Chapter 65
"Stop fidgeting, Korkie."
"Yes, auntie," he said, automatically adopting the posture hammered into him by what felt like hundreds of hours of physical training.
She gave him a brief stern look over the shoulder from the controls of the Kom'rk fighter-transport, before smiling in approval and returning her attention to the rapidly approaching moon of Concordia.
Every minute that brought the moon closer made his stomach more unsettled and a building tension shot up and down his spine. He was constantly working on the techniques to manage it that had been taught to him by his aunt and others, but it was a constant battle that he feared he would never master.
Everything just had to go well on this trip.
He put on his helmet and started to tap into the controls on his vambrace. He was still trying to find a style of HUD and configuration that felt right, but even after months since he'd been given this beskar'gam, he was still fine tuning it. He knew he was probably just doing it now to keep himself busy and not think about-
He barely held in a sigh that would be audible to Auntie Bo.
"Korkie, relax. You'd think I was flying you to your execution."
"Yes, auntie," he replied shortly. He really didn't feel like he was up to any extended conversation at the moment. She could always read him like a novel, even when he was completely covered in beskar'gam. She could do it to anyone and he knew she wasn't skilled in the Force. It was just sheer experience on her side.
He decided to distract himself by bringing forth one of his favorite treatises from the Prefsbelt Academy to be displayed on his HUD.
It talked about leadership in general, not just in times of war. In fact, the treatise stated that war was a permanent state of condition for sentient life. It was just that the form of 'war' could change and could act at different levels of society and life. War was not just 'the firing of blaster large and small', it was not just the taking of life and killing, commanding starships to destroy others; it was also the cunning stratagem that would see you promoted over your rivals at a company, it was an adolescent deceiving his bully, in so doing to get him in trouble and cause his downfall. The treatise kept going on with its examples of 'war' from different points of view at every age and situation. It even redefined the term 'war' itself.
At first, when he had read it, he couldn't imagine how one could live life in this way. Thinking that everyone around you was actually at 'war', but then the treatise continued, as if the author had known what the reader would be thinking at this point.
"The thinking that sentient life in all its forms across the galaxy is 'above' or 'separated' from the struggle of existence is delusion. Two animalistic rancors fighting over a mate is no different at its essence from two suitors vying for the affection of a woman or whatever is equivalent for the reproductive process of any starfaring species. They are 'at war' and the conflict will determine who succeeds and who fails. In the same way, nations who want or need the same resources, planets, people, will be 'at war', openly or covertly to achieve their own interests.
"There will be those who want to deny this. Who refuse to see this and think themselves above mere animals. Who think that 'peace' in all its forms should be striven for. That there should be a utopia where everyone will have everything and no conflict will be necessary. It is a dangerous delusion. The nation which turns their swords and knives into plows, will be seen as weak and easy to conquer by its neighbors. It might be an ancient example, but put it in a modern context. The world who can't protect its own citizens and spacelanes from pirates and criminals. What right does such a world have to those citizens' allegiance or taxes?
"Let's put it even in a greater pragmatic example. Imagine a new race or even a federation of races, comes out of the maelstrom of the Unknown Regions in the west of the galaxy. They have a method of faster than light travel superior to hyperspace. Having survived the rigors of civilizational adolescence and not destroying themselves, having overcome the rigors of the Unknown Regions; they are by nature, distrustful, powerful and have superior technology. They see a peaceful, utopian Republic, that had last fought a war a thousand years ago, utterly unable to resist meaningfully. What would their reaction be?
"There is an ancient saying; there is always a bigger fish. The same is true on the scale of civilizations. Ask any historian who studies the matter. Civilizations who are extinct today, become so invariably because they fall into a stagnation. They fight their enemies and seek to end conflict, then they do so. They achieve 'peace' and then fall into 'corruption'. They deny the struggle, in doing so they eschew the impetus to grow, they therefore deny life. Is it any surprise then that all we find of these civilizations is their dust and the bones of their ancient buildings?
"Others will argue that the Republic has endured for just under twenty-five thousand years, while they point to other extinct civilizations who barely reached five thousand. Surely then the Republic has stood the test of time? Its model for civilization has endured. This author retorts by asking the question for how long of those 25 millennia was the Republic truly 'at peace'?"
The treatise continued, further highlighting more examples, until it reached the true point of it. Leadership and war was of vital importance to any civilization. It was the mind and fist of a people, government, or state. It could have the largest, most powerful fighting force in the galaxy, 'a strong fist', but if its leadership and will was inept or corrupt then its enemies could defeat it.
"About to land," Auntie Bo's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he quickly dismissed the treatise from his HUD.
The Kom'rk lifted its wings into the upward landing position and touched down on the starship landing pads of Clan Vizsla.
"Now, Korkie, remember, she's a Jedi. Don't think for one moment she is unaware of any intentions or feelings you have. I know her well enough by now, that she'll be pragmatic about it."
He felt his stomach twisting in nerves anew, but nodded, "I understand, auntie Bo."
She stood from the pilot seat and gave him an intense look, "You're a representative of your House first, act accordingly, Korkie. Think with your brain and we'll not have to worry."
