Something was chasing him, in his sleep. He couldn't hear any footsteps, and when he tried to look over his shoulder, he couldn't manage to. But Crosshair knew he was being chased, because whatever it was cast a shadow over him. The shadow kept growing larger and larger, but Crosshair was simply running, instead of turning to face and kill it. When he realized that, he tried to turn and lift his rifle, but he couldn't do that either. So he continued to run, looking ahead for a vantage point or a bit of cover, but there was nothing except the sweeping shadow which swelled and grew darker until he could scarcely see –

Crosshair opened his eyes and froze where he was. Without moving his head, he cast a quick glance to either side.

He was in the Marauder's cockpit, just as he had been five minutes ago. The ship was quiet. Rain was still falling slowly outside, each drop shining with pale green, making the whole area appear to be filled with phosphorescence.

I did not just fall asleep on watch . . . did I? He straightened, frowning down at the chronometer and trying to make sense of the time that was shown. One moment he'd been staring out the viewport, trying to see clearly through the streaks of green-tinted, dimly glowing rain; the next, he'd had that short, odd dream and woken up. But according to the chrono, it had been a lot longer than a few minutes. He was supposed to have woken Wrecker a full hour ago, and he didn't remember most of his own watch. He didn't even remember getting tired. He'd just – fallen asleep for three and a half hours, during which anything could have happened.

Kriffing idiot, he scolded himself, getting hastily to his feet.

When he checked the scanners, they registered no disturbances over the past few hours – the last time they'd been activated was when the team left Trayus. Vythia hadn't left her ship since entering it.

Crosshair went to the side viewport and gazed out towards the academy. He prided himself on being precise, so he couldn't ignore the fact that the way he'd fallen asleep had been unusual. It could have been because he was tired, but he knew that wasn't the case. He was very familiar with his own limitations.

I'll bet Quinlan would say it has something to do with 'the dark', he thought, stalking out of the cockpit. He came to an abrupt halt in the galley when he saw that the Jedi was sitting at the table, elbows resting on its surface as he stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall.

"What are you doing here?" Crosshair asked sharply, to cover his own surprise.

"I'm . . ." Quinlan blinked. "I was standing guard."

"Why?"

"Because you were sleeping, and I couldn't sleep." At Crosshair's narrow-eyed frown, the Jedi raised both hands. "I'd've woken you if something came up."

"That's . . . not the point."

"Then what is?"

"I –" Crosshair paused, lowering his voice when he remembered that it was still only oh-two-thirty. "The last time I fell asleep like that and lost track of time was when Vythia used that sleeping gas on us."

"Well, she didn't leave her ship this time," Quinlan told him. A strange look crossed his face, and he got up to peer out one of the small viewports. "But I know what you mean, Crosshair. There's something . . . watching us."

Crosshair stiffened, moving one hand up to rest on his pistol. "And you didn't think to mention it?"

"No – I did, but I don't think it's physical." The Jedi was still staring out into the faintly lit night. "But it's aware. Of us."

The sniper clenched one fist and went back to the cockpit. Nothing on sensors at all, and yet . . . With no other way to get answers, he returned to the galley. "If it's aware, it's dangerous."

"Yeah."

"But you say it's not physical."

"I can't be sure." Quinlan went back to the table and sat sideways on one of the benches, arms clasped around his knees. "But I'm almost sure. All I know is, I don't sense a physical presence anywhere, and yet it knows we're here."

"Well, that makes sense," Crosshair said snidely. He got his rifle, sat down opposite the Jedi, and set to work disassembling it.

Quinlan sighed, irked. "Why are you always doing that?"

Crosshair didn't feel like explaining, so he said, "Because."

"Yeah . . . that makes sense."

When he realized that Quinlan had just thrown his words back at him, Crosshair paused to shoot him a glare before returning to the familiar motions.

Eventually, in his peripheral vision, Crosshair saw Quinlan face go calm and still as he shut his eyes. He was probably meditating, or trying to meditate. Or he was looking for Vythia again, or one of the artifacts.

