Two minutes after Vythia sent the coordinates, the Havoc Marauder entered hyperspace. Quinlan watched the swirling streaks of blue for a few moments before checking to make sure that the comm channel was not transmitting. Then, just to make sure, he tapped Tech on the shoulder. "We good?"

"Comms deactivated," Tech confirmed, standing up from the pilot's seat.

"Awesome." Quinlan glanced at the holoprojector, which showed nothing. "Where the heck are we headed?"

Adjusting his goggles, Tech turned. "To Malachor, of course."

"Yeah, Tech. Got that bit, thanks. Where is Malachor?"

"In Wild Space." Tech leaned over to turn on the holomap, then pointed to a sector beyond the Outer Rim. "Vythia sent us the coordinates to the edge of the Chorlian sector, so I presume it is there."

"Only to the edge," Quinlan noted. "Huh. Either she doesn't want us knowing its exact position yet, or she doesn't know it herself."

"Or," cut in Crosshair, "she does know, but we have to fly there manually."

"Right." Turning off the holoprojector, the Jedi straightened. "I'm not liking how long this flight is."

"Me either!" agreed Wrecker. "Two whole days with nothin' to do!"

". . . That wasn't exactly what I meant," said Quinlan. "I was thinking more of the fuel situation – especially if we have to travel at sublight speed across the entire sector."

"Oh," said Wrecker. "Don't worry about that. We've got fuel cells stored on the lower deck already."

"Yeah," Hunter added, getting to his feet. "We have more than enough to refill the Marauder twice. Well – let's finish unpacking the supplies. Tech, you're on watch for now."

Tech nodded and turned back to the viewport as the others headed to the cargo bay.

Hunter glanced around, then drew his vibroknife and slashed open the first box of rations. "I'm glad we sold those trip mines. They'd been sitting here for weeks."

"Yeah," Crosshair said absently. "Never had much use for them."

"Aw," complained Wrecker. "I'd have used them!"

"On what?"

". . . I dunno. Something."

Quinlan picked up a collapsible lantern. "Where do you want these?"

"We'll take care of those tomorrow. I want to make sure everything's working," Hunter said, balancing another meal pack precariously atop the pile Wrecker already held. He eyed the stack, then added three more. "Okay, Wrecker."

The tallest commando, his face hidden behind the pile, muttered something and marched off to the galley.

After the rations and water had been shelved and secured, Hunter took over guard duty and told the others to get some sleep.

When Quinlan entered the barracks, Tech was perched on a locker, reading, while Wrecker did sit-ups in the center of the room. Crosshair, in the meantime, was slouched on one of the upper bunks, gazing sourly at the other two. Quinlan assumed that this was because they looked relatively lively, while he'd gotten only an hour or so of sleep the night before because he'd stayed on guard into the dawn watch.

The Jedi tugged his blanket out of his pack and tried to unfold it. When that didn't quite work, since it had been crammed in the bottom of the pack for some time, he gave it a few vicious shakes. Then, for no particular reason, he used it to flick Tech in the side of the head.

Tech batted it absently aside, blinked at Quinlan, and said, "What is Malachor like?"

"Couldn't find anything on it, huh?"

"Not in the GAR database. I've expanded my search to the holonet. Malachor is mentioned only in relation to the Mandalorian Wars, and then only vaguely. There is almost no data on Malachor's physical appearance and structure."

"Pity," said Crosshair. "Now why don't you turn off the lights."

Tech stared uncomprehendingly at him, then turned back to Quinlan. "Do the Jedi have any records of Malachor?"

"Yep." Quinlan tossed the blanket on the floor near the side wall, lay on his stomach, and cushioned his head on his arms. "G'night."

Tech didn't take the hint. "Why did the Sith settle on Malachor, specifically?"

"I'll tell you what I know. Tomorrow."

With a huff, Tech finally went to turn off the lights.

Closing his eyes, the Jedi attempted to meditate. He wasn't sure how much Vythia and her crystal could sense about him, if anything, and he didn't want to find out. Meditation was important if he intended to keep his shields flawless. The downside to that, of course, was that meditation was very difficult when his mind was preoccupied with questions.

