Chapter 9: The Revenge Of The Sith

[The Jedi Archives, the Ouran, orbiting Falleen, the Falleen system]

"Jocasta, is Tahl in here?" asked Zourvux.

Chief Librarian Master Jocasta Nu looked up at her from the console and nodded sourly, "Of course she is. She's in the same cloister she was yesterday; and the day before that; and the day before that; and so on. And she will just as assuredly be in there tomorrow."

They were in the Jedi archives – the actual archives, literally transported directly from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant onto the Ouran while it was being built. It had been a large job but actually shorter and easier than transferring all the data from the archives onto a fresh system. Several other rooms as well as most of the furniture had also been salvaged from the now mostly gutted temple. After all, it wasn't as if anyone was going to use the Coruscant temple again.

"Damn," said Zourvux.

"I'm not even sure she leaves at all," Jocasta continued, "I know for a fact that Qui-Gon takes her food sometimes – and of course she barely acknowledges him. I certainly wouldn't put it past her to sleep in here."

"Alright," said Zourvux, "thank you Jocasta. I'll try and talk to her again."

She slowly ambled along the section and turned into an adjacent one. She proceeded to the end of the section and ducked into the final cloister, entrenched deep in the labyrinthine archives. Here sat Master Tahl at a desk, positively swamped in datapads, artefact replicas and even some real paper books.

"How are you, Tahl," asked Zourvux as she approached.

"Fine," Tahl replied distractedly.

Zourvux hesitated before continuing.

"Bant had a training exhibition today."

"That's good,"

"She failed."

"Oh... That's a pity," Tahl replied, her soft voice stumbling out faintly.

"Jocasta says she isn't sure if you leave the archives or if you sleep here."

"Probably the latter. What day is it?"

Zourvux raised an eyebrow at this, "Thursday."

"I see... Definitely the latter."

Zourvux took a moment before responding, "Qui-Gon's back."

"He was gone?"

"Yes. He was on Troiken for the last couple days."

"I thought it had been a while since he brought me food – that silly man, does he think I can't look after myself?" Tahl chuckled to herself.

Zourvux chose not to voice her response to that.

"What have you been working on?" she said finally.

"Oh, just trying to transliterate this Massassi script variant. These scripts were found on Yavin IV of all places about three and a half millennia ago – nobody's yet got around to doing it," said Tahl, absent-mindedly.

"And... when are you planning to leave the archives?"

"Probably when I'm finished."

"Tahl, the Massassi scripts all use an extensive glyph system."

"Yes, what's your point?"

"This could literally take months – maybe a couple of weeks if it's one of the simpler forms."

"Well, I've gotten so far already. No point in stopping no-"

"Tahl," said Zourvux firmly.

"What is it, Zourvux?"

"Just because I can't ask you to look at me doesn't mean I can't ask you to pay attention to me."

Tahl paused, a datapad still in her hand. Then, slowly, she set it down and turned sideways in her seat so her body was now facing Zourvux.

"Tahl, I know you feel this is important – and I know you are going through a rough patch at the moment but please. Get. Some. Rest. Take a break. Please?"

Tahl fiddled with the page of one of the ancient tomes for a moment before nodding at Zourvux. Or at least nodding in her general direction. Then she stacked her datapads, replicas and books neatly around her workspace.

"Okay, Zourvux. If you insist."

Then she slumped forward onto the table and almost instantly dropped into sleep.

Zourvux stood there, watching her slight snoring with a mixture of incredulity and irritation. Her expression also looked like she had just forced herself to swallow a lemon. Then, shaking her head, she turned and walked towards the exit. She passed Jocasta on the way.

"How many attempts is that?" Jocasta asked.

"Entirely too many."

[The Jedi High Council Chamber, The Ouran]

The Jedi High Council was assembled; well, except for Tyvokka. His seat sat empty. In the centre of the council chamber stood Plo, Tholme, Qui-Gon, Quinlan and Jace. Adi had taken her now-usual seat.

"You may be wondering why we called you back here" said Eeth hesitantly, "Quite simply, we can't wait any longer. Master Tyvokka is missing in action with no immediate prospect of recovery."

"As such, we are enacting the standard protocols and executing his will in a limited capacity," added Even, "As you were all involved we felt it best you be here."

They all nodded.

Yarael Poof rose, carrying a small transparent cube. He placed it in a receptacle that rose in the centre of the chamber. He sat down again and after a moment the cube lit up and projected a life-size hologram of Tyvokka.

If you are seeing this, then I am either dead or missing in action. Personally I hope it is the latter. Or you are illegally accessing my will – in which case get out of my personal affairs, you monster. Now, onto business.