The silence lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour before Quinlan got suddenly to his feet, stared out the viewport again, and went from there to the cockpit. He returned only a few seconds later, arms folded defensively across his chest as he announced, "I hate this karking place."

Crosshair raised an eyebrow at his sudden vehemence and said nothing.

The Jedi slumped back to the bench, pulled out the yellow kyber crystal, and pressed it between the palms of his hands. "Crosshair, do you think –" He hesitated. "Does it feel like something's . . . overtaking us?"

Crosshair examined a non-existent scratch on the trigger guard and thought about his dream. He didn't like coincidences, because nine times out of ten, they weren't coincidences at all. Maybe Quinlan was asking because he'd – seen – the same thing, or felt it, or. . . well, something equally strange. Could Force-users see dreams?

He glanced up to see that Quinlan was frowning suspiciously.

"What?" Crosshair demanded.

"Something's bothering you."

"Maybe you're bothering me."

"I said 'something', not 'someone'." Quinlan said, his words nearly automatic as he slouched against the wall. "Of course I'm bothering you. That goes without saying."

". . . So stop saying it."

Quinlan pursed his lips and went back to fiddling with the crystal.

Setting his rifle aside, Crosshair pulled out his pistol, then his reflectors and the knife Hunter had gotten for him. He still hadn't really used it. He observed the thin, sharp blade for a moment and tested it against the corner of the durasteel tabletop. It easily scratched the metal, and he set to work etching the squad symbol into the front edge.

Quinlan watched without speaking.

When Crosshair put his knife away, the Jedi said, in a nearly inaudible voice, "I guess I was hoping it wasn't just me."

Crosshair sent him a cautious look. "Just you for what?"

"Feeling like there's something following us, aware of us. Feeling like we're way out of our depth. Feeling like the planet's angry at us, or there's someone nearby that hates us and wants us dead. Feeling like we should never have come here."

"We don't seem to be too out of our depth," Crosshair said, choosing to reply to the only part he felt comfortable answering. "Unless there's something we don't know."

"In a place like this, there's always something we don't know." Quinlan folded his arms again. "I shouldn't have brought you guys along. I should have found another way."

"Well, you didn't." Crosshair shook his head. Stars, the Jedi could get like Hunter sometimes in all the most annoying ways.

Getting to his feet, Crosshair headed for the cockpit again and checked the sensors once more. Still nothing. The chronometer said oh-three-twelve. The rain had stopped, leaving behind only glowing patches of ashy ground here and there as the moisture, and the poison it contained, was slowly absorbed.

He stood there a few minutes more, thinking back over their time on Malachor. He had no idea what had happened so far to make Quinlan think he shouldn't have brought them along, when the Bad Batch was obviously the best suited to help on this mission. Taking it from the most basic standpoint, apart from anything else, the squad was free to move around without the Grand Army of the Republic keeping track of everything they did. Very few squads had that ability. If it was danger to them that Quinlan was worried about, that was . . .

Crosshair didn't quite know what it was. What did the Jedi expect, for there to be missions that weren't dangerous?

Giving it up for the moment, and more annoyed at the silence than the Jedi, he returned to the galley. Quinlan was pacing, chewing at one side of his right thumbnail and looking nervous.

Crosshair let out an exaggeratedly irritated sigh. "Stop worrying."

"I can't!" He actually sounded impatient. "I know it's pointless, but – I just can't."

He moved rapidly from the galley to the cockpit and back, then repeated the same path again. And again.

The sniper leaned a hip against one corner of the table and ignored him as best as he could. He could – probably should – go to the barracks and get some sleep, but he discarded the idea after only a moment's thought. There was no guarantee the Jedi would have the presence of mind to check the sensors, after all.

Whenever Tech tore around the ship in an inventive frenzy, pacing rapidly until he had thought out every possible flaw in whatever design he was working on, Crosshair usually ignored it for as long as he could before acting. Then, he or Wrecker – depending on who lost patience first – would sneak after him and lock him in the barracks, or in the lower deck.