Come on, this is nothing new, he complained to himself. I'm always in the middle of some mission or other – you'd think I'd be good at ignoring questions by now. But nope.

The others fell asleep quickly enough, but Quinlan could not. Eventually he got up and headed quietly down to the lower deck. He had his lightsaber, and he hadn't been able to practice his katas in a while.

Moving meditation, it was called. Some Jedi were good at silencing their minds and reaching into the Force. Other Jedi found it far more effective to use their mental energy in moving from one position to the next, keeping their focus on maintaining the proper balance and form at all times.

Quinlan had discovered that keeping his mental energy focused on something simple allowed his other thoughts to clear. As he moved, going through the forms of Ataru more slowly than he would ever use them in combat, he sank further into the Force until he was scarcely aware of what he was doing..

Now, he perceived everything differently than he did when he was fully conscious of his surroundings. He could sense the lifeforms of those around him – Tech, Crosshair, and Wrecker asleep above him; Hunter in the cockpit, brighter than the others because he was awake; and, as Quinlan expanded his awareness, two flickering forms somewhere behind the Marauder.

Quinlan lost his focus and stopped mid-swing, jolted out of meditation by the realization. Tech had scanned Vythia's ship directly before they'd entered hyperspace, and reported only one lifeform aboard. Maybe he'd been wrong . . .

Clipping the lightsaber to his belt, Quinlan hurried to the cockpit. "Hunter. Can you run a scan on Vythia's ship?"

Hunter recovered from his surprise quickly. "What am I looking for?"

"Lifeforms."

"Okay." Hunter locked the scanners on Vythia's ship. "I don't know how accurate scanners are in hyperspace."

"We're in the same lane, and we're close enough – it should work fine . . ."

The scanner beeped, and Hunter tilted his head. "One lifeform. Just like earlier."

Quinlan hesitated, frowning, then sat down in the co-pilot's seat and closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind towards Vythia's ship. One lifeform. He opened his eyes again and gazed out into the flowing hyperspace lane. What in the Force . . .

Hunter was watching him. "What is it?"

"I could have sworn there were two people onboard just now," he muttered.

"You mean you sensed them?"

"Yeah. Or I thought I did." He stood up, tapping the fingers of one hand against his saber hilt. "And now I can't. Vythia's there, but no one else."

Hunter looked bewildered for a moment before tilting his head to one side as though thinking. "You couldn't have been seeing a – vision? Jedi have those, right?"

He sounded so confused that Quinlan couldn't help a smirk. "Yeah, maybe it was a vision," he said, and turned to leave. He had been meditating, after all. At the doorway, he paused again. "But if it was, it didn't feel like one," he said over one shoulder. "And it sure didn't make any sense."

The next day, after breakfast, the four clones shoved everything in the cargo hold over against one wall, clearing a fair amount of space. They brought their armor into the room, laid it out on the floor, and set to work. One piece at a time, they cleaned the armor, examined it for integrity, and then, if need be, touched up the paint job. As each piece was finished, it was laid on the crates to dry.

After watching the commandos for a few minutes, Quinlan went to get the lightsabers which Hunter had taken from Grakkus' vault. Sitting in one corner, he laid them out before him: seven in all, including his own. He clipped his to his belt, then pulled off his gloves and wrapped one hand around the first saber, shutting his eyes so he could see more clearly.

Betrayal. They'd begged for her help, but it was a trap. Failure. She knew she would never make it out alive. Determination. She would still try. She would give the others time. Cries and shouts as she fought her way through the enemy. Red flashes of lasers – darkness.

Quinlan opened his eyes with a jolt. Who had this woman been? He ignited the blade, and the green beam flickered a bit unsteadily. The emitter had been damaged. He took a few minutes to situate it properly, then set aside the weapon. Perhaps Master Yoda would know who had owned it.

