Prologue

Light.

Warm, blinding light. At first it washed over her like water in a newly drawn bath, then enveloped her. There was no war. Not directly in front of Jedi Lira Ansii, anyway. Darkness and light were but one thing, which was the force. That much was evident, laid out in front of her, plain to observe. She could see it, feel it, she could touch and manipulate it if she'd so felt. She wasn't just one with the force, she was the force!

Had this concept of the force been taught, perhaps the Jedi wouldn't have been involved in war at all. Nor would they fear the dark side, let alone turn to it for answers. As far as that went, there would be no Jedi, no Sith! There would be understanding, there would be bliss. Indeed, she could see why the new miracle drug bota was so sought after, so valued, so coveted by those who knew what it could be.

As Lira continued to watch the cosmos unfold in time, she saw the past and the future come and go. Stars were born, civilizations rose and fell by the hundreds, and then stars burned out. Friends, family, loved ones both here and gone, flashed by in what seemed like an instant. Or was it days? She had no way of knowing which. It could have been eons she watched, from what felt like on high, such as a deity might. The thought thrilled her!

She felt her lightsaber leave her hands. There was no need for it here, for here, she controlled all as she desired. There were no enemies. She had nobody to fear, for this was omnipotence at its core. As her thoughts raced—or crept—by in these moments, she found herself remembering the teachings of Yoda. Then the thought of absolute control reminded her of tyranny. Of servitude. Of a world she'd left behind.

As she saw faces fading in and out of translucence, of time, and of space, she saw the face of her mother. Then her father. They slowly twisted and conformed into something dark, just out of her perception. At first it was a hooded figure. A sinister crackle. Lightning flashed, and his face was visible for the slightest of instances. He was hideous. Disfigured. A Sith lord! All of the warmth she originally felt had been replaced with a very cold feeling in her stomach.

Her fingers grasped for the hilt of her lightsaber. But it wasn't there. She tried to move, to check her belt, only to feel constricted, paralyzed. As planets died out, or even exploded, the hooded figure changed. She felt cold fingers run from her arms up to her face. She fought back panic, fighting to see light, some sort of light. The fingers settled on her chin, as the transforming figure in front of her took on its final form. Not of a Sith Lord, but of someone…someone familiar. Recent.

That indelibly cold beauty.

As the fingers departed her chin, reality began to sink in, a sickeningly sly grin teased her. Raising above her, no, she was being lowered! Amidst the haze, all she heard was the sly, smooth voice, in mock-pity, "Relax, young one, your troubles are through. Soon, you will serve something greater!"

As a brilliant white cloud overpowered her, she felt unparalleled cold. Then unforgiving darkness.

--

Chapter One

The endless expanse of star-dotted blackness that lay ahead seemed almost as much home as it was unknown. Solitude was nothing new, nor uncomfortable, as it was almost a requisite to be successful in the ever-changing traverses of life as a hired gun. Solitude was the perfect setting to think, to plan, or sometimes, escape. In this instance, the latter held a double meaning, for this was a moment that could easily be labeled as the cowardice that was fleeing. Strategic retreat, however, was a simple matter of fact. The quiet flight deck, save for the low rhythmic growl of sublight engines, provided all of the escape needed to regroup the thoughts that led to this unhindered departure.

Even with the more glorified moniker, coined by the True Mandalorians, Super Commando, life had its snags. Always fighting someone else's battles, taking their risks, and solving their problems. Always stuck in neutral, a bad place to be with conquering in your blood and firepower your religion. Eventually, a fine-tuned instrument of death could self-destruct if it spent enough time idle. With thinning numbers and a home that gladly shuns its traditions, culture can erode, and glory can go extinct. While fear is rare for one who smirks at death, fear is still very real and ever nagging. The resourceful, however, can utilize fear. As a tool, and as motivation.