On rare occasions, they'd ignore Tech purposefully, just to see what would happen when their sergeant lost it. The last time they'd done that, Hunter had actually shoved Tech into a crash seat and belted him in forcibly while Crosshair and Wrecker snickered in the background.

The way Quinlan was pacing, Hunter's method was looking better and better all the time. Of course, there would probably be at least a short scuffle . . . which would be too loud.

There was only one other tactic, then. Distraction.

Crosshair thought for a moment, then straightened and said, "Not really."

Quinlan skidded to a halt, glancing at him as though he'd forgotten he was even present. "Uh . . . What?"

"You asked if it felt like something was overtaking us. Not really." Not outside of that dream, anyway. Then, before Quinlan could answer, Crosshair added, "Any chance you can see dreams?"

"You mean – visions?"

"No. Just dreams. Other people's."

"No, I can't. Why?" His expression cleared. "You dreamed something. That's what was bothering you."

Crosshair rolled his eyes. Now that he was no longer irritated, he felt ridiculous continuing his explanation, but he could tell Quinlan wasn't going to let this one go. "I dreamed some shadow was chasing me . . . I thought maybe you – sensed it, and that was why you felt like we were being overtaken."

"No, it wasn't." Quinlan eyed him. "But that's not as farfetched an idea as you seem to think it is, Crosshair."

"Really."

"Not at all. 'Specially not near Trayus."

"Because – why?"

"Because no one's not connected to the Force, and powerful Force-presences can affect . . . well, anyone. Everyone. Multiple people at once."

Crosshair shifted to lean against the wall, put a toothpick between his lips, and said nothing.

"Guess it's kinda like how Tech was telling me that the storm felt angry to him," the Jedi said slowly.

Crosshair blinked. "Tech said that?"

"Yeah. And he was right. The Dark Side is angry all the time, and that affects everything on the planet."

"You talk about it like it's . . ." The sniper trailed off. "Aware."

"I think it is, to a certain extent."

"I thought it was something Force-sensitives use."

"It's something that Sith used constantly for thousands of years, especially around Trayus." Quinlan ran a hand through his hair, making some of the shorter dreadlocks stand on end. "And – I dunno – especially with the alchemists . . . The Jedi have always believed that alchemy was evil because it takes things and twists them against their natures. Who's to say that didn't happen with the Force, too? The Sith took slow-moving creatures and turned them into stormbeasts that kill viciously and can starve for thousands of years without dying. Maybe they turned the Dark Side – or a little part of it, here on Malachor – into some sort of . . . well, some sort of entity?"

Crosshair thought about that for a moment and decided it didn't really make sense to him. He didn't think it made sense to Quinlan, either, although he had no real reason for thinking that beyond the Jedi's tone of voice. Still, Crosshair didn't know enough to say that the Force becoming alive was impossible.

Quinlan sighed. "I know that sounds crazy, and I'm probably wrong. Believe me, I hope I'm wrong. But if it's not just Dark Side – energy – or whatever, that is watching us, then there's something alive that's around, and it knows we're here. I'm certain about that."

Crosshair tilted his head, relieved to be entering familiar territory again. "Might want to mention that once the others wake up."

"I will." There was a short silence before he added, "Y'know, it's nearly oh-four-hundred."

"So . . ."

Quinlan leaned against the wall and smirked. "So . . . what?"

Crosshair flicked his toothpick across the room into the disposal unit. "Guess I should get some sleep," he said, as though he'd just thought of it. "I'll wake Wrecker."

" 'Kay. I'll try and pinpoint the direction I'm sensing that presence from."

Crosshair glanced out the viewport and said dryly, "How much you want to bet it's coming from the academy?"

"No bet." The Jedi flashed him a vague, weary smile. "Of course it's coming from the academy. But I'd like to get a little more precise than that."

