Author's Note: Well, here's a second chapter a little sooner than I anticipated. Can't promise the one-a-week thing, but I'm hoping going a little faster in the beginning will prod me along. Thanks to those who reviewed! Your comments are always appreciated.

Here goes nothing…

A Short Interlude

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered." – G.K. Chesterton

Nantaris walked through the incomprehensibly large library. This place, the Jedi Archives, was a testament to millennia of knowledge. Compiled assiduously by the more scholarly Jedi of the past, everything that was worth knowing about history, philosophy, literature, art, science, popular culture, or what have you, was contained within it.

The Grand Master had a new assignment, a new lead, and he needed a short bit of background and consultation. Just a quick search of the database for information on this vague planet to which he now needed to travel. Of course, he also needed to know where it was.

"Good day, Master Nantaris!" called a gregarious voice from one disheveled alley of books.

"Afternoon," replied Nantaris.

Although the Archives were remarkably preserved from the invasion's destruction, much of it was in disarray. Holocrons flung about, papers strewn everywhere. Several shelves collapsed from the artillery induced quakes. Much was broken. Rebuilding and organizing it would be a project, and no Jedi historian was even alive to begin such undertaking. For this reason, Nantaris put out an open application for the role.

"Something I can help you with?"

And this was the man selected for the task. His parents saw fit to give him the almost theatrically appropriate name of Kingswell, effectively sealing his fate as a scholar from the moment of birth. Kingswell Hamann: a deterministic name if there ever was one. Although he preferred his acquaintances call him, for reasons unknown, Ian.

Nantaris thought for a moment before addressing him. "I need information concerning the planet Doliani. Apparently I'll be going there—but I've never heard of it."

"In 2594!" Ian suddenly shouted, "I posed for another sculpture! It was a nude…"

"What the hell is this?" escaped from Nantaris.

A protocol droid suddenly appeared next to Nantaris and began to recite. "Entry number 24: Diary of Balderick Hederings—In 2594, I posed for another sculpture. It was a nude…"

"Forgive me," said Ian, slowly emerging from behind the piles of books and scattered bits of electronic memory. "I'm dictating to this obstinate machine and it can't seem to comprehend what I'm saying half the time."

"Balderick? Who? What are you dictating?"

Ian laughed, said, "The personal diaries of Balderick Hederings, of course! They were lost in the invasion, so I'm currently mending them."

Nantaris had no idea who that was. He was certain no one else he knew had ever heard of him either. "I see," he said. He then turned to face the droid, which vacantly returned his gaze.

"What planet, you say?" asked Ian.

"Doliani."

"Ah, I know this place, but I've never been there. I've heard it's quite pristine, though a little backwards."

The large man emerged from the shadows of the hall and into the artificial light. He moved surprisingly swiftly for his size. Portly, tall, fun-loving, and incredibly witty, this was the man Nantaris had elected to supervise the management of the Archives. Jedi he was not, but that was not an option any longer. A renowned literary critic from a major university on Commenor, he had gotten the job based almost entirely upon his application, which came in the form of a letter. It was the strangest thing Nantaris had ever read.

Dearest Sir or Madame (or whichever you prefer),

I am writing to you concerning the availability of the position of librarian for the Jedi Archives. I gave brief perusal to the application, but in my distaste for such conventional trivialities I elected instead to compose this letter. My apologies for what follows.

Allow me to begin with a parable. There were once two wise men who happened to be neighbors. One of them walked outside every morning, beheld the universe around him, and broken down and cried. He just could not help it. His neighbor walked outside every morning, beheld the universe around him, and threw his head back and laughed. He just could not help it.

This strange mixture of laughter and misery, joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, profundity and absurdity, chocolate chip cookies and my mother's meatloaf, is what we simply call life. And no better chronicling of all these experiences has ever been assembled other than your very own Archives of the Jedi. It would be a most exquisite opportunity to be allowed to helm the restoration project of this critical establishment.

I trust that you will trust that I can be trusted when I say that I am singularly qualified for this job. I am fluent in eight languages, can write twelve, and have an almost photographic memory. I have a thorough knowledge of the historical, literary, and philosophical traditions that run through our glorious Republic, and can provide evidence of this fact. (See my many books on these many topics).

To be fair, I must be forthright and announce now that I have very little patience with droids. These soulless machines often complicate things far beyond what is necessary and I believe they would only hinder me in my quest. I mention this as the only possible drawback towards my hiring.

Thank you for your consideration and patience with my verbosity. I trust you will choose wisely.

Sincerely,

Dr. Kingswell Attenworth Hamann

Nantaris hired the man immediately.