When he picked up the second, there was no memory connected with it, only a vague sense of accomplishment, of happy pride. It had been well-constructed, and there wasn't a single mark on the hilt. Quinlan set it down slowly.

The third and fourth lightsabers felt and looked similar, and Quinlan frowned. If he was right, these lightsabers had been the first sabers of a group of younglings, and the younglings had barely owned them long enough to leave an impression on the crystals.

Earlier, Quinlan had thought that he'd be quite happy never to return to Nar Shaddaa, but now he wasn't so sure. As soon as he got back to Coruscant, he'd find Madame Nu and ask her whether there were any younglings who had disappeared immediately after completing the Gathering. If there had been, he was going back to Grakkus' palace.

"Hey," said Wrecker's gruff voice as the big clone stopped beside him. "What's wrong?"

Quinlan cast him a brief glance. "These three lightsabers belonged to kids, that's what's wrong."

Tech gestured at the lightsabers with his soldering iron. "You mean Grakkus had them killed?"

"I don't know for sure." Quinlan set the three lightsabers gently to one side. "If he did, they weren't holding their sabers when they died – that, or they had no reason to suspect danger."

"Maybe the lightsabers were stolen," suggested Hunter.

"Maybe, yeah . . ." Quinlan, still thinking about the younglings, absently picked up the fifth lightsaber. A panicked scream in the back of his mind made him startle and drop it.

Taking a breath, he shut his eyes and grabbed it again.

"Wake up! Wake up!" Three younglings lay silent on the ground before him, and his lightsaber trembled in his hands. Why had his friends left the shuttle? They were supposed to keep it locked while Padawan Aneeya helped the farmers. A laser flew at his head – he deflected it, then another. Something burned through his spine, and he gasped, still clutching his lightsaber. Footsteps sounded behind him.

"Ah, we have another one," a voice said.

She was going to kill him, but he had already fallen to his knees, he couldn't turn –

The vision went dark, and Quinlan dropped the saber again, then stared at it for some moments. The youngling hadn't recognized the presence or the voice, but Quinlan had recognized both.

Quinlan looked up to see that the four commandos were watching him . . . probably wondering why he'd been unresponsive or something. "Make that four younglings," he said grimly, by way of explanation.

Hunter set down his helmet. "They were all in one group?"

"Yeah. That last one – he was awake, before he died. I think the others were lured out and poisoned . . . or something. It must have happened too fast for them to realize the danger." He touched the first lightsaber again. "I'm pretty sure this one belonged to Padawan Aneeya, who was guiding them at the time. She was led into a trap and killed."

Tech tilted his head to one side. "Killing Jedi to obtain lightsabers? Would Grakkus really risk doing that?"

"You tell me." The Jedi paused. "It was definitely Aurra Sing who made the killing shot on the last boy – she shot him in the back."

"She shot a kid?" Wrecker frowned, his whole face darkening. "We should've clobbered her when we had the chance!"

"Yeah." Quinlan ran his fingers over the lightsaber hilts again.

"You think she was working for Grakkus at the time?" Hunter asked.

"Definitely. Back in the palace, when I offered to trade her a lightsaber, she wanted it more than she wanted to turn us in."

"Right . . ." said Hunter questioningly.

"That means she didn't already have a lightsaber. The only way that's possible is if she couldn't get her hands on one after killing those younglings. And the only way that's possible is if she had to turn them in to her employer. I doubt Grakkus bought them from another of her employers." He sighed, brushing his dreadlocks away from his face. "At least I have a name . . . guess it'll be easy enough to find them."

"You think they're still alive?" asked Wrecker.

"No. Aurra's got a personal grudge against Jedi." He put the fifth lightsaber with those of the other younglings. "I meant it'll be easy to find out who the kids were. Too bad I didn't get a chance to use my psychometry on these while we were still in the vault."

"Probably just as well." Crosshair sent him a shrewd look. "You'd have gone after Aurra if you had."