It was seven hundred hours when Quinlan and the commandos – with the exception of Tech, who had gone into the cockpit and gotten distracted looking at holos he'd taken of the city of Lothal – gathered in the galley for breakfast.

No one spoke much, partly because there wasn't much to say. Or there wouldn't be until Tech returned, anyway. Quinlan had to warn them about the presence that intermittently pulsed against his shields. He'd spent an hour or so trying and failing to pinpoint the source. If this whole place weren't so dark it would be easy to pick out the darker areas – maybe – but he was also beginning to suspect that there were multiple presences. Joy.

Across from him, Hunter was looking thoughtfully at nothing as he ate. Wrecker, who sat next to the sergeant, seemed cheerful enough despite the gloomy outside atmosphere, and that was both irritating and appreciated. Quinlan frowned. He'd always gotten along well with people, overall, and the past couple of days he'd been aggravated by . . . well, just about everybody, including himself. Everyone except Vythia, who didn't count because she was an enemy and most of his time around her was spent trying to figure out her motives from her words and actions.

As for the others, though, things that had never annoyed him – idiosyncrasies or habits the commandos had, even habits he had – would suddenly irritate him for no identifiable reason. The next minute they wouldn't, and things would be almost back to normal. It was weird and unpredictable, and he didn't like it.

Well, that's just too bad, isn't it? Quinlan broke his ration bar in half and stared at it in distaste. Guess that's just how it's going to be while we're here. Long story short, I need to keep my trap shut and not get distracted.

He proceeded to break his ration bar into quarters, then eighths, and even managed sixteenths. He was trying for thirty-seconds, and Crosshair was eyeing him judgmentally, when Tech burst into the galley and announced, "It was not the statue!"

Hunter's gaze flitted questioningly to Quinlan, who shrugged. Everyone turned to face Tech, and Wrecker said, "What're you talking about?"

Tech gestured with his datapad. "The statue of Lord Lothal. Remember how I said something about it kept bothering me? Hunter, I was missing something completely obvious!"

He flicked through a couple of images until he reached the one he wanted. Turning the screen to face them, he said, "That is the statue of Lord Lothal. It has eyes."

"Yeah," said Crosshair, unimpressed. "We noticed. And . . .?"

"And I said they glowed red because that is what I saw – when, in reality, it wasn't the statue's eyes I saw at all."

"Then what was –" Quinlan paused and smacked himself in the forehead. "The mask, Tech? You mean the mask's eyes glowed?"

"I believe so, yes. I automatically assumed that because the mask itself did not have eyes, what I was seeing was through the holes in the mask, but . . ." Tech shook his head in apparent disgust. "I cannot believe I did not consider the alternative sooner."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "You can't be brilliant all the time."

"Clearly not . . . even though being brilliant is my job." Tech frowned and put his datapad away. "Still, even an idiot should have been able to come up with such an obvious explanation."

"Then I guess we're all worse than idiots, because none of us thought of it," said Hunter, tossing him a ration bar. "Sit down and eat."

Tech obeyed, still looking annoyed at himself.

"What made you realize it, Tech?" Wrecker asked.

"The fact that I knew I was not satisfied with my own observations." Tech took a rather grumpy bite and leaned an elbow against the table. "All it took was my actually thinking through the logical possibilities. I could have figured it out some time ago."

Quinlan smirked self-consciously. "Well, no use worrying about stuff you can't change."

"I suppose not," Tech admitted, while Crosshair shot Quinlan a disbelieving look for his hypocrisy.

"Does that change anything, Quinlan?" Hunter asked, running his hand absently along the table. "Knowing about the mask, I mean?"

"I . . . don't know." Quinlan ate a sixteenth of his ration bar and glanced out the viewport. "We don't really know about it. Just that Vythia must have wanted it in particular, and she probably knew or guessed that it was in Lothal."

"You think she's lying?" Wrecker asked.

"Of course she's lying," scoffed Crosshair. "If she wasn't, she'd never have thought about putting the mask on the statue."

