Hunter leaned both hands against the Marauder's flight instrument panel and peered outside. It was over two hours since they'd left the academy, and the storm was still raging, driving gusts of wind and ash and sand into the shuttle from all directions. Thirty minutes ago, the green-tinged lightning had started up again. For the most part, the thunder was distant, but every so often a massive clap of thunder would vibrate the entire ship.
As though in opposition to the noise outside, the inside of the Havoc Marauder was unusually quiet. The commandos had removed their armor within ten minutes of getting on board, once they'd realized exactly how much ash and grit had worked its way into all the joints and edges. Then all four of them, including Hunter, had a brief and silent fight over who would get to hit the sonic first. Wrecker won, because he nearly always won, and Crosshair and Hunter had cleaned their armor while waiting for their turns. Tech, though, had been too busy cleaning each and every one of his little electronic gadgets and tools and complaining about the dust.
Wrecker had told him to just toss his equipment in the shower – sonic or not, it worked to remove dirt – and Tech had squawked in outrage and promptly listed off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea. Quinlan had sat and listened for a few moments, expression vaguely amused. Then he'd gotten to his feet, looking abruptly unamused as he wandered to the bunkroom.
After cleaning up, Tech and Crosshair had changed into black outfits very similar to those they'd worn on Nar Shaddaa. Tech wanted to give his armor a thorough cleaning, but not until he finished repairing Crosshair's cuirass. And Crosshair – well, he just hated wearing half his armor. It was all of it or none.
Hunter, though, hadn't felt safe enough to remove his armor for the night, not even after Tech helpfully informed him that, should the leviathan decide to attack them, the armor would do absolutely no good and they may as well be comfortable. Wrecker said armor was just about as comfortable as anything else, which had started a half-hearted argument, but not for long. No one was in high spirits, and after Quinlan wandered out of the room, his whole bearing nervous and worried, the general mood got even worse.
As for Vythia, she had hardly spoken since first entering the cockpit. She'd murmured a vague thanks to Tech when he moved his pack aside so she could sit in the co-pilot's chair, and that was all.
Hunter had checked on her a few times, and each time she'd been in exactly the same position: seated with her legs bent beneath her, arms folded across her chest as she gazed unseeingly at the floor. The first time he didn't take much notice, because she appeared to be in deep thought, but after the fourth time, her utter stillness made him raise an eyebrow.
Thoughtfully, the sergeant turned away from the viewport to look at her again. Her gaze flitted up to him before returning to the floor. The look in her eyes was easily readable now, and Hunter realized she was worried about something.
He took a step forward, still eyeing her. Maybe she was just concerned about the artifacts that had been left on the Phoenix, but there was no reason to be. No, she had to be worried about something more important.
Before he could ask, she shifted, not looking up as she spoke in a low voice. "What is on your mind, Hunter?"
Hunter hesitated, then shrugged. "I was actually gonna ask you the same thing."
"Oh?"
"You're worried about something."
"Am I?" Her voice was only vaguely interested when she replied. "And why does that concern you, Hunter?"
"Why?" He gestured at the storm and moved closer. "Because we still can't leave Trayus, Vythia. And if there's something about it that's worrying you, it's probably well worth worrying about."
"Yes. . ." She smirked wryly, gaze still fixed on the floor. "Yes, I do seem to have been a bit incautious about Malachor overall, don't I?"
Without knowing why, Hunter felt suddenly apprehensive. "Vythia –"
Vythia ignored him and got to her feet with the easy grace that seemed native to Nautolans. Straightening, she looked him in the eye. "We will soon be gone from Trayus and from Malachor."
"Yeah." Hunter frowned, confused by her sudden change of attitude. "But we can't leave yet, and if –"
"If, yes." Vythia turned away, as though dismissing his words. "The leviathan is a concern . . . but I do not believe it will attack as long as we are not in the academy. And if we are attacked, there will be very little we can do to prevent it whether we are inside or out."
