Probably, sir, they don't match the signals of any of our ships. They will be arriving in about fifteen minutes."

"How many?"

"Around five thousand. They don't seem to have more than a handful of capital ships though, sir."

Lorn smiled, that was good news for the Republic, if they were indeed hostiles. The timing was right certainly, coming straight after the first contact on land. Lorn wouldn't be surprised if this was only a part of a much larger fleet, which could be potentially devastating for them.

"Send a message to the grand admiral informing him of our situation," he ordered, "And give those commandoes landing orders."

By landing the commandoes now they would lose their tactical advantage of being able to be deployed behind enemy lines, but to keep them with the fleet with a space-battle immanent was worse than foolishness. Marka's army would suffer, but there was nothing else that Lorn could do. When the space-battle was in progress there could be no support coming from above, nor suggestions on possible tactics. Bastila would have to shift her Battle Meditation to the space-battle, the ground forces would truly be on their own.

Lorn walked quickly from the bridge to the small room nearby where Bastila was meditating. He put his hand on her shoulder, she stopped and opened her eyes. He then started explaining the situation to her.

Bastila tried to look at the situation rationally. With six thousand ships against five, the fleet was in a much more dangerous situation than the army, especially since more enemies could hyperspace in at any moment and they had no reinforcements in the system. Also they could not rebuild ships nearly as quickly as they could train more soldiers. Even still, shifting her Battle Meditation to the fleet would be making Marka's forces far more vulnerable, and they were currently badly outnumbered and outgunned until reinforcements arrived. She felt like she was betraying him, withdrawing her support against Korgul. Admittingly if the two of them got involved in a duel her Battle Meditation wouldn't make any difference. The ability did not affect Force-users for some reason, and would almost certainly not affect the Force-dead either.

The Battle Meditation technique had the potential to turn battles around, and through that change the outcome of wars. It was uncanny how similar it was to what would happen when soldiers were led into battle by a Jedi, except over a much larger area. Some Jedi masters who had studied the ability had concluded that it was nothing more than a powerful extension of a Force-sensitive's natural ability to inspire others.

Bastila though had shattered that theory. Her Battle Meditation had been different to any of the previous users. It had the normal effect of inspiring allies and dispiriting enemies, but what made her brand of it unique was firstly how much more powerful the inspiration was than any previous one, and secondly because it created a subconscious connection between all allied forces. This would allow them to work in perfect unison, while also drawing on each other's skill and experience. In short, Bastila's Battle Meditation was far more powerful than any that had been seen before. Perhaps it was something more.

Bastila had an idea. Although her apprentices were not nearly competent in the technique, surely if all of them tried to use it at once if would have some effect. It would not be as good as her own efforts, but it was better than nothing, and could well save the ground forces from annihilation.

All she had to do was contact them. They couldn't have gone far.

Telos, Polar reaches, Jedi Academy

"Did you confirm?"

"I did, Master, Epsilon is dead. Killed by the traitor. Sigma is still on the mountain, but she says its impossible to get a shot with the fog bank created by the evaporated snow. Until they move, she is blind." The speaker was Alpha, first of the phantoms. He was the paragon of their group, but nowhere near Korgul's power, who he served as his right hand man.

Korgul nodded, "It would have been a shame if he had fallen so easily, I doubt many of the other Jedi are going to put up much of a fight."

"Master, if lots of dem Jedi comin', our forces 'll need us'en help," said towering Gamma, " Tis perfect time to pick off da stronga membas of da orda."

Alpha wheeled around angrily, "Do you really think that Marka would not have thought of that? Haven't you studied his file? If it had been anyone else in charge, possibly they wouldn't. Marka though knows what to do, he'll only be taking his old comrades with him, ones who know Force-tricks that put them on par against us. He will be wanting us to come, so that he use his expendable soldiers to pick us off. We'd be playing right into his hand."