He could only nod and she patted him hard on the shoulder in encouragement before heading out of the cockpit.
When they descended in the crew access elevator to step foot on Concordian soil it was to be met not by some stern Clan Vizsla warrior or even the governor, but a tall, thin woman, clad in Vizsla colors but wearing a form of tight fitting body glove and carrying a beskar spear, which she held by her side, as if she was barring their way. Her face was stern, implacable and slightly sweaty. It took a moment for Korkie to recognize this was the Concordian governor's wife, Oba.
"Welcome Bo-Katan Kryze to Clan Vizsla," Oba said formally.
"Thank you, Su'Aliit Vizsla," Bo-Katan said, before both bowed slightly to each other.
"You are welcome and under protection as guests of the clan. No blade or spear will fall on you."
"Your generosity and protection is accepted. This is my nephew, Apprentice Kryze, who has come to learn from the Blades."
"They do grow up, don't they," Oba suddenly smiled, "Now that the stuffy formalities are out of the way and handled. Come here, Bo." Both women embraced and laughed, patting each other's back as clear friends. "So how long can you stay?" she asked after they separated.
"Not long, unfortunately. Satine is ever in danger of stepping on toes and I have to temper her, lest we undo all the hard work of your Manda'lor."
"Honestly," Oba sighed. "Had you just been born first in your House, so much would be different."
"Yes, it would. Now what are you up to? Getting back in shape?"
"There's a war and I have four children to protect, I will not shirk my duty in defending this moon. I don't need to tell you that if the Republic front line at Botajef falls, the Mandalore sector will be wide open to the enemy."
"Oh, and how is it sparring with the Mandalorian Jedi?"
"Not easy. Say what you will about Jedi, but they wield those lightsabers as well as ever. We have to fight with beskar spears for things to be more even and I've even managed to teach her a few things."
"Can sometimes be hard to imagine that she's actually just a padawan at the end of the day. Have you thought of what it would be like to spar with her master?"
"No, but good idea, I'll ask her if it can be arranged," Oba said with eagerness.
"Is that a bit of the old Oba battle lust I'm seeing?" Bo asked teasingly.
"I'm a Mandalorian after all," she grinned. "It's very welcome and satisfying to be this active after four children. Speaking of, when are you going to do your duty?"
"Now where am I going to find the time?" Bo retorted, folding her arms and glaring with good nature at her friend.
"How interesting, so there is someone you have in mind."
"Let's get my poor nephew to his destination before we make him die of awkwardness," Auntie Bo pushed and turned her friend around. Korkie couldn't be more thankful at that moment. He'd been cringing in horror at the idea of his aunt…
Oba led them in the short walk towards the main house of the estate. From there it was just a few flights of stairs down into a sublevel to reach what was clearly the Vizsla idea of a training room.
He heard the distinctive buzzing, whine and crackle of lightsabers clashing as the door opened.
It was rather small, but since it was only for the personal use of the Manda'lor and at most, four others, understandable. The floor was covered with a brown natural material that didn't yield at all underfoot, whilst two squares were outlined on it. The walls were covered with racks for not just beskar spears but also weapons that were more exotic and even alien. Scrolls were hung between the racks that had the various truisms of the Mandalorian Way written on them in old Mando'a.
His eyes were naturally drawn to the spectacle occurring in the center of the room.
Ahsoka, no… Manda'lor Vizsla, had two green lightsaber blades in either hand and was a bright blur of movement against a truly formidable looking droid opponent, who was wielding a single red blade. That any droid could actually be a credible threat with a lightsaber was obvious in retrospect, given how well BX commando droids could handle a vibroblade and the late unlamented General Grievous - though he was more of cyborg - but it was a surprise to see how well this very custom made droid was doing against an actual Jedi.
It looked to be a test of machine reaction time against legendary Jedi reflexes.
Korkie could even feel a slight hint of what had to be the Force in use in front of him, but it was very vague… like a tickle in the back of his mind.
She launched herself into a series of attacks that seemed to make her dance through the air, including redirecting herself around her opponent by finding footholds on the air itself! Her blades slashing and probing the droid's defenses at odd angles.
The droid seemed a bastion of defense though and thanks to its articulated wrists, arms and waist could spin in ways that no organic could match, intercepting and deflecting the attacks.
The action just seemed to build and build by each breathtaking second.
Then it stopped as if someone had hit a pause button on the universe.
The Manda'lor had her left blade humming dangerously underneath the guard of the droid, who was caught with its own blade out of position near its chest. She was poised to just give a flick of the wrist, which would slice from the left hip of the droid diagonally across its chest.
In the next moment, the vision of her hit his eyes and brain.
She was simply wearing blue shorts and a tube covering for her chest that seemed painted on rather than worn. Her left arm raised above her head, the blade in a high defensive guard, whilst her right blade did the offensive work. Feet wide and maintaining a strong stance. Her light orange skin glistened with sweat in the overhead lighting.
She was breathtaking.
A picture of martial prowess and exotic beauty rolled into one.
"Dead," she said with a smile.
