A/N: I almost don't know what to write here. It has been a very long time since I have addressed anyone at the beginning of a chapter. Let me say that being gone this long wasn't what I had intended. I'm not one to make excuses but suffice it to say that I had lost some of my drive as I concluded my MOTS story. I feel like my heart wasn't in it and I kind of felt like a one trick pony, that this was all I could write and I didn't like that feeling. So why is the chapter of a new story here? I have to give credit to two people who recently contacted me, one through Facebook and another through the website.
I won't go into detail about what was written and I don't want to embarrass either of them, but I can honestly say the words of one and the action of another touched me, very deeply. It awakened something within me, a desire that I thought was gone. I have spent the last few days writing and I don't why I stopped. I guess I forgot how fun this was and that, unless I'm completely wrong, there's people out there who have read my work, enjoyed it and want to read more.
So, here we go, friends of old, new friends and those I have yet to meet. I do want to set the expectation that my life is such I may not be able to put a chapter a week as I had done in the past. But I have decided and with your indulgence, I will get through the Jedi Outcast game and we'll see where this story goes. I hope you enjoy and look forward to reading your reviews and comments.
Please excuse the long into. Let's dive in.
Local Space around Coruscant
The Galactic Capital
Shortly after the events on Yavin 4 at the end of MOTS
A world that had been built, literally, on top of itself, the world once known as Imperial Centre was a hive of constant activity, both above and below the atmosphere. Even the ebony black of space could not hide the thousands of twinkling lights and alabaster hulls of ships moving in and around the planet. And just beyond the busy orbital traffic, more craft jumped into or dropped out of hyperspace, maneuvering through religiously maintained traffic lanes before being allowed to leave their orbital paths and cross the terminator between the vacuum of space and the upper reaches of the atmosphere.
With the flicker of pseudo motion briefly blurring the fabric of space, a vessel appeared. But unlike the rest of the traffic around the planet, this ship fired its engines and dove towards the planet, seemingly heedless of the organized pathways being used by the others. This seeming disregard of the rules of polite space travel did not go unnoticed. Aboard one of the massive Golan defense platforms set in geosynchronous orbit around the planet, a controller monitoring the flow of traffic noticed the craft and per proscribed procedure, issued a challenge.
"This is platform A-763 to the vessel at vector 1-47. You are off course and traveling at too high a velocity for approach to Coruscant. Slow your vessel immediately and switch to course 232 mark 1. Please confirm.
The reply that came back was short, curt and nearly emotionless. A code was provided that made the controller's eyes widen. The meaning of the code was clear, but not she had ever expected to hear.
"Lieutenant?"
"What's up?" the supervisors said, moving to stand just behind the controller.
"Sir, my sensors are showing a vessel off course and approaching the planet at a high velocity. I contacted the pilot to warn them off and was given the following code."
The man leaned forward a bit to study the controller's screen, then raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Have you confirmed it?"
"Yes, sir," the controller replied, nodding, "it checks out."
"Then let it go."
"Sir?"
"You saw the code, Vranix. That vessel has ultraviolet level clearance, meaning it has priority over everything else in the sky. Let it go."
The controller hesitated a moment before shrugging.
"Yes, sir."
While the controller wasn't about to disobey an order, she couldn't help but wonder just who was flying that ship that rated such deference.
"Platform A-763 to the vessel at vector 1-47. Ignore previous orders. Proceed at your discretion."
"Thank you," the voice of the pilot responded, but there was nothing in the response to indicate actual gratitude.
The controller's attention was soon taken away from the mysterious ship as a new signal appeared on her screen.
Aboard the ship
Closing the channel with a single, sharp gesture, the pilot reseated an already tight grip on the controls, making the control column creak a little. As the surface of the planet filled the windscreen, one hand left the control column to advance the throttles another notch. The same hand returned to the stick as the pilot pushed the stick forward, increasing the rate of descent.
Slicing into the upper atmosphere, the nose and outer edges of the ship began to redden and glow as the thicker air met the hull. But even as temperature alarms began to go off inside the cockpit, the pilot increased speed even more, not seeming to care about the possibility of damaging the ship.
"You better still be here," the pilot muttered.