Korgul smiled, "True, but this is still an opportunity to kill him. Gamma, since you're so keen, choose five others and join the next wave. Though I doubt any of you will succeed, my offer stands. The one who brings me Marka's head I'll promote to Alpha."

"And if I get him?" said Alpha.

Korgul didn't reply.

Telos, Polar reaches

With his force outnumbered and outgunned, Marka had expected them to falter despite all his efforts. It was only natural, when facing an opponent with superior firepower. But to his surprise, they had managed not only to hold the line, but push the enemy back. He had been in the thick of the fighting the entire time, constantly urging the his men forward, immune to enemy fire with to his powerful premonition sense and lightsaber.

Mentally he went over all the things that had given them enough of an advantage to advance. They'd had the defensive position, but since the bunkers were all pointing the other way they had only been able to use the trenches; the bunkers had served as shelters for the wounded and prisoners. The enemy's numbers advantage had been largely negated by the Republics soldiers' superior training, even though it was nearly two to one. Probably the single most influential factor had been the plasma soldiers constantly reinforcing the fog bank, it forced all the enemy's heavy equipment to either fire blind or come in close, where high-explosive grenades could take care of them. It also kept Marka safe from more snipers, free to use his lightsaber and Force abilities.

But there was something else, Marka knew. When the enemy had attacked initially, the Republic forces coordination had been perfect. The enemy's formation had flopped almost as soon as they had reached the trenches. Now the difference was far less pronounced, but there did still seem to be an unnatural aura in the air. Marka had never felt anything like it before. What was it?

Another wave of enemies had joined the enemy force, strengthening their numbers and resolve. With the fresh troops, they starting to force the heavily outnumbered Republic force back. Shortly after they had arrived on the scene though, the second wave of Republic soldiers came. They had included in their number five Jedi, four of them leading quarters of the small army, Jedi Master Kaah Ohtok in overall command. The second wave was their main force, nine thousand soldiers supported by mechs and equipment of all shapes and sizes. Now fighting on even terms with the enemy, the Republic soldiers' better morale and training were again showing, and the enemy were pushed out of the trenches and held back. For a while the two armies strained against each other, refusing to budge, like two giants of immense power.

A small anti-personal mech was harrying some of his soldiers nearby, Marka briefly considered using the Force to destroy it, he knew the techniques, then thought better of it. As a rule, using the Force to kill opponents drained the Force-user far more than using a lightsaber. Instead he ran at it, deflecting lasers as he went. The mech tried to face him, but Marka reached it first. His first slash severed its twin barrels, the recoil cut through the armour plating and into the pilot. He heard a muffled scream from inside that stopped almost as soon as his lightsaber exited.

Marka then charged down a large group of enemy soldiers, there must have been about fifty of them in total. Kaah, who was fighting nearby, ran to join him. The soldiers shot at them, threw grenades, one even tried throwing his sword. Nothing made any difference, the lasers were rebounded back, and the grenades changed direction mid-flight to explode at the soldiers neck levels. The sword missed. Seeing that their ranged weapons hadn't worked, many drew their swords and moved into fighting position. But they were facing a master swordsman and a master swordsman in training, their lives wouldn't have been any shorter had they simply stood still and waited for death.

"Good to see you haven't lost your touch," Kaah shouted as he butchered three men in a second, his deep-sea blue double-bladed lightsaber moving perfectly to block, maim and kill. He seemed exhilarated, much like most of the Republic soldiers.

Another man might have grinned and retorted, not Marka. He merely shrugged and returned to the business of death. He held no place for emotions or small talk on the battlefield.

The enemy's resolve did not last, especially when the ex-Sith Jedi began blasting groups of them with lightning, they started trying to conduct a clumsy retreat. A command from Marka though sent the Republic forces surging onto them with renewed vigour, and the retreat collapsed into a running riot. The Republic followed hot on their heels, cutting down stragglers and pouring shots into the fleeing enemy. Groups of them were simply stopping and giving up.