"Probably. Even Ventress doesn't kill younglings . . . Not so far, anyway." He stared at the last lightsaber, the green-bladed one with the black defender hilt. He hadn't held it without gloves since giving it to Hunter, but Vythia had. She'd only had it a moment, and she wasn't Force-sensitive, so there was very little chance of her having imprinted a memory on it. Still, it was worth a try.

He shut his eyes and picked it up. A momentary flicker of black faded into a hazy memory of trees and flowers. Acceptance and resignation of approaching death, and then anticipation . . .

The memory was peaceful. Although this lightsaber had ended up in the hands of Grakkus, at least the woman who owned it hadn't been killed for it. In fact, it was most likely that she had died of old age. Still – Grakkus, the filthy old krayt dragon, had no right to it. It belonged at the Temple, or perhaps with the woman's family.

Quinlan started to get up, then paused, realizing he'd forgotten to check the crystal from the lightsaber he'd given Aurra.

He pulled it from the sealed pouch on his belt and studied it. It was unusual, for a kyber crystal – a shimmering yellow. Not something you'd find in the caves of Ilum, that was for sure. All Quinlan could tell from touching it was that it had been bonded to a female Force-user, and that it was old – no, ancient – far older than Master Yoda.

Curious, he settled back down and set his own saber on the floor before him. Then, reaching into the Force, he separated the weapon one piece at a time until all the components floated in the air, each tilting slowly on its own axis.

Quinlan reached for his own crystal, careful to maintain his focus as he withdrew it and replaced it with the ancient kyber. Slowly, the pieces came back together, until at last the lightsaber was whole again. Then he released his focus, and the hilt fell into his outstretched hand.

Standing, the Kiffar ignited it. A bright, crackling gold-yellow blade hissed into existence, and the hilt vibrated in his hand as the kyber crystal hummed, almost too powerful for his lightsaber's emitter.

He shut it down and went through the process of dismantling his lightsaber one more time, this time inserting his own crystal. He hadn't sensed anything unusual about the saber he'd given Aurra Sing, and it hadn't looked more than a couple of decades old. Perhaps another Jedi from the past generation had come across this crystal and tried to integrate it into his or her saber.

Quinlan clipped his lightsaber back to his belt. It took him a moment to realize that the hold of the ship was completely silent. Blinking, he looked up. The four commandos were standing in a line nearby, watching intently.

"Uh . . ." he said, glancing between them. "What is it?"

Crosshair looked away as though suddenly disinterested, and Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, probably embarrassed that he'd been staring at a superior officer, or something like that. Tech and Wrecker, in the meantime, continued to look absolutely intrigued.

"How'd you do that?" Wrecker demanded.

Tech bounced once on his toes. "That crystal produced a yellow blade. Was it originally from a Jedi Sentinel's lightsaber?"

"I think so . . ." Quinlan handed it to him. "It's very, very old."

"Can you sense anything about the owner?" Tech asked, tilting the crystal this way and that so that it glittered.

"A little. She was powerful and remarkably balanced in the Force."

Wrecker frowned. "How do you know that? You just – sense it?"

"Well . . . sort of?" Quinlan gestured at the kyber crystal, which Tech was now holding up to one of the glowpanels. "It's too powerful for my own lightsaber. Also, although I can tell it was bonded to the Jedi for years, that crystal has no imprint of her personality."

"Is that unusual?" asked Tech. "Does that have to do with how old the crystal is? Is it possible for the imprint of the owner's personality to wear off as time passes?"

Quinlan shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't say."

"To which question?"

"Any of 'em."

"Oh." Tech studied the crystal for a moment more before giving it back. "That is fascinating. What will you do with it?"

"For now?" He slipped it into an empty pouch on his belt and secured it. "I'll keep it with me. Someone at the Temple might know who it belonged to."

"What about Vythia?" Hunter asked. "Earlier, you were concerned she'd sense your own crystal."

"Yeah." Quinlan frowned. "I had this feeling that she could, but while you guys were talking, I paid close attention to her. There's no way she'd be able to sense them, or who they belonged to, or anything. She's about as Force-sensitive as you guys."

