Chapter XXV - The Hand of Fate

I heard footsteps approaching me and woke up uncomfortably in the conference room chair where I had fallen asleep.

Andronikos walked up to the table I was sitting at. "What the hell are you doing sleeping in here?" he asked gruffly.

"I was trying to meditate on the relics," I lied.

"Well, you've got to deal with the Deshade," he said with a thumb pointing over his shoulder. "The sleep chamber is turning off and he's waking up."

Frustrated and a little anxious, I followed Andronikos to the medical bay where chimes and countdown lights indicated that the sleep chamber was finishing. A Deshade was an almost extinct reptilian humanoid species with some Force resistance. They were notoriously sought after as mercenaries and assassins because of their innate abilities, and Khem was self-claimed to be the best. He was the right hand of Tulak Hord, a long-dead but famous Sith warlord. Standing at over six and a half feet, with massive clawed hands and a more gruesome mouth full of teeth, Khem could easily intimidate a room. Unfortunately, it was near impossible to keep a low profile with him next to me.

His eyes were open inside the chamber, and I could see them focus on me as I stepped up to the glass. With a hiss, the chamber opened and a glass panel slid aside so that Khem could step out. His hulking form had to bend down to exit the chamber, and he took a few uneasy steps with listless muscles. I backed up to give him room.

"Hello, Khem," I stated flatly.

"Little Sith," the universal translator interpreted Khem's guttural rumblings.

"What happened to master?"

"You are weaker, little Sith, I sense it." He looked down at my arm. "You are injured, and maybe no master of anyone."

I drew the Force into me and focused it onto my good hand, preparing for conflict if it should come. "You seem weak too," I replied.

"Because of you," he growled. "You have not kept up your promise, little Sith, and I starve for the Force."

"You are right," I agreed.

Khem seemed a little surprised by my words, even looking at Andronikos standing next to me. "You should have taken me with you. Then maybe you would not have been injured."

"Possibly," I agreed again. "It was a hard fight . . . I could have used your help."

"Your weakness makes matters worse," he continued to press me. "We will lose to Thanaton and his minions without help."

"I'm considering my options. In the meantime, I have a mission for you."

"No more missions apart," Khem shook his large head, "that is what caused your failure."

"This mission you must do alone while I recover, and it is important."

"If I refuse?" he countered.

"Then you will not feed, and I will lose control of the cult on Nar Shaddaa."

"Feed," he grunted. "What are you suggesting?"

"I fear that Thanaton has sent spies to infiltrate and undermine the cult. If I go to deal with it myself, then I will give away my location and Thanaton can attack us. You can go and not attract that attention. Work with Destris and Rylee to uncover the spies and deal with them. I'm leery of Destris; he seemed too eager to take over the cult, so work more closely with Rylee. She will likely be the more helpful of the two anyway. How you deal with spies when you find them, I don't care."

"What if they are not Force users?"

"I suspect they will be. If not, I'm sure Rylee can help you find some annoying Force users amongst the gangs that have been bothering the cult territories. I'm giving you a chance to help me and feed at the same time. I thought you would be more appreciative."

"I've lost trust in you, little Sith."

"Then we shall have to remedy that. Our presence here on Nar Shaddaa is to remain a secret. Go and help the cult leaders while I recover."

Khem eyed me suspiciously. "Don't do anything reckless while I am gone. I grow impatient with your lack of judgment."

"Know your place, Khem," I spat back angrily. "Contact me in three days regardless of the results. We may need to leave Nar Shaddaa quickly, and I want to be prepared."

Khem glanced between me and Andronikos before nodding. "I will go and feed on your enemies," he grunted before shuffling out of the med bay toward the cargo hold.

"Well," Andronikos sighed in a hushed tone after Khem left, "that went better than I expected."

"I grow tired of him challenging me," I replied. "He senses my weakness."

"You only bought yourself three days to come up with a long-term plan for your pet monster," Andronikos looked at me with narrowed eyes, "unless you're just going to leave while he's away."

I was actually considering the idea but did not want to say it out loud. "How quickly can you sell the ships?"

"I can make a few calls, but I don't expect it to take long, especially if you're not going to drive a hard bargain."

"See what you can come up with."

"Sure thing," he nodded. "What about the padawan?"

"I've taken care of it," I replied; stepping past him to head to my room.

I was still exhausted from poor sleep and had half a mind to lie down again, but Khem wanted me to contact the cult before he left to tell them that he was coming. Destris and Rylee seemed surprised to hear from me, and even more surprised that Khem was on Nar Shaddaa and heading to them. I had a sinking feeling that there were issues with the cult beyond Thanaton's meddling, but I did not have time to worry about it at the moment. After Khem left, I tried to collect myself and think. Khem Val was dealt with, or at least I counted it that way. I could leave as soon as the ships were sold, and if Khem could find me where I would be hiding then Thanaton likely would too, and I had failed anyway. That only left one last problem on my list; the ghosts. They had become a real issue in my head since I absorbed them, and Lord Ergast did not seem interested in sharing with me how to release them or drive them out of me. That skill appeared to be something for me to learn, and I was pretty sure I knew where to find the answers.