Ian's appearance was almost as ridiculous as his letter and personality. He often wore antiquated clothing, though whether he was conscious of this no one knew. He was frequently seen with a cloak or cape over a wool suit and a crumpled hat. He was known to wear tweed jackets when it suited him. Though not very old, around middle age, he typically walked with a straight cane or walking stick, mostly because he liked the way it looked. His light brown hair was usually disheveled and parted in obtuse angles; his face was round and plump; and his beady, brown eyes bore crow's feet, the consequences of years of jollity and merrymaking and bellowing laughter.

Compounding all his other strange mannerisms, Ian's vocabulary and manner of speech was just as eccentric as he was. He would frequently weave his verbal tapestry with obscure words, mixed metaphors, malapropisms, and self-described "catachresis." All of this, he believed, was mighty funny, though his humor would more often than not result in his amusement and no one else's.

"Let us examine the database," he said.

Nantaris allowed the large man to lead the way as he navigated the newly reorganized archives. Ian approached a console and then shouted at his droid assistant, "Hey, maladroid! Conjure up the planetary database!"

"Yes, master. Right away."

"Imbecile machine," muttered Ian quietly.

He sifted through the information for a few moments and then turned to face Nantaris. "Hmmm," he mused, "Doliani was only discovered about fifty years ago, but the indigenous species is human. Fascinating. Seems to be governed by a constitutional monarchy. They are not part of the Republic, but have undertaken negotiations to join lately, as they are apparently well-stocked in a useful metal alloy the Republic wants to trade."

"What about cities, urban landscapes?"

"Seems there are only a few major cities. Capital is called Thoyahna. The rest of the planet is overcome with dense flora. Sounds a bit like Onderon."

"I hope it isn't too much like Onderon. Otherwise the planet will be populated exclusively by assholes."

"The reason for their unsurpassed latrines, I suppose."

Nantaris did not laugh.

Ian was silent for a moment, then asked, "Why is it that you're going there?"

"I have a lead," Nantaris answered, "concerning a force sensitive child. I'll have to make a trek to the capital and talk to her parents. It's a long way out, but I'm getting desperate here."

"You have no other leads?"

"That's not exactly true. I have one here in a poorer district on Coruscant, as well. I'll be checking there first."

"Harvesting the younglings?" asked Ian with a smirk.

The comment hit Nantaris close to home, as he squinted his green eyes and then sighed. "It feels that way sometimes."

"Sorry," said Ian, "that was merely an attempt at humor." He quickly changed topics. "If you don't mind," he began, "would you mind if I accompanied you to Doliani?"

"What for?"

"Must there be a reason? It sounds like a fascinating place, and a wonderful opportunity to expand my intellectual repertoire."

"I don't see why not. I'll let you know when I leave."

"I'll have to tell my wife, she'll certainly be excited!"

Nantaris held his breath, "You're bringing her, too?"

"Of course not! Didn't you hear what I said?"

There was a shout. "Never!" screamed a woman in hysterics, "You can't take my son! Get away from me you son of a bitch!"

A metal door slammed in his face, and Nantaris found himself standing alone in a dreary, ill-lit hallway.

He was contained for a moment, but effervescent rage threatened to break through. He tried to take a deep breath, but he could not prevent the deluge. He clenched his fist, spun around, and thrust it straight at the concrete wall. So great was the force of his anger that his hand smashed through the obstruction completely. He quickly pulled his hand out, knowing he suffered no injury, and gave a fleeting glance to the glaring crater he left behind.

There is no emotion, there is peace, he thought to himself. Like bloody hell…

He turned to his right to see a solitary kid staring at him in wide-eyed terror.

"What are you looking at?" Nantaris asked angrily. The kid was merely frozen. "Get out of here!"

With that, the child vacated the premises, leaving behind the toy he had been holding.

Nantaris sighed, the acute pang of another failure gnawing at him. He was growing more and more disenchanted with the whole notion of rebuilding the Order. If he did not find success soon, he resolved to put a stake in the whole thing.

"Once more, with feeling!" shouted the Mandalorian officer. Captain Kenaan, as he was called, was a strange man, even amongst his kith and kin. His almost spiritual reverence for large artillery was the source of much confusion and sometimes mockery within the ranks, but when heavy weapons were deployed, there was no one more apt for the job.

The guns roared again. Mounted on the backs of huge, walking tanks, they scattered their laser beams all about the walls of the earthen Sith citadel, shattering the ramparts and slowly wearing out the defense.

Three days ago, Allie had finally made a breakthrough in cracking the Sith enigma. There was still work to be done, but she had broken enough for the Republic to determine the locations of all the fortresses and hideouts the Sith had spread about the surface of Malacandra. Information is the most important weapon, and the Republic finally had it.

One gun broke through the breach.

"Now!" shouted someone.