Hunter stared after her as she wandered into the hall. Somehow, he didn't think Vythia had really been worrying about the leviathan.
The Nautolan woman paced casually along the hall and back several times, as though she were stretching her legs. Then she seated herself again, behind the co-pilot's seat, and removed her satchel from where it hung over at her side. Still without looking at Hunter, she set it in her lap, unfastened it, and removed the scroll from Darth Ghant's tomb.
The ancient parchment was still perfectly intact. Despite the passage of time, the black hand-written hieroglyphs were easily discernible, even from a meter away. Hunter observed Vythia studying the words for several long minutes, but she never looked up, even though he knew somehow that she was well aware of his scrutiny.
Hunter sighed quietly. Why was it that every time one of them spoke with Vythia, they came away with more questions than before? He wondered if Vythia's worry – because he was certain that she had been worried – had to do with the Prince or not. He didn't know why it would. Her usual confidence seemed to have vanished between Trayus and the Marauder, and he had no idea what could possibly have happened to make her aware of the fact that Quinlan and the commandos knew what she was up to.
What else would she be nervous about, though? He had no idea, and she certainly wasn't about to tell him. Eventually, since Vythia wasn't in a communicative mood and Hunter had been standing still for too long, he left the cockpit to check on the others. The rest of his team had also been abnormally quiet for the past two hours.
When the sergeant stepped into the bunkroom, the dim light showed that there were only two people in the room. Wrecker was snoring, comfortably asleep despite the fact that he was still in full armor. He probably hadn't felt any safer than Hunter had. Quinlan was perched on the bunk above him, leaning back against the wall and very obviously not asleep despite his closed eyes.
Hunter headed into the cargo hold to find his remaining teammates. Tech was sitting cross-legged on the floor, frowning thoughtfully at the inside of Crosshair's cuirass, which rested on the floor in front of him. Crosshair, who had his habitual toothpick between his lips, was and cleaning his rifle. Again. The sniper spared Hunter a glance, but Tech didn't seem to notice his entrance.
"Hm," the technician said in a dissatisfied tone. "I suspect that I will need to reinforce this. The plastoid we have in stock is hardly equal in quality to the material used in our armor."
"Well." Crosshair set aside his rifle. "Long as it's not stabbing me anymore, it's fine."
"It is not 'fine'." Tech activated the heat gun he'd been using, then leaned forward to examine the squares of plastoid he had at his disposal. "Saying that a piece of armor is 'fine' indicates that its condition is satisfactory or acceptable, and this is neither."
The sniper eyed him, then crossed his legs and leaned forward, one elbow resting against his knee as he continued to chew on his toothpick.
Considering how many times Tech said that near-fatal collisions or landings were 'fine', Hunter wasn't sure why he was even making a fuss about it.
Tech, of course, ignored both of their gazes and continued to speak. "There are four punctures in the front and one in the back. I have patched them, but any one of those patches could be disintegrated by a well-placed laser shot. The chances of you being fatally shot, should you wear this armor as it is now, are significantly higher than before it was damaged."
"Just 'significantly higher'?" Hunter asked with a slight smile.
". . .Yes." Tech quirked his mouth and went back to work. "I do not currently have the mental energy required to calculate exact percentages."
"Yeah, I don't blame you. The sooner we get away from this place, the better."
"You can say that again," Crosshair muttered.
"He could," Tech agreed, not looking up from where he was putting more plastoid over the patches. "But there is no reason for him to."
Crosshair's irritated sigh was punctuated by the click of a toothpick against the pile of armor Tech had left to one side. "Right. Just like there's no reason for you to prattle on."
"Well, yes." Tech's tone bordered on patronizing. "Except that I scarcely ever repeat things, and usually have at least –"
A second toothpick hit him in the back of the neck, and he jerked, cutting off the end of his sentence in favor of a sideways glare.
Hunter rolled his eyes, but smirked at the normalcy of their interactions. "Well, long as you two are staying up anyway, I'm going into the barracks to get some rest. Sensors were clear when I checked five minutes ago."