I walked to the conference room while I finished my thoughts, and stopped before the shelf of artifacts along the wall. The ghosts within me seemed to dislike the relics, and I suspected that my answer to controlling the annoying soul-harassers lie in the objects. On the shelf were the five Tulak Hord artifacts that I obtained in my travels the last year, additional items that Darth Zash had set up for the ritual that she performed, several important-looking holocrons from her office, and the holocron that Kaal had stolen from Darth Thanaton. I had instructed Pez to download Darth Zash's complete records from her library and copy them onto a data card, and I had data cards from Darth Skotia's office as well. It was an impressive amount of Sith data and artifacts. Unfortunately, I did not know what to do with it all.

I had no formal schooling and little training in deciphering ancient languages or codes. I could read modern writing fairly well, and the computer was helpful with some things, but the massive amount of data was overwhelming. The computer could help sort and prioritize information, but you had to direct it, and some background and intuition about the subjects were necessary. I could access the holocrons with the Force and gather some basic information about what they were, but the real knowledge seemed trapped behind details that eluded me. The longer I spent paging through computer records or using the Force to delve into the information stored on the holocrons, the more frustrated I became.

I spent the afternoon focusing on the strange object that Kaal had stolen from Thanaton, meditating in the Force and trying to gain access to the data I assumed was within. Though the Force meditation was good practice, I got nowhere with the artifact. Frustrated with the lack of success, and exhausted from the effort, I went to my room and relaxed. It seemed too early to go to bed, but I was so tired that I tried anyway. While laying on my back and trying to be calm, my physical condition once again became apparent. I had avoided thinking about it all day, keeping my focus on my work, but I finally had to admit that my arm was getting worse. The cramps were coming more frequently, and the shooting pains were almost debilitating. I fiddled with the medical band, and when I turned the analgesic setting down, the surge of pain I felt almost made me pass out. The negative thoughts and frustration crept in with the worry about my hand, and the ghosts grew more active; messing with my focus. Soon, I felt panic fill me, and I got flashbacks to my childhood, a time when everything was out of my control and I lived in constant fear.

At some point, I could not handle it anymore and went back to the conference room to at least get the ghosts under control. The panic and pain were no better, however, and I realized that it would be impossible to get any rest. I struggled on for a long time, almost dozing off at one point, but a sharp spasm woke me up. In that dark conference room, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, alone, I realized that I could not go on. My first thought was to get drugs, despite my ugly history with them, but then another thought pushed softly through my panic. Ask the padawan for help, it urged me softly. My stubborn side fought the idea, I didn't need anyone's help; couldn't trust anyone to truly care! Amid that inner conflict, I looked down at my twisted, spasming hand, and activated the com.

"Yes?" Ashara answered sleepily.

"I need you to come to my room," I said. Her holographic eyes blinked as they tried to focus on me. I had no idea how late it was.

"Okay," she replied, "can I bring you anything?"

"No, just hurry." My voice was strained with pain and it made me embarrassed.

"I'll be right there."

I got up and went to my room, crawling into bed and curling up into a ball. The door chimed and I barely remember telling the computer to open it.

Pez buzzed over me with puffing thrusters. "Beep-duooh," he sighed.

I felt Ashara's weight settle on the bed next to me. "What can I do?" she asked anxiously.

Painfully, I pushed my twisted hand out. "Do the thing you did yesterday."

"I'll try," she replied. I felt her gentle touch on my arm above the wound and the skin prickled uncomfortably. I lay in a ball with her meditating for a while, and slowly the pain and panic started to subside.

"Dweep?" Pez asked as he drifted close.

"Not now, Pez," I replied in a shaky voice. "Go rest on your charger."

"Duooh," he sighed as he drifted away.

"I'm not very good at this," Ashara spoke.

I shifted enough to look up at her, noticing in the dim light of the glow globes that she was looking down at my clenched hand with concern. "It's helping," I whispered.

Her eyes looked up into mine, seeming dark and emotional. "It needs more than what I can do," she said gently, "I think you need to seek medical help."

"Tomorrow," I whispered, "Andronikos said he knew someone."

"Maybe I can get you some painkillers," she suggested.

"I would prefer not to," I replied.

"Okay, but I don't know if I can do anymore."

"Focus on the hand," I suggested, "use the Force and try to calm the muscles."