"Hm." Tech pushed his goggles back up his nose. "I am inclined to agree."

Hunter nodded. "But presuming she's lying, what does that mean for our part of the mission?"

"Well, we're definitely going to destroy all the artifacts in the dead of space if we get the option," Quinlan said. "Ideally, we'll just throw 'em out the airlock and target them with heavy lasers."

"I get to do that part," Wrecker announced with a grin.

"Right," said Hunter, then raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Quinlan. "I was talking more about the fact that we're still working for Vythia."

"I know. She's up to something, and it's probably bigger than I thought at first. I mean, I still think she wants to get a few artifacts to keep the Prince happy while she sells the really valuable stuff behind his back. The knife and scepter and shard are enough to bring in a million credits each or more, in the right market." Quinlan frowned. "The mask . . . who knows, but it may very well be something the Sith Lord would be willing to pay millions for. But . . ."

"Perhaps she knows who this Sith Lord is," Tech said. "I doubt that is likely, though."

"Yeah. We'll have to figure that out later. For now –" Quinlan glanced up. "As of last night, I realized that there's something in Trayus that's aware of our presence, and it doesn't want us here."

"Not stormbeasts?" Hunter checked, tilting his head curiously.

"No. I can barely tell they're around even when I try, they're so weak."

"And this – thing – isn't weak."

"I don't know, physically speaking. But it's malicious. And aware."

Hunter and Tech looked at each other.

"Well, we'll just kill it, then, right?" Wrecker said, getting to his feet.

If we can, Quinlan thought. Sometimes the presence was so weak as to be nearly intangible. Other times it was as though someone was directly behind him.

"Yeah, we'll kill it . . . maybe. Or maybe we'll never run into it. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up." Quinlan got to his feet and checked his pack, for the third time that morning, to make sure that his lightsaber was there.

"Understood," said Hunter. "Well – we won't find anymore out by hanging around here."

At the sergeant's order, Tech commed Vythia and asked if she was ready to start.

She laughed. "The sooner the better, as far as I am concerned. What about you and your team?"

"We have rather the same mindset," Tech answered in a slightly wry tone. "We would like to get finished and off world as soon as possible."

"I cannot blame you," she admitted. "I will meet you at the doors."

Wrecker, who had already double-checked his gear, went to lower the boarding ramp while Quinlan checked that the yellow crystal was still in his tunic.

Hunter went through his usual habit of checking his pistol and knife, then clipped the other lightsaber to his belt. "Everyone set to move out?"

"Yeah." Crosshair put his helmet on and slung his rifle over his back with less than his usual speed. "Might as well get this over with."

Quinlan smirked and trailed after the squad. "Took the words right out of my mouth, sniper guy . . ."

Eight hours – Hunter double-checked his chrono – no, eight hours and twelve minutes had passed since they'd entered Trayus. It had been a nearly fruitless morning, except for the long, carefully-crafted golden chain they'd recovered. It had been hung around the neck of a massive skeleton that had once belonged to some winged, dragon-like creature. Tech probably had all sorts of theories or even facts about it, its abilities or lack thereof, and its cause of death, but he hadn't offered them, and no one had asked.

After putting the golden chain into Wrecker's pack, the team had continued on, searching what felt like hundreds of small, near-identical rooms. Hunter was certain by now that most of these lower floors were used as living space for the students – they'd even come across a few rooms that were arranged like the mess hall back on Kamino. The only break to the tedium was when a small pack – herd? – of stormbeasts came at them from the center of the eighth level.

A short battle followed, during which the stormbeasts got killed and no one got hurt, except for Hunter, who had gotten another bad headache when three of the creatures had screamed in tandem. He had not gotten vertigo this time, thankfully. Still, Vythia had suggested that it was close to noon and they may as well stop for an hour or so. While the others ate, Hunter had mentioned that they'd probably keep finding a whole lot of nothing if they didn't move on from the living quarters. His team had agreed nearly immediately, as had Vythia. Quinlan hesitated, then shrugged as though it could make no difference to him.