Joining up with Deathwatch had been a risky decision, even with all of the current chaos in the galaxy. The dawn of the Clone Wars opened as many doors as it had closed. With all of the posturing of Vizsla, it seemed a certainty that the feeble pacifists now ruling Mandalore would be decimated without a CIS backing. Too bad he failed to close the deal. He'd sprung his trap too early, and against too many odds. Jaster Mereel had always been right about those guys. The lot of smooth-talking criminals shouting patriotism. The same as the old days, before another Vizsla had all but destroyed Mandalore's best hope at holding on to its heritage. Back when friends were much more straightforward, as well as plentiful. What would Jaster say now, at the thought of one of his own joining up with the enemy, with a Vizsla? Given the reasoning for the temporary alliance, perhaps he'd have understood, even if he didn't agree. Now, the alerted Jedi would no doubt bring about the attention of the Republic. Despite the effectiveness of Mandalorian warriors, no matter how much conviction that delusional thug Vizsla possessed, there was no sense in hanging around for a beating from both sides of a galactic war.

As Concorn Dawn drifted behind the Dead Bolt, a heavily modified old Starrunner-class transport, the short-lived Mandalorian dream of crusading over before it even started, it was time to get back to basics, to business, and profits. With Jedi being spread further across the galaxy, business would certainly get more complicated. The holier-than-thou philosophers with infinitely sharp sticks. They fancied themselves warriors, though cunning as they typically were, relied on tricks to win their battles. He snorted to himself inwardly, staring at the reflection of the T-shaped visor that framed the gray and blue armored face looking back at him. He scanned the reflection until he found his focus directly in front of him, examining the gauntlets adorning his forearms, noting the nicks and burn marks from numerous strikes throughout their extensive history.

To his right, he scanned through a catalogue of dossiers of thugs unfortunate enough to make such a list. Everything from corrupt Rodian politicians, to Sakiyan gangsters who angered the wrong superior for the last time, and anything in between. Then a profile caught his attention: "Q'evarra'". A rowdy young dug notorious for robbing speeder trains in the outer rim. Typically known for arms sales, he was wanted for selling a shipment defective hyperdrive motivators to Kuat System Engineering, among others.

"Sounds like they deserved getting hustled for buying back their own junk." he chuckled.

The bounty itself wasn't worth a whole lot, only ten thousand republic credits, but his corrupt business ties held plenty of promise. Whoever lost or bought those motivators had to have done so willingly. No way a small-timer was pulling a heist like this one his own. He scanned the file more, showing he often ran with a group of Barabel thugs. That explained his muscle. So where did he get the motivators?

But first, Coruscant. Time to refit and regroup. The stars stretched out into millions of white-blue lines as he pulled the lever to fire his hyperdrive to life. Unstrapping himself from the pilot's chair, he stood, holsters and armor relaxing against his form, a ragged bandolier of jagged, charred, broken cylinders, once lightsabers, hung from his right shoulder. As he started making his way through the narrow corridors of the ship, he keyed his left gauntlet, a redundancy against a possible autopilot fail, and a modified IG-86 sentinel droid could be heard clanking across the flight deck to man the abandoned chair.

Behind his visor, he thought of the Jedi again, how they'd decimated what little remained of the Mandalorians in recent times, even finally gotten Jaster's heir, Jango Fett. The same faction to use his martial prowess like livestock to break soil on some poor backwater agricultural world. To plant their seeds, to grow their own empire, to reap their benefits…with the blood of a True Mandalorian.

As a hatch slid open on his right, he stepped into a small room that bristled in weapons, unshelving tools and an exceptionally rare Tenloss CM48, while seating himself on a stool. It would be at least three hours before he made his destination and his gear needed attention. At least Vizsla had paid ahead for showing up.

"War brings out all kinds of things." Conn Vallai mentally jeered.