Ashara went back to meditating and shifting the Force around my arm, moving her fingers down toward my cramped hand. I struggled to remain conscious of what was happening because of the pain and my chaotic thoughts, but I felt her Force aura near me and the peace within it. While she focused on my hand, I reached into the Force and drew her aura to me, hoping that some of that peace would trickle into my soul. She sensed what I was doing, and pressed her Force aura outward around me. It was an act of kindness, and rather intimate, but in my dark state, I did not care and took what I could.

After a while of her efforts, the spasming began to lessen. "Try to draw the fingers out," I urged through a still strained voice, "make them straight."

"I don't want to hurt you," she replied.

"You can't make it worse."

"I don't like seeing you suffer," she answered, "let me get you some medicine."

"The fingers, Ashara," I urged.

She did as I asked, and at one point I felt her touch one of my dead fingers. It was fleeting and very faint, but it seemed like a spark of life in my numb hand. Maybe it was my imagination, but even the thought that my fingers would feel again became a ray of light into my shadowed soul. Slowly, gently, she worked to relax my hand until it was mostly straight. Ashara continued to meditate and use the Force, running her fingers from just above the wound on my arm, which I could feel, down onto the numb part of my forearm and then to the tips of my fingers. There was an effort in that meditation, and I could feel her straining in the Force to help me. I was using her, but I was too desperate to make her stop. Exhausted and emotionally weak, at some point, I lost consciousness. The ghosts were mostly quiet. My black soul was restrained; I slept.

When I woke, Ashara was gone. Pez had stayed on his stand and when I got up and started moving around, he illuminated my com feed to show an appointment scheduled at ten that morning. Ashara and Andronikos had apparently contacted the doctor for me. Even though it irritated me that she would be so presumptuous, I knew the decision was right. The injury needed to be looked at. I showered and dressed, growing more and more anxious about seeing a doctor. It was obvious that there was something wrong with my hand, but hearing a professional diagnosis seemed worse. Wondering about what was wrong at least left room for hope, but deep down I knew that things could not go on like they were.

After cleaning up, I went down to the penthouse to find out what was happening. It seemed that everyone planned to come with me, except Toovee who was going to watch over the ship. I did not know how I felt about that but was too worried and moody to complain. Andronikos called a shuttle, and we went up to our private landing to await its arrival. The doctor's office was near the southern pole of Nar Shaddaa, and the shuttle performed a suborbital burn to get us there. I absently watched out the window as we left the atmosphere and hovered on the edge of space.

Ashara glanced sideways at me. "Are you okay?"

"No," I sighed. There had been very little conversation waiting for the shuttle and after we boarded. Everyone seemed to recognize the significance of the trip, even Pez. It was pretty evident to all that this appointment would likely be difficult for me, and no one seemed excited to talk about it. That was fine by me because I did not like to talk about bad news, there seemed no point in it.

Ashara, on the other hand, appeared to like talking things out. "It'll be better to know what's wrong," she added with a look that felt more familiar than I wanted. I had asked her to help me last night, but it was not an invitation into my soul.

"What in galaxies gives you that idea?" I snapped at her. Ashara looked shocked, and Andronikos lifted his gaze from this tablet. "Bad news is just that," I mumbled, "there's nothing good about it."

"The doctor will provide options," Ashara persisted, "maybe prescribe something for the pain."

"Great, then I'll be a drugged cripple." It was a harsh response, but I was struggling to keep the hopelessness within me in check.

"Actually," Andronikos spoke up from across the shuttle, "it's not likely that you're going to get any kind of medical prescription."

"Why is that?" Ashara asked in surprise.

"Because he's not that kind of doctor."

"What the hell kind of doctor is he?" I asked, feeling like that information should have been provided earlier.

"A biomechatronist."

I had never heard of the term, but the sound of it did not make me happy. "I want to see a neurologist, not someone with biomechanics in their title."

"You saw a doctor already," he replied, "I figured this would give you a better second opinion."

"That decision should have been left to me!" I complained.

"If I'd've told you, you wouldn't have come."

"I'm not going to let some hack give me a bionic hand."

Andronikos sat up and leaned forward. "Listen, it might be your only option . . . and if not, this guy knows everything there is to know about neurology. How do you think he connects his cybernetics to people?"

"I don't want anyone lopping off my arm, I've already done that once."

"Just hear what he has to say. I've seen this guy's work . . . a couple of my friends needed reconstruction after the battle of Teghiva Prime. It's top-rate enhancements I tell you."

"I don't want enhancements. I want my damn arm back!" Andronikos waved his hand at me in frustration and went back to reading his tablet. The rest of the trip was made in silence, and I brooded about Andronikos' 'doctor'. I did not want to be part cybernetic. Darth Skotia freaked me out, and I feared becoming anything like that.