"Acknowledgement: Victory to you, master," stated the droid with a rich, slightly high timbre to its vocabulator. "Commentary: That is an interesting improvement you have made to the Ataru form, Master. Overcoming the need for traction to perform corrections in mid-air by using your feet as if you had thrusters strapped to them."
She withdrew her blades and took a purposeful step back, but kept ready for any surprise attack from the droid.
"It still needs work," Ahsoka shrugged. "End sparring session, HK."
"Statement: Sparring session ended, master. Logging you out."
Only now did those green blades vanish back into their hilts. She turned to face her guests and gave them all a mild welcoming smile.
"Since Oba's done the formalities, I'll just say welcome to my home. Hello, Bo-Katan, Apprentice. That didn't take too long."
Auntie Bo just nodded, "Joining the Blades for training as an excuse is an obvious solution, but will you be able to sell it to the Jedi Council?"
"Of course not," Ahsoka said, casually sending the hilts of her weapons flying towards a nearby bench, where they landed perfectly into a tog bag, before a towel came zooming back out of it. "If I was going to teach Apprentice Kryze the obvious skills it would quickly become evident to the Council," she said as she began toweling off the sweat from her montrals, lekku, face and arms.
Korkie knew his face was hidden behind his helmet, but rigidly kept his focus on her eyes and face, despite how tempting it was to stray.
"So the less flashy bits of the Jedi arts?" Bo asked.
"The arts of the mind, you could say. How to perceive truth and see beyond what just the eyes tell you. No greater tool does any leader have." Korkie tried to keep his disappointment at hearing that from being obvious. "The combat arts are mundane and anyone could teach you that…Korkie."
Hearing her use his first name finally removed the sharpest edge of the nervousness that was eating at him. He removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm and bowed his head. "I just want to thank you sincerely for agreeing at all. I did my research and I understand what you are risking."
"It is a risk," she agreed gravely, but her smile widened brilliantly. "One which I know is worth taking though." She clapped and rubbed her hands in a gesture of anticipation. "Now, I'm sure you two would love to get caught up in a less formal environment while you are here. Off you go, and let me get Korkie started on the basics."
"Good luck, Korkie," Auntie Bo teased, giving him an overly knowing wink before the two elder women left through the training room door.
Ahsoka followed them, thumbed the control panel and it firmly closed, a small red light blinking to indicate it was now locked.
She chuckled, "Force save us from the meddling of adults, eh?"
Korkie couldn't help but slightly smile as well. "Yes, they do want what is best for us though."
"From their point of view, yes," she returned to the sparring square and gestured to the droid. "Let me introduce you to HK-47."
The droid, who had been standing still and patiently waiting said, "Greetings: Hello meatbag. I am HK-47, assassination and combat droid. Specializing in the removal of organic and non-organic irritants from the galaxy."
His first instinct was to point out that droids of that type were illegal in the Republic but he stopped himself when he saw the obvious heraldry of the Republic and Jedi painted on its chassis.
"Oh, well, pleasure to meet you, HK," he said nervously.
"Statement: It is rare that organics express that sentiment upon meeting me, how novel."
"HK is going to be teaching you the vibroblade and advancing your marksmanship when I'm not here during the day. I'm working at MandalMotors on an urgent project. In the evenings you will have your lessons in the Jedi arts from me." She sat down in the center of the sparring square, folding her legs into a meditation pose, then patted the mat in front of her. "Be seated, you can leave your helmet next to you."
He walked over but paused, "Uh, do you want me to mirror you?"
"No, sit however would be comfortable for you in the beskar'gam."
He nevertheless tried, but found that his greaves uncomfortably pushed into his legs and was cutting off blood to his feet. In the end, the best position he found to sit on the floor was a side-saddle.
Korkie felt a slight heaviness in the air, a flash of something, then he blinked incredulously at the dangerous humming of a white and black lightsaber, the Darksaber, stopping mere inches from his eye. His eyes followed the blade until they met Ahsoka's implacable blue orbs that were glinting with danger. Fear seemed to envelop him and press down, smothering him.
What was this?
She truly looked like she was going to kill…
No, why would she. It would destroy everything she had worked for in Mandalore. Aunt Satine and Bo would…
No, he would not cower!
The Darksaber's blade vanished into its hilt. The fear lifted.
"Fair but could be better," she said and sent the Darksaber's hilt flying steadily to her bag. "I apologize for that, Korkie. Some tests need no warning for them to return reliable results."
He breathed deeply, shaking off the adrenaline rush, trying to calm his racing heart. "You… wanted to see how I react to fear?"
"Yes. If you learn only one thing from me in our time together, then I want you to master your fear. It is the greatest enemy you will ever face. No other external threat or battle will ever compare to the greatest battle that is fought…" She raised a hand and pressed a finger directly into his armored chest. "... here. Fear robs you of will, hope and the desire to act. It's especially dangerous to those of us attuned and talented in the Force."
"But isn't fear also that which reminds us of our limits? We fear fire because we can be burned. We fear heights because we can fall."