As he left, he added over his shoulder, "Try not to kill each other – and Tech, don't tell me that it would be hard for each of you to simultaneously kill the other."
Tech shut his mouth with a snap and a chagrined look. Crosshair smirked, but didn't make a snide comment . . . at least, not in Hunter's hearing.
Holding back a yawn, the sergeant went back to the bunkroom. When he stepped inside, the lights were brighter than they'd been before, and Quinlan was pacing back and forth between the bunks.
"Thought you were trying to sleep," Hunter commented mildly.
The Jedi stopped short, spun to face him, and didn't answer for several seconds. Then he sighed. "No, I wasn't. I was trying to meditate . . . but there's not much left to pull from."
He gestured vaguely, and Hunter followed the motion of his hand to the ammunition locker, where the yellow crystal had been set. "You mean –"
"Yeah. All this time, that's the only thing that's been helping. I didn't even realize it."
Hunter glanced between the Jedi and the crystal, then walked over to the chest. He picked up the small crystal and held it up, studying it. The light gleamed quietly on its surface, but something about it was different. The interior glow, which had always been subtle, was now gone. "It's . . . It doesn't have any more – energy?"
"It doesn't have any more life," retorted Quinlan. "It's dead."
"Yeah, but . . . it's a crystal, how can –"
"It's a kyber crystal. Kyber means living." Quinlan rubbed his forehead and turned away to resume his pacing. "They seem to occur like . . . like Force-sensitives do. No one knows why, but –" He frowned a little. "They're grown from pure Force energy, as far as anyone knows. Each crystal changes to match its owner's nature when they're selected, which is why there are different colors of lightsaber blades."
Hunter gazed down at the crystal again. What Quinlan was saying was interesting, but he had to wonder why the Jedi was rambling about it.
"The crystals are also inherently light, for the most part," Quinlan continued "They're attuned to the Light Side – again, just like Force-sensitives . . . or at least, most Force-sensitives. Hunter, do you know why Sith have red lightsabers?"
"No . . .? I guess I assumed they had red crystals."
"Yeah. Some did, but for the most part they take normal crystals and force them to channel the Dark Side. Kyber resists being turned, so the Sith has to be careful or risk shattering it. If he's successful, though, he can make the crystal bleed. That's why Sith lightsabers are red."
Hunter gazed down at the yellow crystal again, mildly surprised by this ability, but not sure why he was mentioning it. "But if this crystal doesn't have any more Force-presence, can't you meditate using one of the other lightsaber crystals?"
"I could." The Jedi shrugged. "But I don't think the gains are worth the risks. If I really draw on the Light Side, the leviathan's attention will be drawn right back to us."
Hunter tilted his head. "Wait, are you saying –?"
"I'm saying that the only safe way for me to use the Force right now is if I decide to use the Dark Side, yeah." Quinlan bit his lip and glowered at the floor. "And if we stay here much longer, I'm not sure I'll have a choice about whether or not I use it."
"But –" Hunter hesitated, glancing from one side to the other. "You shouldn't need to use it, we're on the ship –"
Quinlan wasn't listening. Glancing at the yellow crystal in Hunter's hand, he said, "Do you know who that crystal belonged to?"
The sergeant looked down at the crystal. "No."
"It belonged to Bastila Shan, one of the most powerful Jedi of all time. Her strength in the Light Side was incredible. The crystal didn't have her power, because it isn't her, but it matched her. When I used it – that was the strongest crystal I've ever seen or touched."
"I thought you didn't know who it belonged to," Hunter said, closing his fingers curiously around the kyber.
"Well, I didn't. Not until I was holding it in the cargo hold, because its power wasn't masking its memory anymore, but Hunter . . . Bastila's crystal was a lot more powerful than even Master Yoda's. And now it's drained."
Hunter shook his head, confused. "But you shouldn't have to use it again, right? Why does it matter?"