There was a brief pause as all the commandos exchanged quick looks.

"Wait," said Tech. "How Force-sensitive are we?"

"You're not."

"Ah." Tech's inflection indicated a mild disappointment.

Crosshair, on the other hand, looked very much relieved by Quinlan's answer. Taking out his toothpick, he remarked, "Good thing. Imagine Wrecker being Force-sensitive and going on one of his rampages."

Hunter winced.

"Hey . . ." said Wrecker, then laughed. "Yeah, that would be awesome!"

"Well." Tech sniffed. "The destruction level certainly would be."

Wrecker grinned, completely unoffended by the thought. "You got that right! I could throw grenades a lot farther than I already can."

"You can throw 'em plenty far as it is," said Hunter, clearly attempting to turn the conversation. "So, Vythia's not at all Force-sensitive. What about that red crystal of hers?"

"I have no idea." Quinlan handed him the defender hilt. "To get a good read on it, I'd have to touch it. I don't see that happening."

"No . . ." Hunter spun the hilt around one hand. "You are going to keep a lightsaber with you, right?"

"Yeah, I'll keep mine in my pack." He picked up the other five sabers and wrapped them in a length of cloth. "These can stay here until we return to Coruscant."

As he put them in the secret compartment, he sent a quiet thought of farewell into the Force for the dead Jedi. Then, straightening, he turned to face the clones, who were still watching him. "So! How's the armor painting going? You guys need any help?"

"Thanks all the same, but – no." Hefting the lightsaber in one hand, Hunter went back to finish his armor.

Quinlan shrugged equitably and returned to his previous station, where he set to work cleaning and reloading his hold-out blaster. Lightsabers were good, and so were knives, but having a ranged weapon on hand was probably smart.

After the paint dried, Hunter and his squad mates moved their armor to the storage racks in the bunkroom and cleaned up the cargo hold.

When Crosshair and Wrecker got into a brief tussle over a small crate that they both happened to pick up at the same time, Hunter whistled sharply and said, "Come on, fellas, time to load our packs. You know the drill."

"We should," agreed Wrecker, promptly forgetting he'd been trying to wrest an empty box away from Crosshair. "We've done this enough."

"I don't," said the Jedi, hoisting his own pack.

"You've never packed for a mission?" repeated Hunter disbelievingly.

"Oh, that. Yeah, lots of times." Quinlan followed Wrecker back to the cargo hold. "I meant I don't know the drill. You guys have a specific way of doing it? Or does it even matter, because I feel like it doesn't matter."

Tech turned to regard him, one eyebrow lifted. Quinlan rocked back on his heels, grinning as though he knew perfectly well how weird he was being and just didn't care.

"Checking our gear is first," Hunter told him, holding back a sigh. "We also restock on medical supplies, food, water, and add anything we might need that is mission-specific."

At that, Crosshair, who had decided to use a large crate for his floorspace, looked at the Jedi and said, "That means replacing out-of-date ration bars."

"Yeah, I imagine." Quinlan paused. "Um . . . Crosshair, are you going to remember everything I do and say so you can use it against me later?"

Crosshair did an admirable job of looking confused. "Not my fault if you provide ammunition."

"True enough, I guess." Quinlan seated himself on the floor across the room from the others. "Oh – by the way, I think I've figured out why you like heights. You can look down on everyone better that way."

If Wrecker had said something like that, there would have been a brawl, but for some reason Crosshair only looked amused.

Of course, it probably helped that the Jedi was so obviously teasing, whereas Wrecker sounded like he meant what he said – and enforced it with a lot of roughhousing. But Quinlan and Crosshair had been squabbling plenty yesterday. It wasn't as though they were really getting along right now, either, but at least their insults and jibes sounded almost friendly.

After a moment of consideration, Hunter shrugged it off. He had other things to think about, and no doubt those two would start up their real bickering again as soon as they got bored enough. Might as well take the peace while it lasted.

The sergeant set to work emptying his pack neatly onto the floor. "Vos, what can you tell us about Malachor?"