Caius Lucullus, at the head of the pack, led a dangerous charge. Scrambling up the marmoreal cliff face, hundreds of Mandalorians and Republic soldiers accompanying him, they made their way into the breach.

Bullets and rockets from the Sith encampments sprayed about the Republic wedge, but it was not enough to prevent the onslaught. The coalition soldiers poured through the gap and began pushing away the beleaguered defenders.

Caius ran, his blue lightsaber elevated over his head, towards one of the AA guns mounted behind the thickest parts of the wall. The huge cannons were the only thing keeping Republic air superiority from bombarding the fortress into submission. Wedged into a canyon, the fortress was immune to orbital bombardment, but could be destroyed from the lower skies if the opportunity could be made. He and several others made a beeline towards the guns, only to be met by several more tenacious Sith soldiers.

The Exile ducked underneath a sword stroke and stabbed the attacker. He then felt the air expunged from his lungs and he vaulted sideways. A nearly mad Sith had smacked him with a frighteningly large metal rod and sent him careening into the dirt. His head thudded against the ground, but he rolled to the side to avoid the rod's next blow, and then thrust his lightsaber upwards, impaling the attacker and killing him.

He shoved the corpse off of his body and wearily stood up, twisting his side to alleviate the pain from the blow. He turned to a nearby officer and ordered, "Set the charges on the AA guns."

The demolitions crew began setting up the explosives, as the Sith forces dwindled even further. In the distance, about a hundred yards further, Caius saw another group of Sith strangely milling about beneath the obsidian wall of their fortress's main building.

"I'm heading over there," he added.

Caius charged towards the figures, but his sight somehow betrayed him. The apparitions distorted before his very eyes and began shifting right and left; one they began to assimilate into each other. They mutated into more grotesque phantoms than mere Sith, and Caius suddenly felt himself overwhelmed by dread. He drew closer to them, even though he wanted to stop and turn away.

What…what is happening? he thought to himself.

No sooner had they appeared than did they inexplicably vanish. There was suddenly nothing there. Caius felt as though he was walking into a vortex, and his eyes could not adequately discern what he was seeing, but they were gone.

Caius was left alone, without a clue as to what he had just seen.

"Sir, what are you doing?" exclaimed a voice behind him.

"Huh?" he replied, bewildered.

It was a Republic officer. "The AA guns have been destroyed!" he yelled, "We're falling back! The fortress is going to be bombed!"

Caius quickly regained his senses and followed the man out of the encampment. The Sith were totally broken, and they met with no resistance as they escaped along with the rest of the attacking force.

The gray skies then erupted as Republic air power streaked overhead. Caius covered his ears as the sound barrier was shattered. The ships followed their path over the Sith fortress and though he could not really discern the lasers, he saw the effects of the explosives as the base ruptured from the inside. The structures buckled and began falling, and fires exploded outwards. The walls crumbled.

"Chalk up another victory," said Captain Kenaan. The soldiers in the area cheered.

"Hmm," emanated from the Reckoner's ship doctor, a reticent but friendly Twi'lek by the name of Halleck.

"'Hmm' what?" asked Caius.

The blue-skinned doctor did not respond. He simply stood still, reading over all the papers he had in front of him.

"You were hit in the head, you say?"

"Yes," answered Caius.

"And you saw hallucinations?"

"Yes."

"Well," said the doctor, taking his thin-rimmed glasses off and looking at Caius. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're perfectly fine."

Caius was relieved. "That's good news."

"It's not good news, because I don't know what caused it. Physically, you're fine. I have no answer for what happened to you on the battlefield."

"So…what do I do then?"

"But I think you should be clear to do whatever is needed of you. You need to go out into combat again, or travel, or what have you, I see no reason why you should not. You're in perfect health. I don't know what caused your hallucinations, but it has nothing to do with your health. Perhaps you experienced them as a short-term side-effect of the head trauma, but you are fine now. You weren't hit hard enough to cause lasting damage."

"All right," said Caius, "thank you doctor."

"Come back if you experience something else," said the doctor. "Most just keep it to themselves."

"Right," said Caius, "I would never do that."

He left the clinic. Allie was waiting for him outside.

Good thing I made you go," she said with a smile.

Now that the last of the Sith strongholds with any proximity to the Republic camp on Malacandra had been destroyed, it was time to move on to the other planets. They still were unaware of where, exactly, those planets were—or if there were any. But that Malacandra was more or less secure was a huge triumph.

The next stop would be, of course, Scythia. That was the only other planet that the Republic knew had any presence of Sith at all. In the meantime, they would try to crack more of the Sith encryptions and learn the statuses of their other worlds.

As for the excursion to Scythia, Caius had volunteered himself to lead it.