Chapter 8
35 Years ago…
Master Cy watched Mical as he levitated on the grassy plane. All around the blonde Jedi, rocks flew at great speeds, testament to his impressive telekinetic abilities. The ancient Jedi nodded to himself, satisfied, and walked over to his erstwhile student.
"Mical. It is time." Mical turned to look at his Master, a frown on his face.
"Time for what Master Cy?"
"Time for your training to end. You are now prepared to teach students of your own – all your colleagues are. I can do no more for you." Mical slowly nodded and got to his feet.
"Is it still useless for me to persuade you to join us on the council? You'd make an excellent Grandmaster." Master Cy shook his head.
"I don't think I'd be as good as you think Mical and besides… your order already has a Grandmaster. You." Mical didn't look convinced. The blonde Jedi turned to the vast open field which stretched out in front of them and breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with cool, fresh air.
"Master, please, if we are to leave you at long last and found our order proper, can you answer just a few more questions? Please Master?"
"Hmm. Well, since you asked so nicely. Ask and I shall answer. I will tell you all the truths which I think you can safely handle."
"What does that mean? You won't tell me the whole truth?"
"It means that there are certain things within the galaxy about which you cannot know. And if you did know them then they would drive you to distraction." Mical let out an exasperated sigh.
"Master please! For five years I've listened to your cryptic words. On the eve of our parting, please, please, please answer my questions!" Master Cy thought about this.
"Alright," he said at length, "alright. You want answers, I will give you them. Ask me three questions and I will answer you truthfully, no mysticism, no mystery. Three questions alone mind you." Mical's face lit up. "Go on then. Ask your first question." Mical suddenly lapsed into silence as he pondered the implications of just three questions that he could get answers to. He was silent for several minutes before he finally spoke up.
"Alright Master Cy, my first question is… where is the exile? No, wait, forget that. Is the exile safe? That's more important. Is she alive.?
"Mical, I've warned you about wearing your emotions on your sleeves. Your first question was about the exile – what does that tell me? In your own way you love her don't you?" Mical remained stony faced.
"You haven't answered my question yet. You said you would. Is she safe?"
"She is. She walks with Revan, and is now even more powerful than before. There is little that can stand against her. But you already knew that didn't you Mical? You knew that she followed Revan this time because part of her always regretted not following him after Malachor. It wasn't fear of becoming a Sith but guilt which made her the exile. Now she finally journey's with her old commander, and the force lights up wherever they go." Mical was, in spite of himself, grinning from ear to ear, a single tear slowly creeping down his cheek.
"Thank you Master. Where…"
"A word of warning. Ask me where and you will have only one question left. And even if you knew where she was, you cannot go to her, she is beyond your reach." Mical looked down, chastened.
"Alright. My second question is… what was Visas' master? The Sith Lord known as Nihilus?" Master Cy took a breath.
"A better question. Gather your colleagues, I would tell you all the tale." Mical hurriedly returned to the crude wooden training ground that he and the other lost Jedi had built to train in and called out for his fellow Jedi. Atton came first, then Visas, Brianna, Mira and Bao-Dur bringing up the rear.
"What's the matter Mical?" Visas asked, concern plain in her voice. Mical gasped as he got his breath back.
"Master Cy says that our training is over, but before we go we can ask him three questions. I asked him about your old Master Visas and I think you're going to want to hear what he has to say. We all will."
The six lost Jedi sat in a semi-circle around a fire, watching the sun slowly die and fade on the horizon. No one was at ease however, despite the camp like atmosphere, least of all Visas who was waiting on answers that she had longed for for nearly ten years. Master Cy arrived and sat down on the opposite side of the semi-circle, theatrically clearing his throat as he did so.
"I'm sure Mical has already told you why you are gathered here – your training is complete and you deserve some answers. I think perhaps knowledge of one of your greatest enemies would be an appropriate farewell present."
"Nihilus" Visas whispered almost reverentially. Master Cy nodded.
"Of all the adventures you have described during your time with the Exile, it was facing off against Visas' old Master above Telos that I found the most compelling. I have lived for a very long time and even I cannot say with any certainty what he was. All that I tell you now I learned from visions gifted to me by the force." The whole group waited on Master Cy with baited breath. Master Cy smiled at their impatience. "Let me tell you the story… of Darth Nihilus."