Reacting to the buffeting as the craft encountered thicker air, the pilot reluctantly pulled back on the throttles, slowing the descent. Buildings began to come into focus through thick clouds surrounding the city on this day. The pilot's eyes searched for and, finding the one she was looking for, angled the ship towards it.
You had better be there. You had just better.
One Week Earlier
Even though it possessed one of the most advanced weather control systems in the galaxy, rain still came to Coruscant at times, seemingly unaware that it was defying the concerted efforts of several skilled atmospheric programmers to control it.
Then again, no one ever said the so-called natural world always acted naturally.
On this day, a large thunderstorm had cast its shadow over a large portion of the western hemisphere, including the block of buildings belonging to the headquarters of the New Republic. Flashes of lightning cast the structures in sharp relief, starkly illuminating the windows before fading, letting shadows resume their place. Thunder rolled and rumbled between the permacrete canyons as rain slashed across the faces of the edifices.
Into this cacophony of light and sound, a New Republic shuttle diverged from the constantly flowing air traffic and descended towards an exposed landing platform jutting out into the open air.
Aboard, the sole passenger looked out of the single viewport and smiled wanly.
Rain, he thought, how appropriate.
Despite the buffeting of the winds threatening to upset the craft, the pilot skillfully guided the Lambda-class shuttle to the landing platform, the long wings moving from their flight configuration to a nearly vertical one. The landing skids extended, and the vessel touched down with only a modest bump. The passenger was already unstrapping as the pilot began the shutdown process. Seeing what the passenger was doing, he spoke.
"Sir, I'd really prefer it if you'd wait a moment. It's a maelstrom out there and I don't think…"
The passenger held up a hand.
"It'll be fine."
The pilot hesitated; he had his orders. But he'd also been told he was transporting a VIP. He felt as if he were treading a fine line between disobeying his orders and offending the passenger. Neither prospect looked good for this career.
"Please sir, I can't just let you go out into that. Let me call an escort, it'll only take…"
The passenger, seemingly ignoring the protest, reached forward and keyed the shuttle landing ramp. Beneath where the pair were seated, the landing ramp unlocked and slid smoothly down until the end of it touched the surface of the platform. The passenger rose and moved to the cockpit door, opening it. Almost instantly, the sound of the storm outside invaded the interior of the shuttle, a loud crash of thunder echoing.
The passenger moved through the hatch, the pilot only a step or two behind him. Fighting to come up with something, some word of warning or concern, the pilot watched as the passenger moved down the ramp, stopping near the bottom of it. The wind grabbed at the trench coat he was wearing, revealing the black jumpsuit underneath.
"Sir! Please come back! It's dangerous out there."
The pilot felt a wave of fear as the passenger turned towards him. He hadn't meant to shout but had felt it necessary due to the volume of the storm.
That's it, he thought, goodbye career.
But as the passenger turned to look at the pilot, it was without a look of anger or consternation. He lifted a hand.
"Thanks for the ride."
And with that, the passenger moved forward into the storm, walking almost casually, not even pausing to look as a flash of lighting illuminated the platform.
The pilot watched this in open-mouthed shock. It wasn't until a fresh clap of thunder and a gust of wind driven rain hitting him in the face that he was shaken from his musing. He quickly retreated inside the shuttle, returning to the boarding ramp and closing the ramp to keep any more rain from getting in.
He looked out at the rain-slashed windscreen at the platform and building across the way.
How did he do that?
The pilot double checked his instruments to confirm.
The wind is gusting at almost 9 knots out there.
Shaking his head once more, the pilot reminded himself of part of the duty he was to perform. The transport and delivery had been accomplished. Just one more thing to take care of. He accessed the communication apparatus, dialed in the frequency he'd been given and spoke aloud.
"New Republic HQ, this is shuttle Theta 5 reporting in."
There was a moment's pause before a voice responded.
"Acknowledged, Theta 5. We have confirmed your arrival. Your passenger is free to disembark."
The pilot's teeth ground together, his mind racing. What should he say?
Deciding to obey an axiom from his youth about always telling the truth, he replied to the inquiry."
"I'm afraid the passenger has already disembarked. I asked him to wait, especially given the storm outside, but he proceeded anyway."