The Jedi took up fallen rifles at Marka's order and joined the soldiers in chasing the rout, they were leaving the relative safety of the fog-bank and there was still a chance of other phantoms sniping from the mountain, since they were all in winter uniform like the soldiers there was no way to differentiate the Jedi from the ordinary soldiers without ignited lightsabers. And the snipers would not want to give away their position by shooting at random soldiers, if they did: so much the better.

At the foot of the mountain, yet another army was waiting for them, one as big as the combined armies that they had just faced; and growing due to the runners joining their lines. Marka sensed something different about them, and after a moment of identifying it was certain that there were Force-dead among them. He had little sense of where or how many they were, but quickly estimated their numbers as more than one and less than ten. Marka quickly ordered the Jedi to hide themselves in the ranks of riflemen, and not activate their lightsabers until a new fog-bank was up, unless it became absolutely necessary. Then he warned them of the danger. Some had sensed it already.

The soldiers quickly formed skirmish lines again at his command, their numbers now included some mechs as well. The few remaining plasma troops stayed in front, melting patches of snow to create more mist. Marka wondered briefly if anyone had ever used a similar tactic before. Although the haze would quickly make their snipers all but ineffective, it was by and large to the Republic's benefit. While they did have some mechs, the enemy's far outnumbered them, and had larger and more powerful ones. By forcing them to fight at closer range it reduced a lot of that advantage, and would render all enemy artillery fire as dangerous to both sides as soon as the lines met. It also made the Jedi far safer from phantom attacks, forcing them to attack at close range where the Jedi would have the advantage.

The Republic forces had to endure a storm of fire from the longer-ranged enemy mechs before they reached them, nearly a third of their mechs and over five hundred soldiers were dead or out of commission by then. The mist hadn't been thick enough to obscure their aim. When the two lines met though, it started to build up quickly with the plasma soldiers stayed at the back of the lines melting snow, quickly making visibility at range more and more difficult. Marka fought like a soldier with a rifle, albeit one that rolled out of the way of incoming shots like he sensed them before they happened. When the fog grew thick enough that no-one would be able to snipe him, he dropped the rifle and reverted back to his lightsaber. He had to draw out the phantoms, they all had to be killed sooner or later.

He didn't attract the attention of a phantom, he did however draw the concentrated fire of all enemies in the immediate vicinity. Spinning his lightsaber so fast that it appeared to be a circle while moving it side to side, he was just able to defend properly against the dozens of shots coming at him every second by making slight adjustments in his speed; ones so miniscule that few would even be able to notice. Some tried to blast him with grenades, but grenades were dangerous things to use against a Force-user who could send them right back at you. But when he sensed a Mech about to unleash its flamethrower on him, he knew it was time to move. To stop fire with the Force was incredibly difficult, which was why the Sith had a whole repertoire of Pyro Force powers. He gave a double roll to his left, coming up behind a crop of rocks as the Mech's weapon incinerated the area where he had been. Two Republic soldiers got caught in the jet, and were lit up like torches. They both screamed and dropped to the ground, trying to roll the flames out in the snow.

The kiffar communications officer found him behind the rocks, "Marshal, the commandoes are on their way, they should be here in a few minutes. With bandits approaching the fleet they couldn't stay any longer. They are suggesting that they simply land behind our force and reinforcing us."

Marka thought about it. Certainly that option was safe, commandoes didn't have any heavy equipment to engage the enemies so a flanking manoeuvre would be a waste of good men, similarly a pincer movement wouldn't work. He couldn't hope to land them behind the enemy and strike their back because the mountain was in the way. But the commandoes were elite light troops, to use them in the main battle would be to waste their skills in a situation where they would be no more useful than ordinary soldiers. The best idea would be for them to attack the academy, but Marka had to lead that attack; both to make sure it succeeded and because of the publicity involved. But how to get in there with them? Then a plan came to him, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Tell them to make one of the craft to fly ahead of the others, they're going to be picking up a passenger."