Present Day
Farleth arched his back as he struggled to get comfortable in the chair. The tall, slender Devaronian wore his Mandalorian armour with pride and the deep purple sash of the Gaping Maw with wicked glee. He enjoyed the looks he got with that sash around his waist. Law enforcement, civilians, criminals and even common scum – all knew the symbol of the most fearsome mercenary band in the galaxy and all feared him because of it. Farleth always enjoyed the look of fright on people's faces as he walked past – when he was a boy on his home planet of Deveron he had always been small for his age and the local louts had always made fun of his puny horns but now he got respect everywhere he went. He was still self-conscious about his body – even though he was now well over six feet tall he had never filled out like typical males of his kind so he covered himself from toes to neck in Mandalorian armour, leaving only his head free to show off some thankfully enormous horns that came when he hit puberty. Farleth was now the number three within the ranks of the Gaping Maw, a feat achieved with an entire career of hurting people very badly and Farleth didn't regret a moment of it. All he regretted now was that he was not number two. Villssk was Villssk and the thought that anyone could challenge him for the leadership of the Maw was clearly ridiculous but Ragath… the wily Barabel may be vicious with a blade but he was getting old and he wouldn't be Villssk's favourite forever. Farleth hoped that this bounty he was about to collect would be enough to prove that it was he, not the doddering Ragath, who deserved to be Villssk's right hand man.
To the untrained eye, it would seem that Farleth was alone in the docking lounge, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of mid-day travel. However, hidden away on either sides of the room were half a dozen of the Gaping Maw, all ready and willing to seize the two Jedi about to dock. This was the information that Farleth had uncovered but neglected to tell Ragath – the location of two more Jedi. Biting Wind, the freakish Verpine marksman had already claimed two lightsabres, which only left four – and Farleth was going to get a pair for himself. His personal communicator beeped and he examined it. It was Lunbacca, his wizened old friend – an ancient and bad tempered Wookiee coming to the end of his life. Lunbacca was in the communications room, standing as lookout for the Jedi and if he was calling at this critical time… it could only mean one thing.
"Yes Lunbacca? Is it them?" Farleth said, answering his communicator.
"Just remind me of the name of the ship Farleth, just to be sure." Farleth sighed and checked a datapad.
"We're looking for a ship called the Winged Katarn. Has it arrived?" There was a pause as Lunbacca punched a few buttons on a computer.
"Yes, Winged Katarn, coming into docking bay THX-133 04. Go get them boss." Farleth grinned and shut down his communicator. His men tensed around him. Farleth was prepared and ready to take Aron Vima and Mordred Veshnar captive. So it was a shame that at that moment the Cosmos Splinter exploded and Farleth, Lunbacca, his whole team and everyone else on the space station was incinerated.
Aron Vima swam through darkness. All about him were the cries of a thousand voices, screaming in agony, over and over again in his head. He couldn't stand it – he thrashed violently but found he couldn't move so instead he cried out, anything to release some of the fear and pain that the force was pushing into his head. In this hazy state Aron struggled to think rationally but he knew that the Cosmos splinter had exploded. With a population of 100,000 people on board and the strength of what he was feeling right now, he had to assume that every one of them had died and he could not cope with their loss. The Splinter was populated primarily by the criminal elements but there were still innocents who had died and that, Aron Vima couldn't forget. Hours seemed to pass. Eventually the fog slowly began to clear but he still felt sluggish and unfocused and more importantly, he still couldn't move. He realised that he was upright but bound – he was strapped to a metal table on a hinge, capable of standing horizontally or vertically and all around him were crates and boxes. He appeared to be locked in a cargo hold, but not the Winged Katarn's and, he realised with a jolt, he had an IV in his arm. He tried to summon the force but couldn't find the willpower and assumed that he was being drugged. Now he started to get alarmed. Suddenly a door opened at the front of the cargo hold and a skinny human male stepped out, dressed in a garish yellow combat suit. He had lank, greasy dark hair down to his shoulders, a blaster pistol on his hip and a baby blue visor over his eyes. When he saw Aron was awake he noticeably did a double take.