With a sudden burst of movement, Quinlan slammed his hand against the outside of Crosshair's bunk and spun around to face him. "Because even Bastila Shan's power couldn't defeat that thing, Hunter, that's why! The presence retreated. That's all! It was an inconvenience for it, nothing else!"
On the other side of the room, Wrecker stirred and mumbled something.
Both Hunter and Quinlan turned to gaze at him before glancing at each other.
Sighing heavily, the Jedi ran a hand through his hair and slumped down to sit on the weapons locker.
Hunter seated himself on the ammo crate and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he thought through everything he'd just learned. Eventually, he said, "The presence. . . do you think you'll have to fight it?"
Quinlan shook his head slowly. "I don't know?" he said. "Maybe? It's not around right now, but it . . . it's watching, Hunter. I'm sure of that much."
Suddenly uneasy, the sergeant glanced in the direction of the academy – not that he could see it through the durasteel. "You said the leviathan attacked the crystal instead of you and that's what drained it?"
"Yeah. I mean, I expected that to happen. I just didn't think that second presence would be so much stronger than the crystal of one of the strongest Light Side users ever."
Opening his hand, Hunter studied the crystal again. "You said it yourself, this didn't actually have her power. But if that presence is so strong, how come the leviathan isn't attacking it instead of us?"
"Probably because it's a Dark Side presence," the Jedi said. "Or maybe the leviathan can only attack living – or half-living – things."
Hunter nodded, tapping his fingers against one shin as he thought. "And we don't know much about that presence, even now. What would have happened if you hadn't had the crystal when we were outside?"
"We'd have gotten to the Marauder," Quinlan said glumly. "Eventually, anyway. As far as I know. But I probably wouldn't have recognized just how powerful that presence is."
"Any idea at all what it is?"
"No. I couldn't really feel anything from it except hate."
Hunter was still wondering what hatred felt like when Quinlan went on, his tone thoughtful. "Hate – and it had a goal of some sort, involving us. I think . . . Maybe I was right, and it is some sort of pure Dark Side entity."
"Do I even want to know?" Hunter asked warily.
"No." Quinlan paused. "Actually . . . you know what, Hunter, I've never heard of a pure Force entity. I don't even know for sure if that kind of thing exists. But I can't tell what else it would be."
Several long, silent minutes passed while Quinlan stared into space and Hunter rotated the crystal between his fingers. They were leaving as soon as the storm let up, so hopefully the presence wouldn't be a problem for too much longer. Still . . .
When the Jedi glanced back at him, Hunter gestured to the crystal. "Can it still be used in a lightsaber?"
"Yeah. It still works as a power source, just not –" Quinlan paused, then gave a very dry smirk. "Not as a light source."
"Hm. Very funny." Hunter got to his feet. "Maybe you'd better keep it with you, then."
Quinlan nodded, holding out a hand, and Hunter gave him the crystal. "We'll leave the instant the storm lets up."
"Good." Quinlan slipped the crystal back into his tunic pocket. "I can't wait to leave this planet behind."
"You and me both," admitted Hunter, seating himself again. "I assume we're headed back to Nar Shaddaa, right? Any plans about how to complete our actual mission?"
"You mean the whole thing with the Prince." Quinlan drummed his fingers against his knees, then stood. "Well, we're definitely going to take all his Dark Side artifacts and blow them to bits, preferably in the middle of space. I'd really hoped that coming here would help us learn more about the Sith lord . . . I can't imagine that Vythia just knew where to find all these artifacts. The Prince must have gotten that information from someone. Once we get into his place, now that we've worked with Vythia . . . maybe we can trace his contacts. If we can get a name, or even a hint of who this Sith is, that would be what –"
He stopped speaking and stared up at the ceiling an instant before a sudden, peculiar silence descended on the ship.
Hunter stood up, disoriented by the abrupt switch from constant motion outside to utter stillness. "The storm's gone?"
"Sounds like it." Quinlan jumped to his feet and headed for the door.
Hunter hurried to wake Wrecker. "Come on," he ordered, when Wrecker gazed blearily up at him. "We're getting Vythia back to her ship."