"Sir," said the officer dubiously, "You should know, those landing craft are incapable of opening for others until they've ejected the commandoes inside, you can't…"

"Just give the order," Marka cut him off. The other looked at him doubtfully, but did as he was ordered.

Marka found Kaah quickly, and told him to take over command. The purple twi'lek listened to his plan, agreed with it, and wished him well. Then he embraced Marka, who wasn't quite sure how to react for a moment, then gripped the other back before releasing and moving off. He had never found it easy to display affection to another, especially another man. It didn't help that he still wasn't comfortable around non-human races, it came from growing up without any exposure to them.

Marka moved to the back of the lines where the fog was thinner, just in time to see one of the commandoes' landing craft come into sight. He raised his lightsaber and ignited it, it would serve as a landing beacon. Fortunately the fog-bank blocked off the enemy forces from sight, no one would be able to target him through it. The craft came down quickly, and landed in front of him with a tsseeewww-VOOF. The heat from its atmospheric entry was melting the snow around it. Marka removed the plates from under his feet and his boots, and climbed on top of it. It was fortunate that his feet had been replaced by Mandalorian iron ones, their claws gave him far better grip on the smooth metallic surface. He still had to use the Force to protect himself heavily though, metal was a notoriously good conductor of heat.

"By all that is holy, what do you think you are doing?" cried a medic who was treating the wounded nearby.

Marka drew his lightsaber, and judging a position just behind the slight bump for the cockpit; which would serve as a windbreak; began to cut some notches. "Since I can't get inside, I'm going to ride this thing up the mountain," he said, in a distracted tone.

"You're mad! Do you have any idea what sort of forces will be pulling against you, the acceleration? Even if you could hold on, which is impossible, the cold will freeze your back half while the heat of the craft will fry the other. You could easily call up a transport shuttle from the landing zone."

"For a start, you address me as Master Jedi or sir. It would take too long to call up one. But more importantly, those things are far too easily shot down. Only the commandoes' craft are made to be able to evade and withstand heavy enemy fire." He judged where his feet would go, and cut notches there as well.

Just as he was about to lie down, the medic said, "Why do you even have to lead them? Are you that desperate to kill yourself…sir."

Marka thought for a moment, "Securing entry to the academy is the highest priority of this battle. I have to make sure we win, or all could be lost. If we lose the Telosian students, the Jedi will never be able to recover." He lay down on the craft, pushing his hands and feet into the notches he had made and shielding his body from the heat. "Signal to the pilot that he can take off," he shouted.

A few seconds later, he felt a lurch as the craft began to rise. He gripped on tightly and dug the claws on his feet into the metal. Then with a another lurch, the craft shot forward, beginning its massive acceleration.

Marka had known that it would be hard to stay on, he just hadn't expected it to be quite so hard. Although he had a small windbreak in front of him, the air pressure against his body felt in the region of a ton. The constant cold spray threatened to freeze him, he had to shield against it while protecting himself from the crafts heat at the same time. He was using the remainder of his Force-power to reinforce his strength, which was waning fast under incredible strain. No ordinary man could have survived such a feat.

Marka though was no ordinary man. He was trained to the pinnacle of combat efficiency, and wielded great strength in the Force. After few seconds of flying, his craft started buckling as the air shook with explosions. Marka didn't need to look to know that they were being shot at, not that he'd be able to look anyway. The craft began to manoeuvre, firing its lasers and rockets back, making gripping on even more difficult. His rock-hard corded muscles bulged as he gripped even tighter. Twice the vessel rolled, at one point another craft above them was hit in the engines and exploded in a huge fireball. Bits of it flew off, one large piece came whizzing his way and managed to penetrate Marka's craft's shields, burying itself into the armour between his opened legs. Marka resisted the urge to shudder, if that had come just a little bit higher…

In twenty seconds, it was over, the craft's acceleration was slowing. Marka though was still in trouble, if the craft slowed down too quickly he would be shot over the front of it. So in the magical moment between accelerating and braking, he spun around on his chest to put his feet where his hands had been and hands where his feet had been, so he was now facing the tail. He had another great test of strength as the craft braked just as fast as it had accelerated. Then, finally, it was all over; and they were lowering to the ground.