"Whoa, you're conscious? Damn it, I really got screwed over on that venom." The man in yellow walked over to Aron and leant down to attend to the drip in the Zabrak's left arm. "You know, I was really nervous about collecting a bounty on a Jedi, but you've been quiet as a mouse. Looks like old Filcher will be getting his 40K after all."
"Wh- what?" Aron said, still disorientated and confused. "You're a bounty hunter?" The man in yellow nodded enthusiastically.
"I sure am, and don't let anyone else tell you I'm a bounty poacher, that's hurtful. The rules of the game never matter when credits are involved." Aron didn't understand any of this so he just murmured, feeling the drowsiness increase as the man upped his dose.
"There we are," he continued, "now you just get a couple more hours shut eye before we get to Nar Shaddaa." Aron forced himself to speak again.
"We're going to Nar Shaddaa? Why?" The man in yellow sighed.
"We're going to Nar Shaddaa because that's where the bounty was posted. This isn't hyperdrive science. You are going to make me a rich man. Well, you're going to pay off my gambling debts first and then make me a moderately wealthy man, but you know what I mean."
"I thought… the bounty… was just for our lightsabres." Aron forced out of his mouth with effort. The man in yellow chuckled.
"What, this old thing?" he pulled out Aron's lightsabre from a pocket. "Actually that's just a turn of phrase. When the bounty said we want their lightsabres, it actually just meant kill you. But I'm smarter than that. Sure, I could up this dose of neural pacifying venom by ten and you'd be dead in 60 seconds, but then I'd be the target for retribution by a whole galaxy of angry Jedi. Not smart. Instead, I'm just going to deliver you to the bounty officer and let them kill you. To the Jedi, I'll just be a glorified delivery boy – beneath their notice."
"That's ridiculous. They'll still come after you! Letting me go right now is the only way you can walk away from this. And… wait, how did you get me here?"
"You Jedi are always stirring up trouble. As soon as I got a tip off that a couple of them Gaping Maw thugs were hanging around the Cosmos Splinter I hightailed it over here and BANG! The whole ruddy station blows up. I've never seen anything like it. Anyway, I found that ship of yours badly damaged from the blast, boarded it and grabbed ya." Aron frowned.
"What about Master Veshnar? Why isn't he here?" The man in yellow let out another bark of a laugh, showing a set of ugly yellow teeth.
"I told you boy, I'm smart. I know my limits. One unarmed and drugged padawan? No problem. One padawan and a fully trained Jedi Knight in my cargo hold? Not easy, and the punishment for failure is… severe. So why bother? Besides, I got your demonic friend's lightsabre as well, so he won't be as dangerous if he comes after us."
"He's not a demon, he's a Chiss. They're a distant species on the outer rim."
"I'll have to take your word on that. To be honest, I've never really like aliens, although I've seen enough Zabrak like you to get used to the … horns. Do you sharpen them?"
"What sort of question is that? Of course I don't sharpen them!" Aron was very defensive about his horns. As a juvenile Zabrak from Iridonia his horns had only just sprouted and he was very proud of them. He acknowledged that it might be against the Jedi code and even vain to wax them every night but he did so want them to look impressive, however small they were. For the moment. He was sure they'd grow bigger.
"Huh, well I learn something new every day. Anyway, it's time for some shut eye now boy. Night night." The man in yellow bent down and twisted the drip again. Aron felt another surge of the drug through his system and knew no more.
Aboard the Winged Katarn, Mordred Veshnar worked furiously on the damaged hyperdrive, wincing with every excursion from the wounds on his left arm and side which stained his robes with blood. The shockwave from the explosion on the Cosmos splinter had hit the Winged Katarn incredibly hard, blowing out her stabilisers, shattering the glass in the cockpit and causing immense damage to the hyperdrive. Not only that but it had badly wounded Mordred and while it would have killed any normal man it had left the Jedi Knight comatose for several hours. When he awoke it became clear that something was horribly wrong – both his Padawan and his lightsabre were missing and once he'd rebooted the ships computer it confirmed his fears – less than an hour before, the ship had been boarded. Why the boarders didn't kill him while he lay unconscious he didn't know, and right now, he didn't care. As soon as he awoke he contacted Master Rand and explained the situation. Although initially furious at the news, Atton quickly became concerned for Veshnar's safety and kept questioning him on the extent of his injuries. Master Rand promised reinforcements within hours and ordered Mordred to return to Pikar immediately for healing. But Veshnar wasn't going to do that. For the first time in his life, he found himself disobeying a direct order from a superior Jedi. He would rescue his padawan and punish those responsible for the senseless destruction of the Cosmos Splinter even if it killed him. With an out-of-character snarl of rage he kicked the Hyperdrive as hard as he could… and it flared into life. Wincing once again, Mordred Veshnar stood up and limped back to the bridge, determined to follow the ship which had boarded the Winged Katarn, apparently named The Wounded Lady.