"Those are what we call external or rational fears. As Jedi gain mastery of the Force, such fears are physically conquered quite easily. Throw fire at me, I can use the Force to rob it of air. Drop me from great height, I'll land as light as a feather with no injury. No Korkie, when I speak of fear, it is irrational fears, personal fears. It is these fears which naturally develop in people over time. It is also another reason why the Order favors very young recruits only. They can tailor the environment they grow up in to minimize, direct and monitor the fears, so they're easily conquered by the initiate. That is theory, of course. The practice is much more messy.
"I'm going to tell you of a rather dogmatic Jedi creed now. Then think it over carefully. It goes like this; Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering."
Korkie frowned as he thought about it. Besides the question of what actually was 'the Dark Side' - he'd only come across it in terms of referring to the old enemy of the Jedi - the Sith.
"I suppose, if I fear disappointing my aunt… then I can get angry at her for being so demanding or expecting so much of me. If that just continues, then I grow to hate everything about her and what she stands for. I'll then act in ways contrary to her, to spite and oppose her, which will lead to her and my own 'suffering'?"
She looked pleasantly surprised for the briefest moment. "Well reasoned within context. You self-reflect quite well. Good. The only element you left out was the Dark Side."
"What is it actually? There's only vague mentions in the archives and it always has to do with the ancient Sith."
"For good reason, Korkie. It's a road no one in the galaxy with any sanity wishes to go down. I'll begin by saying that the universe is built on the principle of duality of opposites; life, death, up, down, light, dark and so on. The Force itself is no different. The Dark Side is fear, selfishness, aggression and possession. As such it is present in all of us and we are defined by our never ending struggle against it. The Light Side is compassion, selflessness, self-knowledge, enlightenment, healing and mercy."
"So good and evil?"
"Yes and no," Ahsoka said confusingly. "You can be a flowing river of the Light Side, yet evil can still spring forth from your actions. Imagine a being strong in the Light, who rules over his people with benevolence, as a supreme moral arbiter, but in the process takes away their free will. They naturally rebel and he can't comprehend why. He's only doing it for their own good. So seeks to cure them of their, in his view, poor decision making. Do you see?"
He frowned, "Yes, you've robbed the people of freedom."
"Precisely, too much of a good thing, too much Light, can be just as destructive as the Dark Side, only the road to that destruction will differ. Each of us, Force sensitive or not, can fall prey to excesses of all these emotions. Your willingness to resist these strong emotive forces which comes from the challenges and events in your life, determines how you respond and in so doing, charts your course along the Light or the Dark.
"However, the Dark is also known as the 'easy path'. The abilities you gain by drawing from it are seemingly more powerful, but it is an illusion, a trap. It promises quick, easy solutions but extracts a price that only gets steeper as time goes on. It promises power over all things, it's seductive and it only gets worse the more you use it. Creating a feedback loop that everyone who's seen a Death stick addict will understand."
Korkie nodded, "You make it seem almost as if the Dark Side has an intelligence of its own."
"That is a debate as old as the ancient Je'daii - the precursor to the current Jedi. For perspective, we're talking more than 25 000 years ago. History lesson later. The Dark Side seems intelligent only because it's a mirror that reflects the darkest aspects of our minds. It will therefore speak with your own face and voice, showing you your deepest fears, secrets and problems. Things that you even fear to acknowledge in the first place. That is the Dark Side's primary weapon to make you fall.
"The other side of the debate is that the Force is itself sentient and has a will. That the Light is the natural state of the Force, the Dark Side an aberration that must be purged and fought. The Light side seemingly has an impersonal intelligence and will seem to almost 'steer' a Jedi to where they need to be to fulfill the destiny that the Force has for them."
Korkie combed his hair in a gesture of frustration, "But that implies a loss of will and personal agency, are we just fleshy droids following the programming of the Force then?"
"Statement: That explains so much."
Ahsoka pointed a finger at HK-47 and glared at the droid. "Not another word, HK."
Korkie glanced at the droid, who had been silently watching the lesson like a sentinel. Only to see the slight hints of sparks coming from the grill of its vocabulator.
HK audibly sighed in disappointment, "Acknowledgement: Very well, Master."
"No, the Force does not compel obedience. Your choices are still your own. The reason I give you this fundamental knowledge is so that you can be prepared on the day you face your Dark Mirror. When you feel the Dark Side truly for the first time, you will know it at once. Everyone has a unique experience of it, so any words I give you are next to useless. Consider these words carefully."
Korkie recognized the instruction, "Yes, Manda'lor."
"Now that the words have been said, let's delve into some action." She stood easily and quickly, his traitorous eyes locking onto her chest briefly as her bosom bounced a bit. "Catch."
Thankfully his reflexes were up to the task of catching the helmet thrown by HK. It was very oddly shaped, and after turning it over realized that this was because it had no vision slits.
Ahsoka brought one of her green lightsaber hilts forward, closed her eyes for a bit, then handed it over to him.
"You're giving me one of your sabers? I thought you weren't going to be teaching me this."
"Think of this as a traditional form of unlocking your conscious channeling of the Force." She gestured to her bag and a small spherical remote droid emerged and unfolded its many stun emitters. "My lightsaber is on a training setting, the worst it can do now is shock you briefly, so you don't have to worry about losing a limb accidentally."