"Oh. Yes," said Tech, suddenly distracted from the broken commlink he'd been fiddling with. "You said you would tell us."

The Jedi, who was polishing his vibroblade, nodded absently. "I'll tell you what I know, which is everything in the Archives. But there isn't much of that."

He sheathed the knife and leaned back against the wall. "Malachor was settled by the Sith thousands of years ago – no one seems to really know when. Many academies were built there, and the Sith also built dozens of temples over the surface of the entire planet."

"Academies?" Tech asked. "What kind?"

"Sith academies," replied Quinlan. "Basically where they trained Force-adepts to become Sith. Kind of like the Jedi Temple teaches Jedi?"

"Ah, I see."

Hunter set down the grappling hook he'd been examining and moved onto the next. "If the academies served the same purpose as the Jedi Temple does now, then what were the Sith temples for?"

"Uh – good question." Quinlan frowned. "Like I said, there aren't a lot of records available. But, if I were to guess based on what I know of temples on other planets. . . In a lot of cases, the temples were built as monuments to Sith Lords. Korriban, one of the tombworlds of the Sith, pretty much has nothing but monuments."

Crosshair, who had been carefully unwinding one of the cable spools, looked up. "The Sith build tombs for themselves?"

"Well, the people who'd been conquered by them did the actual building, but yeah."

Wrecker tossed a pair of cable snips to Crosshair. "Are we going into one of those temples?"

"I hope not." The Jedi drummed his fingers restlessly against his knees. "Vythia said the artifact she was after was rumored to be in a labyrinth . . . Far as I know, that fits more with what I know of academies."

Crosshair cast him a frown. "A labyrinth? You think that would be less dangerous than a temple?"

"Look, I've never been in either. I told you, I probably know just about as much as you guys."

"Which isn't much," Tech pointed out.

"No kidding." The Jedi went back to polishing his knife. "Where was I?"

"You were telling us what Sith temples were used for," said Hunter.

"Rituals. Human sacrifice. Worshipping dead Sith . . . I don't know what else."

"That's weird," Wrecker announced.

"That's because Sith are weird," Vos told him, in an overly serious tone.

"Yeah." Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Presumably none of these Sith are still around."

"Oh, right, I was getting to that part. Okay. So . . . Yeah. As time went on, the entire planet became incredibly strong in the Dark Side." Tech opened his mouth inquisitively, and Quinlan shook his head. "It happens with all Sith planets, and it's kind of hard to explain."

Tech deflated slightly.

"Malachor got a lot stronger in the dark than most other Sith planets. Nearly all Sith went there at least once in their lives to increase their own power by meditating at the most infamous temples. Sort of like a – pilgrimage, I guess, but a twisted one."

He trailed off, and Hunter exchanged a look with Crosshair. None of the Bad Batch knew much about this kind of thing, but so far the sergeant thought he was getting a pretty good idea of why nobody wanted to go there.

Quinlan sheathed his knife absently. "Hundreds of years after the Sith Empire settled Malachor, they built the Trayus Academy – by far the most infamous of all the old Sith academies. We don't know much about Trayus, except that at one point all the dark energy on the planet was centered there."

He paused thoughtfully. "I'll skip a thousand years or so to the Mandalorian Wars, which culminated in an immense space battle above Malachor. The Jedi Revan laid a trap there for the Mandalorians, who were allied with the Sith. He stationed a huge number of his ships above the planet and somehow tricked the enemy into thinking that the whole Republic fleet was there.

"The Mandalorians and Sith attacked with the full strength of their fleets. Revan defeated Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat, but the Jedi fleet was losing. Before Revan could bring forward the remainder of his ships, which he'd held in reserve, Jedi General Surik ordered a weapon known as the Mass Shadow Generator to be activated. It crushed every ship in the planet's orbit, Jedi, Mandalorian, and Sith."

"How –" Tech leaned forward, clearly startled. "The sheer energy required to accomplish something of that scale . . . I have never calculated it."

"Neither had anyone else," Quinlan said.