--

Her breaths came in slow, methodic draws. The young togruta felt as light as air, as if nothing else around her existed. Emotions nearly overwhelmed her concentration, both her own, and of those around her. Joy, sadness, frustration, and anger swirled simultaneously past and through her like a breeze from every season. Ta'ni Geen parted her eyelids and focused on the collection of pieces and parts in front of her. Without moving so much as her dark green eyes, the group of components lifted from the floor, slowly creating a formation. Allowing her left index finger to lift, she drew another controlled breath. The pieces were now level with her eyeline, spreading horizontally. She fought back a smile, along with the excitement that accompanied her. This was a large step in what seemed like eons of study and lecture. As cylindrical objects rotated and a crystal spun, the formation tightened, closing in on itself. She could feel the object forming, parts assembling, as if she were handling it. The experience was almost out of body as well, as the assembly process could be felt behind her eyes. This was being controlled as much as it was controlling her.

A warmth in the air brushed her. A smile touched her. This was no doubt the approval she felt from her current instructor, Jedi Master Aayla Secura. While not an exclusive padawan to the infamous Master, Secura had taken an immediate liking to Ta'ni very early in her training. She knew the Jedi order forbade favoritism, but it was always something of a special treat to learn from such an accomplished warrior.

"Very impressive, Padawan Geen. The Force is with you." Aayla confirmed.

A coolness from behind interrupted the warm approval felt from Aayla. She could feel frustration, perhaps even a touch of anger. Zim Gad, a young orange-hued Zabrak male, was struggling with his concentration. A wave of uncertainty projected from him, though she couldn't blame anyone for being nervous. After all, one component misplaced could turn a lightsaber into a rather effective bomb.

"Calm your fears, young one. Darkness clouds judgement. Trust in the Force, let it replace your pride." Aayla consoled, "This weapon is the foundation of a Jedi's peacekeeping abilities, and in these difficult wartime, it is your life."

Zim was about a standard year older, but was discovered at about the same time Ta'ni began her long journey to Jedi Knighthood. He was stronger than she in the Force, but he was a passionate creature, and less stable as a result. Ta'ni could feel the shakiness in his breath. She reached out with her consciousness to try to ease his discomfort. A hot touch of frustration flared between them for a moment, but his temperament evened.

It had felt like fifteen minutes since she'd last looked at the subject of her focus, but her patience and calmness had paid off. The gleaming cylinder gently lowered to her cupped hands, placed directly in the center of her lap as she sat, legs folded, on the floor of the Jedi temple. As cool metal touched her muted green hands, she curled her fingers around it, noting its weight and admiring its renowned elegance.

It was well balanced, but heavier than she'd expected. The hilt had raised rings for better control, with black inlays between them. A hidden focusing ring behind the controls allowed for a more compact overall length. A single-piece pommel cap combined with the hand grip, flaring out near the bottom. The blade emitter was the most exotic-looking piece of the weapon, being reminiscent of the manipulator arm on an R2 unit. This time her smile couldn't be fought back, and her thin lips curled. A real lightsaber, her lightsaber. So much time and effort had been spent, experiences gained. The Kyber crystal had to be selected, harvested, and instilled with her Force energy. All journeys she'd patiently waited to undertake, let alone complete. The significance of the weapon began to weigh on her, indeed, it was a Jedi's life. For the first time since her training began, she felt truly accomplished.

Mere moments later, Zim lowered his completed weapon into his hands, satisfaction overwhelming his face as well. He looked to Ta'ni, as they shared a moment of adulation with each other. Aayla looked to them, acknowledging their accomplishment with a warm nod.

"Very good, Padawans. This is a very big day in your training. Stand and present your weapons." She commanded.

Ta'ni and Zim both stood, feet square with their shoulders, almost awkwardly, not sure what to expect. They instinctively held the blade emitters pointed away from them.

Still grinning, Aayla continued, "You may ignite your weapon."

The distinct snap-hiss, followed by the humming buzz of the brilliant beams emitted by the weapons filled the quiet room. The heat from the beams was surprising to both new wielders of their respective weapons.