The south pole of Nar Shaddaa was more temperate than I expected, but the sector we descended into looked shady. The shuttle slowed and angled toward a dark, industrial-looking block of buildings. We were heading toward a landing near the top of a tall thin structure standing out from the dingier blocks of buildings below and amidst smoke stacks and electrical towers. It was raining softly with a gusty wind when the shuttle door opened, so we hurried into a small entrance area. Andronikos knew where he was going and lead us to a set of lifts. The interior of the building looked nicer than the outside, but it still had an industrial feel with pipes and racks overhead instead of a finished ceiling, and a well-worn metal floor with spare parts and equipment laying against the walls.

We came out of the lift onto an even more cluttered hallway and made our way to the outside wall of the tower. Andronikos stepped up to a nondescript metal door and pressed the com. The door was unlocked, and we stepped into a small waiting room that smelled like used oil and droid parts. My hopes for this appointment were getting worse by the moment. The doctor, an old-looking Skakoan with several 'enhancements' of his own, ushered us into an examination room. It looked clean enough, but it was unlike any medical exam room I had ever seen. He was all business after greeting me and began to examine my arm. After several different types of scans and a blood sample, he went over to his console and spent time hovering over screens that I could not understand.

Finally, he turned back to me with his assessment, his voice squeaking out a strange language that had to be interpreted through the translator. "You are suffering from bactafolic-induced histocompatibility complex neuropathy. In layman's terms, your nerves are being attacked by an autoimmune response to the biosynthetic substrate used to fuse your severed hand back to your arm. It could be the bacta, or the substrate that was used. The rejection is acute, and if left untreated it will cause immense pain and probably sepsis leading to death."

Everyone looked at me with a range of shock to fear on their faces. I looked down at my twitching hand. Well, I knew it would be bad news, I thought bitterly. "So, what is the treatment?"

"Remove the limb; immediately."

"Out of the question," I snapped back, starting to get annoyed by the doctor's lack of bedside manners. "There must be medical treatments available."

The doctor paused and looked at me with his strange eyes behind mechanical glasses. "I am not versed in neuropathology, but I have seen many cases like yours. I suggest you accept my conclusion. Other doctors may attempt to save the reattachment, but you will suffer much pain and difficulty with a minimal chance of favorable outcome. Most likely, you will end up back in my office for a cybernetic limb fitting."

I looked at the others, who stared back blankly in shock. My dead hand decided it was a good time to crumple up grotesquely in my lap. The doctor was waiting for my decision; everyone was. The dark rage in my core welled up then, just as it did after my arm was severed by Cineratus. I did not want to accept the loss of my hand, and the rage inside of me bolstered that irrational hope.

"The hand is not coming off," I told him flatly. "How long do I have to get it properly treated?"

"The rejection is not at full stage, but the blood test indicates that your immune system is very active. If I had to guess, I would say two to three weeks before sepsis sets in."

"Do you know a good neurologist?"

"I do not. As I have stated, it is not my recommended treatment."

"Fine," I huffed, my brain thinking quickly. "The pain is almost overwhelming. Is there something you can give me to help with that?"

"I have bio-interlacing implants that are used to connect cybernetics to biological nerves. There is an interface that can be connected to those implants to control pain"

"Is the process reversible?"

"The implants can be removed with no adverse effects."

"Will the implants help the limb's control?" I asked hopefully.

The doctor looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before walking away into an adjoining technician's room.

"Are you sure about this?" Andronikos asked after the doctor left. "Death is kind of permanent."

"You're in a lot of pain, too," Ashara added.

"I'm not lopping my arm off."

Andronikos looked at me with perplexed eyes. "From what I heard, it doesn't sound like you're going to have a choice."

"I've got a choice, and I'm making it."

"Two weeks is not a long time," he added.

"It's enough time to find a neurologist that can help."

"Oh, and how are you going to do that?"

"I've got an idea."

The doctor came back holding a medical case. He approached me and set the case down on the lab table next to me. "I built this cybernetic prosthesis for a patient some time ago, but the subject died from an unrelated event before they could acquire it." The doctor flipped open the case to reveal a black metallic glove with miniature gears, hoses, electronics, and reinforcing. It looked like someone took a mass of precision watches and rearranged them to make a mechanical glove. I did not like what I saw. The glove reminded me of Darth Skotia.

"It will take some adjusting . . . and about eight to ten implants, but the glove can take the place of your medical band and remove the pain you are suffering with."

"Will I be able to use my hand again?"

"If the neuropathy is stopped, you should be able to learn to use the cybernetic glove." He raised a cautionary hand toward me when he saw hope light in my eyes. "That is a big if, and it will take time for your body and mind to interface with the implants to command the glove. You must get treatment, the sooner the better. The implants and glove will not save you?"

"I understand. How long will the procedure take?"