Marka prised himself from his perch with difficulty, his muscles felt incredibly strained. But he was alive, and glad of it. He had felt so terribly helpless riding on the craft, he wouldn't be doing that again in a hurry. Nevertheless, he'd made it onto the top of the table-like mountain, the main entrance to the academy. He was aware of fighting happening around them, and tried to get off quickly to join in. By the time that happened though, it was over, the few guards either dead or disarmed. Around him other craft were landing, their commando occupants ejected from hatches in the bottom in seconds.

Marka quickly took full stock of himself, the first thing he checked for was injuries. Aside from strained muscles, there were none, fortunately. Then he checked for his lightsaber, which was still attached to his belt and in perfect order. Then he checked his uniform, which was not.

His front was scorched and melted, not nearly as badly as it would have been without his shielding, but still very noticeable. His back was covered in a thin layer of ice. So much for looking like the rest of the soldiers. Then again, he saw that the commandoes were all wearing a different winter uniform to the standard Republic soldiers, so that idea wouldn't have worked anyway.

Fortunately, the ship he had travelled on had a spare uniform in it that fit him, except for the boots. Marka though could afford to leave his Mandalorian Iron feet bare, now that he was going inside and didn't have to contend with the treacherous snow, it would give him his first chance to use his claws in combat. Stripping off his clothing and armour while shielding himself against the bitter cold, Marka couldn't help but notice how deep the shot that had hit his chest plate had burned in. It disturbed him how close a call it had been. The armour was ruined, so he abandoned it and took up the commandoes flexi-fibre mesh armour. It wasn't quite flexible enough for him, but close enough. While he was changing, the commandoes started to try to force entry through the thick Durasteel entrance doors. Those doors had been designed to withstand exactly such an entry, so the commandoes weren't doing very well; despite their extensive use of explosives.

"Sir, as we were slowing down near to the mountain, someone started shooting at us from the slopes below the top," said the pilot of the craft Marka had been riding, the man who had organised the commando uniform for him. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, except that it was small arms and he seemed to be aiming slightly above where he should be; at you sir."

That was a surprise, Marka hadn't even felt it through the Force. And he certainly should have, if it had been aimed anywhere near him. That meant it could only have been one of the Phantom's. "I presume he missed."

"No sir, both shots were perfect, they'd have hit you for sure. Whoever it was, they're one hell of a shot. But the laser they were using it just wasn't quite powerful enough to take down our forward deflector shields."

Marka pulled on his overcoat, the final piece of the uniform. "Lend me your rifle," he said.

"Don't have one sir," the pilot replied, "I'm a pilot, we only have this here blaster pistol," he tossed it to Marka.

Marka caught it and examined it critically. "It is sufficient," he concluded, and walked towards the edge of the mountain, the side they had come in from.

Marka reached the edge, and let his senses roam below him while adjusting the pistol to give the maximum output. The power cells would take forever to recharge afterwards, so he would only have one shot, but it was the only way it could be guaranteed to kill at long range while cutting through armour. He found what he was looking for not fifty meters below him, perfectly disguised against the snow. The hole in his senses that the phantom created was what gave him away. He looked up just as Marka levelled his pistol, and saw that the he was in fact a she.

"Too late," Marka muttered as she desperately tried to bring her rifle to bear with him, and shot her through the head. She rebounded against the ground, slid off her perch and started rolling and bouncing limply down the slope, crashing into protruding rocks as she picked up speed. Marka turned away, adjusting the pistol back to normal power levels.

He rejoined the commandoes, who were still trying to force open the door. Marka gave the pistol back to the pilot and strode towards the Durasteel door, ordering the commandoes away.

No matter how strong it was, it would not last against a lightsaber.