"Not quite like the training sabers, are they?" Aayla noted, "Slowly move and feel the weapon as you change direction. It surely goes without saying, but you now harness one of the most dangerous things a sentient being can hold. One wrong move could end very badly for you, or your fellow Jedi."

Ta'ni focused on her grip, not too tight, but firm. She pivoted slightly at her hips, allowing some give to her wrists. Amazingly, the brilliant green beam had absolutely no feeling to it, aside from the heat it radiated, though it seemed to move of its own accord as well. Quickly evident, was just how easily you could injure yourself with one instant of carelessness. The thought was as enthralling as it was terrifying. She slowly continued to wave the beam back and forth, rocking her shoulders, pivoting at her hips. In the passing moments, with repetitions becoming more comfortable, she loosened her elbows little by little. As her confidence built, she finally glanced over to Zim to check his progress. His look was one of concentration just as hers, but despite the intensity in his eyes, he looked comfortable against his dull yellow blade.

"Wonderful." Aayla acknowledged, "Now we will practice some basics. First, the Ready stance."

Aayla continued instructing as she demonstrated, posing with her dominant foot back, blade in parry position on her dominant side. As the padawans mimicked her stance, she explained changes as she went into defensive neutral, followed by offensive neutral, as the differences between each were only slight. These poses were repeated half a dozen times before Aayla dismissed the pair for the day, congratulating them on their achievements.

"Soon, you will begin your training with your masters, in the field." Aayla concluded.

--

Q'evarra sat in the dingy hole in the wall saloon picking at the carbon deposits on his DL-18 pistol in between sips of the cheap durosian ale he was nursing. His entourage took up nearly half of the small establishment, consisting of a half dozen Barabel, four twi'lek girls, a protocol droid, and a Ubese body guard calmly eyeing the door through his helmet. The RWW protocol droid held a small cage with a neekoflight bird, occasionally beeping it's signature squawk for a snack from Q'evarra or one of his Barabel companions.

Nobody would have ever guessed the small dug for an outlaw on the run. Though it seemed his running was over, or rather his days of fleeing. For all intents, he looked like a bonafide crime lord. He'd fallen in with the Barabel on an arms deal where he'd managed to score big, but lost his light cruiser in the process, temporarily marooning him in what he saw as the galaxy's honey hole of illicit goods. What started as a botched job had wound up a blessing, and in his relatively short time at Altilla he'd established himself a small makeshift base of operation.

Altilla was a small enough spaceport to garner little attention from the separatists, who were busy fighting their war, but being central to the separatists also meant lots of traffic for a lot of goods. Black market goods that he knew who and where to sell them, for a hefty profit. He'd done well enough, consistently, that he decided it wise to keep the Ubese on retainer for the foreseeable future, as his enterprise was growing, along with his notoriety.

For the moment he was lost in the pleasure of his twi'lek girls pampering him while he awaited his contact to arrive with his next big score. If his information was reliable this could put him on the map, and Mi'tha Bendo had been reliable up to this point. Illicit recreational substances were one thing but legitimate miracle cures were exponentially more valuable. The samples he'd produced the week before were fresh and had worked better than bacta, so wherever this shipment was, it was sure to fetch a handsome price. He couldn't remember the name, only that it had originated on some tropical planet. Bendo was a testament to Ithorian's green thumb as it was said to be nearly impossible to transport off world, let alone getting it to grow elsewhere. He had access to a hothouse somewhere over on Deko Nemoidia which aided his talents immensely, which made Q'evarra wonder what else he was capable of.

This haul could make him a legitimate kingpin in this region, then he could ally himself with The Hutts, The Black Sun, or even the Zann Consortium. The sleazy dug stroked his chin with his foot as he let out a raspy chuckle of self satisfaction.