Korkie nodded and as his hand closed around the hilt he felt… warm? No, acceptance? It was so weird to feel that, yet know he was not the source of the feeling.
"Well, my lightsabers at least seem to like you, infants though they are."
He was baffled, "What?"
"A lesson far in the future, apprentice. Now, put the helmet on." He complied and the world turned into complete darkness, though he could still hear at least. "Take a moment to get used to it, bring the hilt forward, feel its weight… all right, ignite it."
He heard the snapping hiss and felt an odd rush tremble through his body.
"Now Korkie, let go of your eyes, let go of your conscious self, yet focus, be aware."
Her words were becoming more soothing and seemed to directly invade his mind.
"Let go, focus."
The oddly contradictory words bounced around in his world of darkness. He tried to abandon the urge or need to see, as an experimental first step.
"The Force is with you, you are One with the Force."
He latched onto the words, the ideas, but let go. Were they not also just a distraction?
"Feel, stretch out, feel the Force. Put away the barriers. Let it in."
He… felt…
He didn't have words.
It was something… something to his right and just up and now…
His world and focus shattered when the stinging pain of a stun bolt lashed his arm right at the plate gap of his beskar'gam.
"OUCH!"
He ripped the helmet off and saw the tiny remote shifting itself to the right and was it his imagination or did the thing titter with laughter?
"Time is not always on your side, Korkie," Ahsoka smiled. "You were almost there. Now you will not try again, you will do it. No doubts. Helmet on!"
He really tried to do it, but after ten seconds of trying to call on the Force, got rewarded with another stun bolt for his trouble.
"This is going to take a while," Ahsoka commented to HK.
"You are no longer my apprentice."
She was right.
It always came back to those thoughts for Asajj Ventress, as she sat in a last ditch survival meditation trance in the detached cockpit of her former fighter, floating amongst the wreckage of her own flagship. Destroyed by the guns of the soulless droids who followed Dooku's treacherous command.
The Battle of Sullust.
What a joke. It would've been the crowning moment of her training at Dooku's side in the Dark Side. Now it had all fallen apart. She couldn't even claim the satisfaction of killing Kenobi or Skywalker.
Her fanblade starfighter had been modified to her own standards, with extra life support capacity in the cockpit pod. If it hadn't been for that, she would be dead from suffocation already. The fanblade was not a craft meant for long term independent operation. The pod had suffered damage and a system that was meant to last a week would now barely give her three days of survival if she stayed awake and breathing normally.
Her trance was beset with damnable memories and visions; of things she didn't want to be reminded of and the visions were insufferably vague premonitions that she had no context for whatsoever.
Yet hovering above it all were the memories and image of Skywalker's padawan, who stared with those damnably knowing blue eyes.
It galled her that the little pest was somehow still alive and the war hadn't killed her off.
Asajj had to grudgingly give the little twerp some respect though. Anyone who could throw a Force Push of that strength and fight like she had at the Jedi Chapterhouse, who could bat away her strongest Lightning technique…
How… Tano was still only a mere padawan meant either the Jedi were that powerful or they were just that incompetent that they didn't recognize what was right under their noses!
She was right.
Asajj inwardly snarled with anger at the stupid thought in her trance.
"Why are you trying to fight us, Asajj? Trying to prove you're worthy of the title of Sith to Dooku? You do know that Sith have a Rule of Two, only a master and apprentice, always. You are supposedly Dooku's, but do you think he does not have a master?"
That blasted old man might have tried to control everything that she knew about the Sith, but he couldn't censor what other cultures in the galaxy remembered and preserved. Even studying the brief copies of the database from the Jedi Chapterhouse had proven invaluable.
In retrospect, she should've expected betrayal then. Dooku's actions only made sense if there was indeed another Sith above him. Eventually the apprentice must challenge the master. A little fact of the Sith Order that Dooku had held back. There would be no joining his side as an equal. It had been a lie.
She had been a simple agent, a tool for Dooku and the mysterious Sith above him. Now she had been discarded and 'destroyed', most likely because of her growing strength and power.
But she wasn't dead… yet.
That this had happened at all was telling that she was on the right track. She was a threat to Dooku and his master.
A ripple in the Force brought her attention away from the boundless landscapes of her inner mind and back to reality.
The battle had long since moved away from Sullust itself and had most likely continued at the system's southward Eriadu hyper point, as that was the fallback point in the tactical droid's programming.
Her ice-blue eyes cracked open slightly and beyond the slightly frosted transparisteel windows of the cockpit pod, was a typical scavenger ship that followed in the wake of all the battles of this war.
It was a garbage heap; a flattened cylinder with modules attached to the sides, multiple aftermarket tractor beam emitters bolted on and two ventral and dorsal laser turrets for defense and muscling in on other weaker scavengers when the time came. The ship didn't even have a paint job, the captain eschewing vanity and embracing pure functionality.
What it would have at that size, was a hyperdrive.
The ship came closer, carefully maneuvering on thrusters to bring one of the port modules closer to her cockpit pod. The active energy signature, even as minor as it was, of the life support had clearly registered on their scanners. The fanblade's cockpit would also be recognizable and the state of the art technology would attract the scavengers like hawk-bats circling prey.