The pause was longer this time, each second feeling like it took a small eternity to pass.
"Confirmed, Theta 5. We have made contact with the passenger. Thank you for delivering him. You may lift off and return to base at your discretion. New Republic HQ out."
The pilot breathed a sigh of relief as the channel closed. He wasn't sure how, but it seemed he'd dodged a bullet. His career was still intact.
Despite the pounding rain outside and gusting winds, the pilot was able to safely lift off and climbed into the atmosphere. The shuttle was buffeted once or twice, but the pilot was able to recover and gave another relaxed sigh when the shuttle safely exited the atmosphere into space. Activating the hyperspace computer, he typed in the coordinates for his base. The computer acknowledged them and confirmed the ship was ready for light speed. The pilot advanced the hyperspace lever and with a flicker of pseudo motion, the shuttle shot forward, disappearing from sight.
New Republic Headquarters
Landing Pad Entrance
The man waited only a short time inside the small vestibule inside the entryway before two uniformed guards came towards him.
Though both were professional soldiers that had seen their share of combat, they slowed their approach as the man came into view.
"Is that him?" one whispered to the other.
"It's supposed to be," the other hissed in reply, "but it sure doesn't look like him."
Indeed, the figure before them looked nothing like what they had expected when they'd been ordered to provide an escort to. The trench coat he was wearing had fallen open to reveal a black jumpsuit so rumpled and worn it appeared as if the man had been living in it. A long, scraggly, beard of gray and white covered the lower half of the man's face and made him look decades older than his actual age. Hair that had once been brown and well kept now was shot through with gray and stuck out in all directions. His eyes, which had been bright, sharp orbs of soft brown no longer sparkled and looked out from half-lidded lashes.
"What'd he do?" asked the first guard, the beginnings of a frown appearing on his face, "walk through the rain? He's soaked."
The second guard gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. He'd been expecting to see a hero, not this. Still, orders were orders.
"Sir?" the second guard said as the stopped a few steps away from the man. "We're here to escort you to the audience chamber."
The man's head turned only slightly, his eyes taking in the two men for a moment, then looking away.
"Sir," the first guard said, "if you'll come with us, we can see about getting you some dry clothes."
The man lifted a hand, giving a dismissive wave.
"Got a towel?"
The guards hesitated, neither one sure what to say. Finally, the second guard replied.
"I'm sure we can find you one, sir."
He gestured down the hall.
"If you'll come with us?"
The chair the man was sitting on creaked slightly as he stood up, water dripping off of him.
"Sure."
The first guard gestured and the man, seeming to understand, took a few steps forward, following the first guard, the second guard falling in behind.
They had gone only a short distance when the man snickered.
"I'm not armed, in case you're wondering."
The first guard turned to look over his shoulder.
"We know, sir. The weapons scan when you entered the building would have alerted us."
A brief smile crossed the man's features.
Of course they knew.
As the trio continued down the hall, a cleaning droid appeared from an alcove and began wiping the water spilling off the man's clothes.
No further words were exchanged until the small group stopped in front of a doorway. A sign just above the door controls read, "Audience Chamber." Below this was a lighted panel showing the words, "In Use."
The guards moved to stand on either side of the door as the man stopped in front of the door. The first guard spoke into his headset mike.
"Ma'am? Your guest is here."
An acknowledgement came back, followed by the twin's door sliding apart. The man looked but couldn't see much. The room was dimly lit.
"You can go in, sir," the second guard said.
Not acknowledging the comment, the man stepped forward into the room, the doors sliding shut.
The guards stayed in place for a moment longer before the second one spoke.
"If that really is him. I wonder what he's doing here."
"Not our business," the first guard said.
He gestured for the second guard to follow him.
"C'mon, let's report in."
The second guard nodded and followed him.
New Republic Headquarters
Audience Chamber
The man's footsteps slowed as he entered the chamber, his eyes taking in the space. It was familiar and strange all at once. It had been a long time since he'd last been here.
His eyes caught the circular table in the center of the room and the single figure seated there. Before, seeing this person would have been a pleasant experience, seeing someone he considered, if not a friend, someone he could trust. Now, he wasn't so sure.