A hundred meters below, Never Oneiro was coming up the hard way, up the side of the mountain. Twenty meters below him, attached to a rope linking them was his padawan Hugas Kamagi. Never had just reached an out-hanging ledge, and pulled himself onto it. Then he stood up and started pulling up Hugas.

Hugas was red-faced and panting when he finally got onto the ledge. "I know we're working to get my fitness up and weight down," he puffed, "but this is going a bit far."

Never grinned, and glanced over the edge. He pulled away quickly, giddy and shaken, it was nearly a kilometre straight down. They had been climbing since before the battle had even begun. The good thing about climbing the sheer edge was that there were no defences set against climbers, only against flying craft. The attackers had obviously felt that nobody would be crazy enough to climb the sheer cliff. But without a craft designed to weather the storm of heavy fire, Never and Hugas had been forced to. Never had rediscovered quickly that he did not like heights, while Hugas had reaffirmed that he did not like extreme exercise.

"I bet your friend Marka took the easy way up," Hugas muttered darkly, and drank some heated water.

"I'm sure he did," Never replied, and reached up for a handhold, and then another. They had to get to the top in time to help Marka. If Korgul was anywhere near as good as his reputation suggested, Marka could not possibly last on his own against him.

Telos orbit

They came in waves. Hundreds upon thousands of fighters, bombers, corvettes and frigates. There were few vessels any larger than frigates, those that there were where all obviously captured or custom-built; all with numerous additions and adjustments. Out of the few capital ships they had, only three were any larger than cruiser-class, and only one of them could be deemed a battleship; it was most likely their flagship. No two large vessels were the same, and even the frigates and corvettes were of far too many different makes. Without a doubt, this was a pirate fleet.

Lorn watched from the command deck of the 'Indaba'. It seemed strange to him that pirate ships would be in such a massed force. It did serve to prove though who was behind the reinforcements Korgul and the phantoms received. Lorn had been in the Republic for less than a year, and was in no way fully in tune with its murky politics and factions, but he knew even without an intelligence report that there was only one criminal faction in the galaxy with enough resources to be capable of amassing such a fleet - the Hutts.

This sequence of events was unfortunate, but not entirely unforeseen. Hutts were slimy gutter leeches, existing only to such the life out of society, and revelling in the losses of others. During the years after the Jedi Civil War their power had grown in leaps and bounds, the growth of their criminal operations only being properly checked now with order being restored in the Republic. The Hutt planets were still officially in the Republic, but in reality they had broken away during the chaos of the Mandalorian wars. They had obviously been made an offer they couldn't refuse by the Sith Empire, much like the Mandalorians before them, and agreed to pursue a war with the Republic.

The Hutts would soon find out how much the Republic had been rebuilt in the months since he had arrived there with Marka and the other ex-Sith. The warnings of the true Sith had awoken a sleeping giant, people had come together, putting aside cultural and racial differences. Businesses and concerned sentients had donated thousands of trillions of credits towards rebuilding. They all knew that their very freedom was at stake, and had pulled out all the stops. The Republics gross product per month had more than doubled in six months. Lorn was confident that they would be able to overcome the Hutt Conglomerate; against the mighty Sith empire though it still was probably a case of too little, too late.

The Republic fleet moved like a massive organism as they followed Lorns orders, every ship turning to face the oncoming enemy. Small, well armoured corvettes and gunship's formed the first line, followed by the frigates. The capital class ships were behind, and lightly armoured; long ranged missile destroyers brought up the rear. Fighters and bombers waited in their hangers for the order to scramble, while their squadron leaders had already been released and wove between the ships, nervously anticipating the battles beginning.

Lorn was watching the monitor that showed both fleets slowly closing in on each other, when a new blip appeared almost precisely between the two of them. By its signature, it was a fighter of some kind. But the pilot could hardly have chosen a worse place to hyperspace into, whatever side they were on.

"Admiral, the pilot is hailing you," called his communications officer.