"The generator took out the Jedi ships, too?" Wrecker asked slowly. "So why'd Surik order it to be activated?"

"Who knows." The Kiffar shrugged. "Everyone who made a record of the event said something different. Personally, I don't think she knew what the shadow generator was really capable of. I don't even think the inventor knew what it was capable of – he was strongly on the side of the Jedi and the Republic, which ended up losing most of its fleet as a result of his invention. The shadow generator was only active for a few minutes before exploding under its own power, but it caused millions of deaths."

"And the planet?" asked Hunter.

"Huge areas of Malachor's surface, especially around the equator, were damaged by the falling debris. Its structure and orbit changed – I don't know how much. Like I said, the generator was only active for a few minutes. But at some point, somehow, the planet became habitable again, and the Sith returned . . . and they grew stronger than ever, because of the massive amounts of Force energy that had been released when so many Force-users died."

Quinlan rested his arms across his knees. "Almost four thousand years ago, the Sith started attacking the Republic again. The Jedi traced them back to Malachor and decided to invade it in hope of destroying the Sith once and for all. They landed on the planet with thousands of knights, masters, padawans . . . From what I know, it was the largest-scale battle between Force-users in the history of the galaxy."

Hunter stopped working entirely as he tried to imagine a battle on a dim planet, taking place between thousands of Force-users, both light and dark, all with their glowing, humming blades.

Quinlan continued. "Despite the Jedi's disadvantage in fighting on a planet so steeped in the Dark Side, they were winning, partly because of sheer numbers – partly because the Sith had fractured into dozens of small groups. The Sith lost all their major strongholds, including the Trayus Academy, and the Republic was very close to victory. But in the end Darth Tanis finished the battle single-handedly in what came to be known as the Great Scourge of Malachor."

Hunter had stopped working a couple minutes ago, and he noticed that none of his squad mates were working, either.

Not seeming to notice how intent they were on the story, Quinlan drew his knife and toyed idly with it. "Turns out, the Sith would rather perish themselves than let themselves be defeated. Darth Tanis knew that once the Sith started invading the Republic, the Jedi would find out about Malachor and attack it. He wanted to ensure that they lost the same way the Sith had lost earlier on, so he built a superweapon, powered by the Dark Side and by one of the largest kyber crystals ever discovered. He waited for weeks as the battles went on, just in case the Sith did manage to win. Then – he set it off."

". . . What did it do?" Hunter asked into the sudden silence.

"It petrified every living thing on the planet's surface," said the Jedi. "What remained of the two fleets fled the system. The Sith vanished for hundreds of years. The Jedi ordered the Malachor system erased from galactic maps everywhere, and no one had any reason to argue that decision. Malachor was considered a cursed planet."

He narrowed his eyes. "After that, as far as I was aware until this mission, no one ever returned. Apart from the whole curse thing, finding your way through intersystem space without coordinates is incredibly dangerous. But someone must have, at some point, for Vythia to think she knows where this artifact is."

Tech tilted his head. "If someone were determined to locate Malachor, it would not be particularly hard. After all, the Chorlian sector is already inhabited."

"Yeah," agreed Vos. "The Zyggeria system is there, and those guys are always looking to expand their realm. Maybe some of their explorers landed on Malachor at some point recently – they might even have mapped out some of the larger buildings or cities that are still standing."

"Then there's a possibility that we'll run into other people," said Hunter.

"An extremely small possibility," Quinlan said. "I don't think even treasure hunters would want to hang around such a planet for any longer than they had to." He narrowed his eyes at the floor. "Honestly, I'm a lot more worried about who – or what – might have survived through the ages since the Scourge. Sith . . . they don't always stay dead."

A chill brushed down Hunter's spine. He'd thought that things or people coming back to life after they'd died was nothing more than a mildly frightening story, something to talk about when one was on a long, boring patrol. Wrecker looked unnerved, and Tech mildly concerned, and even Crosshair didn't look as suspicious as he normally would about such a thing.