At least he wasn't dripping anymore. A colorless membrane incorporated into the door had brushed over his clothes, removing every vestige of moisture. Despite being dry, he didn't feel any better.
"Would you care to have a seat?" the figure at the table asked.
The man didn't give voice to the first response that came to his mind, a rather sarcastic response. But no, trying to be amusing would only make this harder.
"Yes, thank you," he answered, moving towards the table. He pulled out a chair as far away from the figure as he could, sitting down.
The eyes that gazed at him had once been so kind, the irises a pale blue green that danced with the light. Now those same eyes were looking at him with something between anger and sadness.
"I appreciate you responding to my summons."
Not like I had a choice.
"Mind if I ask you a question?"
"Of course," she replied.
"Who told you?"
He thought she would perhaps refuse to answer. Instead, he got an immediate response.
"I received a number of reports from different sources. Most recently, from the Jedi Academy."
Skywalker.
"I must admit, I was most surprised at first. I honestly didn't want to believe it. But after reading the details of the latest report… Let us say I am convinced now."
I'll bet.
"I have to say I am most… disappointed by what I have learned. I would have never thought it possible of you."
"Neither would I," he replied.
"Are you attempting to deny these reports?" she asked pointedly.
He bit back another sarcastic response.
"No, I'm not," he managed to say, keeping his voice even, "it's true. All of it."
"I apologize, but I must ask this next question. Am I in any danger with you in this room?"
He couldn't help but snort derisively.
"No ma'am" he replied, "you're perfectly safe. As I told your guards, I'm unarmed."
"That doesn't answer my question."
He shook his head.
"As far as that goes, you have nothing to worry about."
To emphasize his point, the man lifted his hand, gesturing at the cup in front of the woman.
Several seconds passed in which the cup did not move.
"So, it is true," she observed.
He nodded.
"Just a normal person," he said.
The eyes that had been looking at him in curiosity changed, a mix of curiosity and sympathy.
"What happened to you, Kyle? Even with all the evidence I have, I still find this hard to believe."
The former Jedi Master and teacher shrugged, then shook his head.
"It's… difficult to explain," he said, "so much happened."
"I've gathered that," said Mon Mothma, "but I fail to understand how one of my most trusted operatives could have fallen so far. The things I've heard about you, the things you were planning, the things you did…"
"I don't know what to tell you."
The sympathetic eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a piercing gaze that he wanted to look away from, but could not.
"That is simply not good enough, Kyle. I want an explanation. As Jan might say were she here, 'Spill it, Katarn.'"
He started to shake his head.
"I don't think…"
"I don't very much care what you think, Kyle. Understand that this is not a conversation. Either you tell me what happened to you, or I summon the guards to take you to detention."
"Detention?" he asked in surprise.
"Or prison," she said, "the names are different but mean very much the same thing."
"I assume I don't have a choice," he said.
"Of course you have a choice," she replied, "Tell me what happened or head off prison. Which would you prefer?"
It wasn't exactly a hard choice.
'It's not an easy story," he said, "or a short one."
"I have time," Mon Mothma replied, "and I would imagine you do too."
She pressed a control on the table mounted padd.
The doors to the chamber opened a few moments later to admit a humanoid service droid.
"How may I serve you, Mon Mothma?" it asked.
"Refreshments please," she replied, "for me and my guest. Oh, and lock the doors when you are finished and change the display to show 'Private'".
"Of course," the droid replied succinctly, "it will be just a few minutes."
It turned and left the room, the door sliding shut and the lock engaging.
"Well?" she asked.
Kyle took a deep breath.
"Things started going weird after Mara and I dealt with the Imperial Remnant forces on Altyr 5. I heard a voice calling me, asking for my help.
"A voice?" Mon Mothma asked, "Was it recognizable?"
Kyle shook his head.
"No, I didn't recognize it. It sounded like a man, but that was about it."
"Mara reported the voice almost seemed to… plague you."
"She wasn't wrong," Kyle said, "I tried to ignore it, but that only seemed to make it get louder, more insistent. It honestly seemed to need help."
"I understand the two of you parted company shortly after that."
Kyle nodded.
