Chapter 9

Visas Marr drifted through the cosmos in a daze, all life in the galaxy laid before her in all its indescribable detail. She saw many things, some of which she knew and others which were alien to her but through it all a growing sense of dread clawed about her mind and prevented her from enjoying these staggering sights any Jedi would give their lives to see. In front of the drifting Jedi Master a shadow emerged, dark and unknowable – yet somehow Visas did know of it. She knew it all too well. A voice whispered in her ear.

"I'm always with you Visas. My love."

And Visas was screaming, screaming so loudly her throat burned with agony, her lungs quivered with the exertion, yet still she screamed and screamed and screamed. Somehow she was no longer in the depths of space but wrapped in pale linens in a white room. And suddenly Mical was at her side and holding her hand, worry creasing his already creased face.

"Visas, listen to me! Calm down, you're safe, you're safe!" Visas collapsed into Mical's arms sobbing, her usual reticence banished by her ordeal. Master Chodo Habat entered the infirmary flanked by two medical aids to find the Jedi Grandmaster desperately trying to get some rational response from the hysterical Miraluku master in his arms. Chodo frowned and went to his patient.

An hour later, Chodo sat next to the tired looking Grand master in the waiting lounge of the infirmary. Mical looked up as Chodo sat.

"How's she doing?"

"Well enough. She's fallen into a natural sleep now and her ordeal appears to be over. I couldn't get anything out of her unfortunately. She appears to have fallen mute." Mical stared at his healer in surprise.

"Mute? A sign of damage from the force perhaps?

"Well, medically speaking there's nothing wrong with her so I'm assuming that her illness is inflicted by the force. If that's the case, there's still very little I can do Mical." The Jedi Grandmaster sighed and kneaded his forehead. A few hours before he'd felt the deaths of those on board the Cosmos Splinter, and shocking reports of its total destruction were now filtering through Hutt and Republic communication channels. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jedi Knight Actar Larn and her padawan had been found poisoned on Ryloth, bringing the death count from this bounty on Jedi to four. The two remaining Jedi who had taken part in the raids on the slavers of the Mirgoshir system were Mordred Veshnar and Aron Vima and according to Atton Rand their next destination… was the Cosmos Splinter. Mical hoped desperately that they were safe.

"Alright, thank you Chodo. I leave her to your care." The elderly Ithorian bowed to his fellow council member and left the room. Mical took out his communicator and contacted Master Ordo. Mira answered quickly, a rarity for her, and Mical asked for her status.

"I'm at the remains of the splinter now Mical. It's been almost completely destroyed but I don't believe our two Jedi were killed"

"Why's that?"

"I simply don't sense their passing. I plan to continue my pursuit as necessary."

"Good. Also, some good news at least, Visas woke up less than an hour ago." Mira breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's excellent Mical. Has she told you what caused her collapse?"

"No, she's asleep right now and Chodo claimed that she was mute when she first woke up." Mira frowned.

"Have you tried sensing her thoughts?"

"I will do soon. I don't want to cause her stress – she's already been through enough."

"Of course, you do what you think's best for her. Also, I still haven't found a single trace of Master Osti. I searched through data records of transports off Caston and his name never surfaced. I can't find his force signature anywhere either Mical – it's like he's dropped out of the galaxy entirely, I've never seen anything like it." Mical nodded resignedly and steepled his fingers in thought.

"It's been days Mira. I think it might be time to admit the inevitable." Mira wasn't happy.

"What? That he's dead? Mical, even if that's the case I should still be able to find his body. Nothing about his total disappearance makes sense – why would someone abduct him and take pains to conceal their attack? And who would be physically capable of capturing Master Osti anyway? He's one of the strongest Jedi in our order. Perhaps… perhaps the Si-"

"Don't be ridiculous! We watch for the return of the dark side every day! I want no more talk of this until you've found Veshnar and his Padawan. Am I clear?" Mira nodded.

"Good. Report again when you have something for me." Mira shut off her communicator without another word. Mical sighed and leaned back in his chair, feeling older than he had felt in a long time.

The Wounded Lady left the Nal Hutta system in a hurry, ignoring checkpoints and causing several collisions in its wake. Filcher Martin looked somewhat desperate at the controls, the only thought in his head being to get as far away from the Smuggler's Moon as possible. Cudren, a Selkath criminal, was infamous for being something of a freelance torturer for the Hutts as well as running several Pazaak dens on Nar Shaddaa – and Filcher Martin owed him 22,000 credits. If Cudren or another of his goons caught him, he'd beg for death before they were finished with him. It was for this reason that Filcher Martin was flying his ship so fast and was so desperate to hit hyperspace.