"Quinlan," the sergeant said. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that we'll be on a planet that is legendary for the evil associated with it. I can speculate all I want, given what I know, but in the end speculations might be absolutely useless."

The others were silent. Wrecker frowned thoughtfully at the floor, and even Tech's curious expression had faded into a guarded one.

"I don't like this," said Crosshair flatly.

"Who would?" Quinlan muttered, then let his gaze flit from one commando to the next until he met Hunter's eyes. "I should have told you guys all this before."

"You mean when I asked?" Tech queried mildly.

Frowning, the Jedi folded his arms. "Before that."

"I guess," Wrecker said with a shrug. "Wouldn't have changed nothin', though."

"We were sent to help you," Hunter agreed slowly. "And we knew from the start that you were headed for Malachor."

"Yeah, but you didn't know what that meant, did you?"

"Wouldn't have mattered," the sergeant told him. "Those were our orders. Besides, it doesn't sound like you're entirely sure yourself what going to Malachor means."

"Fair . . ." Quinlan paused. "I was just – thinking over how I've gone about this mission so far. The only reason I asked for special forces was because Master Yoda said I shouldn't complete the mission alone."

"Right!" said Wrecker. "And Cody sent us, 'cause we're the best."

"Well, yes," interrupted Tech. "That, and because we are the only commando unit not officially attached to the Grand Army of the Republic."

The Jedi raised an interested eyebrow. "Hey, no kidding. So . . . you're more or less free to pursue whatever missions Cody sends you on, for however long those missions take, and you don't have to report through the usual channels after?"

"Pretty much," said Hunter. "Look, Vos – I get that Jedi would probably be better equipped for this mission, but we're the ones who were available."

"What?" Quinlan sheathed his knife and got up. "Hunter, that's not what I'm talking about at all. As far as the mission goes, having you guys along is a lot better than having Jedi along – Jedi would be at a disadvantage in areas like Malachor."

And you're a Jedi, Hunter thought, exchanging a look with Crosshair.

But Quinlan continued speaking as though that point hadn't even occurred to him. "I just wish I'd known more right off. I hoped to avoid going to Malachor at all. My original idea was to have you guys help me sneak into the warehouse, grab the Prince and whatever artifacts we could find, locate the Prince, get back to Coruscant."

"Well, that didn't work out," Crosshair stated flatly.

"Thank you," Quinlan answered, giving him a wry look before turning to Hunter. "If Vythia doesn't know what she's doing, we could end up dead before the first day's over."

"We might end up dead on any mission," said Hunter with a shrug. "A laser'll kill quicker than just about anything else."

"And quicker's better, right?" Quinlan shook his head, but smirked a little.

"We can't back out," said Wrecker. "Not now."

"I know, and we're not going to. But – eh." He shrugged. "I'm beginning to wonder whether I thought far enough ahead on this one."

"Listen." Hunter folded his arms and rested his weight on one foot. "Instead of you going to Malachor with Vythia and a group of bounty hunters who aren't trustworthy, you're headed there with us. We work with incomplete intel all the time. I don't see the problem."

Tech straightened, brushing tiny pieces of wire off his clothes. "Neither do I. Regardless of your overall attitude towards your rank, you are the mission leader. And even if you were not, I cannot recall any of us asking you not to move forward with any part of your plan."

"Yeah!" said Wrecker. He crossed the cargo hold in two steps and patted the Jedi roughly on the back, sending him staggering forward. "If we really didn't want to go along with it, you couldn't have made us!"

"Wrecker . . . " Hunter rolled his eyes. "That wasn't exactly what I was trying to say."

The Jedi opened his mouth to speak, then paused as though uncertain. Before he could collect his thoughts, a toothpick bounced off his chest and clicked to the floor.

Everyone turned to look at Crosshair, who gazed back unrepentantly. "Are we going to stand around talking, or get the rest of this packed?"

Quinlan stared at him, then huffed and kicked the toothpick back in his direction.

"Crosshair," said Tech, rather pointedly. "You are the one who still has not finished with that cable."