"I felt Mara had learned all she could from me by then. Plus, the New Republic needed her services and I… I told her I felt as if I had to investigate the source of the voice, like I had no other choice."
He shook his head, a wan smile coming to his face.
"Mara tried to convince me otherwise, but I wouldn't listen. If I'd listened to her, maybe you and I wouldn't be having this conversation now or the voice would've driven me nuts."
"Dwelling on what you might have done is a waste of time. Continue."
Kyle's next words were cut off as the droid returned, carrying a tray.
"Your refreshments," it said, setting the tray down on the table.
"Thank you," Mon Mothma said.
"You're welcome," the droid said, turning and exiting the room.
Waiting until the doors had opened and closed once more, Kyle continued.
New Republic Headquarters
Audience Chamber
3 days later
Kyle took a long pull from the cup in his hand.
How long had he been talking? It felt like forever. Mon Mothma had been relentless. Kind and polite when needed, but relentless, offering not the slightest quarter.
"It was because Mara refused to fight that you were defeated?"
Kyle nodded.
"I kept waiting. I was so sure she would. I had my lightsaber at her neck. The slightest twitch and I would have killed her. But she refused and, in that moment, I couldn't do it."
"Why?"
"I just couldn't."
"I do not believe you. After all else that you described, I find it impossible to believe you refused to react because you just 'couldn't.'"
"I…" he shook his head, "you won't believe me."
"That is my determination to make, Kyle. Now answer my question."
"He tried to look away, closing his eyes. But when he opened them, that piercing gaze was still there. He couldn't ignore it.
"I saw… visions."
"Of what?"
"People,"" he replied, "friends, family, you,
He hesitated a moment, "I saw Jan when Jerec told me to end her life. The look on her face. She was pleading with me and I…"
"Yes?"
He released the cup and slammed the table, the sound echoing in the space.
"I couldn't do it, all right?! I couldn't kill her! I couldn't kill someone who means so much to me. The voice inside my screamed at me to do it, but I couldn't do it!
His voice almost cracked. When he next spoke, his voice was lower.
"I told Mara I couldn't kill my friends and allies. It was at that moment, I realized I'd lost. The strength went out of me, and I fell to my knees, dropping my lightsaber. Mara could have killed me in that moment, and I wouldn't have been able to stop her. I almost wish she had."
Silence reigned in the room for several moments.
"But she did not."
"No," Kyle replied, "no, she didn't. Even after all that I'd done, she'd come to save me. I laughed and said that I guessed that made her the master and me the student. She told me I should be so lucky. We left the temple shortly and headed off planet."
"Mara reported something nearly happed aboard her ship."
Kyle didn't want to talk about this. But after everything else he'd told Mon Mothma, what did it matter anymore?"
"Yes," he replied, proceeding to relay the events aboard Mara's ship when the Dark Side had made one last attempt to convince him to follow its ways.
"It was the lightsaber. I don't how I didn't see it before."
"The lightsaber?"
He nodded. "It belonged to that Dark Jedi, Yuun. Even though he died defending me and I took up his saber, keeping it was a horrible mistake."
"Because it belonged to a Dark Jedi?"
"Right," he replied, "even though I took possession of it and used it as my own, the lightsaber was corrupt. The crystal inside was poisonous and while it took a long time, that poison infected me, leading me down the road to the Dark Side."
"I understand from Master Skywalker it was destroyed."
"In the Jedi temple on Yavin 4. Jan and Mara had to hold me down. Even at the end, when Skywalker destroyed it, the Dark Side in me reacted even stronger than ever. When I think of what I said and nearly did…"
Kyle's body shuddered with fearful remembrance.
"So am I to believe that once the lightsaber was destroyed, you returned to normal."
Kyle was quickly growing tired of this game. He'd been telling the truth all along, what reason did he have to lie? A part of him understood Mon Mothma was suspicious and for good reason, but that suspicion was wearing on him.
"Believe what you want," he said sarcastically, "and I wouldn't exactly call it normal, but yes. I was and am free of the Dark Side."
Mon Mothma was silent for a moment, then with a nod, she spoke.
"All right, but what of the incident Master Skywalker told me of involving you and some students. I understand one was severely injured."
"As I told Skywalker, that was not my fault," Kyle replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone.