The pod shuddered as the tractor beam latched on and started pulling it in.
She would have to play this carefully. There were four of them and she was injured with multiple broken ribs, one of which she sensed was very close to piercing a lung. Adding to this was the complication of remaining hidden in the Force. It was a technique she was so used to keeping up at all times, but it was now an aching strain to maintain. Yet it was just as vital as her life support. Dooku and his master had to remain ignorant of her survival.
An outer door on the module opened and she felt a welcome return of artificial gravity as the pod was dumped onto a deck that was littered with other salvaged debris that was barely worth the term 'space junk'.
The module doors slammed shut, briefly bathing her in darkness before the weak interior lighting came on. It took a while before she realized that they were actually repressurizing the module.
'So cheap they don't even have atmospheric shields,' she thought derisively.
It took nearly a dozen minutes before she could hear the creaks of the hull of this garbage scow. It seemed even the atmo pumps were of substandard quality. The inner door of the module that led to the ship's interior opened and the four crew started to eagerly file in and gaze at the valuable prize they had scavenged.
Asajj had her eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness, but yet knew she was dealing with three male weequay and a male twi'lek.
One of the weequay was armed with a rather large blaster rifle and the twi'lek had a blaster pistol holstered on his hip.
It didn't take them long to cut through the locking mechanisms of her pod and her ears were stabbed with brief pain as the variable pressures equalized.
The twi'lek reached in and with a rather surprising gentleness carried her out of the seat.
What wasn't pleasant was the dirty floor he put her down on a few moments later. Nor the stimulant he injected into her arm.
Playing into the act, she slowly blinked open her eyes and surveyed the scavengers, evaluating each for the threat they posed, doing nothing to hide her pain from showing on her face.
"You look rather worse for wear, miss," said the twi'lek with a smirk, showing off his pointed teeth and casually brandishing his blaster. "Such a pretty face, I bet if you just grew back your hair and got rid of these." The barrel came forward and traced the tattoos on the sides of her mouth. "Now which side of the battle were you on?"
Of course he was asking that. Depending on the answer it meant he would either ransom her back to the GAR or CIS Navy, maybe sell her off into slavery if he didn't get a good offer. These scavengers didn't just salvage metal and parts if they could.
She glared at him, using her pain and anger at the thought of suffering those fates to fuel and gather the Force and stoke it carefully. Precision was key, there could be no Lightning used here, as in her condition it would shatter her precarious stealth in the Force.
"Aww, not feeling up to talking are you?"
"Not particularly," she said with a smirk and unleashed her might with a gesture.
The Force surged and broiled as her control latched onto the twi'lek's neck, she was on her feet in the next moment.
The twi'lek gasped and thrashed, clutching uselessly at his neck as he rose into the air helplessly.
The three weequay tried to bring their weapons to bear on her but it was already too late as she lifted her left hand and brought their own necks into her mental picture.
All four were now in the air, gasping and thrashing pathetically.
She grinned cruelly as the rush of the Dark Side came in and she closed her hands into fists, crushing the spines of all four at once.
They died in the next few moments and she contemptuously tossed their bodies against the walls.
Her own pain at the quick movement was taken and fueled her power further, but now it was directed inward to another purpose, heal and physically blunt the edge of the broken rib. She rode the further pain this caused to even greater heights of power but it was threatening to overwhelm her stealth.
No.
She would not let the Dark Side win here.
She let go.
The Force settled down into a normal equilibrium around her, but it was still very agitated from the death that had occurred.
She winced and clutched at her ribs. Then regarded the dead bodies - it was time to scavenge.
A few minutes later she was walking out of the salvage pod, with the twi'lek's blaster belt around her hips, the rifle slung over her shoulder, along with nearly a few hundred credits worth of currency in physical chits in the belt's pockets.
The interior of the ship was as dirty and ramshackle as the the salvage bays, not to mention the awful smell that was coming from the aft - which turned out to be a small galley which was barely cleaned from all the leftovers of the food the scavengers had been eating.
She'd have to worry about provision for her journey later.
Her feet carried her forward into the small cockpit of the vessel, which had three seats for pilot, co-pilot and an engineering console for managing all the tractor beams.
Her favorite long dress snagged on the rickety pilot chair as she stepped forward and she heard the material tear before she could stop.
Anger surged at her own weakness and the dead idiot who couldn't even invest in a proper pilot seat. She reached down, unclasped the catch and pulled the dress off, leaving her wearing tight shorts and the wraps around her legs, then took the time to fold the dress properly. She couldn't afford to ruin it further, not in this situation.
Finally seated, she powered up the systems carefully. Not even an access code or any lockouts were present. It showed either arrogance from the late twi'lek or he was that cheap. The holos and navicomputer were about the only modern systems in the cockpit.
She brought forth the galactic map and considered her options.
How quickly the galaxy could turn on its head. This morning she'd been in command of a Providence dreadnought, the pride of the CIS Navy, an entire task force under her. Now she would be imprisoned at best in one portion of it and outright killed in the other half if she ever showed her face. Even Hutt space was not really an option, as their treaty of cooperation with the Republic meant the slugs could decide to actually honor it, instead of just paying lip service. She was just too high profile at this point and the hutts could see handing her over to the Republic as a bargaining chip for currying favors.