"I'll find some quiet little garden world somewhere" he said to himself, "Somewhere in the outer rim maybe, or in the colonies. Just as far from Hutt space as possible." But as Filcher was making these plans, the Winged Katarn dropped out of hyperspace alongside the Wounded Lady and fired a barrage of laser bolts onto its broadside, sending the ship careening out of control. Inside, Filcher Martin grappled desperately with his ship's controls, trying in vain to right his flailing vessel but to no avail. The Wounded Lady lurched wildly again then slammed into the side of an atmospheric monitoring satellite, punching right through it then coming to an abrupt stop as the engine died and the emergency thrusters kicked in. Filcher sat paralysed in the Captain's chair, sheer terror gripping him as he noted the ship ID of the vessel that attacked him. The Winged Katarn. The Jedi's ship.

"Sith's blood" Filcher said in despair.

Five minutes later, Filcher found himself lifted bodily by the neck confronted by the tall blue Jedi Knight who had boarded his ship, removing his safety protocols with a sweep of his hand.

"Please don't kill me!" Filcher begged, tears streaming down his face.

"Where is my padawan?!" roared Mordred with such fury Filcher almost wet himself.

"N-n-n Nar Shaddaa" Filcher said desperately, "he escaped and went into the streets below docking platform 8801-B79A, I swear on my mother's life he was alive!" Mordred scowled and placed his finger tips of the pathetic bounty hunters forehead. Swiping away what little mental defence Filcher Martin possessed, Mordred quickly ascertained that his victim was telling the truth. The Chiss Jedi composed himself and released Filcher, who collapsed into a foetal position, crying.

"Filcher Martin, you are hereby under arrest for the assault of two Jedi Knights on official business. You will remain here in your ship until the proper authorities take you into custody." Mordred said, formality – and therefore normality – returning to his voice. Filcher looked up at this declaration with panic.

"Stay- stay here?! I can't stay here, Cudren will kill me! Take me with you; I need protection! Lock me up wherever you like but don't let fishy Selkath come near me!" he pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Mordred merely handcuffed the bounty hunter to his own Captains chair, went to the engine room, ripped out the primary power coupling – making flight impossible – and stormed back onto to the Winged Katarn which departed with the minimum fuss, leaving Filcher alone on the Dainty Lady to sob and panic.

Aron Vima ran with all the strength he had. He ducked and dived along narrow, grimy streets and on top of garish florescent advertisements, sweat pouring down his forehead as he sprinted. He couldn't tell if he was being pursued but the young Padawan was taking no chances. When he finally came to a stop he was exhausted and desperate, but also free. Nar Shaddaa may well be the crime capital of the galaxy, but there's nowhere better to get lost in, and Aron was truly lost. He slumped in an alley made of grey steel and felt his eyelids droop, still tired after such a heavy dose of sedative from Filcher Martin. He briefly searched his surroundings with the force but found the alley curiously devoid of life. Hoping he was safe, Aron slowly closed his eyes.

And was running again. He was tall and powerful; strong in the force and wore the robes of a Jedi Master, a yellow lightsabre in his hand. His boots pounded the metal floor with purpose and vigour, the force guiding his every step. He rounded a corner and came out into blinding sunshine – the sun had risen whilst he was running through the tunnels. His quarry was on his knees, clutching his side and gasping in pain, black robes stained with blood. The fallen man turned to look at Aron with fury in his eyes, his crimson skin shining bright in the sun.

"It's over Anarchus! Give in now!" Aron roared, his voice far deeper than Aron could remember it being. Aron's enemy sneered even as he coughed up his own blood.

"It's over? You think this is over? You think besting me in a childish brawl will save you?" The Sith slowly stood up and faced Aron, not a trace of fear in his mad eyes. "You have no understanding at all BOY! Even now our doom approaches, even now the very foundations of the galaxy quake at the approach!" Aron scowled and pointed his lightsabre at Anarchus as a simple threat.

"Know this Sith" Aron spat, "the Jedi defeated your Master once, we shall do so again I swear it!" At this, Anarchus threw back his head and howled with laughter.

"You delayed, nothing more! You placed a plaster on an open wound and hoped it would heal, little realising it was already infected! My Master is just another symptom boy, a symptom! You want to save the galaxy? You want to know what you seek to fight? Look upon it… and despair!" And with that, Anarchus threw his arms in the air and Aron could see everything. Everything. He saw the galaxy, he saw beyond it. He saw the Republic. He even saw the Empire. But beyond that… beyond that, in unending dark space where no being has ever trodden, where all should be blackness and silence… Aron saw light. And what terrible light! Light to blind a man, drive him mad, light to tear the soul from all who gaze upon it. It defied all description, rejected all attempts to understand it; it was simply the end. The end of all things.

Aron woke screaming, the vivid nature of his vision enough to shake his already tired frame to the core. Sweat poured off his body in rivets as he tried to get a hold on his panic and he clutched his head as if to force out the terrible things he had seen. Aron did not really understand his vision – he did not know what the light was, did not know who the bleeding man could be and did not understand his glimpses at this terrible light, but Aron knew one thing; the Jedi Council need to know everything he had seen… because the Sith were back.