"The report indicates…"
"It…was…not…my…fault," Kyle said, feeling his annoyance turning to anger. "Why don't you try asking Skywalker why he allowed me to build a new lightsaber only to take it away from me?"
"I noticed you no longer carry one."
"No, no I don't," he replied, "it's somewhere in the Jedi Temple. For all I know, Skywalker's given it to someone else."
"I sincerely doubt he would do that, "Mon Mothma replied derisively, "Luke Skywalker is not a capricious person.
She's right, Kyle admitted to himself.
"It is the most recent report I received from Yavin 4 that has me the most curious. I see that you no longer have the ability to use the Force, but what I do not understand is how."
"I just did," he replied, "I don't need it anymore."
Mon Mothma responded by staring at him, not saying anything.
The two held each other's gazes until Kyle relented.
"All right," he said, "There was a text in the library of the temple. It discussed how a Jedi from the distant past cut off another one from the Force. Whoever had written it had done a lot of research to understand if it was even possible."
" Apparently it is, given your condition."
Kyle nodded. "It's difficult to explain exactly how. I just sort of turned it off."
"You turned it off? she said in consternation.
"It's hard to put it into words," he said, gesturing, "it's like... I closed a door in my mind. And when I closed, I couldn't feel the Force anymore."
Mon Mothma gave him a disbelieving look, but shortly relented. "If I wasn't seeing it for myself, I don't think would believe it."
"Jan said something like that," Kyle replied.
" All right then," she said, "but how is it I find you in this sorry state, Kyle? I normally avoid crass terms, but you look like hell. I understand you were planning on returning to your life as a mercenary."
"I was."
"Then explain to me what happened. I don't normally find a former operative of mine arrested and jailed for a drunken brawl in a cantina."
Kyle gave an exasperated sigh.
"I wasn't trying to cause trouble. I went there for a quiet drink. This Rodian figured out who I was and proceeded to tell everyone in the bar."
"I hardly think being recognized in a public establishment would be cause for what happened."
"Maybe I had one too many, "Kyle admitted, "it helps me to forget… things. Once I realized an impromptu fan club was assembling, I tried to exit the place without making a fuss. But there's always one, some fool who's drank too much to have any common sense. The guy approaches me, trying to act all tough and saying how he didn't think I looked like much. You've seen the type."
"And your response?"
"I didn't start the fight," Kyle said defensively, "I offered to buy the guy a drink and when that didn't work, I told him he could think what he wanted and tried to leave. Next thing I know, he swings on me. I didn't see it in time."
"And that's when the fight started?"
"Well not until he spilled a drink all over me. I may not have been in the best of shape, but Imperial training doesn't exactly go away, even when you get older."
"Apparently the authorities found you under the watchful eye of the bartender with two unconscious bodies on the floor."
Kyle shrugged. "You can't exactly argue with a blaster pointed at your head. I'm guessing you sent the orders to spring me."
Mon Mothma nodded. "After the authorities contacted me and relayed who they had in custody. I had some difficulty believing their report, but now I see it was all true."
"As I said, I wasn't there looking for a fight."
Mon Mothma nodded. "I appreciate you explaining it to me as well as everything else. I know it wasn't comfortable."
Kyle didn't respond to her comment.
"So, what happens now?"
"I would say that is my question to you," Mon Mothma replied.
Kyle thought for a moment before shrugging in response. "Guess I'll try and look for some work. It hasn't exactly been easy."
"Oh? I always thought there was a need for good mercenaries."
"You'd think so, but it hasn't exactly been that way for me."
Mon Mothma gave him a curious look.
"Oh c'mon," Kyle said sarcastically, "you heard what happened. I don't exactly have the best reputation out there right now. Not many people are willing to hire a former Jedi turned Dark Sider who use to work for the New Republic."
"To use another phrase of Jan's, I would say that is your problem."
She paused for a moment.
"Unless… you're asking to come back under New Republic ranks."
Kyle gave her a wide-eyed stare, his voice barking with laughter.
"Are you nuts? You really think I'd come back to work for you? Not much chance of that. I like being independent."
If his words had any effect on her, she gave no sign.
"You can't deny we once had a good working relationship."