Nar Shaddaa. The smuggler's moon. While the Cosmos Splinter was, in its own way a horrible place to live, it could not hope to compare with the original planet of sin. Nar Shaddaa was filthy, smog choked and in turns completely dilapidated and top of the range, the quality of building directly correlating with the worth of the inhabitants. It truly was the scummiest place in the galaxy and nowhere else could compare. The Wounded Lady landed on one of the nicer landing pads in Nar Shaddaa – they were few and far between. As the she touched down, five armed individuals approached the ship – two Aqualish thugs, a Trandoshan, a Gran and one thick set, balding Cathar male who was clearly the leader of the group. From the ship marched the man in yellow, dragging the gurney on which Aron lay behind him. The Cathar thug shook his head in disbelief as the man in yellow approached.
"Filcher Martin, as I live and breathe. I'd heard you were gunning for Vogga's bounty, I just didn't think you'd actually catch one." Filcher Martin, for the man in yellow was he, let out a noise of disgust.
"You think you're so much better than me Denni Lorek? All you do is what your Master Vogga tells you to do. At least I'm a free m…" The Cathar Denni grabbed Filcher by the throat in one large, clawed hand.
"You better watch that mouth of yours Filcher or I'll rip out your tongue. And don't flatter yourself, you're a walking joke. How'd you catch this one, did he trip over you when you were begging for mercy?" Denni and his goons cackled with laughter whilst Filcher struggled for air. Eventually he managed to squawk:
"Is Vogga not paying his bounties now? I doubt he'll be very popular if that's the case." Denni sighed and let Filcher drop to his feet, gasping for air.
"You'll get your money you little worm. Right then, one of the Jedi on the list…" he checked his datapad carefully, "a padawan Vima, I believe. Alright, that earns you 20,000 credits." Filcher looked up at the burly Cathar sharply.
"20,000? It's 40,000 isn't it?"
"No dull stone, it's 40,000 for a pair of Jedi. These guys usually travel in pairs. Wasn't he with another Jedi?" the Cathar enforcer said, gesturing to Aron. Filcher had to think about this.
"Err… yeah. Yeah he was. I killed him. The other one, I mean. A blue skinned, red eyed Jedi Knight right? Look, I've got his lightsabre too." Denni raised a solitary eyebrow and looked at the second lightsabre with obvious scepticism.
"You killed a fully-fledged Jedi Knight?"
"Y-yeah. Of course. How else could I have got his lightsabre? What, you don't believe me?"
"No." the Cathar said simply. Filcher shifted uncomfortably.
"Well, forget what you think, you owe me 40,000 credits and I…" Denni sucker punched Filcher in the belly, sneering as the bounty hunter doubled over in agony.
"No Filcher, I'll tell you what I think. I think you stole this from the Jedi somehow, and he's still alive somewhere getting really pissed off. Now, here's what you're going to do. You're going to take the twenty thousand I'm offering you now and be damn grateful for it. Then, when we've found this… Mordred Veshnar's body, along with signs that you whined him to death – the only way you could kill anyone – then you'll get the other 20. You get me Filcher?" Filcher was still prostrate on the ground but managed to look up at the Cathar, his eyes watering.
"Denni, you don't know what you're doing to me! I'm in with Cudren at the pazaak tables for twenty-two large! I was told to get it all or they'll kill me this time! I'll never get off Nar Shaddaa alive."
"You'll be lucky to get off this landing pad alive if you don't shut up!" Denni snarled. Then he looked up and to his surprise saw over a dozen Duros walking towards him from the opposite landing pad where a large shuttle had recently docked.
A tall Duros wearing grey and red combat fatigues walked towards them, perspiration dripping on his mottled grey skin. In his hands he carried a large Disruptor rifle, inlet with gold.