"Right."
Wrecker had just jumped down to the floor when the sound of a faint thump, followed by the Marauder's door hissing open, made Hunter spin. It was instinct more than anything else that had him grabbing his helmet from his bed. Yanking it over his head, he darted out through the galley. He was just in time to see the ship's main door closing as Crosshair and Quinlan wavered dizzily into the wall.
Tech was kneeling in the cargo hold door, clinging to one side of the opening. "Sleeping agent!" he gasped, pointing to a small, open bottle that stood in the cockpit.
Wrecker shoved his way past Hunter to grab it.
Quinlan pushed himself away from the wall, arm crooked over his nose and mouth as a shield. "Where's Vythia?!"
Wrecker slammed into the cockpit. "She's not here!" he yelled.
"Just left," Crosshair muttered, words slurring together. "Didn't notice her behind me."
Hunter rushed to the door and hit the controls. Leaning out, he held onto either side of the opening as he looked grimly at Vythia's tracks, which were clearly visible in the loose, deep ash that coated the ground. She'd been running – away from the Marauder, over the new dioxis vent that had opened, and straight back to the academy.
"She . . . went back in," he said disbelievingly.
Nobody answered him. Hunter took a deep breath, staring right and left at the completely still, silent plains of windswept ash. Why did she leave? What could she possibly want that's so important she went back in by herself, for Force's sake?
Wrecker elbowed Hunter aside and threw the vial as far as he could, then stared at the academy. "We've got to do something," he said.
"We –" Quinlan cut himself off sharply.
Hunter continued to stare at the surrounding area, visible in the dim evening light now that the storm had fallen silent. He already knew their options. They could run, catch up with her, and drag her back to the ship. They could follow her at a distance, try to see what she was up to. They could leave her.
"Hunter," Wrecker said, his voice low. "We've gotta get her out of there."
"She went in on her own," Hunter answered, turning to look at his team. "And she didn't want us to stop her."
"Must've thought she could get something by herself," Wrecker said.
"She . . . had the scroll," Tech murmured, still sounding half-asleep. "In her . . . hand."
Quinlan wavered unsteadily over to the door – even though he hadn't breathed in as much as the other two, it had been enough. Crosshair was half-sitting, half-kneeling, slumped sideways against the wall with his eyes shut. Tech was a little more alert, but not by much.
Hunter glanced from the Jedi to the black entrance of the academy. "We're going after her," he said, suddenly decided. "Wrecker, you're with me. Quinlan, stay with the others."
"What are you doing?" demanded the Jed.
Drawing his pistol, Hunter checked the charge. "We're going to see what she's up to and stop her before she gets us all killed."
"Hunter, no – not at night." Quinlan tried to straighten and failed.
"It's still a couple hours until sunset," Hunter said. He put a hand on the floor and hopped down, landing in five centimeters of ash. "We'll move fast."
"Yeah!" Wrecker jumped down beside him, then glanced up at Quinlan as though trying to explain. "She's gonna get herself killed."
Hunter shook his head, because that was not his first reason for going after her, then unsheathed and sheathed his vibroblade. Catching sight of Tech at the door, he ordered, "You three stay here."
Without waiting for an answer, he darted across the shifting ground toward the academy with Wrecker at his heels. Vythia had a goal, she'd had a goal all along, and Hunter meant to find out what it was – even if, as Quinlan suspected, she just wanted to obtain more artifacts.
That second scroll, he realized, as he skidded to a halt outside the academy doors to peer inside. She read something on it . . . maybe she found the location of an artifact on the first floor, and thought she could get it on her own. She must have drugged the others because she knew we'd stop her –
And if she'd thought that, she was absolutely right. Hunter paused in the center of the wide corridor, then dropped to his knees, and placed both gloved hands flat against the stones. After Wrecker stopped next to him, the sergeant could still feel footsteps. Running footsteps, heading back towards the center of the academy and the four statues that had disappeared into the floor.