"That was before," he said.
"Kyle, are you attempting to ask me something?"
He'd been about to. If he could somehow find a way to get her help without coming under the auspices of the New Republic…
It's not gonna work.
"Just curious if we were done here."
"I believe we are," Mon Mothma said, pressing a button on the control padd before her "you've told me all I needed to know. Thank you for that."
I didn't exactly have much choice, he thought but did not say.
"And yes, I would say we're done here," she answered. The twin doors to the room opened and for a moment, Kyle felt relief. He was going to leave here. As far as what would happen next, he'd figure that out. But his relief was short lived as a pair of guards entered the room, making their way towards him.
"Wait a second, what are they doing here?" he asked accusingly.
Mon Mothma spoke matter of factly. "You still have a pending charge of being inebriated in a public space as well as assault. Or had you forgotten that?"
"But I thought that was taken care of. We had a deal."
"Did we?" Mon Mothma replied with a surprised look on her face, "I don't recall discussing a deal with you."
"You know what I mean," Kyle said, "I did what you asked. I told you everything."
"And I have thanked you for that, Kyle. But that doesn't change the present circumstances."
She turned to the guards, gesturing at Kyle.
"Please take him to a detention cell."
The guards acknowledged the order. One reached for Kyle while the other removed his blaster from a hip mounted holster.
"Sir, if you'll come with us, please."
Kyle rose to his feet, pulling away.
"Don't touch me."
"Sir please," the guard said patiently, "you need to come with us."
"Like hell I will," Kyle said, moving into a fighting stance. So focused was he on the guards, he didn't see the signal from Mon Mothma.
A moment later, a stun bolt lanced out from the second guard's weapon, enveloping him.
Muscles going limp, Kyle felt himself falling, losing consciousness. The last sight he saw was Mon Mothma staring stoically at him.
I never should have trusted her, was the last thought that flew across his mind.
As Kyle collapsed from the effects of the stun bolt, the first guard reached out, keeping him from falling to the floor.
The second guard holstered his weapon before speaking.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't want to do that."
Mon Mothma shook her head.
"I understand," she said, "he left you little choice."
"We'll get him to detention right away," said the first guard, holding the unconscious Kyle.
"Please do," she replied, "and… exercise care with him. He has been through a great deal. I don't wish to add to his suffering.
"Yes ma'am," the first guard said, and with help from the second one, they carried Kyle from the room.
Mon Mothma watched them go silently, then reached for the table-mounted padd, pressing a button.
"Communications," came a voice, "Commander Zevin here."
"This is Mon Mothma. I need to send a communique right away."
"Of course," the Commander replied, "may I ask to whom?"
Mon Mothma gave the name and relayed the message.
"Please send this with highest priority," she asked.
"Of course," the Commander responded, "right away."
Closing the channel, Mon Mothma looked to the doors to the room once more, saying a silent prayer.
New Republic HQ
Detention Center
About an hour later
Kyle woke slowly, his body sluggish from the effects of the stun bolt. Sitting up slowly, he reached for his head, which ached the most.
Blasted stun bolts always give me a headache.
As his senses gradually came back to him, he took in the space around him. The uniform gray of a detention cell. He was sitting on a surprisingly cushioned cot. A small privy adorned one corner of the room, otherwise the space was featureless. He looked about and managed to locate the security camera set in one corner of the walls. He was certainly under surveillance.
As if to confirm his thought, the door to his cell opened admitting two guards, one with a drawn blaster.
"How are you feeling?"
"How do you think?" Kyle said, "like a guy who got shot with a stun bolt."
The guard didn't react to the jibe, instead extending one hand.
"I don't suppose you'd be interested in these," he said.
Kyle looked, seeing two round tablets in the man's hand.
"What's that?"
"Something to help you feel better," the guard said, "courtesy of Mon Mothma. of course, If you don't want them…"
A sarcastic response rose in his throat, but Kyle swallowed it.
"I want them," he said, adding after a moment, "please."
"All right then," the guard said, slowly advancing, "don't try anything, all right?"
Kyle nodded, holding out his own hand as the guard dropped the tablets into it.
He studied the tablets for a moment, then popped them into his mouth.