"Greetings gentlemen. I am Tezanti Zhug of the Zhug brothers. My associates and I are inestimably interested in that young Zabrak of yours. Kindly deliver him into our custody and we will not need to resort to… unpleasantness. Do we have an understanding?" Sadly, Denni Lorek didn't speak Durese, so he hadn't understood one word that Tezanti had just said.
"I don't know what you just said Duros but for your sake I hope it wasn't threatening. Lorgal, you speak Durese, right?" Denni said, asking one of his Aqualish cronies. The Aqualish thug nodded.
"Yeah boss."
"Well what did this idiot say?"
"He wants the Jedi, I think boss. It's kind of hard to tell coz he uses fancy words all the time. "
"He wants the Jedi? What for? Listen bulbous head, the rewards been claimed by this little prick. The Jedi belongs to Vogga now." He gestured to his crony to translate but Tezanti held up a hand.
"Please desist from your translations Aqualish, while your master may not speak Durese, I am perfectly able to understand basic. I would merely suggest to your magnanimous employer that five pasty ruffians is hardly likely to strike terror into the bosom of my vast clan. Perhaps Vogga should send more men to guard his bounty collections, otherwise unscrupulous individuals such as myself might seize the bounties as they arrive on the smuggler's moon and then sell them on to Vogga at a later date… and a higher price. Prepare for hostilities." The Aqualish translator looked panicked at this but not out of fear. He was struggling to understand this sophisticated Duros.
"Well? What did all that gibberish mean?" Denni said impatiently.
"Err… something about Vogga's bounty I think. He talks too fast and he uses words I don't know." Tezanti rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps this will be a little clearer." He said with a small smile and raised his disruptor rifle, firing at Denni Lorek twice, hitting him in the kneecap and then the stomach. The big Cathar enforcer collapsed, roaring in agony. Taking Tezanti's cue, the other Zhug brothers open fired on Denni's hapless thugs with a variety of blaster rifles and pistols. The translator Aqualish was killed instantly, a flurry of blaster bolts covering his torso, while the remaining thugs returned fire as best they could, sparking a furious fire fight on the landing pad. While this raged, Filcher crawled over to Denni and tried to grab the credits from his pocket. Denni rounded on the useless Bounty Hunter and started drawing one of his twin Ryyk blades from his back. Panicking, Filcher drew a small knife from his boot and stabbed the Cathar enforcer in the shoulder, causing him to once again roar with pain. Momentarily distracted by this injury, Denni was powerless to stop Filcher from snatching a whole wad of credits. Staying as low as possible, Filcher got to his feet and scrambled up the gang plank of his ship the Wounded Lady. Just as the fire fight was ending the rusty ship took off and vanished into the heavy thrum of evening traffic.
Tezanti Zhug viewed the landing pad with satisfaction. During the battle, the Gran bodyguard had managed to hit and kill one of his brothers and the big Trandoshan had sliced another Zhug's arm off with a war axe before succumbing to blaster fire. Of Lorek's men, only Denni himself remained alive. A small victory to be sure, but it was fourteen against five after all. Tezanti Zhug waltzed over to the prone figure of Denni Lorek, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the wounded Cathar's forehead.
"You think you're gonna get away with this? Huh? You big grey freak, when Vogga hears about this he's going to wipe you and your pathetic little brotherhood out. You get me? Dead! Your whole crew! DEAD!" Tezanti Zhug blinked at the Cathar's fury.
"Well, somebody is getting angry aren't they? Relax Mister Lorek, your race is finally run. And don't worry about Vogga finding out about this – there was no fire fight, and the Zhug brothers certainly didn't kill one of Vogga's enforcers." The Duros gestured to his brothers throwing the dead off the platform – on Nar Shaddaa their bodies would fall for hours. Tezanti cocked his disruptor and pressed it to Lorek's forehead.
"I'll see you in hell" the Cathar snarled.
"Keep a seat warm for me Denni Lorek. Although thinking about, I doubt cold seats are a problem." Laughing, Tezanti pulled the trigger.
With that done, Tezanti ordered several of his men to take both the dead and the wounded Zhug brothers onto their shuttle while he and several others walked over to the Filcher Martin's gurney. But when he saw it, Tezanti Zhug let out an inhuman howl – for it was empty and Aron Vima was gone.