Disappearing into the far Outer Rim in the south-western edges of the galaxy didn't have much appeal either. It smacked too much of exile and would reduce her to a hermit-like existence of living off the land. It was also too obvious a direction to flee into and she knew Dooku and the CIS had spies on the fringes.
No, there was just one place in the galaxy left that would be marginally friendly to her.
Friendly was not a word one often heard associated with the Nightsisters of Dathomir.
The clan of her birth had seen fit to sell her off into slavery to old Hal'Sted's pirates after all. The question of why was something she had investigated and speculated on, but never obtained a satisfactory answer. Hal'Sted had been a relatively kind master, but she had never found the courage to ask while he'd been alive. She had seen how other slaves were treated on Rattatak and didn't want to risk her first master's wrath.
She inputted the destination into the navicomputer and surveyed the plotted course the machine returned.
One day to Vondarc, where she'd have to make a choice between going north via the Hydian Way or the Rimma Trade Route, which would eventually become the Corellian Trade Spine. The Hydian would be the most time and fuel efficient, but would represent the greatest risk of discovery.
The hyperdrive of the scavenger ship, which had the name of Crusher on its transponder, was much like the rest of the ship; old, inefficient and barely functioning to the minimum specifications if she was interpreting the readings correctly. The current fuel load would only get her as far as Chardaan.
She zoomed in on the system and winced. Oh yes, it was the headquarters of the GAR's 16th Sector Army. It would be filled with clones and dueling spies in the shadows from both sides.
The other obstacle in her way was financial. She couldn't touch any of the undercover operational CIS accounts she knew of. Even her own personal accounts, which she'd gone to great lengths to hide from Dooku, was too much of a risk. The chance was there that he knew of them anyway. If they showed any activity so soon after her 'death', she might as well call that bastard on the holo right now.
No, she'd have to turn to illicit sources for funds at Chardaan, even outright stealing them.
She smirked at the thought of all the potential for chaos she could sow right in the middle of the Republic in the process.
What fun, she thought.
An alternative plan struck her. What if she merely got herself to Vondarc with the Crusher and simply stole a better ship there. It would solve the fuel problem, perhaps even the finance issue depending on the ship and the owner. That road introduced other risks; the ship ID would be flagged and Republic customs authorities all along the Hydian would be alerted to be on the lookout.
She shook off the notion. If there was one thing the Crusher had going for it, was that right now, it was hers and no one would look at it twice or even want to look at the ugly thing. It had a registered Republic transponder that was entirely legitimate.
The scanner console in front of her beeped a warning. She studied the readout and scowled.
Coming out of hyper was a Republic Nu class S&R shuttle with Headhunter fighter escorts, no doubt looking for valuable CIS salvage among the wreck of the Providence.
Her hands grabbed the control yoke, and she pushed forward on the throttle.
Thankfully, the twi'lek had an already pre-programmed hyperspace escape in the navicomputer.
She easily zoomed and navigated through the expanding debris field. Acting exactly like a poaching scavenger ship would when confronted by the GAR these days.
The com system lit up with an incoming transmission, but she ignored it.
The instant the Crusher's nose was clear of the debris field and on target, she pushed hyperdrive controls forward.
Stars streaked and molded into the swirling blue tunnel of hyper.
Well, it looked like her course was set.
The next four days on the Crusher was a return to the days of her youth, but given a new twist.
When she wasn't flying through normal space between hyper points, she was searching and scavenging throughout the ship.
The most basic first goal was to change her appearance enough that she wouldn't be recognized on sight. With the clothes and personal supplies of the twi'lek captain in his small cabin, that was achieved by the first day.
He had a temporary tattoo applicator, like most of his type, so she was able to make a number of changes to her own facial markings; extending the tattoo on the edges of her mouth to complete a circle around her chin, whilst creating an elaborate curved organic pattern over her scalp, resolving to let her natural hair grow out. She'd only have millimeters of growth by the time she reached Chardaan but every bit helped at this point.
His clothes didn't really fit, but with a couple of belts around her waist, was passable as a fashion style. All of it was some variation of brown; long pants, jackets, shirts. A hood was fashioned out of her black dress and the aid of a very ornate knife that the captain had kept on his bed stand. The shoulders on the jacket were too big and arms were too long, so she ended up cutting the sleeves off. It made her look rather scruffy, almost bordering on destitute, but it would have to do.
By the second day and passing through the Opiteihr system, she was forced to deal with the bodies of the crew. They were stinking up the salvage module and it wouldn't do to have them on board in the unlikely event she was boarded by customs inspectors. She didn't want to touch the disgusting weequay bodies, not even with the Force. So while in hyperspace, she opened that module's outer doors and let the rushing decompression forces pull the trash and debris out into the hyperspatial medium, where it would be torn apart as the matter eventually crossed the boundary back into real space without any protection.