Suddenly afraid, Hunter straightened and yelled, "Vythia!" His voice echoed and bounced down the corridor, but there was no answer.
Without saying anything, Wrecker broke into a run. He clambered over the piled rocks and sprinted for the center while Hunter followed, falling farther behind as the seconds passed. Vythia had gotten farther in a shorter time than he'd have guessed was possible.
Hunter wasn't stopping to check corners and corridors now. He was running as hard as he could, driven by some strange, causeless panic, and still Wrecker was drawing away from him. The sergeant leaped over a pile of fallen masonry, landed on a slight incline in the rock, and stumbled, catching himself against the wall.
His hand was there only an instant, and he'd run another three steps before he recognized that the vibrations he'd felt in that brief instant weren't from Vythia, or Wrecker.
"Wrecker, wait!" Skidding to a halt, Hunter pressed his hand against the stone wall again. Dry, rasping vibrations, moving swiftly up towards them –
Too late, he realized that Wrecker was still running. Hunter swung around, activating his comm even as he sprinted after him. "WRECKER!"
But the corridor ahead of him was empty, and Wrecker didn't answer. Drawing his knife, Hunter raced the last ten meters, only to stop short as soon as he could see the center.
Wrecker was just inside, standing motionless with his blaster raised, while Vythia stood twelve meters in front of him, facing away from the door, her lightwhip and knife in either hand. Both of them were staring at the opposite end of the room, past the pillar of flames, which blocked Hunter's view.
Moving carefully, Hunter joined Wrecker and froze. The serpentine creature facing them was bigger than anything he had ever seen before. Its dead-white body stretched out through the opposite door to disappear into the dark hallway beyond. Three long, gleaming white tentacles hung down on each side of its long jaws and moved slowly, independent of one another as it glared intelligently at Hunter with two pairs of solid black, slit-shaped eyes.
With a rippling of muscle, the leviathan slid forward a meter and paused again. Its fanged mouth swung open. Despite the bone-white of its dragon-like face, everything inside its mouth – tongue, teeth, flesh – was a pure, glistening black.
Hunter tightened his grip on his knife.
Then the leviathan drew in its breath in a long, audible hiss, and Wrecker slammed to both knees with a pained grunt. Hunter had only taken one step forward when another hiss sounded, and a needle stabbed through his temples. The feeling was so sharp that he'd reached up, instinctively trying to yank it out, before he realized that it was not a physical weapon.
Growling, he flipped his knife in his hand and stepped forward. The pain instantly grew worse as the leviathan inhaled again.
As it lowered its head, the frontmost pair of tentacles twitched and reached for Wrecker, and Vythia jumped into their path, swinging her whip overhead. Only a slight burn was left on the clammy white scales, but the tentacles jerked back.
Hunter staggered toward Wrecker, firing up at the leviathan as Vythia let out a sharp gasp and pressed her knife-hand against her chest. His shots did about as much good as her whip had done, but he kept firing. He didn't have a plan as to how to kill this thing – he just needed to get the others into the hall, so they could run.
The leviathan breathed in again, focused fully on him, and Hunter wavered. He caught himself and lifted his pistol, bracing one hand across the other as he tried to get a direct shot into its eyes. He would have made it, too, but as he fired, the leviathan twitched smoothly aside and caught the laser on its forehead. As it dodged his next shots, the monster gave another hiss, and Vythia crumpled to her knees, her whip deactivating as she doubled over herself. Hunter backed towards the door, still firing even though he was well aware that the leviathan was toying with them.
Then, three familiar voices sounded in the hall behind them, shouting Hunter's and Wrecker's names repeatedly, and the sergeant didn't know whether to curse or call back.
One of the leviathan's tentacles swooped down at him, and Wrecker was there to meet it, his vibroblade gashing it heavily. The leviathan didn't bleed, but the half-severed tentacle flopped loosely for an instant. Strange echoes, like screams from people from a long time ago, sounded all around him as the rest of the team rushed into the room to his left.