My robes and lightsaber are The Order's property to do with as they wish. As are the majority of my personal belongings: Holocrons, datapads, furniture etc.

I bet you're all glad that this will is going to be short huh?

I do however have some specific bequests.

Firstly: To Master Plo Koon – I leave my personal journal of contacts. This is a dossier of every trusted contact I have built up over my life. Just say you're a friend of 'The Furrinator' and they'll help you out – no questions asked.

Secondly: To Master Yoda – I leave my good back-scratcher. It should serve him well as a decent walking stick.

Thirdly: To Master Depa Billaba – I leave a selection of Kashyyyk incenses. They always helped to relax me through stressful times. I get the feeling that Master Windu induces those on a regular basis.

Fourthly: To Knight Ares Nune – I leave my dejarik table. Few finer ways to keep the mind sharpened.

Fifthly: To Master Pong Krell – I leave my collected writings on the discipline of ambition and temptation. He should get some good insights out of them; hopefully he'll pass them on one day.

Sixthly: To Knights Tiplee and Tiplar – I leave my personal training droids. Remember girls, getting fake-shot lots now makes it harder to get shot to death later.

These are my only bequests.

And I have one final piece of advice. If I am dead (and I sincerely hope I am not) then I will always be with you in a way; remember the fifth precept.

But if I am alive and simply missing, then have faith that one day I might come back. Yes, I might come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no whinging, no whining, no worries. Just, all of you hearing this, go forward in all your beliefs; and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine.

And Plo,

Tyvokka's hologram turned towards Plo at this, 'must have bio-scanners built in,' he thought.

Upon my death or disappearance, a place will open on the council. I think we both know that the council is going to offer it to you again. This is the last time I will say this: Take the damn seat.

May The Force be with you all.

The hologram faded.

There was a moment's silence.

"Well," said Oppo, "Master Tyvokka seems to have predicted us again."

The entire room was now looking at Plo.

"What say you, Master Plo Koon?" said Yaddle, " This time, accept the position of Jedi High Councillor, do you?"

Plo stood still, like a rabbit in the headlights, before finally drawing himself up to his full height, "I do, may The Force guide me in my task."

"Good," said Oppo, "we can organise the contents of Tyvokka's will in the morning. Council adjourned?" the councillors nodded as one.

"Hey, Plo," called Adi as she strode over to him, "congratulations. Want to keep me company – I've got to supervise a training exhibition now? Saesee's coming too."

"Why not, I could use a little distraction," he replied, then turned his head towards Micah, "Micah? Care to join us? I don't believe you've properly met Adi yet."

After waiting a moment for Micah to catch up they headed to the lifts and in about fifteen minutes were on the main deck, striding towards the rotunda.

"So you're master to Stass' friend, Padawan Swan wasn't it?" Adi asked Micah.

"Yes – she's doing well, has Padawan Allie recovered yet?"

"Eh... she seems to have, but I really don't know for sure. I was present for her trial of the flesh; I can safely say it was probably the most unpleasant one I've ever witnessed."

They entered the rotunda to find Obi-Wan and Siri, along with many other apprentices, laughing at Bant Eerin and Bruck Chun for some reason as they sat looking forlorn on the edges of the central arena.

"What are you two laughing at?" Adi demanded of Obi-Wan and Siri, "You're up next."

They stared at her, mouths agape with horror.

[Castell, the Castell system]

Well, Mr. Stark, I hope your office is to your liking, said Madame Presidente Shu Mai, Allow me to be the first to welcome you formally to the Commerce Guild.

"Thank you, Madame Presidente," replied Stark as he leant back in his luxurious swivel-chair that was better described as a 'swivel-throne' or perhaps 'swivel-recliner'. He propped his feet up on his solid diamond desk and admired the spectacular view of the Castell skyline from his gold-framed window.

All in all, he felt that taking the Jedi Master's offer had been the best move he ever made.

Now, just to be clear, Mai continued, you have my assurances that the Commerce Guild harbours no grudge towards you over that unseemly navicomputer business. We feel a man with your vision and quick thinking capabilities is a valuable asset to the Guild. If you have any further qualms, please do contact my aide, she indicated to the other Gossam sitting to her left, Cat here will be only too willing to set up an appointment – my time is often in great demand so you may have to be patient.

"I can only imagine," said Stark, "and I cannot thank you enough for this opportunity. I promise you I will not let you down."

Good to hear. If there is nothing else? she paused for a moment. Stark shook his head, Then I shall take my leave – I have a treaty to renegotiate with the Sullustans.

"'Twas an honour to be welcomed by the Madame Presidente herself," said Stark. He stood and bowed until Mai herself had risen. They shook hands, then Mai turned and left. Cat following behind.