The rest of that day was filled with yet more reminders of the past, as she cleaned the ship's small galley into a place that at least looked hygienic to eat in. There was a bare minimum of cleaning supplies, so with just a surface disinfectant, a bit of water from the ship's supply and a cloth, she got to work.
The captain, who's name was Pri Vutrol according to the computer, apparently didn't want to eat slop on his missions. The food supplies were of rather good quality and now because there was only her mouth to feed, she'd at least not have to worry about food purchases for another two weeks, which could be extended to three if she rationed.
The other issue to deal with was her injuries. She wasn't very talented at using the Force to heal herself beyond emergency measures. She knew the Dark Side had some techniques, but Dooku had yet to teach them. The captain's cabin at least had an emergency medical kit that had one intact bacta patch, but it would not be enough for a complete healing. That could only come with a medical droid, supplies and time. In the meantime she had to just be content with being mindful of how she moved and avoid any strain.
Passing through the Pax system was the first true challenge of the journey. She had tampered with the ship's com system, messing with the signal just enough to imitate that it was of poor quality or in disrepair. Then took samples from Vutrol's voice in the ship's logs to stitch together a hastily programmed imitator - which would alter her own voice enough to sound like the unfortunate captain.
The moment the Crusher exited hyperspace into the Pax system, it was confronted by an entire fleet squadron of Venators that were arrayed around the main Opiteihr emergence point.
The comlink lit immediately with an incoming transmission.
"Starship Crusher, this is Star Destroyer Redeemer. Cut your engines and broadcast a full transponder registry," said the voice of an abominable clone.
Asajj deepened her voice, "Roger, Redeemer. Transmitting."
She tapped the sequence into her com interface, pulled back on the throttle and waited with baited breath. If this didn't work then escape was going to be problematic at best. The only thing she could hope for was that the volume of traffic through here made boarding searches impractical.
"Crusher, stand by. You've been flagged for a routine scan for contraband. An armed shuttle is on its way for a rendezvous, proceed to the following coordinates."
"Understood, Crusher out."
She would have to play the obedient civilian salvager for now.
The Nu Class shuttle was waiting for her at the coordinates, along with a half squadron of starfighters who had very bored pilots in them.
The scan started and her hands were straining on the yoke, ready to flee or go on evasive. She had searched the ship for anything that could get her flagged for detainment and found nothing. She had found no smuggling compartments, so she would have to trust that Vutrol had kept a 'clean' ship in that respect.
"Crusher, thank you for your patience. Scan clean. You're cleared to proceed."
"Thank you, Redeemer," Asajj said through gritted teeth.
She didn't relax fully for the entire twenty six minutes in real space travel until she reached the onward Arrgaw hyper point.
She passed through seven more systems along the Hydian over the next two days. Her only bacta patch was used up and her best guess was that she needed at least six more for her ribs to heal. The only other way was to fall back to the light, and use the basic technique Master Narec had taught her all those years ago.
No, she would not be so weak. The Force was a servant, a tool, she did not bow to it.
By the time she pulled back on the hyperdrive levers to emerge into Chardaan, the console in front of her was blaring multiple alarms and warnings for low fuel. A quick check and calculation indicated she would not even have enough to decelerate from orbit into a landing phase.
She had done her research on the system though and while she couldn't land, she could set a course for any of the orbital stations, of which there were many, including a recently constructed shipyard to support the GAR for closer repairs from the frontline battlespaces in the south.
She would pass on going anywhere near that one and instead set course for a space station where she could ostensibly sell the salvage that was still sitting in the other modules. Vutrol had been busy before the battle in Sullust and had components and debris from both Republic and CIS ships in the holds.
The station itself was called Gallimimus. It was a civilian orbital repair spaceyard of about 1.2 km in length that was relatively well appointed and even featured hotels, shopping, cantinas and casinos. She didn't know if they wanted to attract tourists or die-hard spacers, but somehow it seemed the locals wanted both.
By the time she was approaching the docking bay, she had to suffer the indignity of requesting a tractor beam to pull her in.
The ship was now only running on auxiliary battery backups and had only fumes in its fuel tanks.
She winced, clutching her aching ribs as she went through the shut down procedures. Then grabbed her small travel bag filled with the necessities she had scrounged throughout the ship; travel food, Vutrol's blaster, a few datapads which contained a manifest of her salvage and finally her single surviving lightsaber - the other lost in the battle against Skywalker and Kenobi.
Asajj had long debated with herself whether or not to leave it behind on the ship. The risks of discovery with it in her possession versus being reduced to only a blaster for self-defense. In the end she just couldn't do it. The Crusher was not a secure ship at all and any professional thief would find it laughably easy to break into.
She emerged into the relatively fresh air of Docking Bay 60 and enjoyed the smell of a proper life support system.
At the exit was an automated kiosk system that handled the berthing fee. That ended up swallowing eighty credits and would tick over with ten credits for every day that the Crusher sat in the bay.
The entry door opened and she was confronted with a relatively bustling, noisy hallway, with species of every type imaginable going back and forth.
She made sure her hood was properly placed, carefully adjusted her bag against her good side, before setting off.
I am coming for you, Dooku. You and your mysterious master. If it takes me years, I will find you, and revenge will be mine.
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