"Of course he is, put him through at once," Lorn snapped, staring at the vessel through the ships front screen. It was either an enemy trying to negotiate, or a stray Republic fighter that was about to be decimated by long-ranged laser fire. Either way, he had to communicate with them as soon as possible.

The holo-generator sprang to life, and Lorn nearly fainted with shock when he saw who it was. It was Kaya! She smiled and said, "Good to see you again, Lorn, I heard about you and Lia, congratulations."

"Kaya, what are you doing here?" Lorn said in a strangled voice.

"I heard about what was going on, and I wanted to be here for my husband when…"

"KAYA, YOU'VE HYPERSPACED IN FRONT OF A HOSTILE FLEET!"

"Wha…"

"GET OUT OF THERE, NOW!"

Kaya's horrified expression winked out, it was a vision that Lorn would remember chillingly clearly for the rest of his life. Her fighter ignited its engines, and at that moment the enemy fleet seemed to decide to exterminate her, and began to fire. The fighter manoeuvred brilliantly to avoid the long-ranged lasers, but was practically swimming through a sea of bright streaking beams, and there was no way it could have gone into hyperspace. Lorn watched in mute horror, totally powerless as a trio of guided missiles shot home. The first the brilliant pilot managed to dodge, it overshot the fighter and was destroyed by its lasers before it could loop around. The second was partially avoided, and exploded an instant later just to the starboard, tearing the wing off and leaving the fighter lopsided. The third could not miss. It hit the engines, and it exploded in sequence, back to front. Lorn practically fell down onto his chair, his mind struggling to come to terms with what his eyes had just seen. A deadly silence stretched over the bridge of the 'Indaba'.

"Are there any signs of survivors?" Lorn managed to say quietly, staring at the scattered wreckage on the screen. Shock was numbing his mind.

"I'm sorry, sir," replied one of his subordinates, he didn't care which.

"Quite alright," Lorn whispered. The rational part of his mind had known that would be the answer, but he still couldn't help but hope. "Carry on."

How was he going to tell Marka?

Blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding just a few meters away from her, Bastila focused her meditation in the room just behind the bridge. She manipulated the Force deftly, creating sinuous weaves that stretched out and covered the entire space between the two fleets. Soon, when they got a little closer together, she would start drawing the inspiration from the enemy, and bolstering the courage of her allies. Once that had been achieved, the second stage of her Battle Meditation would come in, the stage she alone of all the Jedi who had ever used the ability had learned to control. And then the enemy would crumble.

She became aware of an acute feeling of shock coming from the bridge near to her, absently she wondered what it was all about. She would just have to work a little harder with them to get their moral up, and that shouldn't be too difficult once the heat of the battle set in.

Telos, Polar reaches, top of the Academy

Finally the huge Durasteel door opened as Marka gave a final thrust with his lightsaber, which he had powered to the maximum for this job. The commandoes cheered, and Marka was about to give the order to charge when he felt like an invisible, cold hand had gripped him, causing him to falter. He struggled to decipher why he should be feeling this way, it was though his strength and resolve had been suddenly sapped. He felt for his bond with his wife, hoping that it could give him a boost, but couldn't sense anything. It wasn't uncommon for that to happen, if she was far enough away and shielding her bond with him, it felt as if there were no bond at all. Still, it was odd that she should be shielding herself at this moment when she knew he would be fighting.

Deciding finally that it must be one of Korgul's hidden abilities, weakening his opponents before he faced them, he at last gave the order to attack. The commandoes, who had been watching him doubtfully, sprung into action and charged through the door. At that moment, the enemy opened fire, the commandoes returned fire. Marka could sense the scores of lives go to the Force, and ordered his men to blast the area with grenades. With a flurry of explosions and the ensuing chaos, the commandoes surged forward, Marka at their head.

Somewhere inside was Korgul and his phantoms. Somehow, they all had to be destroyed, for the sake of the survival of the Jedi order. Somebody had to do it, and since Never hadn't shown up yet it had to be him.

It was all up to him.