Stark slid off his new shoes with his feet and sighed as he leant back. After a moment he stretched, leaned forward and popped open the bottle of emerald wine that had been waiting for him on his desk when he was shown in. He could have had a droid or servant pour it, but that would have been insanely lazy. He poured a generous measure into a frankly unnecessarily large wine glass and took a sip. He turned his chair to admire the spectacular sunset view. Most residents of Castell were unable to admire it – only those who lived or worked in the highest floors or the farthest outskirts of the city had the elevation to make it out. Such positions were both expensive and insanely competitive.

'Hmm, would it be too indulgent to book a call out from the most expensive brothel in town on my first night?' he thought to himself. He mulled the idea over between sips, 'Ah, why not? I don't start work until next week. Guess this'll motivate me to work for the first bonus opportunity.'

He turned back to his desk's interface and looked up just such an establishment on the holonet. After memorising the transmission ID number, he quickly ran a custom virus to thoroughly expunge his holonet history – gotta keep his work record clean after all – and punched in the ID number to his communicator.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He tried once more.

Still nothing – not even an attempt to broadcast.

Stark frowned. He set down his glass and turned his chair to the window. Looking out, the power was still on in the city – judging by the lights. He flicked a light switch on his chair. No effect. He tried the building security on his communicator; again it failed to transmit.

He straightened up at this. He could only think of one reason for a top of the market penthouse and exactly that penthouse to be suddenly devoid of power and unable to communicate from.

He slid his hand into his desk drawer and drew out his blaster. He certainly wasn't stupid; upon arriving he had made sure it was the first thing he put in place.

He stood up.

The sun was now halfway down the horizon. The heating to his penthouse had ceased. He resisted the urge to shiver. His breath clouded in the air.

What? It shouldn't be that cold yet. Even if the heating had never been on, it shouldn't be anything approaching freezing. He turned slowly in a full circle, scanning his office. No movement, nothing.

And then.

A faint shape slowly emerged at the end of the hall. A vague silhouette.

"Iaco Stark," it was not a question. The owner of the feminine voice knew exactly who he was, "We're going to have a chat."

"Who might you be?" Stark replied, trying to discern the roughly humanoid figure that was now walking slowly down the hall towards his office.

There was an ever so slight intake of breath, as if she had been waiting for him to ask.

"Can you guess?"

"I've made a lot of enemies recently – but I'd say all this," he gestured to the darkening room, "screams of Sith."

A small chuckle. It was haunting and wispy, like their voice. Then they spoke once more, with the faintest predatory tone now present.

"When Sith have nightmares, I am the face they see."

"So... you're an enemy of the Sith?" asked Stark, tentatively.

The figure slowly moved closer, "I wouldn't say that," another small chortle they were, this person was playing with him, "But far more important is your little virus – it caused me a great deal of difficulty. Not a smart move to be frank. So..."

Stark's chair slid back.

"Let's have a little talk about that."

He sat, but kept his eyes focussed on the figure now in the doorway. The last glare of the setting sun pierced the dimness just enough to make out a little.

The figure was definitely feminine, slender and had stopped, leaning on the door-frame.

"Do I at least get the pleasure of knowing your name?" said Stark.

"Ah, ah, a~ah," the figure intoned softly, almost condescendingly, "I am the one here to ask questions, not you."

Stark raised an eyebrow, "Alright. But I will answer from a position of strength, if it is all the same to you."

He levelled his blaster at them, "This is not any ordinary blaster. It is a slug-thrower that fires a spray of cortosis bullets. Cortosis is a metal that disrupts lightsaber blades on contact – insanely expensive but I had a feeling I'd need it after my coup. Sith, Jedi, whoever. There's no blocking this after the first shot."

What happened next did not comfort him in the least. The figure gave a sharp intake of breath, but not as one would out of fear or shock. It was a gasp of excitement.

"Very well, if it helps you sleep at night. By all means cling to your artefact," came the reply, "First question. Did you actually think you were going to win your little war? You aren't the first person to try and topple the Republic."

"But I was the first to try a coup in this fashion – in hindsight though, it was unwise to allow so many Jedi to attend the 'negotiations'."

Another small laugh, "As I thought. What you know is considerably less than what I know. You are far from the first to try this kind of attack. The reason you never heard of previous attempts is because they all became obscure footnotes in history. The concept is certainly a workable strategy – it's just you are simply unequipped to succeed where literally thousands before you have failed."

Stark frowned at this.

"You probably haven't even figured out who you're dealing with yet. So go on, have a guess – do you have any idea who you're talking to? Who is truly standing here?"

Stark frowned even more and shook his head.

"Then I'll be happy to enlighten you..." the figure stepped forward into the office as they spoke.