Twelve flights of stairs later, on the twentieth floor of the academy, the hallways had finally started to look different – except for the ever-present green or white lanterns. The halls were less wide, but the rooms were much bigger. Tech commented on the structure of the pyramid and wondered whether part of the reason for putting the living quarters towards the base of the structure was because the high number of walls added to the stability. Crosshair had said no, it was probably so the students could get out on time if and when the pyramid collapsed, and Vythia had laughed.

That was something else odd about Vythia – she listened to their conversations intently, showing interest or amusement. When she had occasion to speak with one or the other of them, she spoke directly to that person, not looking away if she could help it, and was openly friendly. It was strange, but she seemed to honestly like all of them.

Hunter paused at the top of the next flight of stairs to look around while Wrecker and Vythia went to activate the next row of lanterns. "Twenty-second or twenty-third?" he muttered, realizing he'd lost track.

"Twenty-third," replied Tech promptly. "Vythia just said we should make a more thorough search of at least one level before we went any higher." He slid his goggles to their proper position with two fingers and added, "You were not paying much attention on the twenty-second, were you?"

Hunter took off his helmet and adjusted his bandana. "I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Why?"

Tech rolled his eyes. "You did not notice that large statue in the center?"

"Which one?" Hunter paused, concerned. "Did I miss something I should have seen?"

"No. It was not important to our task," Tech said snippily. "But if it had been, we might now be in trouble."

He had a point, so Hunter only flicked him in the back of the neck before more carefully observing his surroundings. Tech was right – he hadn't been paying much attention for the last hour or so. There was something about this place that seemed to make people tire more easily than they would otherwise. Bet that did the students and masters here a lot of good, he thought to himself with a smirk as they started walking again. Or . . . no, maybe because they were Sith this whole place made them more energetic.

Just ahead of Quinlan, who was dragging along after Wrecker, Vythia stopped before a wide, ornately graven door. She peered into the room beyond it – then her eyes glinted with excitement and she turned to look at him, raising a dark eyebrow. "It appears you were right, Hunter! We have found something."

Looking suddenly more alert, the team gathered behind her as she opened the door fully and stepped into the room, activating the lantern that hung to one side of the decorated border of the doorway.

It burst into dim life, and the team entered slowly. The room was not large – perhaps the size of six of the small living spaces – but the light of the white lantern didn't penetrate the shadows well. There was nothing in the room except for a single statue, which stood at the far end to their left.

"Wait," Vythia said. "I'll light the other lanterns."

Hunter took off his helmet again to see better, and sure enough there were four sconces set near the statue – two on either wall. When Vythia activated the first, all four lanterns burst into a flickering dull crimson light that made his eyes ache strangely. He blinked hard, and the others reacted similarly. Even Tech, with his tinted goggles, seemed bothered by it. Only Vythia did not blink, that Hunter could see – of course, Nautolans could see incredibly well in the dark.

Hunter blinked again as his eyes adjusted to the odd color. "Vythia, did you find anything?"

"It is a statue of a Sith lady," she said. Running her fingers over runes at the base, she narrowed her eyes and leaned closer. "Her name was Darth . . . Zenaya, I believe."

As she continued to observe the runes, Crosshair rubbed at his eyes with a quiet snarl, then pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on. Without speaking, the others followed his example.

The oddly dark flames dimmed in comparison to the bright lights, and Hunter shone his up at the face of the statue. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. This statue, unlike all the others they had seen so far, was colored – not only that, but it was colored and made in such a way as to appear incredibly lifelike. It was a statue of a female Togruta with red-tinged skin, black montrals and lekku, and off-white markings on her montrals, lekku, and face. Her head was slightly tilted back and to one side, though her eyes focused forward.

She was dressed in a long black gown of some extravagant material. It looked almost shiny, as though it were a kind of silk, and not . . . whatever the statue was actually made out of. Her long fingers clasped over her forearms, which she had folded over her stomach, just above a long sash that belted around her waist. It appeared to be made of gold, and was hung, every few centimeters, with thin strands of gold that trailed down to the floor, disappearing here and there into the folds of her skirt.