"Not long, probably an hour or so to fit the glove and make the implants."

"Do it," I urged. Despite all the doctor's warnings, my desperate soul had latched onto a thread of hope.

The others went back and waited in the shuttle as the doctor completed his procedure. He placed the implants first. Three on my arm right above where the scar was, one on the top and bottom of my wrist, and small nodes at the tip of each finger. The implants were deep, reaching to the main nerves in the area, but I felt nothing due to the electromagnetic beams that he used as anesthesia. After the implants were done, he slid the glove on and made some markings where the fingers were too long, the hand and wrist were too large, and the sleeve extended too far. The doctor then went off to the technician's room, and with the help of several droids, began making changes to the glove. After about a half hour, he came back and slipped it on my hand again.

It fit much better, and magnetic attachments inside the glove clipped the connectors to the implants in my arm. The glove came to life then, making a soft hum as the mechanical systems activated. There was a lighted pad at the top of the glove on my forearm, but it was too small to be a control panel. The doctor moved away and came back with several electrical devices. He began to interface with the glove and establish biometric parameters. Then he had me activate my wrist com and connected the glove to my device. The full diagnostic and control system was then uploaded to my com, and he went over how to adjust interface options for the glove. The first setting adjusted was for pain, and thankfully, the implants worked as intended to remove the pain and cramping I was experiencing.

"You will no longer need this," the doctor said as he slipped the medical band off my arm and handed it to me. "There is a problem with removing the pain, however, especially at the higher setting that you have it now. The glove works through your nervous system, which you are interfering with to reduce the pain. You will not be able to use the glove with the analgesic set to what it is."

"It won't work unless I turn the pain relief down."

He nodded solemnly. "You are experiencing pain for a reason. Your body knows you are in danger and is warning you. The glove is for temporary relief. Heed my diagnosis and have the hand treated as soon as possible."

"I understand."

I paid the doctor for his services and went back to the shuttle. The others were watching me emotionally as I sat down. Then Andronikos went up to tell the captain to head back.

"You look more comfortable," Ashara said, still watching me with concern.

"Things couldn't have gone much worse," I sighed, "but at least the glove is helping with the pain." I did not like the look of the thing over my arm and slid it under my satchel so that it was not visible.

The ride back was pretty somber, and for some reason, Darth Zash's last words echoed from my memory; 'sacrifices must be made for one to achieve greatness'. Was I to sacrifice part of my forearm and hand to stay alive? It seemed a bitter irony that the hand of fate was requiring my hand to write the next page of my story. Keep the hand or lose it, I needed help, and the only place I could think to turn was Watcher One. I hated the idea of contacting Imperial Intelligence, but it seemed to be the only option. Going to the Imperial Sector here in search of medical help was dangerous. Darth Thanaton knew I had a cult on Nar Shaddaa, and he would have assets watching for me. Trying to contact Doctor Nbyang on Quesh was also dangerous, for her almost as much as I. She seemed knowledgeable and helpful, but I had no idea about her or Commander Trey's current circumstances, and contacting them might put their operation in danger. That left me with Elios and Watcher One.

The shuttle dropped us off, and I went down to the kitchen to eat some lunch with the others. The numbness in my hand was a marked improvement over the pain, and it allowed me to focus on my body's other needs. Ashara had used the house computer to cook one of her favorite meals, and she wanted me to taste it. The girl seemed to like noodles and sauces, and I had to agree that it tasted pretty good. Afterward, I realized that it was just about thirteen hundred hours, and the Jedi would be at the drop-off location soon. The location was nowhere near the penthouse and would take another sub-orbital shuttle to get there, just like the trip we made to the doctor's office. The shuttle would need to be arranged and the trip started in a little over an hour in order to meet the Jedi at the drop-off. Ashara had no idea that I had called the Jedi, and I wanted her to choose to go back with her masters, so I began to think about how to bring it up. The more I thought, the more I came to the conclusion that I should let her know now and give her time to think it over. I followed Ashara back to her room when she left the kitchen.

She gave me a curious look when she noticed I was following her. "Do you want to do some Force meditation with me?" she asked, "I was going to change and do my afternoon routine."

"Not now, we need to talk." I took the note out of my pocket that had the locker number and location written on it and handed it to her. "Two days ago, I contacted the Jedi enclave and had them put together your personal effects. Today in a few hours they are going to be at that locker location to drop your things off."

"Why did you do that?" she asked as her mind pondered the information. Staring at the note, understanding began to sink into her thoughts. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"It's quite simple. Go and meet the Jedi who are bringing your stuff."

She looked at me perplexed. "I don't know what to say."

"Dweep-click," Pez toned out in surprise and buzzed between us, his red eye shifting back and forth.

"What are you talking about," I replied, "go home."