--

The traffic in Coruscant's atmosphere never did cease to amaze. Of all the places one travels hunting bounties across the galaxy, none rivaled the overwhelming commotion of a metropolis covered planet. Conn fell in line behind a rather new Corellian corvette navigating the busy lanes of incoming and outgoing ships. He'd dropped out of hyperspace on the far side of the planet, taking over pilot duties from his automated redundancies, as they weren't known for their finesse, or etiquette. The Dead Bolt didn't appear imposing, but it was best not to subject it to an inspection by authorities.

As the Dead Bolt passed through the enormous cityscape of high rises, office buildings, landing pads, and even near a republic military base until the sprawling urban planet flattened. He approached a massive ventilation shaft, rivaling the near bottomless pits of Utapau, and began his descent into the lower levels of Coruscant. As he descended, the seedy underbelly of the gleaming center of the galaxy slowly became as dark and dank as one could imagine. Matching the general notoriety of any profession that would bring a being to this part of the universe. Adjusting his course lower into the belly of the planet, he counted down the levels. He'd been traveling through the giant shaft for the better part of five minutes and was only to level 70, granted he wasn't free falling, but the scale of the urban settlement was impressive, if not awe inspiring.

As he finally neared level 1313, Conn started the landing cycle and began his security protocols. The IG unit armed itself with a modified E-5 blaster rifle and T21 light repeater with a miniature generator slung on the now inanimate lethal statue, standing post with a clear view of the entrance ramp and cockpit. The Dead Bolt set down on a dim and shoddy looking platform that looked as if it would collapse, but held strong as the landing struts absorbed the weight from the dying repulsors of the ship, scattering trash and random filth with its remaining power. After holstering the CM48 blaster pistol he'd tuned during his hyperspace travel, he locked the ship down, grabbed a large canister, and departed down the ramp, closing it behind him.

The elegance of the topside of Coruscant was nowhere to be seen in the alleys and dives of this rotting hole. Also in contrast to topside, were the denizens and opportunities here. There were species of beings here that seemed yet to be discovered by the galaxy at large, though it also made one wonder if they'd started as something else. He passed by a couple of aqualish quarreling over some random trinket. There was also a quarren who eyed the beskar adorning such a stranger to this place, even as battered as it appeared.

He finally spotted an entryway with nearly unrecognizable Jaig eyes marking it, and a formidable looking talz standing guard. The figure almost looked like it recognized Conn, side stepping the entrance but in its unique tongue riddling him, "you look well traveled, is someone here to see you?"

"Is this the way?", he answered. The inconspicuous guard motioned with the muzzle of his blaster rifle for Conn to enter.

The interior had another guard, a Mandalorian bristling with firepower, who simply nodded. It was better lit here, but that didn't say much in comparison to the corridor outside. Conn almost didn't adjust his visual filter. There might have been five or six of his kind here, including him. He spotted a familiar figure making final adjustments on a slightly unique looking jetpack. This was the armoress of the den he currently occupied, as well as an old friend.

Brut Fim was tall and thin, clad in blue mandalorian armor with red accents. Her helmet was slightly taller and narrower than a typical Mandalorian helmet, the cheeks of which would no doubt uncomfortably squeeze the face of any human wearer. Duros usually didn't join the ranks of Mandalorians. Her right shoulder pauldron bore the Mandalorian scout insignia, same as Conn's. As he approached Fim, she spoke in a thin rasp that sounded almost like an echo, "Back from your crusades already?"

"What can I say? Good call.", Conn admitted, presenting Fim with the canister he'd been carrying. "But the pay was pretty good."

She unlocked it, revealing nearly 3 kilos of raw beskar, trying to hide her impression, "Maybe I can forgive you after all!" Then turned to face him, presenting her right elbow. He replied striking his to hers.

"Then what brings you here with these riches? An apology?", she mocked.

"I'm after a swindling dug, picked him up a gang of Barabel. Light bounty, but probably connected. Since I'm not fighting a war, I'm interested in some nonlethals. Any news on KDY parts or interests?"