Despite her extravagant apparel, though, what drew Hunter's gaze the most was her face – and her eyes, which were half-closed as though in contemplation or disdain. They were a strange shade of pale grey, or perhaps silver, or even light blue. The flickering red lanterns that continued to clash with the intense white of their flashlights made it difficult to tell. Her face was absolutely beautiful, and not at all what Hunter would have expected of one of the Sith women who had earned the title of 'dark'. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, really, just not – that.

"Darth Zenaya," repeated Vythia, stepping back from the statue, which was several centimeters taller than Vythia even without the montrals. "Hm . . ."

She circled around Zenaya, then paused again in front of her. "This was definitely a shrine. There will be something here of hers."

There was a moment of silence. Then –

"She's holding something," Crosshair said, jerking his head at Zenaya. "Between her forearms and waist."

Vythia reached out, and her fingers closed around a narrow cylindrical object. "A scroll . . . A valuable find, indeed!"

She opened the thin metallic case and removed the scroll with extreme care, then unfurled it slowly. "Would one of you bring a light?"

"I got one." Wrecker joined her.

Hunter turned to check on Quinlan, surprised that he hadn't commented. The Jedi, who had moved to stand near the door, had the side of one hand pressed against his forehead, and was not looking at all aware of his surroundings.

Hunter couldn't hear anything around them that might pose a threat, but he caught Tech's gaze anyway and tilted his head toward Quinlan. "Vythia," he said, taking a step closer to her. "Maybe you should leave the studying until we're in a safer environment?"

She took a moment to look up from her reading, then smiled. "Ah, but Hunter! This is a scroll written by Zenaya herself!"

"That's great," Wrecker said, with somewhat less than his usual enthusiasm. "But Hunter's got a point, Vythia – and besides, it's really hard to see in here!"

Vythia sighed and rolled up the scroll before returning it to its thin metal case. "I suppose you are correct. What time is it?"

Hunter glanced at his wrist comm. "Sixteen thirty-one."

"Hmm." She put the case in her satchel and wandered from the room.

Hunter trailed after her and cast a quick look at Quinlan and Tech, who were arguing in low voices, while Crosshair and Wrecker stood just behind Vythia as she observed a door farther down the hall.

Hunter waited in the doorway to Zenaya's shrine, gave his remaining teammates fifteen seconds to appear, then leaned back inside and said very quietly, "Tech, Quinlan."

"Yes?" Tech answered.

"Are you two going to keep arguing about whether hypos will help, or are you going to get out here?"

A guilty pause followed.

"You . . . couldn't hear us, could you?" Quinlan ventured in a near-whisper.

"No."

"Then how –"

"I would not bother to ask," Tech said in a normal tone as he stepped past into the hallway. "He always says it is instinct, and I have yet to disprove that."

Hunter replaced his helmet as they rejoined the others. "What now?" he asked, turning to the Nautolan woman. "We keep searching?"

"I would like to study this scroll for a bit first," Vythia said. "From the little I have read, I believe it may lead us to a very valuable artifact."

"Yeah?" Crosshair asked. "How long do you want to study that, though? We're better off returning to the ships if it'll be longer than an hour."

Quinlan straightened a little.

She nodded slowly. "We could return to the ships. It may take me a while to understand the meaning of these words."

"Why, if I might ask?" Tech trotted over to join her. "I thought the artifact took care of that?"

"Yes, for the Sith language – but this is written in Balc, a far more ancient form of Sith than the . . ." Her explanation continued, but Hunter tuned it out in favor of focusing on the area of the level behind them.

"No stormbeasts that I can hear," he commented idly.

"None on scans, either," Wrecker answered. "Tech's been checking for 'partial lifeforms'." He emphasized the last two words with finger quotes. "I dunno. . . I kind of hoped there'd be more of those things around."