"It's not that simple," she huffed.

"Doo-zweep," Pez seemed to agree with her.

"Yes, it is," I countered. Pez puffed his jets to move toward me, and I swatted at him, wondering what he was up to.

"I told you that things at the enclave are complicated . . . that they were suspicious of me before. The last three weeks can't have made it any better."

"They want you back," I stated, frustrated that she was not making this easy.

She turned and looked at me. "They don't trust me. I may never be able to complete my training."

"That's possible," I replied, "but going back is the only way you will ever become a Jedi."

"Twiz-bleep-click," Pez chirped as he drifted closer to the padawan.

She looked away from me. There was a lot of emotion swirling around in her eyes, and her Force aura was shifting tumultuously. I could sense conflicting motivations within her.

"What about you?" she said as she looked back.

"It doesn't matter," I sighed.

"Why?" she took a step toward me, and I could see that look in her eyes; the same as the night before.

For some reason, she seemed to care, and I had to destroy that feeling and make her leave. "I could be dead in a week," I stated flatly.

"Bleep-duooh," Pez sighed.

She flashed me a frustrated look. "Why? You know what's wrong, and you said you were going to seek help. Worst case, you get the arm removed."

"No one's cutting my arm off!" I growled.

Ashara hesitated a minute. "You're saying that if given a chance to save your life, you wouldn't? That's unreasonable."

"You're thinking about rejecting an offer to abandon this unfolding tragedy, and you call me unreasonable?" She turned and walked away from me, anger mixing with her other emotions. "I'm going to run away," I stated flatly. "I plan on ditching everyone and heading to the outer rim, somewhere that Thanaton won't think to look."

"You can't," she replied softly before turning back to me. "You need a doctor to help you with your arm . . . and you've got other people willing to help you, like Elios and Commander Trey."

"Click-click-zwip-zwip-bleep," Pez toned in agreement with the padawan.

I shook my head harshly, not wanting to hear what she was saying. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just leave?"

"And what about the ghosts?" she continued her thoughts, "they're causing you problems, and it's getting worse."

"Forget about the ghosts. They're not your problem, and you can't help me with them."

"Didn't I help last night?" she replied sharply. "I know it frustrates you, but you need help Tishmy. I've been around you for weeks now, and I've sensed things about you that you are probably unaware of. I see the darkness inside you; the rage below the surface."

It was my turn to look away then. I felt exposed and vulnerable, the very thing I hated. At the same time, I could not argue with her because she was right, and more so, she seemed to care.

"You feel conflicted," she added, "I can sense it."

"Ashara . . ."

"What if I stay?" she thought out loud.

"You can't stay. I told you I'm going into hiding, have no idea what's going to happen, and have no way of protecting myself let alone you."

"Can I help you if I stay?"

"Beep-beep," Pez nodded, and I tried to shoo him away again.

Our eyes met, and she sensed what I did not want to say out loud. Why is she fighting me about this? Why does she care? Those thoughts clouded my mind. I did not want to argue anymore and decided to just force a decision. "The shuttle needs to leave in forty minutes; pack your things and be ready for it."

I marched back to my room and paced out my frustrations. Ashara was being stubborn about things. She was conflicted, just as she sensed I was. The Jedi would have her back, and she wanted to be a Jedi. Even though there were complications with her training, I could not imagine the Jedi rejecting her. That did not feel like a valid excuse. She also seemed to be committed to staying with me, which was irrational. Something else was driving her, and I had a sense it was the Force. After all, I felt that connection too. She might be sensing that Force affinity to me, but it did not seem strong enough motivation to stay. I felt there was something more but could not put my finger on it. Regardless, I had made my decision and told her to pack.

Pushing the confusing thoughts aside, I contacted Andronikos and asked him to arrange a shuttle and to have it land on the roof next to the Intrepid. I checked my com to make sure there was no change in plans from the Jedi and busied myself for a bit to pass time. After another twenty minutes, I went down to the penthouse to make sure Ashara was ready. She was packing as I had asked, and Pez was drifting around her room looking agitated. Ashara did not talk to me and kept avoiding my gaze.

Andronikos walked up and looked in from the hall. "What's going on?"

"Can you help her get her things up to the roof?" I asked him. He nodded, and I left to await the shuttle.

Several minutes later Andronikos appeared with travel boxes and began walking toward me. Ashara and Pez appeared behind him, both hesitating by the stairs. Ashara held a travel bag in her hands as she looked up into the overcast sky. The sound of the shuttle's landing thrusters broke out over the wind and distant traffic noise. I followed her gaze to see the shuttle coming down and watched as it landed beside the Intrepid. The shuttle door opened, and an attendant came down the steps onto the landing platform. I looked back to see that Ashara was not moving and in frustration began marching toward her. Toovee came out of the Intrepid to see what was happening, and I passed him to approach the padawan.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I've changed my mind," she stated timidly.