She walked to some shelving and grabbed two small duraplast containers and a long device that was partially folded.

"Kuat? I heard they've stiffened their planetary shipping defense measures. Someone just wrecked a YV freighter but gained a trainload of turbolaser batteries and hyperdrive parts, fresh in their boxes. Sounds like someone wanting to hike their share prices." She said flatly.

"I think I know the type."

"If you know better.", she affirmed.

"You may as well ask him about missing Jedi somewhere around the purse worlds while you're there. Rumor has it the republic might pay good money for them.", Fim added.

She set the objects next to the jetpack she'd been working on. She glanced at his left arm, "are you still running that miniature '25 launcher'?"

He raised his left gauntlet for her inspection, brandishing an armament that would make a clone trooper jealous. Among them was a twenty five millimeter grenade launcher. "Thing is almost as handy as a jetpack. You really outdid yourself.", he replied, half bragging.

"I've got something new here, should make live bounties a lot more preoccupied. Dubbed the 25B round. Fire this within twenty five meters, they'll still be around."

Showing off her handiwork she taps a button on her left gauntlet, displaying a holo of the munitions in action, "It breaks apart within a meter of firing, spreading apart at two. There's about a meter and a half of fiber cord connecting the two halves, so don't expect to trip a reek. Here's two boxes of five. But that should be plenty for a skull buster like you. I also fixed this antique, gave it a beskar plate so you don't have a repeat from last time. It should run a bit cooler now, too"

She offered him the device from the shelf, which was a small rectangular box, shining with the added armor, attached to a tube, and a muzzle brake with an integrated folding bipod.

"Perfect. Does the rangefinder still work?", Conn said, inspecting the item.

"The cord was shot, but otherwise it was fine. That blast amp should make that old EE-1 complete again. You need an integrated unit.", she added.

"Those int units don't shoot as well", Conn said, tapping his ear. "I've got less to get shot off in a scuffle this way, anyway."

"Tell that to your cod piece.", she said cooly, pointing out his lack of one. Holding the jetpack up to view, she continued, "If you had a rangefinder, you could use this much easier. I removed the rocket launcher and replaced it with this hail fire missile tube. The missiles don't have the same punch as the rocket, but they still home onto signals and there's more of them."

"Outstanding.", he nodded.

"You still have your Dragoon?"

Unfurling his poncho, he tapped the CM48, "I added an oversized power coil so it can disrupt now."

"Maybe I'll outshoot you for it, next we meet.", she goaded.

Until then…", he patted the loose beskar, "..enjoy your spoils, and thanks again."

--

Mi'tha Bendo wiped sweat from his brow as he worked the soil between the clusters of valuable crop nearly ready for harvest. The humidity required for the plant was miserable, also rendering typical droids unpractical for the menial tasks involved in growing Bota. The loading and unloading, the heavy work, was at least handled by the skeleton crew of labor droids. That eased his outlook a bit.

Such a hot commodity required a low profile, too, so extra hands were out of the question. The money he made was simply too good to complain much, let alone turn down. His hands, and expertise in botany, were the extra in the operation anyway. As he moved on to harvest another crop, he considered his expertise, the results, the gains in production thanks to him, and didn't see why he couldn't make some side cash in expanding on his own either. On the side, that is. That antsy dug, Q'evarra, was breathing down Mi'tha's neck for a shipment of Bota. What he wanted it for was beyond him, or his concern. Being a space pirate had endless possibilities.

As Mi'tha finished, he prompted a worker droid to the site's carbon freezing facility. There, he marked containers with slabs of the frozen Bota to be loaded onto his speeder. The small makeshift warehouse was rather full, almost ready for the trainload due in a few days. Q'evarra was ecstatic to have his shipment ahead of the next batch, to get his jump on the market. This would be a win-win both both of them, as Mi'tha's repertoire would no doubt be bolstered by the fledgling crime boss as his enterprise grew.