Throwing the unmistakable features of Darth Phobos into discernible view in the dim sunlight.

To his credit, Stark didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger and a spread of bullets blasted at her. They stopped short of her and hung in mid-air. She gazed at him impassively.

The bullets dropped to the floor.

"I'm disappointed," said Phobos, wagging a grey finger as if scolding a young child, "I'm not angry. I'm just disappointed. I didn't realise you actually thought your antique would stop me," she walked towards him.

Stark waited until she began to go round his desk before leaping to his feet.

He ran around the other side and bolted from the office.

"Help!" he yelled out, sprinting with all he had to the left, "Help! Someone's trying to kill me!" He hammered the lift button waiting desperately.

'come on, come on!'

It wasn't coming. Stark was starting to sweat.

"I disabled the lifts. I'm also blocking anyone from hearing you," Phobos was now leaning against the wall behind him. He turned and ran into his kitchen, ripping open one of the drawers and pulling out a top of the line meat carver. He brandished it at Phobos as she entered. She snorted, "Seriously? You really think that'll fare any better than the slug-thrower?"

She hefted the hilt of a double-bladed lightsaber onto the work-surface between them with an audible clunk, "Go ahead. See what happens."

Stark dropped the knife and ran out of the kitchen.

"Yeah. That's what I thought," she called after him lazily before returning her lightsaber to her belt and pacing after him in a similar fashion.

Stark ran back into his office; Phobos pulled the door shut behind her as she followed him in.

She sat on the diamond desk and poured herself a generous measure of the wine as she watched him scramble to lift a portrait off the wall to the side.

He finally lifted the painting down, revealing a hidden exit. He flung the door open – only to stare at nothing but solid wall. He fell to his knees, still staring at his last hope.

He was trapped in his own office with a psychotic mass-murderer.

He screamed.

"I know, right?" supplied Phobos as she sipped her wine.

Stark was now frantically trying to pull open the office door. It wouldn't budge.

"I locked it when I came in. You really shouldn't leave keys in locks," she waved the key in her other hand as she took another sip.

Stark was now clawing at the walls, the floor, anything to get away from her, "Where are you trying to go?" she asked as she continued to sit on his desk and watched him curiously as he frantically tried to escape, "You're not leaving this room until we've had our chat."

Stark suddenly abandoned his clawing, seized one of the chairs in front of his desk and flung it at the window. The glass cracked, but held, "Finally a rational decision," Phobos continued, "Given my reputation, I can see why you'd want to end it quickly. But, unfortunately for you, health and safety concerns mean that glass in a skyscraper must be heavily reinforced – you'll need a lot more than a chair to break through that."

She stood up, "Now, are you done humiliating yourself? Shall we have our chat?"

Stark seemed to have given up any hope of escape and was now huddled on the floor by the window.

Phobos sat down in Stark's chair and slid his drink across the desk to one of the remaining seats in front of it.

She spoke again, her voice distorting while saying the last word, as if her larynx had drastically stretched while speaking it.

"Come, sit. Let's just get alo~oonng!"

Phobos waited until Stark fully calmed down and took the seat she had offered him before speaking, "You don't seem up to playing this game, so I will skip my little questions and get to the meat of the issue. My mission here is to send an unofficial message from the Sith. We are nobody's collateral. We do not tolerate attacks on us and no-one ever gets away with crossing us. You will be our example, but I am willing to change that – based on your capabilities it would be a shame to waste you. If you can give me, here and now, sufficient recompense to the Sith or provide a better alternative person to make an example of. Choose your words wisely; if you fail to convince me then you will wish I was here to simply kill you."

Stark smoothed down his coat and sat for a moment, thinking. Finally he cleared his throat, "Well, I am a charismatic, influential and well connected man. I am fully willing to hook the Sith up with every criminal association from Kinooine to Belkadan, Lwhekk to Malagarr – I would act as your liaison, your front man. Also, I would also be willing to provide you with back-door access to influence The Commerce Guild using my new position."

"Oh wow, that's a great offer!" Phobos replied, leaning back and putting her fingers to her chin, appearing to think only for a moment, "How about instead I shuffle the functions of every hole in your face?"

She clicked her fingers and Stark knew only pain and terror. He collapsed onto the desk clawing out at her. His drink was swept over, spilling its contents across the desk. Stark did not seem to notice this however, his only actions being flailing uncontrollably and making a noise somewhere between a muffled scream and a drawn out moan.

Phobos watched him writhe in agony and horror for a moment before standing up and downing her glass.

"Nobody fucks with the Sith. Nothing personal," she said as she stood over him with a look of distaste. Then she picked up his bottle of wine – still about three quarters full – and strode out through his secret exit.

The wall he had seen before was not there – it had never been there.