"You can't change your mind," I argued.

"Why, are you going to force me?"

"Yes."

"You say that, but I sense your feelings; you want me to stay."

"Zwip-beep," Pez nodded in agreement.

"Why are you siding with her?" I snapped at the dumb droid in irritation. Taking a breath to calm myself, I looked into Ashara's eyes and saw that she was resolute about not wanting to leave, but I also saw concern. "I sense conflict in you as well."

"You're right," she replied, looking over my shoulder at the shuttle. "I'm fearful, but I don't want to go."

Andronikos walked up and caught the last of her words. "No, you need to go," he stated.

"I'm not going," she replied.

Andronikos looked at me in frustration before turning back to the padawan. "You belong with them; there's nothing for you here."

Ashara did not answer but turned and walked back down the stairs. Pez chirped and puffed after her.

"Shit," Andronikos spat. "Are you going to do anything about this?"

"There will be other times, I suppose."

"She's acting like a spoiled teen," he grumbled, pinching his worried forehead with his fingers. "What do we do about the shuttle?"

"Toovee," I called to the droid, "I have a task for you."

"Yes master," the droid stepped forward.

I gave the droid instructions to go to the locker and collect Ashara's things, and then travel to the Imperial Sector to have the items scanned and cleared before heading back to the penthouse. When Toovee was aboard and the shuttle lifted off, I grabbed a box of Ashara's things and started carrying it back to her room. Andronikos picked up the rest and followed me.

"You know," Andronikos grumbled from behind me as we entered the kitchen, "I can't handle all this changing of plans." I stopped to look back at him. "This is a shit show right now," he continued, "does anyone have any idea what they're doing?" He was frustrated, and for that matter, I was too. My impulse was to argue back at him but I held my tongue. "Are you running? Am I selling the ships?"

"That was my plan," I replied.

"Was?"

I paused briefly as he stared. "I need more information," I sighed. My eyes drifted down to the mechanical glove on my hand. The plan to run away did not seem so easy now.

"Shit," he mumbled as he shifted around me and headed down the hall with Ashara's things. I followed him and saw Pez thrusting back and forth in front of Ashara's door as if he were standing guard. Andronikos set the case down on the floor and walked away to his room.

"What are you doing?" I snapped at the droid as I walked up. "Open the door."

"Dweep," he shook his frame at me.

"Don't you take that tone with me, or I'll shut you down and use you as a paperweight! Now, open the door!"

Ashara must have heard me and activated the door from inside. We shared an awkward look when the door swished aside, and then I moved into her room and set her box down on the bed. I stood for a moment, wondering what to say. "What did you do to my droid? He seems to be taking your side on everything."

"I didn't do anything," she replied.

"Well, he's a pain in the ass, so you can keep him." I walked out then, not knowing what else to say.

Two hours later my holo-com rang; it was Toovee. "Master, I cannot perform the task you gave me. There are no items in the storage locker, and I have been detained by numerous Jedi."

"Let me speak to them," I replied. The holo-com shifted to show the image of the big Jedi I fought on Taris and several other robed figures. "You didn't expect me to show up with Ashara in person to collect her things, did you?" I asked incredulously.

The big Jedi who fought me, I remembered his padawan calling him Jaren, seemed ready to yell something out but another Jedi spoke first. "I am Master Ocera, Ashara is my padawan. Please, help me settle this without conflict."

"There's nothing to settle, Jedi. My droid is harmless. You can take or destroy it, but that won't help your padawan. Or, you could give my droid the padawan's things, and she will be better for it."

"At least take a moment to negotiate with me. There must be some explanation for your actions," Master Ocera replied calmly.

"I need not explain anything to you."

"Ashara's young and inexperienced," Master Ocera spoke. I could sense the concern for her in his voice. "If it is about the ghost, I might be of greater use to you."

"I'm through talking. Let my droid perform its task or not, I don't care." His comment about the ghost intrigued me but I did not want to continue the conversation any longer.

"This isn't over, Sith!" Jaren raised his fist at me. "We will find you and rescue Ashara."
"I know you, Jedi," I said in a low tone.

"And I you, Lord Kallig," he replied with burning eyes. "You're on Nar Shaddaa, I can feel it. You can't hide from me."

"Believe what you want, Jaren," I spoke his name as confidently as I could, "but we are not on Nar Shaddaa, and the droid is programmed to return to the Imperial Sector, where it will enter a highly secured area and have all of the items scanned for tracking devices. Attempting to follow the droid to our location will be a dangerous and fruitless exercise."