With his other hand, the guard held out a cup that Kyle took, the wonderfully cool water helping him swallow the tablets.
"Thanks," he said, "any idea how long I'm in here for?"
"Not our decision," the guard answered, turning away, and leaving the room.
Great, Kyle thought, well, at least things can't get any worse.
New Republic HQ
Landing Pad Entrance
Present Day
Killing the thrusters and simultaneously engaging the repulsors, the pilot yanked the nose of the craft skyward, looking to kill its momentum. More alarms went off and for one fleeting moment, the ship threatened to go out of control. But the pilot kept a steady hand on the controls, adjusting the power systems. The ship began to calm down and with its forward momentum arrested, descended smoothly. The landing skids extended, and the ship touched down with only a small bounce from the landing struts.
The pilot deactivated the repulsors and began shutting down systems. Once the computer confirmed shutdown was successful, the pilot unstrapped from the acceleration harness and exited the ship, moving towards the ship with measured steps. The door slid open to reveal the vestibule and guard station. The officer sitting there looked up casually, then with a start, quickly rose to his feet and saluted.
"C-Commander! Excuse me, I didn't receive word you were here."
The pilot dismissed the comment with a wave of the hand.
"Where's Mon Mothma? I need to speak to her immediately."
"She is currently occupied, Commander. I can try and get a message to her, but…"
The pilot interrupted, giving the same code as had been given to the orbital platform.
Recognizing the code, the officer reacted briskly.
"Of course, Commander, it will take just a moment. If you'd like to have a seat…"
"Lieutenant," the pilot interrupted again, "you know who I am, correct?"
The officer nodded.
"I'm not here on a social call. Now, get Mon Mothma."
Normally, the office wouldn't have tolerated such rudeness, but given who this was and the code that was provided…
"Right away, Commander," the officer said, turning to the console.
New Republic HQ
Audience Chamber
A Few Minutes Later
Mon Mothma looked up from the report she was reviewing when the doors to the room parted, admitting the pilot, who walked to the table, stopping near one of the chairs.
"I got your message."
"Thank you for responding so quickly," Mon Mothma said, gesturing, "please have a seat."
The pilot looked uncomfortable but pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Is he here?"
"If you're referring to Kyle, then yes, he is, in detention."
The pilot looked to the ceiling of the room for a moment, then met Mon Mothma's eyes once more with a look of exasperation.
"What'd he do now?"
Mon Mothma relayed the events that had brought Kyle to Coruscant. The pilot listened patiently but gave a snort of derision at the end.
"I swear. I go away for a few days to take care of some business and he lands himself in the brig. He didn't kill anyone, did he?"
"Fortunately, not, Mon Mothma said, "although I dare say the individuals who accosted him will hopefully reflect upon their actions before trying something like that action. In any case, the charges against him have been taken care of."
"So why is he in detention then?"
"May I assume you're aware of what happened to him prior to this recent event?"
The pilot nodded. "I was there. I'm guessing he told you."
Mon Mothma nodded. "Such a tale. It is almost too incredible to be believed."
"Sooooo," the pilot said, "there's no charges against him, but he's in detention and you've summoned me. Where do things go from here?"
"As I told Kyle, that is up to him. Although perhaps I should ask you what his intentions are."
"How should I know?" the pilot said, waving a hand in the air, "I don't think he even knows."
"I understand he's attempted to return to his mercenary ways."
"He's tried, but it hasn't worked out too well so far. People don't exactly trust him anymore."
"And what about you?" Mon Mothma asked, "do you trust him?"
The plot considered a moment before answering.
"The Kyle I knew before all this happened? Absolutely. Now…I'm not sure. I don't think he even trusts himself anymore."
"Well, that leaves me in a bit of quandary," Mon Mothma said, "I can keep him in detention, but only for so long."
Neither of them said a word for several moments.
"Skywalker says there's still good in him."
Mon Mothma nodded, "I heard that as well. I did offer to let him come work for me again.
"What'd he say?" the pilot asked.
"He flatly refused."
The pilot gave a derisive shake of the head.
"He's just burning bridges everywhere."
"It would seem so," Mon Mothma replied. "That brings us back to the question of how to proceed.