"Getting bored?" Hunter asked, elbowing him.

Wrecker pushed his helmet back on his head. "Gotta admit, it's a lot of walking and looking. Not a lot of stuff happening."

"Yeah." Quinlan glanced back at him. "You know what, Wrecker, I've been having the same feeling."

"Feeling as in –" Hunter looked at Vythia, who was still talking to Tech, and lowered his voice. "Instinct or actually sensing something?"

"Just a feeling." Quinlan gave a tired shrug. "I'm not really sensing anything except that presence I mentioned."

"The one that doesn't want us here?" Crosshair put in.

"Yeah."

"Is it still – aware of us?" Hunter asked.

"I think so," the Jedi said. "It got stronger a few minutes ago, but that's nothing new. It's been happening off and on ever since this morning."

By the time the team finally trooped down the stairs to the first level, Hunter was thinking about how he'd be just as glad to never see a staircase again. One flight of stairs wasn't noticeable. Even going up or down multiple stairways wasn't a problem when there were long pauses between each. . . but around the tenth consecutive flight of thirty-odd stairs, he – or his muscles, at least – had started to really dislike it.

Hunter paused to catch his breath, and to briefly observe the flaming pillar and the statues at each corner, whose hands were clasped eternally over their faces in fear or awe or both, before starting across the center. Wrecker and Vythia were several meters ahead, with Crosshair and Hunter keeping pace after them, while Tech and Quinlan lagged behind.

Hunter was halfway across the center and had just passed the pillar of heatless flames when it happened.

At Tech's surprised cry, Hunter spun around to see that Quinlan on his knees, gripping Tech's arm with one hand as the four statues straightened slowly with a grinding of gritty stone. Hunter ran over to Tech, his knife in one hand and pistol in the other. Tech had shaken free of Quinlan and drawn both pistols. The next instant, the other three joined them, Vythia activating her whip as she ran. They gathered in a small group and stood, staring at one or the other of the statues.

Out of his peripheral vision, Hunter saw Quinlan getting to his feet, reaching for his own knife. It was only then that he realized that drawing a knife, even one as good as his, against a stone statue was probably one of the most useless things he could have done.

The statues' joined hands moved down from their faces to reveal calm features and solid black eyes. Then, with another grinding of stone on stone, the statues sank into the floor and vanished, leaving behind wide, circular holes.

"What . . ." Wrecker looked at Vythia. "What just happened?"

"I have – no idea." She sounded a little shaken as she put her whip away. "One of us may have moved too close to the pillar and activated the statues?"

"I was right next to it," Hunter said, frowning as he sheathed his vibroblade. "But why would that – never mind. Let's get out of here."

As Wrecker and Vythia took the lead again, Hunter shot a look at Quinlan, whose face was much less pale than it had been moments before. "Okay, Quinlan, what was that all about?"

The Jedi shot him a bewildered look. "I don't know, it was just a –"

"Don't say a hemorrhage."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I was going to say headache."

"Right . . . but what did it have to do with the statues?"

"I have no idea," Quinlan replied, sending a cautious glance at Vythia. "If you're worried that I somehow triggered the statues, don't be. Something else made those things move."

Hunter considered. "Any chance that was the presence you sensed?"

". . . Maybe? I – really can't tell right now."

"The statues," Tech mused, not paying attention. "Perhaps it was their activation that caused you to collapse in the first place. Hunter had just reached the pillar."

"I did not collapse."

"Hm." Tech's disapproval was clear in his tone. "I suppose that would depend on your definition of the word."

"I did not collapse," the Jedi insisted. "I just . . . fell down. Sort of."

"The definition of collapse –"

Hunter sighed and exchanged looks with Crosshair.

"That's when people faint, which I didn't."

"– is to fall down and lose consciousness, which you appeared to."

"Well, I didn't."

"It looked like you did to me."

"Well, you saw wrong."

"Shut up," Crosshair said flatly.

There was a moment's silence before Quinlan whispered, "I still didn't."