I clicked off the com then, not wanting to further argue with the Jedi, and concerned they might be able to trace the connection. It was a little unsettling to hear the Jedi say he could sense me, and he knew my name. Toovee was told to go to the Imperial Sector first, which should prevent the Jedi from following him, and I also instructed several of my cult followers to track the movements of the Jedi to ensure that they didn't somehow get on my trail. Still, I paced in my room and wondered if I had made us vulnerable by contacting the Jedi.

It took many hours for Toovee to arrive after having the items scanned. I had grown overly cautious about the Jedi and instructed Toovee to board an outbound Imperial lift shuttle, making it appear that he was leaving the planet, before transferring to a freight drop ship bringing goods down close to our location. There were several tracking devices inside the items, but the security team at the Imperial Intelligence office disposed of them. Ashara's things were contained in a medium size travel case, which I took from Toovee when he disembarked the shuttle and brought it to Ashara's room. She was agitated when she took it from me, and I sensed that she was second-guessing her decision, and then second-guessing the guessing.

The case was fairly heavy and tightly packed when she opened it. I noticed numerous pairs of clothes, some shoes, a pair of boots, her Jedi padawan robes, and her personal effects. She was focused on a piece of paper that was on top of her things. It appeared to be a letter, and she began to get emotional, so I left her alone and went back to my room.

I got ready for bed and laid down, feeling like I would have an easier time sleeping because of the cybernetic glove calming my hand, but the ghosts were still active and my worries over the doctor's diagnosis, potential Jedi invasion, and the general fear of what was to come toyed with my mind. More than an hour passed and sleep was eluding me, so I got up and went to the conference room to let the relics drive the ghosts away. Another hour passed and the ghosts were quieter, but for some reason, my soul was worse. That sense of childish fear and panic was fraying me around the edges. Without the spasms and shooting pains, at some point, I managed to fall asleep. While I drifted off, in that half-sleep state, my thoughts grew foggy and I began to sense the familiar presence I felt some days back. It was elusive at first, and I wondered if one of the ghosts was playing tricks, but as I fell into a deeper sleep it came near.

Like a soft, distant sound, a voice came into my mind. My ancestor, Aloysius Kallig, had returned.

Blood of my Blood, what has happened to you?

You gave me horrible advice; I said in my dream.

You strove too hard and are breaking.

Now you blame me for the ghosts.

You told me to collect the ghosts, told me that they would help!

It was the only way; you would not have survived without them.

I can't control them, I complained, they are more harm than good.

I counted you strong enough, and you will be.

Why should I believe that? I don't trust anything you tell me.

Trust the blood that in your veins flows.

Trust the fate that the Force has forged for you.

My arm is ruined and my faith shattered. I don't see any fate but death.

In the relics near,

The power that brought my return,

Will be the same to restore my name.

The relics? Which one . . . how can I use them? You're not helping!

The presence began to fade, and I reached toward it with my mind, only to slip and fall in the mists. That fall echoed into the real world as my body shifted in the conference room chair; jolting me awake. It took me a moment to get my bearings, and I looked around expecting to see the apparition of my ancestor, but he was gone. Talking in riddles! My mind fumed. I hated puzzles, especially in my present condition. My wrist-com showed that it was still early in the morning and I had not slept long or well. Frustrated, I got up and went to the main hold to grab a water and snack. At first, it felt like the dream of my ancestor was a waste of time, but as I continued to think over his words, I grew comforted. He stated that I would have died without the ghosts when Thanaton attacked me, which corroborated what the ghosts themselves said in a dream on Taris. This meant that I could stop what-iffing over the ghosts. Despite how much trouble they were at the moment, I would not be here without them.

My ancestor also said that I was breaking, which was a good description of the way I felt over the last week. It was more than the arm injury or depression. There was something deep inside me that seemed off. It could be related to the dark mass eating my soul, or it could be a change in my Force essence. Either way, it was something I had to fix because it was growing worse. Of course, my ancestor could not provide any clarity on the issue. While I contemplated, I wandered into my room and drank a few gulps of water before opening the snack. Then my thoughts shifted to the artifacts. He had mentioned them, stating that there was power in them, which confirmed my theory about the items helping with the ghosts. After all, it seemed like the relics helped my ancestor coalesce from the ether.

He appeared to be right about those points, so part of me felt I could trust his words about my future. That I would become strong enough and restore his name. It felt fanciful, I mean it was only a dream, but the cloud of hopelessness did not seem so oppressive, and the depression that seemed to hound each of my thoughts had lessened a bit. I looked in the mirror before me while I finished my snack. The figure staring back looked gaunt and weary. There was no spark in my dark eyes, and my hair looked jumbled and frizzy. If there was hope out there somewhere, I had a long way to go and find it. I left the stark reflection that the unforgiving mirror had shown me and crawled into bed. There was some night left, and I needed sleep.